Coven. Part 32

He stepped on her head, which squashed.

"How's this for fat, hmmm?"

Then, chuckling, he walked all over her, like someone trodding grapes to mash. She looked ridiculous now, an inchoate, squirming ma.s.s. He picked her up and slopped her down on a levslat. Winnifred could only blubber in defense. He was trying to rape her on the slat, his little bone prodding her spread flesh, seeking entrance.

Chubby hands kneaded her around like a wet towel, but soon the attempts faltered. Any orifice he sought to invade proved too slack for coital purchase. Instead, he panted, laughing, and m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed. Winnifred could only slog upon the slat.

Besser squeezed her head again. Her eyeb.a.l.l.s popped out, suspended by nerves. "Here's some fat for you," he announced. He e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed ma.s.sively into her squashed face.

Winnifred's dreams of G.o.dhood pulsed away as quickly. Besser dragged her down the pa.s.s, opened a hatch, and then was stuffing her into one of the dropchutes. Winnifred wailed in blubbering squeals. She flopped in resistance but to no use, oozing into the chutehatch like warm porridge.

"Goodbye, Winnie." Besser smiled and pulled the releaserod. Immediately, she fell. Just minutes ago she'd wondered how deep the labyrinth was-now she was finding out. She tumbled sloppily straight down. For minutes? Hours? She didn't know. Through the labyrinth's bowels she descended, down and down...

The dropchute emptied into a slime walled hold. Winnifred dumped out onto the floorwall, landing in a pile of excrement. She churned. Ten stout holotypes surrounded her, flexing upward on corded limbs. Plump tongues fell out of slatted mouths, and their erections, long as human arms, were more proof than she'd ever need of their arousal. Here, finally, were the cavemen of her fantasies. She floundered in the midst of them-a relief package from the G.o.ds-as they hurried to line up for this obvious and ultimate outrage: an alien gang bang.

When they were finished, they ate her.

From the bas.e.m.e.nt utility room, Jervis sent the elevator to the sixth floor. Then he shorted the terminals and bypa.s.sed the control relay. Now the elevator was stranded.

I'm being creative, he thought. He walked up to the fourth floor, carrying under one arm five county manhole covers. They weighed eighty pounds apiece. On four, he forced open the elevator door and looked down. Then he smiled.

He was grateful Czanek had gotten the address. Here it is. He dropped the manhole covers all at once. The floor shuddered.

He rang the doorbell.

"Vas? Sarah?"

"Meter man," Jervis said.

"Zahlerableser?" The door opened a crack. "Zerr ist no meter."

Jervis grinned. "Hi, Wilhelm."

Wilhelm's handsome face pinched. "Vas ist...? You!"

Jervis smacked the door open. Enraged, Wilhelm stepped back. He wore a black robe with a Das Reich emblem on the breast.

"Vut do you vahnt?"

"Revenge-no, cosmogenic justice," Jervis corrected.

Wilhelm laughed. "You vahnt to fight me, Arschkipf?"

"You took what was mine. Let's just say that compensation is in order."

"Ich p.i.s.se dir gleich ans Bein." Wilhelm produced a pistol. A Luger, Jervis noted. Why am I not surprised? Did the guy carry guns around in his robe? Wilhelm c.o.c.ked the parabellum slide. "Get out or I vill blow you guts up all over zah valls. Out! Schnell!"

Was he bluffing? Perhaps a little provocation would tell. "Say, your father surrendered to the Russians, didn't he?"

"Schwein! Mein fah zer vas unt war hero! He vun zah Knight's Cross mitt oak leaf cl.u.s.ters at Sevastopol!"

"I don't care if he won the Popsicle stick cross with c.o.c.k rings at Fire Island. He was a n.a.z.i coward. He sucked Himmler's b.a.l.l.s, and your mama f.u.c.ked Russians for free."

That was all it took. Some guys just couldn't take a joke. Wilhelm fired a volley of shots. The 9mm bullets st.i.tched a line across Jervis' chest, punching smoking holes.

Jervis fell down and calmly got back up. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that, pal."

Seeing sheer terror congeal on the face of this Aryan pillar of muscle brought delight to Jervis' heart. Wilhelm fled to the bedroom to a closet. Jervis followed him in.

In the closet hung SS banners, regimental standards, and a n.a.z.i state flag. There was also a gla.s.s case full of iron crosses and NSDAP pins. Wilhelm unwrapped a ceremonial SS dagger.

"That's what I call a closet n.a.z.i," Jervis quipped. He smiled at his opponent's antics. "What are you doing?"

Wilhelm gripped the dagger, shouted, "Aufgeben? Nein!" and lunged. The blade sunk hilt deep into Jervis' stomach.

"Take zat!"

Jervis tsked, standing tall. He withdrew the dagger and opened his shirt. Wilhelm stared at the bloodless slit and bullet holes.

"Gott int Himmel," he muttered.

A fast backhand sent the German flying across the room. His robe had come apart, showing a limp Teutonic p.e.n.i.s. Jervis noted with some despair that Wilhelm's member was bigger soft than Jervis' was hard. He seriously considered cutting it off with the dagger, but that seemed petty. Even an a.s.shole like Wilhelm didn't deserve to have his d.i.c.k cut off.

Jervis shrugged. He cut it off anyway. Wilhelm's deep shuddering scream sounded like a truck motor in high gear.

Jervis held it up for his foe to see.

"Arrrgh!" Wilhelm bellowed, convulsing. "Mein s.c.h.l.o.n.g!"

Jervis smiled brighter than a thousand suns. The act was a symbol; he'd evened the score for all the guys in the world who had lost their loves to a bigger p.e.n.i.s. "See how many girlfriends you steal now, buddy boy."

