Rage Against the Dying - By Becky Masterman Page 0,2

for help, like they’d rather be dead than embarrassed if they turned out to be wrong. She turned back to him, startled, as if afraid she’d looked away too long. “I want to get back to my rock hounding. Please.”

“What’s with the rocks?” Gerald asked, shaking his head, taking a step closer, a little to the left this time.

“I like rocks.”

“Are you a—what do you call it—”

“Geologist?” The woman asked. She was very still again. You could almost imagine her tongue where it stopped after hitting the t sound.

Step closer, little to the right. “Yeah, a geologist,” he said.

“No … please, lea—” she stopped in mid-word, as if knowing that begging Gerald to go would make what was happening to her too real. As if it would rub her face in her own vulnerability.

“Well, that’s good.” Gerald wasn’t much for small talk. He had kept angling toward her while they spoke, right and left, like the rivulets in the sand, so she wouldn’t get scared and bolt. Sometimes even the ripe ones could give him a run for his money, and it was too hot to chase her.

But standing flat-footed, alert yet indecisive, gripping her walking stick, this one let him come within about four feet. Her steadiness made Gerald falter again. Then he remembered hearing about people being paralyzed by fear. She looked like that. Maybe he’d just pick her up under his arm like a stiff cardboard cutout and carry her back to the van that way. He puffed another laugh. Later, when he had her secured, he’d have to tell her that one.

The hand that held the rock suddenly shifted, getting a firmer grip.

“That looks heavy,” Gerald said. “Let me help you with that.”

“No,” she drew out the word, made it sound a lot like please.

He was near enough now. Fast as a nightmare Gerald closed the gap between them and knocked the rock from her hand so she couldn’t drop it on his foot. He took a few steps back again to gauge the effect.

Still unmoving, she might as well have been another rock for all the reaction she had. This wouldn’t be any fun if she didn’t get scared. Was she some kind of retard? Gerald licked his lips. He’d never done a retard before. Maybe a more direct message was necessary. He tugged on the string around his neck to raise up the foil-wrapped condom attached to it. Not like he needed a condom—there would be no evidence to be found—it was just to make them think he wasn’t going to hurt them. The woman studied the little package resting on the outside of his T-shirt.

Maybe now she understood.

The woman’s eyes widened.

“Why?” she said, fear now taking up what he knew would become permanent residence on her face.

Gerald only grunted with his final dash forward and the effort of grabbing her arm by the wrist and wrenching it behind her back. With his other hand he tore the duct tape from his shirt and clamped it over her mouth.

The woman flailed ineffectively at him with her walking stick, really just a dowel of the kind you got at Home Depot, not much heavier than balsa wood. When she did connect with his hip, the stick swinging behind her, he could hardly feel it. He knew the fifty feet or so to the van was the most dangerous time. If a car went by, and if the person happened to look, they would see struggle. But she was small, and weaker than he thought when he saw her lifting the rock. The most she could do was drag her feet, which she did mightily. Gerald punched at the back of her knees with his own to buckle her, and that made the rest of the way go faster.

One more sharp knee to her backside and into the van she went, messing up the shower curtain. He could tell she noticed the dried blood underneath it. The duct tape kept her from screaming as she tried to get very small against the back wall. That gave Gerald a moment to close the doors to the van, to get her secured before taking them both to his place near San Manuel, about a forty-five-minute drive north.

Now that they were safe in the van, the woman cowering and so in shock she didn’t realize her hands were free to pull off the tape, Gerald took a more leisurely look at her. The canvas hat had been left in