“Stretch marks?” Doc said in a sharp tone. “Tell me I didn’t just see that, Horton.”
“You did, but don’t get all squirrely about it.”
“You know what that means, right?”
“I do. But you need to stay calm, Doc. She can sense changes in mood.”
“Mood? Is that what you’re worried about? They’re multiplying, Horton. Or can’t you see that? And what about all those other scars?”
“None of that is my concern. Or yours either,” Horton answered, his eyes flaring to catch the man’s attention. He changed his tone to one of controlled conviction, hoping Doc would catch his drift. “Right now, we need to keep things calm. We are a team. Teams work together. Teams don’t pry into each other’s past.”
Doc’s eyebrows pinched, his lips holding tight.
Horton could feel the tension building.
Helena would surely sense it as well.
He needed to break the silence and focus everyone’s attention elsewhere. “What else you got in that pack?”
Doc pulled three ammo magazines from a side pouch, but chose to hold them in his hand while he yanked out the next item: his black fedora. He put it on his head, tilting it to the side, looking like one of the Rat Pack from long ago. “No reason not to wear this now,” he mumbled. “The secret’s out.”
He looked at Helena and pointed at his hat. “This is what real people wear. It’s called style.”
Helena narrowed her eyes as Doc continued, “You also might want to think about a comb. And a bath. I can smell you from here.”
“Jesus, Doc. Why are you such an asshole all the time? She’s not one you should antagonize.”
“Well, if it’s human like you say, then it ought to be able to take a little ribbing now and then. And a little constructive criticism. If not, then maybe I’m right about it being something less.”
There was no moderation with this man. Horton knew he was wasting his breath trying to get through. Doc was never going to change. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Doc held up the gun. “I’m not worried in the least.”
Horton wondered who’d win that battle. A Scab Girl with animal-like reflexes and years of living in the wild, or a pudgy old man who could barely hold the pistol still in his hand.
He figured it was a toss-up on paper. But if he was putting money on it, he’d take Helena. Either way, it was a fight he didn’t want to see. “If that’s all you have in that pack, then we need to get moving.”
Helena grabbed Horton’s arm and squeezed.
He brought his head around to see what she wanted.
Helena was in her hunched over stance, torso leaning forward, her face tilted up and frozen.
“Do we have company?” Horton asked in a whisper.
“What’s wrong?” Doc asked, also in a whisper.
Horton held up a hand to keep the man quiet.
Helena tugged at Horton to run, using enough force to make him stumble.
Horton looked back as they sprinted toward the house behind them, the one with no chimney. “Come on, Doc. You don’t want to stay there.”
Doc followed as Helena led them into the house. They crouched below the front window with Helena on the left, Horton in the middle, and Lipton on the right.
Helena took a piece of burned wood on the floor and smeared its black soot over her face, neck, and chest. Then she dropped the blanket and finished with her legs, feet, and butt.
Right then Horton understood why she wanted the garments left open. For easy access. She’d done this before.
Helena grunted at Horton to do the same.
Horton grabbed two hunks of charcoal and gave one of them to Doc. “She wants us to mask our scent.”
“Why?”
“Someone’s coming. Time to strip, Doc,” Horton said, tearing off his clothes. Once naked, Horton smeared the soot across the front of his skin.
Helena helped him finish the back of his legs, neck, and shoulders.
Horton did the same for her, smearing the mess across her back after she shed the windbreaker.
Both of them were now covered from head to toe in black.
When Horton brought his attention back to Doc, he saw that the man hadn’t moved, other than the position of the gun in his hand. It was aimed over the window ledge.
“What are you doing?” Horton asked.
“I’m not getting naked for anyone. Certainly not for some random Scab. Sorry, but this is where I draw the line.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you see she’s trying to keep us safe?”
“How do we know that thing isn’t maneuvering us into some kind of trap?”
“For what purpose?”
“To steal our possessions and leave us out here to freeze.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she do that after rescuing me?”
“It’s what I would do, if I were it.”
Horton snagged the gun away from Doc with a flash of his hand. He turned the weapon around and pointed the barrel at him. “Clothes off. Now. That’s an order. I’m not going to ask again.”
CHAPTER 25
Doctor Ben Lipton kept his privates covered with both hands while Scab Girl smeared charcoal across his naked body. It was humiliating, feeling her hands touching him everywhere. Pressing. Rubbing. Probing. Covering him in black.
He stood there, helpless, like a turkey being basted before Thanksgiving dinner. He really didn’t have a choice. Not with two rows of shark teeth and a gun aimed at him.
“Do you mind?” Lipton said, shooting a look at Horton’s weapon. “I’ve already agreed. Besides, it’ll go faster with two.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“Just get this over with, already.”
Horton froze for a moment, his eyes tight. Then he put the gun down and joined Helena with her work.
This wasn’t what Lipton had in mind when he left Frost’s compound. It never occurred to him to factor in the possibility of a Scab Girl during the design of his plan. He obviously missed something in both his initial assessment and his ongoing reconnaissance. Otherwise, the only other explanation for this failure to anticipate was that he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was—a first in the annals of all things Lipton.
“Lift your arms,” Horton said, loading his fingers with more of the soot.
Lipton obliged him, letting go of his privates and putting his hands over his head. He now understood the meaning of the old movie title “Free Willy.”
He continued his analysis in silence, hoping the mental exercise would keep his mind off the embarrassment. And the sensation of four hands, rubbing.
The last thing he wanted was for a cannibal to see an erection right in front of her teeth. Who knew how she’d react to such a thing?
He let the castration thoughts fade, returning to his self-analysis.
There was a chance Frost had deceived him somehow. Whether on purpose or otherwise, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he’d underestimated Frost and his men, assuming their lack of a collective IQ had removed the possibility of subterfuge.
Lipton figured any scientist in his position would have agreed with his assessment: Frost was a dumbass. Not exactly a scientific term, but it fit. More so when Frost would give in to the driving need to kill something—anything—leaving a wake of entrails. Those primal urges were both frightening and easy to anticipate. With that said, knowing the wrath was coming had never once helped any of Frost’s victims.
Rage always wins. It’s simply too violent, too swift and too indeterminate.
“Turn around so we can do the back,” Horton said, applying pressure with a set of fingers on Lipton’s kidney.
He had been careful during his spying, planning every move while eavesdropping on the conversations between the drunks. It’s never easy snooping on those who’d kill you in a heartbeat.