Wilhelm kicked away, his screams downshifting to wavering groans. He managed to get up, which Jervis found admirable. It took a man of some resilience to stand up so quickly after having his p.e.n.i.s removed with an SS dagger.

"Run," Jervis advised.

Hand to b.l.o.o.d.y crotch, Wilhelm staggered out. Jervis lit a Carlton and took a deep, satisfying drag. Smoke eddied up through the holes in his chest. He heard the German stumble out.

Then, as predicted, came the long descending "Woooooeeee!"

Thump!

Jervis meandered to the hall and looked down the elevator shaft. Sure enough, there lay Wilhelm at the bottom, broken, twisted, but-thankfully-still alive.

"Now we're going to play a game," Jervis called down. "And the name of the game is America Bombs the Fatherland."

Wilhelm whined, pleading up the shaft for mercy. Jervis released the first manhole cover. It banged to the bottom but missed.

"d.a.m.n, I guess I better adjust my Norden bombsight, huh?" Jervis let the second manhole cover go. Its edge caught Wilhelm across the knees. Wilhelm roared.

"Good," Jervis approved, "but not good enough." The third cover floated down almost dreamily. Wilhelm's bulged eyes watched it descend. "Nein, nein, nein," he moaned.

The eighty pound manhole cover landed square across Wilhelm's stomach. Wilhelm's entire GI tract exploded out his mouth.

"Direct hit!" Jervis celebrated. For posterity, he dropped a fourth cover, which flattened Wilhelm's head.

Wade slunk into his dorm room, locked the door. Finding Lydia was his priority, but he couldn't very well search for her on an eighth of a tank of gas. His wallet was empty, and his only remaining cash was at the dorm. But now...

What was it?

He set Lydia's .357 on the bed. He scratched his head, looked absently out the window. Normal out there, everything's normal. He got an Adams out of the fridge. It tasted good, it tasted normal But still...

Then he realized what it was. He had that proverbial feeling that he was being watched.

"You're probably wondering why you feel like you're being watched," came the voice of Tom McGuire.

Wade dropped his beer.

Tom's severed head had been placed atop Wade's stereo. The gray face grinned. "What's up, buddy?"

"Give me a f.u.c.king break!" Wade appreciably exclaimed. He asked the first logical question. "How did you get here? You obviously didn't walk!"

"Jervis left me," Tom's head answered, "to pa.s.s on a message."

Wade sat down on the bed. I'm having a conversation with a severed head, he realized. How much further could this go? "Why did you and Jervis go over to the Supremate?"

Tom mistakenly tried to shrug. "We didn't have much of a choice, we were chosen. Besides, the Supremate offers immortality for service." Tom's head paused. "I guess that part's out for me now. What's he gonna do, make my head immortal?" Tom chuckled. "You're not cooperating, Wade. The Supremate's got a deal for you."

"Tell the Supremate he can kiss my a.s.s," Wade said.

Tom's eyes flicked to the fridge. "Pop me open a Spaten, will you? It's not like I can get it myself."

"I don't pour beer for heads," Wade told him.

Sudden anger tinted Tom's expression. "I'm trying real hard to keep my cool. I lost my job because of you, ya know."

Wade sulked. "Yeah, I guess you're pretty p.i.s.sed."

"If your best friend wrecked your car and got your head cut off, wouldn't you be p.i.s.sed?"

"It was an accident, Tom. I'm sorry."

"If you're sorry, make it up to me. Join the Supremate."

"Join this," Wade replied, indicating his crotch.

Tom's chuckle came off as a blend of amus.e.m.e.nt and sullenness. "I already told you, Jervis left me here to pa.s.s on a message-"

"I don't want to hear it," Wade said. "I don't give a f.u.c.k."

"The message is this: We have Lydia."

Silent turmoil landed on Wade like a dropped net.

"Jerv s.n.a.t.c.hed her at the student shop. We've got her locked up at the labyrinth. Look, Wade, we don't give a s.h.i.t about her; she's useless to us, and we're not going to be around long enough for her to hurt us if we let her go. So that's the deal. Join the Supremate, and we let her go. No bulls.h.i.t."

Wade's thoughts echoed like drips in a cavern- -and Tom's head went on, "But if you refuse, the girl is s.h.i.t out of luck. They'll turn her into ground round, nice and slow, and they'll let the holotypes have her first. You gonna sit back and let a bunch of aliens f.u.c.k your girlfriend? Don't you love her, Wade? What are you gonna do?"

"What I'm going to do," Wade answered, "is put you into the trash compactor. That's what I'm going to do."

"Super, Wade. Avoid the issue. Chicken out."

"Shut up," Wade said. "I'm no chicken."

"Buk, buk, buk. You're gonna let the girl you love die slow because you don't have the b.a.l.l.s to accept change."

"p.i.s.s off."

"I'm leveling with you, Wade. Not as a va.s.sal, as a friend."

"Hey," Wade said. "Tom McGuire was my friend. But you're not him anymore. You're just an evil...head."

"Thanks a lot, pal."

But Tom-or Tom's head-was right about one thing. Wade was putting off the inevitable choice. He could take the coward's way out, or the man's way. Do I really love her that much?

"It's decision time," Tom announced. "In a second that phone's going to ring. It'll be Besser, and he'll want an answer."

"Besser doesn't even know I'm here," Wade scoffed.

"Sure he does" -Tom's dead lips drew up in pride- "I just told him through my transceptionrod."

Wade didn't even bother frowning when the phone rang. He simply picked it up and held it to his ear.

"Wade, my boy. I'm glad you got our little message."

"Clever," Wade said. "Next time leave a note on my refrigerator with a fruit magnet."

"Time is short. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," Wade said.

"A wise decision. Your lovely paramour goes free, and you get to live forever...with us."

"How are we going to do this?"