The Death Doll by Brian P. White Page B

the shotgun looked like a less hairy, even less intelligent version.
    “Ain’t you a little young to be bustin’ into people’s houses?” the skinnier one asked with a Southern drawl.
    “Ain’t your drawl a little thick for the region?” Didi said somewhere behind Rachelle.
    The tubby one snickered.  “Aw, shucks, Pat, I guess she done got us dead to rights.”
    The bumpkins chuckled over their rifles.
    Didi laughed. “Well, what do we do now?  Flip a coin?  Bubble Gum in a Dish?”
    That last remark seemed to confuse the good old boys as much as it did Rachelle.  Pat jerked his barrel up.  “How ‘bout y’all head on out since we’uz here first?”
    “That seems fair,” Cody said.  “Come on, Rachelle.”
    “Hold on, there,” the tubby one said.  “You busted in on us.  Maybe you should leave us some consolation, like that there li’l ‘un?”
    Fear shot through Rachelle as the redneck assholes sized her up like—she didn’t even want to go there.  They would not put their filthy hands on her, no matter how scared she was.
    Didi sauntered past her and stopped in front of Pat, who planted the barrel against her forehead.  “How ‘bout me, big boy?”
    When Pat stole a confused glance at his tubby friend, Didi grabbed the rifle, smacked his friend’s fat face with it, and kicked Pat squarely in the nose, flooring both in one deft move.  Then she smiled back at Rachelle.  “See?  Follow-through.”
    Badass!
    Didi tossed the rifle at Pat’s chest without even bothering to empty it and smiled down at them.  Cody maintained his aim. 
    The bewildered bubbas scrambled to their feet with their guns up.  A tense silence followed, but Didi looked as composed as ever.  How did she do it? 
    The calm broke when Pat laughed and lowered his rifle.  The tubby one gave Pat a movie-style double take, then lowered his shotgun and chuckled along.  Cody did the same.
    Rachelle let out a breath she’d been holding.  She needed to stop doing that.
    “I like you folks,” Pat said through his laughter as he strapped his rifle over his shoulder and shook Didi’s hand.  “I’m Pat Williams.  This is my friend, Clay Boatwright.”
    “You got the boat part right,” Rachelle said, still quivering from the adrenaline rush.
    Pat’s smile diminished as he released Didi’s hand.  “Now that the guns are down, li’l ‘un, you ought to consider being a might friendlier.”
    “So long as it’s not the kind of friendly your pal was hinting at,” Cody calmly warned them, then shook the men’s hands and pointed around.  “Cody, Didi, Rachelle.  Where are you from?”
    “Alabama,” Pat said.  “It got pretty heavy there, so we took to the open road.  Y’all?”
    “Varied,” Didi said.  “Why’d you come up north?”
    Clay slung his shotgun behind his back.  “Couldn’t get through Mi’ssippi.  The roads ‘uz clogged, and there’s too many of them rotten sumbitches wanderin’ the woods.”
    “We ended up in Indiana,” Pat cut in, “but things there ‘uz crazier than anything, talkin’ ‘bout some ‘Death Doll’ hauntin’ the area or somethin’.”
    “Death Doll?” Rachelle parroted, which got her a surprised look from Didi and Cody. “I heard Jake and the others talking about it.  I thought they were kidding.”
    Pat scoffed.  “I didn’t buy it.  Country don’t mean fool.”
    Rachelle looked to Didi for answers but found her mentor’s eyes on the good old boys.  She couldn’t tell if Didi was pissed or if she had gone up against this Death Doll before.
    “Do you have a vehicle?” Cody asked.
    Pat exchanged glances with Clay. “Say we don’t.”
    Cody nodded.  “We’re heading home now.  You’re welcome to come with us if you want.”
    Pat’s cavalier grin never left, but his eyes measured Didi carefully.  Or maybe he was just checking her out.  Either way, he nodded.  “Mighty nice of you.  We accept.”
    Rachelle didn’t like this one