Along with Helen, they were supposed to be earlier victims who’d been tortured and murdered by The Reaper, then left behind as meals for the woodland creatures. They were to show up for revenge just in the nick of time to save Abilene’s character. But in the story, there were six of them and they were a mess. The Reaper had mutilated them: scalped one, skinned another. He’d gouged eyes, cut off noses and breasts. Mother Nature’s scavengers had then gotten to the girls: ants, maggots, coyotes, birds. By the time the zombies came staggering to the rescue, some were missing limbs and all were filthy, ruined cadavers in various stages of decay. They were all naked, too.
Finley had known when she chose the story that such things couldn’t appear in her film. First, she didn’t have the time or resources for any elaborate special effects. Second, nudity was out. There was no choice but to have zombies that looked much too healthy and wore clothes.
The girls had been left to their own devices about what to wear.
Vivian wore an old sundress, ripped here and there with a razor blade, its skirt half tom off. Cora wore panties (two pairs, actually), and a tattered T-shirt. The garments of both girls were filthy with dirt and large amounts of stage blood that had been applied last night and now looked stiff and brown.
‘Maybe I’d better change,’ Helen said as Harris pulled the car forward. He parked, and Helen stayed inside while he and Abilene climbed out.
‘You gals look pretty good for a couple of stiffs,’ Harris said.
Cora smirked at him. ‘We sure look better than you and your pals did, that Halloween.’
Abilene smiled as his face turned red. ‘Talk about embarrassing moments,’ he muttered. ‘Jeez. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.’
Abilene laughed. ‘Oh, you were so cute.’ Suddenly, she remembered what they’d found in the man’s house later that night. The thing in the wheelchair.
What had been wrong with him?
God, don’t think about him!
As Finley and Vivian came back from the trunk of the car with a couple of make-up kits, Helen joined the group. She wore a blouse and jeans. Yesterday, they’d been white. Today, they looked as if they’d been used to mop up the floor of a slaughterhouse. The legs of the jeans were tom. Half the blouse was ripped away, including most of its left sleeve. The remnant of that sleeve was empty, Helen’s arm hidden inside the blouse. With the proper camera angles to keep the bulge out of sight, she ought to look as if she’d lost the arm.
For the next few minutes, Finley and Baxter helped the girls apply make-up. It consisted mostly of the stage blood, which was smeared over nearly every visible inch of their skin. For the sake of variety, Vivian’s face was spared the red goo. A gray substance was applied to her face by Finley, who then added a few colorful purple contusions. For a final touch, they mussed their hair.
Then everyone followed Finley along a footpath to a sunlit clearing. It looked perfect.
‘How did you ever find this?’ Abilene asked.
‘Wasn’t easy. I was out here with Brian last year.’ Grinning, she added, ‘We had a little picnic. Right under that tree. Just like the one in the story, huh? I remembered the limb. We swung on it.’
‘It’s perfect,’ Baxter said.
Ten minutes later, Abilene was hanging from it by a rope tied to her wrists. The rope was long enough to let her feet touch the ground, but it stretched her arms overhead. Higher than she appreciated, but she didn’t complain.
Better to suffer with it than risk having to go through anything a second time. Once had been more than enough, being carted into the clearing on Baxter’s shoulder, thrown against the trunk and punched again in the stomach so she wouldn’t resist while he took off the handcuffs, bound her with the rope and suspended her under the limb.
Now, standing just in front of her, Baxter pulled the knife from his belt.
‘No,’ she gasped. ‘Please.’
He smiled. ‘I knew you’d get around to begging.’
‘I never did anything to you.’
‘But you’re about to do something/or me. Oh, yes.’ With the flat of the plastic blade, he caressed her cheek.
On cue, Helen let out a coyote howl. She did a good job of it. The plaintive cry seemed to come from far away.
Baxter slid the blade under Abilene’s chin and up to her other cheek. ‘That’s my friend,’ he said. His voice was slow and lazy. He sounded a bit amused. He had a languid look in his eyes as he watched the movements of his knife. ‘We’ve got an arrangement. I leave a meal for him and his forest friends, and they do the clean-up for me. None of this “shallow grave” nonsense.’ The point of the knife eased down the side of her neck. It nudged the blouse away and stroked along her collar bone. ‘I just leave you here, tomorrow you’ll be gone. They’ll come like the good, hungry troops they are, and leave the area nice and tidy.’ The knife went lower. Its point scraped lightly over the slope of her breast, traced the edge of the bra cup. ‘No fuss, no bother.’
‘Please! Please don’t.’
‘Please!’ he mimicked her. ‘Please don’t.’
He drew the knife sideways, pushing harder, and Abilene felt fluid squirt from its tip as he sliced her across the chest. She flinched rigid and cried out, ‘Yeeeah! ’
Laughing, he took the knife away. He licked the blood from its blade.
‘You bastard! ’
‘Is that any way to talk?’
‘HELP!’ she shouted. ‘HELP! PLEASE, HELP ME!’
‘Nobody’s going to hear you but the coyotes.’
‘You can’t do this!’
‘Sure I can. Done it plenty of times before.’
‘Please! I’ll do anything!’
‘I know just what you’ll do. Scream, twitch, cry, kick, beg, drool… bleed. Not necessarily in that order, of course.’ Bending over, he kissed her chest.
Not in the script.
What the hell’s going on?
He licked, his tongue sliding and flicking at the bare skin where he’d ‘cut’ her. Licking up the fake blood.
Why isn’t Finley stopping this?
Probably figures it looks good.
‘Don’t!’ Not in the script, either. But in character. Finley kept taping.
He’ll quit in a second, she told herself. Hang in. It’s almost time for the zombies to show up and that’ll be the end of him messing with me.
Baxter licked his way up Abilene’s neck. She turned her face away as he tried to kiss her. His mouth found her cheek. He was breathing hard, moaning.
Christ!
One of his arms went around her back, underneath her blouse. Itpressed her hard against him and she felt the warm fluid squirting against her spine. His mouth got to her lips.
‘No!’
He kissed her hard, and now she couldn’t call out and make it all stop.
She strained against the rope. Squirming, she tried to get her mouth away from his.
Somebody make him quit!
A hand clutched her right breast. Fingertips pushed under the cup of the bra, tugged. The strap dug into her shoulder, snapped. Her breast was bare under his robbing, squeezing hand.
She drove a knee up.
It pounded against him. He grunted but didn’t let go.
Where the hell is Harris?
With a quick twist sideways, she freed her mouth. ‘Stop it! ’
He didn’t stop. His other hand, knife gone, went down her. back and rump. It scratched her skirt up. It rubbed her buttocks for just a moment, then hooked the panties down and he yelped with surprise and pain as Helen clutched his face with a bloody hand and yanked him backward.
He flopped onto the ground.
All three zombies went at him.
It was nothing like the script.
Sobbing and gasping, she watched the zombies pound Baxter.
Cora, sitting on his chest, punched him in the face. Vivian stomped on his legs. Helen kicked him in the side.
They weren’t pretending.