Book of the Dead by John Skipp, Craig Spector (Ed.) Read Free Book Online Page A

pleased to keep her treed until its companions finished with the Reaper and came for her.
    She clamped it between her teeth, bit down hard on the dry wood, gnashed on it. Her teeth barely seemed to dent it.
    She lowered her head. Spat dirt and grit from her mouth. Turned her head.
    The Reaper was no longer moving or making any sounds. Pale smoke drifted up from the black area where his pants had been burning. The charred girl who had set them ablaze now held his severed arm over the campfire. The slimy, breastless girl was pulling a boot onto one of her feet. The skinned girl, kneeling by the Reaper’s head, had removed the pliers from his mouth. At first Jean thought she was pinching herself with them. That wasn’t it, though. One at a time, she was squashing the maggots that squirmed on her belly. The rock thrower’s head was buried in the Reaper’s open torso. She reared up, coils of intestine drooping from her mouth. The rotted and armless girl lay flat between the black remains of the Reaper’s legs, tearing at the cavity where his genitals used to be.
    Though he was apparently dead, his victims all still seemed contented.
    For now.
    Straining to look down past her shoulder, Jean saw the scalped girl directly below. On her knees. Reaching up, pawing the air with the remains of her hands.
    She can’t get me, Jean told herself.
    But the others.
    Once they’re done with the Reaper, they’ll see that bitch down there and then they’ll see me.
    If she’d just go away!
    GET OUT OF HERE!
    Jean wanted to shout it, didn’t dare. Could just see the others turning their heads toward the sound of her voice.
    If I could just kill her!
    Good luck on that one.
    Gotta do something!
    Jean clamped the limb hard with her hands. She gritted her teeth.
    Don’t try it, she thought. You won’t even hurt her. You’ll be down where she can get at you.
    But maybe a good kick in the head’ll discourage her.
    Fat chance.
    Jean released the limb with her legs. She felt a breeze wash over her sweaty skin as she dropped. She thrashed her feet like a drowning woman hoping to kick to the surface.
    A heel of her shoe struck something. She hoped it was the bitch’s face.
    Then she was swinging upward and saw her. Turning on her knees and reaching high, grinning.
    Jean kicked hard as she swept down.
    The toe of her shoe caught the bitch in the throat, lifted her off her knees and knocked her sprawling.
    Got her!
    Jean dangled by her hands, swaying slowly back and forth. She bucked and tried to fling her legs up to catch the limb. Missed. Lost her hold and cried out as the steel edges of the bracelets cut into her wrists. Her feet touched the ground.
    The scalped girl rolled over and crawled toward her.
    Jean leaped. She grabbed the limb. She pulled herself up to it and drove her knees high but not fast enough.
    The girl’s arms wrapped her ankles, clutched them. She pulled at Jean, stretching her, dragging her down, reaching higher, climbing her. Jean twisted and squirmed but couldn’t shake the girl off. Her arms strained. Her grip on the limb started to slip. She squealed as teeth ripped into her thigh.
    With a krrrack! , the limb burst apart midway between Jean and the trunk.
    She dropped straight down.
    Falling, she shoved the limb sideways. It hammered her shoulder as she landed, knees first, on the girl. The weight drove Jean forward, smashed her down. Though the girl no longer hugged her legs, she felt the head beneath her thigh shake from side to side. She writhed and bucked under the limb. The teeth kept their savage bite on her.
    Then had their chunk of flesh and lost their grip.
    Clutching the limb, Jean bore it down, her shoulder a fulcrum. She felt the wood rise off her back and rump. Its splintered end pressed into the ground four or five feet in front of her head. Bracing herself on the limb, she scurried forward, knees pounding at the girl beneath her. The girl growled. Hands gripped Jean’s calves. But not tightly. Not