Salvage (14 page)

On the bedside table, something wobbled: two syringes. One expended. One not. Melanie’s desperate hand clutched the full one. Paul’s gaze was focused on her eyes, willing her to die as he held her against the wall, crushing the life from her.

She jabbed the syringe into his chest and pushed the end. For a moment he stood still, mouth open in a rictus. Then he spasmed backwards, wrenching the syringe from her grip. It clattered to the floor as he reeled, a hand flapping at the wound. She glimpsed the shine of the needle still in his chest. 

He pin-wheeled backwards, hit the rail, and fell, arms milling, his expression horrified. The cabin shuddered with the impact of his body on the floor.

Melanie cried out, then sobbed as she slid to her knees, still feeling his hands on her throat, his naked body pressed against her. Gore smeared her chest and chin.

‘Melanie? Are you all right?’

Helena’s voice roused her. She had to hold it together. Had to remember the reason she’d come. She fought to her feet and went to her friend—her lover. Helena was bound in leather anklets and braces tied to the bed. Each ring had a small silver padlock attached.

‘I’m too weak to break free,’ Helena said. ‘There’s a key, on the table. Please, hurry. I don’t know how long he will stay down.’

Melanie looked at the rail, imagining the fall. Surely he wouldn’t be recovering from that any time soon? She tottered to the edge, steeled herself, and looked over. Paul sprawled like a dead spider atop the debris of the coffee table, shattered under his weight. He wasn’t moving.

‘I don’t think we need to worry about Paul just now,’ Melanie said, her throat aching with the effort of speech. She searched for the key—there, on the floor next to the syringe and a razor blade knocked from the side table.

She returned to Helena. Cuts scored her throat and chest. A dribble of drying blood tracked down one breast and across her ribs, staining the white sheet. ‘What’s he done to you?’

‘Feeding… Let me out, please. Get me away from him.’

‘Yes, of course. We’ll get you to safety and call the cops. They can deal with the sick bastard.’

‘No police!’ The fear in Helena’s voice stopped Melanie for a moment. ‘Promise me. No police.’

Melanie struggled with the padlock. ‘God, Helena, if he’s been hurting you—there.’ The padlock opened and she was able to lever the woman’s hand out of the leather cuff. The skin was rubbed raw.

‘Hurry.’

As Melanie unlocked the second cuff, she heard a sound from below. Like a beached fish, flopping on the floor. Timbers scratched.

‘That’s not possible,’ she muttered.

‘Hurry!’

The ankle restraints came free.

‘My dress.’ Helena heaved herself to a sitting position, thrust her chin towards the wardrobe. Melanie found a long white dress hanging there. The wounds on Helena’s chest had stopped bleeding; only a few crimson blots marked the material as Melanie helped her slip it on.

She leaned on Melanie for support as they hobbled to the top of the stairs. Paul still lay sprawled on the floor, but was trying to stand, grasping for the sofa, a hand nursing the wound from the syringe in his side. The women stumbled down the stairs.

‘Kill him. Do it now,’ Helena urged.

‘I can’t do that!’ Melanie almost dropped Helena with shock. ‘We need to get away. Then we can call the cops.’

‘No, the police are no good. We have to run. It’s our only chance. The barge. The mainland. Hide.’

‘One thing at a time. Let’s go.’

They reached the floor. Paul lunged towards them, like a fox in a trap. They steered clear of his grasping hands as he sprawled in their wake.

‘My hat,’ Helena cried.

Melanie grabbed it as they passed; Helena clutched it to her like a life ring. She plucked thick black sunglasses from the table.

As Paul hauled himself to his knees, groggily groping for support, Melanie searched for the keys to the SUV.

‘Where are they, Helena? Where does he keep the keys?’

‘In his jeans.’ She pointed to a pile of clothes on the sofa.

Paul looked at her, his eyes glowing in the dimness. The clothes were almost within his reach. Could she get to them before he did?

‘Please, don’t,’ he gasped. ‘You’ve got no idea…’

‘Oh, I’ve got a good enough idea.’ Melanie bit her lip as she compared the distances. Could she get the key?

‘What’s she offered you? Do you think she’ll keep her promise?’

‘You have to kill him,’ Helena said. ‘It’s the only way we’ll be safe. I can’t do it. I’m too weak.’

‘God no!’ Melanie glanced at the kitchen, the knife block, the other syringe near the chemical concoction Paul had been using to drug Helena. Could she dose him again?

‘How much has she told you?’ Paul asked, his words slurring. ‘About me? That young family? All of them?’

