Chapter 23: WAITING WAITING

“Of course! Anything, for you Skeet.”

“Alma and I want to have a baby. We would appreciate you impregnating her. Now you understand, Morgan, why it’s something beyond my ability to even attempt.”

Silence.

“I understand now. It’s impossible for you. And I’ll do it. The child will still be yours, your descendant, your blood, your grandchild. I’ll gladly do it for you, and only for you, Mama.”

“How did you find out? When did you learn I’m your mother, Morgan?”

Ron is nauseated and disgusted. He aims carefully at Johns head. Hurry up and finish, you ghoul! I should just finish you now! This is intolerable, waiting and watching you do this! Why can’t you just say goodbye like a normal person, not like ... like this? Then, of course, there isn’t much of anything ever been normal about you, my dim-witted twin brother. I’m not going to miss you. Not much anyway. Ron’s finger tightens on the trigger.

John is nearing his climax, humping their mother furiously. What remains of their mother. John reasons saying farewell with a final fuck is appropriate and practical. She is still warm. Next opportunity for pussy is a long ways off in the unknown future. John thrusts hard, stiffens and groans.

“Say goodbye to me too, you dead motherfucker!” Ron squeezes the trigger. John joins his mother more completely, in death.

The sound of the gunshot immediately gets Skeet’s attention.

She pushes Alma down to the floor, and unlimbers her 45-70 Sharps from it’s bracket. Chambers a round. Lifts out the Ruger 20 gauge O/U too, checks the shells, and closes the breach. Passes it up front to Morgan in the drivers seat. Morgan stopped the truck at the instant of the gunshot. They wait, both hyper alert. Alma is terrified and whimpering.

“Stop that noise, Alma.”

They wait several more minutes, in silence.

“Somebody killing a dog, you think?” Morgan asks in a whisper.

“If so, it’s one of the last, maybe the last. Haven’t seen any dogs the last few trips to town. Reckon somebody must be living here, and has eaten most or all of them.” Skeet also speaks in hushed tones.

“How long do we wait for them to show themselves?”

Skeet hand-signs to move out. They slowly creep at idle, on high alert.

“There he is!” Morgan croaks, points.

Ron is crossing the street, fleeing the death house. Seeing the idling along truck, instinctively identifies it as military and panics. Runs away from them, reflexively firing his pistol over his shoulder at them. The bullets splat against the truck.

A ricochet rattles in the open window and whines through the cab.

Skeet takes Ron out with a single round. She knows him. Remembers him. Where is the rest of their clan? She scans for movement.

“Okay, Morgan, we can ... Morgan? Oh gawd Baby! NO!”

After applying a petroleum jelly impregnated burn dressing to Morgan’s cracked and leaking skull, in an attempt to seal it, and racing home, Skeet’s on an emergency sat-phone call with Olé.

“I’m giving him my blood, a direct vein to vein transfusion, for the shock. The burn compress has apparently stopped the cranial leakage. For now. No. There is no visible entrance or exit wounds. A very bad graze, I think. My veterinarian training didn’t include brain surgery. There may be bone chips loose inside his head. No, I don’t want to risk moving him anymore than absolutely necessary. No not there. Can you bring the Xray equipment here? You’re certain Bella has Xray technician training? Talented woman. Does Bella know more than I do, about treating head wounds, I hope? I’d like to talk to her, but get on the road first. Then call me back when you’re moving. I’m open to any and all suggestions, pal. How soon can you get here? Okay Olé, I’ll call the Ranger station. Maybe they know of a doctor’s location somewhere reachable. See you soon. Please buddy, make it ASAP.”