Gristle
Page 7
But instead, Boss pointed toward the woods beyond the boulders and growled, “Go.”
Vicky looked shocked. “You’re … you’re not going to kill me?”
“Go,” Boss repeated, gesturing dismissively.
She slowly climbed to her feet, flinching at every movement, clearly expecting a shotgun blast at any moment. She looked towards the woods and took a hesitant step forward.
Boss’ patience was gone. He rammed the shotgun into her chest and gave her a rough shove. “Go!” he roared. “Won’t tell you again.”
Vicky turned and sprinted blindly into the woods. She didn’t know which direction to head, but right now that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that against all odds, she was free. Getting away from her captors was not her primary goal—it was her only goal. The thick brush blocked her vision and tore at her skin.
Her freedom lasted for a quarter-mile before coming to an abrupt halt. She never saw the bear trap camouflaged beneath a screen of leaves and branches. Running in blind, panicked flight, she set her foot squarely down on the plate. The massive jaws snapped shut just below her knee, the metal teeth easily shearing through flesh and muscle and biting all the way to the bone. She jerked to a stop and screamed in pain.
The scream rose in pitch when she saw two giant logs suspended from ropes swinging down toward her, one on each side. And then the scream died—along with Vicky—as the two logs slammed together, crushing her skull between them.
Mongus appeared a short time later to remove the body from the bear trap. He reached down and pushed the metal jaws the rest of the way through the tibia, severing the leg. He then examined Vicky’s head and judged the pulpy mess to not be worth saving, so he cut it off and tossed it aside. It landed in the brush with a soggy splat. Satisfied, he then grabbed Vicky’s remaining leg and began dragging the headless corpse back to the cabin.
No point in wasting good food.
******
Jack froze when Vicky’s agonized scream reverberated through the forest and winced when it was cut short. No scream ended that abruptly for a good reason. Thank God it wasn’t Kevin, he thought and then immediately felt guilty for taking solace in someone else’s pain. But the guilt didn’t change how he felt—he wasn’t glad the woman was suffering, but he was glad it wasn’t his son.
As the final echoes of the screams began to fade, Jack listened intently, doing his best to pinpoint the direction. Then he began to move again, for once in his life running toward danger instead of away from it. And as he ran, he whispered, “I’m coming, Kevin. I’m coming.”
******
Kevin lifted his head and saw Boss smile wickedly as Mongus dragged Vicky’s headless, one-legged corpse into the hollow, dumping it by one of the boulders. Kevin didn’t want to think about why the pack of mutants wanted the body. He seriously doubted they were saving the corpse in order to give it a proper Christian burial.
He stopped wondering about the fate of Vicky’s corpse and started worrying about his own fate when he saw Boss gesture in his direction. Junior walked toward him, plucking a knife from his belt. For some strange reason, Kevin wondered how sharp it was. He suspected he was about to find out.
He struggled against the ropes holding him, his already punished joints screaming in painful protest. “Get the fuck away from me!” he yelled.
Junior ignored Kevin’s frantic thrashing and with a few deft strokes, slashed his shirt away from his body, exposing his back to the crisp morning air. Kevin flinched every time he felt the cold steel graze his skin, but Junior possessed deft skill with the blade and the only thing the razored edge sliced was cloth. Kevin’s back remained uncut.
For now.
His task finished, Junior moved away.
Kevin fought against his bonds one more time. He knew it was useless, but he couldn’t just give up without a fight. He suffered no delusions—whatever was about to happen next would be bad. Real bad.
Mongus picked up the logging chain wrapped in barbed wire and Kevin felt his guts turn to water. The heavy chain coiled in the giant’s fist like a medieval whip as he stepped behind Kevin. Kevin began to tremble, unable to control his fear, as Mongus prepared to scourge his helpless body. The first blow from the chain would probably shatter his spine … then the barbs would strip the flesh from the broken bone shards.
Mongus raised the chain high as the other watched with savage glee.
Kevin gritted his teeth. Oh God, let this be over quick.
The answer to his grim prayer came in the roar of a shotgun blast. Mongus’ right hand—the one holding the logging chain—suddenly exploded like an overstuffed sausage. As the echo of the gunshot bounced from boulder to boulder, Mongus stared stupidly at the ragged stump of his wrist as if wondering where the hell his hand went.
Take that, motherfucker, Kevin thought. Now you see it, now you don’t.
And then he heard his father’s voice boom through the hollow.
“Nobody move or I’ll kill every one of you!”
Junior apparently didn’t believe in obeying orders. He immediately bolted for the cabin’s front door. Jack punished his disobedience by putting a slug right between his shoulder blades. It blew through Junior’s body and exploded a gaping exit wound in his chest. The slug’s walloping impact punched the mutant face-down in the dirt. He went from alive to dead in mere seconds and skidded into hell on a slick of his own blood.
“Anyone else want to try me?” Jack’s voice held a hard, ruthless, don’t fuck with me edge that Kevin had never heard before.
Boss snarled in rage but motioned for Cyclops and Mongus to stay put. “What do you want?” he bellowed.
“My son,” Jack replied. “Let him go.”
“No.” Boss uttered the refusal in a tone that indicated he believed the matter was settled.