He staggered to his feet, his cock swinging limply. 

‘What’s he talking about, Helena?’ Melanie demanded. ‘What family?’

Helena, limping towards the door, didn’t answer.

‘Did you know she can play guitar now?’ Paul asked. ‘She couldn’t two days ago. Maybe she won’t be able to tomorrow. How quickly will you use them up, Helena? How quickly will you use up Melanie?’

Sunlight scorched across the room. Paul cried out, arms in front of his face. 

‘Run,’ Helena shouted. She stood by the front door, the curtain reefed open in her hand, her features hidden by her veiled hat. ‘Hurry, Melanie. He won’t be dazed for long.’

The women stumbled onto the deck and down onto the sand. Melanie eyed the SUV wistfully.

‘He’ll catch us,’ Helena said.

‘Not if we stay off the road. Not if we get to the barge. He won’t be able to stop us from boarding.’

‘Let’s head for my cabin,’ Melanie said. ‘We can get Richard to drive us. That’s our best bet.’

A motor growled behind them.

‘He’s chasing us,’ Helena said.

‘Off the road, into the trees. Head for the beach.’

Saplings snapped and crunched, the vehicle a roaring monster smashing its way in pursuit of them.

‘Christ, he’s still following us,’ Melanie said. ‘He’s insane!’

They fled, branches slapping against them. Helena staggered, falling often, the underbrush snagging her dress and veil. Melanie tugged on her, urging her on. She caught occasional glimpses of the SUV charging through the scrub, but the way was difficult, with lots of fallen timber and stands of trees making a real obstacle course.

They burst out on to a trail. ‘This way, our cabin’s this way,’ Melanie said.

They ran along the path, the thick sand sucking at their feet. Then they emerged into the clearing and Melanie’s hopes soared.

‘We made it!’

And then she pulled up, so suddenly that Helena almost ran into her. ‘Fuck it,’ she gasped. ‘The Jeep’s gone.’

Helena fell to her knees next to her. ‘He’s coming, Melanie. I can hear him. He’ll kill us. Kill us both.’

‘Quick, into the cabin.’

‘We won’t be able to keep him out.’

‘But we can call for help.’ 

‘Help from who?’ Helena asked as Melanie helped her to her feet once more.

‘The police are too far away. We’ll have to try Richard’s mobile. He can’t have gone far. Just to the village, probably. Or Jack. We could call Jack.’

‘The old man? What could he do?’

Melanie didn’t answer—didn’t want to answer—as she ran up the stairs. She hurled the door open with a loud bang and raced for the phone. Helena slammed the door shut and stood shivering with her back against it. Red specks dotted her dress and veil, and a line of scarlet extruded through the sweat band of her hat.

Melanie dialled Richard’s number and sobbed in gratitude when he picked up.

‘It’s me,’ she blurted. ‘I’m in trouble, Richard. Real trouble.’

‘Who is this? I can barely hear you,’ he said.

‘It’s me, Richard,’ she screamed, clutching the phone to her mouth. ‘Mel. We’re at the cabin. Paul’s after us. He’s a maniac. A monster.’

‘Melanie, is that you?’

‘Yes, damn you, it’s Mel. Mel! I’m at the cabin. Paul’s after us. He’s going to kill us. Bring help, Richard. We need help!’

‘What are you on about, Mel? What do you mean Paul’s after you?’

‘Paul’s a killer, Richard. A killer. Do you hear me? We need help, right now. At the cabin.’

Helena grabbed her arm. ‘I can hear the truck coming!’

‘Richard, he’s here. I can’t stay. We’ll … we’ll head for Jack’s. Meet us at Jack’s. Bring help!’

She hung up and pulled Helena towards the laundry door. ‘It’s a good twenty-minute walk to Jack’s. Can you make it?’

‘I have to,’ Helena said. And pushed aside her veil and kissed her. For a moment they hugged, a desperate embrace. ‘You can help me. Help me overcome the poison.’

‘Helena, we don’t have time. He’s coming.’

‘Just a kiss, Melanie. Just a little kiss, to help me get my strength back.’

‘What are you on about, Helena? We don’t have time for this.’

‘Please…’

Helena removed her hat, and Melanie gasped at the sight. A ruddy sheen coated Helena’s cheeks and a butterfly-shaped rash covered her face. A row of scarlet dots marked the hat line across her forehead.

And through her drawn lips, white teeth sparkled as sharp as needles.

‘Please.’ Fingers plucked at her shoulders, pulling her towards that knife-smile embrace.

