Грэм Мастертон - Famine

Oxnard looked appreciatively from one sister to the other. ‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘isn’t that the neatest pair of canyon-dwelling women you ever saw?’

Carl held his hand across his mouth as Oxnard stripped off his jacket, unbuckled his belt, and kicked off his pants. Oxnard nodded to the tallest Angel, who wore a soiled red rag around his head, and said, ‘Hold that flake. Hold him tight. And if he tries to make trouble, break his festering fingers.’

Then Oxnard suddenly reddened, and shouted, ‘Okay! Okay! We’re going to have ourselves some fun here! You know what I mean? Fun! You come here, Mommy, and stand in front of this fancy sink. That’s right. Facing the window. Now, spread ’em. That’s right, spread ’em. You hear me! I want to see your ass!’

Chilly with fear. Season stood by the sink, gripping the draining-board, and staring sightlessly out of the window at the flickering palm trees in the front garden. Oxnard, wearing nothing now but his shirt, his bootlace tie, and a pair of dirty white moccasins, grasped the cheeks of her bottom and fondled them with hard, searching fingers.

‘Think you’re going to get out of this easy, huh?’ he whispered loudly in Season’s ear. His breath smelled of Scope. ‘Think you can just close your eyes and pretend that nothing’s happening, that it’s just another pecker in life’s never-ending parade of peckers? That’s what you think, huh? Well – let’s make it more difficult for you, shall we? Let’s make it a little more memorable .’

He turned around, and strode across the kitchen, absurd in his shirt and his sneakers, but somehow even more menacing because of his absurdity. Carl tried to push his way forward, but the tall Angel’s muscular grip pulled him back.

‘You’re crazy!’ shouted Carl. ‘You know that? You’re out of your polluted little brain!’

The tall Angel knocked him hard in the side of his head with his pointed knuckles, and Carl staggered. Vee, naked and defenceless, said, ‘For God’s sake, leave him alone!’ But the Angel simply bared his teeth at her in a mock-animal snarl.

Oxnard pulled open one kitchen cupboard after another, and dragged all the spices and cans and cups and bottles on to the floor, in a clattering cascade. Red pepper was sprayed across the tiles, along with sugar and coffee and broken china and scattered spoons.

‘Oil! That’s what I want! Oil!’ raged Oxnard. ‘Good, slippery, lubricating oil!’

In the end cupboard, by the ovens, he discovered a plastic bottle of Mazola. ‘There!’ he said, staring wildly from one Angel to the other. ‘A good clean US product for a good filthy unAmerican purpose!’

He turned around to Vee, and said: ‘Come here! Come on, you can have the privilege of joining in this little erotic stunt!’

‘ Bastard! ’ howled Carl. ‘ Maniac! ’ But the Angel punched him again, in the mouth this time, and knocked out one of his teeth. Carl spat strings of blood, and went down on to his knees. One of the other Angels was giggling so much by now that he sounded as if he was going to choke.

Seizing Vee’s wrist, Oxnard forced her to crouch down on the floor in front of the sink, right between Season’s wide-apart thighs.

‘Now, you’re sisters, aren’t you?’ breathed Oxnard. ‘You should get on well together, in every possible way. You can start giving her a tongue job, sweetie, while I start doing what I want to do.’

Vee blinked up at him in fright.

‘You understand what I’m saying!’ shrieked Oxnard. ‘Do it, or I’ll have that niece of yours blown to pieces!’ Shaking uncontrollably, Vee raised her face.

Above her, Season whispered, ‘Do it, Vee. It’s not going to harm us. I love you, and I always will.’

‘That’s right,’ smiled Oxnard. ‘Sisterly love, incarnate. Or should I say carnal?

‘Come on. Let’s see some enthusiasm down there. Let’s see you get your mouth round it!’

Vee began to weep, silently, but as she wept she did what she was told, and thrust her tongue deeper between her sister’s thighs. Oxnard watched her appreciatively for a while, then he asked Season under his breath, ‘You know what I’m going to do? That’s right, you guessed it. I’m going to do it, and I’m going to need your help, so when I start to push you’d better start pushing back.’

Season nodded dumbly, her eyes still closed. All she was thinking was: do it, do it, for the love of everything in the whole world do it, and then let me alone.

‘Push!’ commanded Oxnard. One of the Angels whooped, and said, ‘That’s doing it, Oxnard! That’s really doing it!’

‘ Push! ’ Oxnard shouted, even louder.

Season pushed, but her muscles were too clenched, and she couldn’t admit him even a half-inch. He furiously grabbed a handful of her hair, and wrenched it so hard that she could hear the roots tearing.

‘Push,’ he told her. ‘And this time don’t fight me. Because if you fight me, I’m going to kill your little girl, and you, too, and everybody in die whole festering house! You think the cops are going to care? The whole of LA is littered with dead people! You think they’re going to care about one or two more?’

Season fought back the panic which was rising in her chest. ‘Okay,’ she said, in a barely audible whisper. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Gradually, gritting her teeth, she opened herself up to him. He grunted with effort as he worked his way up inside her. She could feel nothing but intense, wincing pain, as her mind said yes , you have to , but her body resisted.

For a few seconds, the three of them were twisted and locked together in a painful tableau of mutual hatred and physical stress.

‘Isn’t this it !’ panted Oxnard. ‘Isn’t this it ! Don’t you dumb screwed-up canyon-dwelling broads do anything for kicks? Don’t you know that a woman with any class would rather die than do this? You cheap cunts!’

From outside the house, without warning, there was a dull, echoless thump. Oxnard raised his head. ‘What was that?’ he said. ‘Gene – what the hell was that?’ Immediately, without any conscious effort. Season expelled him.

There was another thump, louder than the first. The Angel called Gene opened the kitchen door and went out on to the white-painted wooden landing outside. Season, clenched-up and shaking, backed away from the sink, and Vee climbed slowly to her feet.

‘Oxnard – it’s the bikes, dammit!’ yelped Gene. ‘Somebody’s blown up the bikes!’

Oxnard shouted, ‘What? What the hell do you mean?’ and stormed across to the door. Outside the house, on the driveway, the Angels had parked their five motorcycles; and now two of them were blazing fiercely.

That’s my bike!’ yelled Oxnard. ‘That’s my BMW, for God’s sake!’

He started to scamper down the wooden stairs, his shirt-tails flapping in the breeze. The Angel called Gene followed closely behind him. Together, they ran across the driveway until they reached the fiery motorcycles, shielding their faces against the flames. But it was far too late: the motorcycles’ polished chrome was already brown from heat, and the fuel tanks were spouting blazing fuel all over the cylinders. The air rippled, and there was a strong smell of burning rubber.

Oxnard turned around. ‘If those people did this—’ he raged. ‘If any one of those people did this—’

He didn’t get the chance to say any more. There was a sharp, distinctive crack, which any expert would have recognised as the report of a powerful hunting rifle. Oxnard’s shirt was blasted with a pattern of bright red blood, and he toppled backwards as if someone had given him a shove in the chest.