“Looking for this?” she said.
“Yes,” he glared, beckoning with his fingers.
She tossed it in the thorn bushes.
“Cunt.”
“Faggot.”
“No. I am many things but a bugger I am not. Right, Brahms?”
“Don’t bring me into this.” Jerry said. “I just want us all out of here.”
“We’re coming, Jerry!” Todd said, not looking at him. “You go on and take Tammy.”
“Not without you.”
“Oh, how touching,” Eppstadt said. “The fat girl is loyal to the end, even though she doesn’t have a hope in hell of getting a fuck out of it.”
Tammy had kept her fury limited to that one casual toss of the Italian shoe, but now it erupted; all her fury towards Eppstadts and his kind. The Mr.-High-and-Mighty’s who thought that fat fan-girls were less than shit.
“You are such scum!” she said. “You nasty-minded tiny-peckered little piece of excrement!”
She approached him as she yelled, but after the fight with Todd the last thing Eppstadt wanted was this woman laying her hands on him.
“Keep her away from me, Jerry,” he demanded, raising his hands, palms out. As he did so he retreated towards the copse of trees. “Jerry? You hear me?”
“Leave him, Tammy.”
“Well, he’s scum.”
“And tell her to cover herself up,” Eppstadt fired back. “The sight of her cellulite makes me gag.”
Jerry had caught hold of Tammy’s arm.
Luckily for him, Tammy had suddenly lost interest in all this score-settling. She was studying a group of horsemen who were following a winding road that would eventually bring them, she quickly realized, to this very spot. “Todd … ” she said.
“Yes, I saw.”
“We have visitors.”
The Duke of Goga, of course, along with his entourage.
They still had plenty of time to get to the door, Tammy reckoned. The hunters were still some distance away, and it didn’t seem that they’d yet spotted the interlopers. Jerry was already on his way to the exit. Todd had found some clean water to wash his wounds but he could be up and gone in a couple of seconds.
Eppstadt was the exception. He’d gone into the thorn-thicket to fetch his Italian shoe, and as he did so, something moved in amongst the mass of thorny branches off to the left of him.
He stopped reaching for his shoe, and studied the shadows. Whatever it was seemed to have become snagged in there, because it shook itself. Then it let out a kind of mewling sound and shook itself again, this time more violently. The maneuver worked however. Freed of the thicket it stumbled out into view. It was the goat-boy. He started to pull thorns out of his flesh, the pain of it making him weep, softly, to himself.
Eppstadt knew what this creature was capable of from his previous encounter and he had no desire to draw the attention of the beast. He gave up on his shoe and set his eyes on the door. Jerry Brahms was right: it was time they got the hell out of here.
The goat-boy had stopped weeping now, and for some reason had fixed his gaze upon Tammy. Or more particularly, upon her breasts. There was no equivocation in his stare; no attempt to pretend he was looking elsewhere. He simply stared lovingly at the upper part of Tammy’s torso, and licked his lips.
Tammy had heard the boy’s sobbing complaints, and was staring at him. So was Todd.
“Come on, Tammy.” Todd said.
Tammy let her gaze go from the boy to the approaching hunters. Plainly they’d also heard the sound of the child’s wails because they’d picked up their speed and were approaching at a hard gallop.
Tammy looked back at Lucifer’s child, in all his goaty glory. His tears had dried now, and was less interested in picking thorns out of his flesh. They’d done some damage, she saw; little rivulets of dark red blood ran down his limbs from the places where he’d been pierced. There was one spot that looked particularly tender, deep in the groove of his groin. He worked the thorn out a little, but not once did he take his eyes off the objects of his present devotion. He didn’t even glance over at the horsemen, though he must have heard their approach. He obviously knew how to out-maneuver them. He’d been doing it for centuries. He had a warren of hidey-holes to tuck himself away.