And then Helena’s body was against hers, flesh so chill, and a cloying, coppery smell enveloped them. Lips and teeth teased Melanie’s mouth, cheek, throat. Her heart pumped; her hands scrabbled ineffectually against Helena’s chest. And then: a stabbing pain in her throat. Lightning sizzled through her nerves, stealing her breath, igniting her cunt, clouding her mind. Helena’s groin ground into hers; a hand kneaded Melanie’s breast. Helena moaned. Melanie’s legs faltered as she gushed into Helena.

And far away, on the other side of the crashing of her pulse in her ears, she heard a vehicle pulling up. And didn’t care.

Helena broke the connection and rubbed her finger against Melanie’s neck as though smearing gel on a mosquito bite.
Some mosquito
, Melanie thought, her body quivering, breath rasping. One hand rose to absently rub her throat where the carotid still throbbed with the abuse.

Helena looked fresh, revitalised. Her pink tongue lapped at a smear of vermillion at the corner of her mouth. There was no sign of the bloody perspiration of earlier, and only the faintest trace of the rash, as though she had nothing more than a polite blush.

‘Can you walk, Melanie? I am strong enough to run, but not to fight him. I need more blood for that, and I don’t dare take any more from you.’

‘I’m fine,’ Melanie said, reaching for the wall to support herself as she stumbled. ‘What did you just do?’

‘Later. He’s here. We have to go.’

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

‘Helena,’ Paul shouted. ‘Don’t do this. If you care for her at all, don’t do this.’

Helena snatched up her hat and put it on. ‘We have to get to the barge. You have to get me onboard. We won’t be able to hide from him until dark.’

‘Until dark?’

‘When I get strong again. Come on — run!’

Helena pulled Melanie out through the back door, into the daylight once more. Only now did Melanie realise she’d lost her sunnies. Squinting, she followed her lover across the grass towards the scrub, her mind still swimming with the realisation of what Helena had just done to her.

‘We’ll do what you said,’ Helena told her. ‘Go to Jack’s. Take his car. You can drive it, yes?’

‘Sure, sure. Shit, I can hear the truck again. Paul’s after us.’

They ran.

Branches snatched at their clothes, tore at their flesh. The treacherous ground, all leaves and twigs and powder, sent them tumbling.

Fear thundered in Melanie’s ears, scoured her lungs, poured molten and aching through her thighs.

And then she burst out into blinding sunlight. She stumbled, almost fell over the lip of eroded sand onto the beach. The sea swelled before her, waves sparkling like crystal. Gulls flapped into the cloudless sky, squawking at the abrupt intrusion.

Helena sagged to the ground, her hands straightening her hat. Blood spotted the veil and her clothes.

‘It’s so hot. So bright…’

‘We have to keep going,’ Melanie gasped. 

‘What if Paul comes?’

‘Then back into the trees. The tide’s coming in — that might slow him down if he comes this way. But we have to go, Helena. We can rest when we get to Jack’s.’

Helena clambered to her feet. ‘I can’t hear the truck. We might have left him behind.’

‘Then let’s make the most of it. C’mon. Stay on the wet sand. It’ll be easier.’

They jogged as fast as they could.

Helena glanced behind them, into the scrub. ‘He might be on foot, trying to surprise us. He’s stronger than I am, thanks to my blood.’

‘And that stuff he was shooting you with?’ Melanie asked between gulps for breath.

‘Poison. To keep me weak.’

Helena still wasn’t puffing, but it seemed to take an effort to make the words come out.

They passed the path to Helena’s hut. They took strength from that. Jack’s wasn’t much farther. They passed another bunker, and Melanie touched her throat, remembering that love bite she’d received on the night of the storm. A literal love bite, as it happened.

God, she wished they had time to stop, to draw breath, to give voice to her questions. The most obvious:
what are you Helena? Is that why I feel this way, because of what you are?

They ran, side by side, expecting at any moment the voice behind them, the hands to drag them into oblivion.

Melanie huddled beside Helena under the trees that edged Jack’s yard. Paint peeled from the shack’s fibro walls; rust stains dripped from the gutters like stale blood. A towel flapped like a threadbare flag on the verandah rail, the naked pole of a fishing rod next to it. Melanie tried to ignore a row of mounds in the lawn. The one at the right was fresh, an arched bed of rocks with a cross made from driftwood, while the others were older, flatter and sparsely overgrown.

Jack’s Rover was parked in a lean-to garage of bare timber and warped iron beside the house.