The Mountain King by Rick Hautala Page A

you down,” Sandy said. 
“I know you won’t.” 
But I already have! Sandy thought bitterly. She felt herself close to tears and had to struggle not to start crying and blurt out what she really had to say. But she watched silently as her father turned and started up the trail. In his right hand, he held a long maple walking stick which he swung forward with every other step. His rifle was slung across his back, bouncing in time with his steps. Just before he disappeared into the foliage, he turned around and waved to her. Sandy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a stray sunbeam glint off his rifle barrel, making it flash like cold fire. She cringed, waiting to hear the sharp report of the rifle, but no sound came. 
Seconds later, her father was gone, leaving her alone beside the Jeep with a silent emptiness as she wondered if she would ever see him alive again. 
     

 
    Chapter Twelve  
    Little Red Corvette 
     
     
“Looks like I killed the last one,” Dennis said as he crushed the empty beer can and tossed it onto the floor where it landed with the five others he had already finished off this evening. 
It was a little past eleven o’clock on Saturday night. 
    Dennis was slouched on the couch with one arm draped around Polly’s shoulder as he held her tightly against him. They were watching an X-rated videotape they had rented, but it wasn’t holding his attention. He was too drunk to concentrate on much besides the slow, steady massage Polly was giving his crotch through his pants. He sighed heavily and considered trying to get things going again, but they had been at it all afternoon, ever since Sandy had left for the overnight at her friend’s house. 
    “Kinda unbelievable, though, ain’t it? The way things worked out again for the weekend?” 
    Polly grunted softly, not even looking up at him. He couldn’t tell if she was more focused on the movie or his crotch. 
    “I mean, after last weekend, when good ole Mark caught me red-handed.” Dennis sniffed and shook his head. “Shee-it! I thought for sure he was gonna clean my pipes.” 
“I’ll clean your pipes for you,” Polly whispered as she tugged at the tab of his zipper. 
“No, no, I—uhh . . . I can’t right now.” 
“Oh, what’s the matter?” she cooed. “Did we wear out Little Willie? Is he all tuckered out?” 
“No, it’s not that. It’s just I—uh, I’m still kinda thirsty is all.” 
Polly sighed and shifted a little bit away from him. “Well, by the looks of it, you’ve cleaned me out of beer. How about some wine?” 
“Naw! Wine’s for women and fags,” Dennis said, chuckling softly at his overused joke. “Maybe I’ll zip on out to Nicely’s and pick up another six-pack.” 
“You didn’t bring your car, remember?” Polly said. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re trying to be at least a little bit discreet.” 
“Discreet? Oh, yeah, discreet,” Dennis said, shifting uneasily on the couch. He considered trying to get things started again, but he knew he was too drunk and too used up to make it. No juice left in the tank. 
    No, right now all he wanted—all he needed was another beer or two before crashing for the night. He wasn’t going to be able to get it up again at least until morning. 
“Maybe you could lemme drive Mark’s “Vette,” Dennis said, suddenly brightening. 
Mark had a vintage 1965 red Corvette stored in his garage, but he hardly ever took it out on the street. Just about everyone else in Hilton admired it, some with envy, but Dennis coveted it possibly even more than he coveted Mark’s wife. 
“And maybe you could take a flying fuck at the moon,” Polly replied tonelessly. 
“Aww, come on!” Dennis said, letting his hand slide down to Polly’s breast and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Here you’ve been taking advantage of me all night, practically raping me, and you won’t even let me have a little fun.” 
Polly looked up at him, frowning. “You didn’t