Gutted: Beautiful Horror Stories by Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman, Ramsey Campbell, Paul Tremblay, Mercedes M. Yardley, Richard Thomas, Damien Angelica Walters, Kevin Lucia Page B
Authors: Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman, Ramsey Campbell, Paul Tremblay, Mercedes M. Yardley, Richard Thomas, Damien Angelica Walters, Kevin Lucia
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damage to the fence, but that was about it.
Hannah climbed now out of the ticking Jeep, looking at the decay on the other side of the fence, hearing—behind the noise of Kyle and Mason unloading—the deeper silence of the desert, the uncanny absence of motors and electricity.
People had died in Dominion, Mason had said. A couple of kids who OD’d on something; and a lone hiker, who’d fallen while exploring a house and had broken his back.
Sounds like a blast, she’d said.
Hey, he said. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. You’ll have a good time.
***
But he’d lied.
They’d spent all day yesterday at a little mountain lake a couple of mountain ranges southeast of Reno, swimming first and then setting up tents for the night. They’d all gotten drunk and stoned around their fire pit, and then they’d gone to bed.
In their tent, she’d made out with Mason, laughing and tickling at first, then on to more serious stuff. One of the ways she ached, now, was remembering that she’d been ready, for a little while there, to go all the way. She’d gone to bed intending it.
If she had, would she have ever found out what Mason was really like?
While kissing her he’d said, Shh, and laughed against her neck, and Hannah heard it too: soft moaning, coming from the other tent. Beth’s voice, thrilled and tender.
She heard more than moans, and she realized: they’d be able to hear her , too.
She told Mason, I can’t, not here, and he’d laughed, as though she was joking. She pushed his hand away.
Christ, he’d said, seriously?
He was sulky after that. Her head swam with drink; she curled up alone and tried to sleep, and Mason left the tent; later she heard him talking with Kyle, the two of them popping beers and flicking lighters; their laughter sounded cruel, and she imagined Mason telling Kyle how skittish she was, how young, how old-fashioned .
Even so, she went to sleep.
Then Mason was back in the tent, and he was kissing her, hard, his mouth tasting of beer and something else metallic and awful, and she kissed him back, but then he had his hands under her t-shirt. He was panting through his nose, a heavy shadow above her. Then he was pulling off her shorts. She yelped, suddenly terrified, but he pressed his mouth down on hers and spread her legs with his knees.
Shh, he said, during, a hand over her mouth. It’s okay.
Afterwards, he said, God damn , and kissed her cheek. Thank you.
Soon he was asleep, snoring, and she lay aching beside him, pinned beneath his big arm, too hurt and terrified to move, even to wipe herself off.
In the morning, when he’d gone hiking with the others, and she was alone, she’d waded into the lake—it was the closest she could get to a shower. Shivering in the silvery water, she’d found bruises on her wrists, each one the size of his fingertips.
***
Kyle and Mason cut a flap of the fence open with bolt cutters—they were suspiciously good at it—and shuttled their things inside the town. Soon they’d set up camp behind Dominion’s old, dark, boarded-up church, not far from the gates, near a fire pit some past visitors had made out of old sheet metal. Mason filled it with branches and boards they pulled off the walls of the church; the fire was now catching, rising and flickering. The sun had dropped behind the mountain, and the playa outside the fence was golden, deepening into mauve. On the other side of the fence, up on the mountainside, a coyote let out its liquid, gulping cry, and was answered.
They were in what had once been the downtown. Next to their church was a small, boxy brick school building that still had the word Dominion painted in yellow above its entrance. Home of the Nuggets! Across the street from the school was an old store with a gas pump. Every building had its doors and windows boarded shut, though here and there boards had fallen, or been pried away, leaving dark holes.
Past the school, to the north, the old neighborhoods began, dozens
Hannah climbed now out of the ticking Jeep, looking at the decay on the other side of the fence, hearing—behind the noise of Kyle and Mason unloading—the deeper silence of the desert, the uncanny absence of motors and electricity.
People had died in Dominion, Mason had said. A couple of kids who OD’d on something; and a lone hiker, who’d fallen while exploring a house and had broken his back.
Sounds like a blast, she’d said.
Hey, he said. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. You’ll have a good time.
***
But he’d lied.
They’d spent all day yesterday at a little mountain lake a couple of mountain ranges southeast of Reno, swimming first and then setting up tents for the night. They’d all gotten drunk and stoned around their fire pit, and then they’d gone to bed.
In their tent, she’d made out with Mason, laughing and tickling at first, then on to more serious stuff. One of the ways she ached, now, was remembering that she’d been ready, for a little while there, to go all the way. She’d gone to bed intending it.
If she had, would she have ever found out what Mason was really like?
While kissing her he’d said, Shh, and laughed against her neck, and Hannah heard it too: soft moaning, coming from the other tent. Beth’s voice, thrilled and tender.
She heard more than moans, and she realized: they’d be able to hear her , too.
She told Mason, I can’t, not here, and he’d laughed, as though she was joking. She pushed his hand away.
Christ, he’d said, seriously?
He was sulky after that. Her head swam with drink; she curled up alone and tried to sleep, and Mason left the tent; later she heard him talking with Kyle, the two of them popping beers and flicking lighters; their laughter sounded cruel, and she imagined Mason telling Kyle how skittish she was, how young, how old-fashioned .
Even so, she went to sleep.
Then Mason was back in the tent, and he was kissing her, hard, his mouth tasting of beer and something else metallic and awful, and she kissed him back, but then he had his hands under her t-shirt. He was panting through his nose, a heavy shadow above her. Then he was pulling off her shorts. She yelped, suddenly terrified, but he pressed his mouth down on hers and spread her legs with his knees.
Shh, he said, during, a hand over her mouth. It’s okay.
Afterwards, he said, God damn , and kissed her cheek. Thank you.
Soon he was asleep, snoring, and she lay aching beside him, pinned beneath his big arm, too hurt and terrified to move, even to wipe herself off.
In the morning, when he’d gone hiking with the others, and she was alone, she’d waded into the lake—it was the closest she could get to a shower. Shivering in the silvery water, she’d found bruises on her wrists, each one the size of his fingertips.
***
Kyle and Mason cut a flap of the fence open with bolt cutters—they were suspiciously good at it—and shuttled their things inside the town. Soon they’d set up camp behind Dominion’s old, dark, boarded-up church, not far from the gates, near a fire pit some past visitors had made out of old sheet metal. Mason filled it with branches and boards they pulled off the walls of the church; the fire was now catching, rising and flickering. The sun had dropped behind the mountain, and the playa outside the fence was golden, deepening into mauve. On the other side of the fence, up on the mountainside, a coyote let out its liquid, gulping cry, and was answered.
They were in what had once been the downtown. Next to their church was a small, boxy brick school building that still had the word Dominion painted in yellow above its entrance. Home of the Nuggets! Across the street from the school was an old store with a gas pump. Every building had its doors and windows boarded shut, though here and there boards had fallen, or been pried away, leaving dark holes.
Past the school, to the north, the old neighborhoods began, dozens
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