Another shotgun blast thundered through the morning air. The ground exploded less than a foot in front of Boss, peppering his pants with debris. “Let’s try this again,” Jack said. “I want my son.”
Boss moved deceptively fast, his long strides covering a lot of ground in little time, and before Jack could react, the mutant leader had his sawed-off shotgun leveled against Kevin’s skull. Surprisingly, Kevin felt no fear at this new development. Better a shotgun blast to the head than be ripped apart by a logging chain wrapped in barbed wire.
“Come down here or I’ll blow his head off,” Boss warned. Maybe it was just Kevin’s precarious position, but he didn’t think it sounded like a bluff.
“Then you die next,” Jack promised. “All of you.”
That didn’t sound like a bluff either.
From the corner of his eye, Kevin saw Boss’ finger tighten on the trigger as he snarled, “Won’t ask again.”
Kevin squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the twelve-gauge eruption that would snuff out his young life. When nothing happened, he opened them and saw his father emerging from the thorny thicket and making his way down one of the trails into the hollow. He slowly approached Boss and Kevin, shotgun raised and ready.
“Drop the gun,” Boss ordered.
“Let him go,” Jack countered.
“Not until you drop the gun.”
Jack sighed. “Listen, we can do this dance all day long, but I can promise you that I’m not putting this gun down until I know my son is safe.”
“Fine.” Boss looked down at Kevin, then locked eyes with Jack once again. “You for him.”
Jack’s face went pale. “What do you mean?” he asked, but it was obvious from his voice that he knew exactly what the mutant meant.
Boss spelled it out anyway. “Your boy goes. You take his place.”
Jack’s mind instantly flashbacked with horror to that terrible day. Trisha gasping … Kevin sobbing … the maniacal eyes behind the ski mask … the gun pressed to Trisha’s skull … the haunting words … “Whether she lives or dies is entirely up to you. The choice is all yours.” … his cowardly decision that cost Trisha her life…
Kevin said, “Dad … don’t.”
Boss kicked him in the side to shut him up.
Jack took a step forward, pointing his shotgun at Boss’ face. “Don’t touch him.”
“Somebody’s dying,” Boss growled. “You or him. Your choice.”
“I know,” Jack said with all the solemnity that such a life-changing moment deserved. He swallowed hard and made his decision. “Let him go. I’ll take his place.”
“Drop the gun first.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Jack said. “Not until I know my son is safe. When I’ve decided he’s far enough away, I’ll give you the gun and you can do whatever you want with me.”
“How do I know you won’t just start blasting once he’s gone?”
“Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
Boss glared at him, clearly not happy with that answer.
“My patience is running out,” Jack rasped. “You don’t start untying my son in about three seconds, I’m just gonna start shooting and take my chances.” He paused, returning Boss’ glare. “So what’s it gonna be?”
Boss held his ground, unflinching, and for a moment Jack felt like David facing down Goliath. When over ten seconds ticked by without the giant mutant moving, Jack figured he would have to back up his tough words with hard action and shoot his way out. His finger applied slight pressure to the shotgun’s trigger, getting ready to make his move. He didn’t know how he and Kevin would get out of this alive, but he was sure of one thing—no matter what happened in the next few moments, he was putting the first shotgun blast in Boss’ ugly face.
Boss must have sensed he was on the brink of having his brains blown out, because he suddenly motioned for Cyclops to let Kevin go. The one-eyed monster snarled in protest. Boss barked at him, some bestial grunt that seemed part command, part threat. Whatever it was, it completely cowed Cyclops, who immediately lumbered over and cut the ropes binding Kevin to the poles.
Kevin flopped on the ground, eating a mouthful of dirt in the process. He laid there for a few moments, his tortured joints burning as if they had been filled with molten lava. Then he summoned his strength and stiffly rose, stumbling over to his father.
“Dad, you don’t have to do this,” he said. If you had asked him yesterday if he cared if his father lived or died, the answer would have been an emphatic, “Hell, no.” Now that his dad’s death was a stark possibility, he suddenly realized he didn’t want to lose him. He might not be perfect … but he was still his father.
Jack used one arm to keep the shotgun aimed at Boss and used his other arm to pull Kevin to him, hugging him close. He put his mouth next to his son’s ear and whispered, “Yeah, I do. But don’t worry, I’m not going down without a fight.”
Kevin whispered back, “There’s more guns back at the lodge. Hold these fuckers off until I come back for you.”
“I’ll do my best. Now go.”
Reluctantly, Kevin moved away from his father. He stared daggers at the mutants, paused long enough to spit defiantly at Boss’ feet, and then ran up the nearest trail as fast as his aching legs would allow. Just before he slipped between the boulders and into the woods, he turned and looked back at his dad. An unspoken apology passed between them and Jack nodded as if to say, I know, son.
Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Kevin nodded back, then vanished into the woods.
“Your boy’s safe … for now,” Boss grunted. “Time to pay up. Put down your gun.”
Just because Jack was willing to die for his son didn’t mean he was in a rush to do so. He began backing up, saying, “Sorry, I’m having a change of heart. Think maybe I’ll just hold onto this here gun and be on my way.” He retreated another step.
Boss bared his teeth. Jack could see scraps of meat stuck between the yellowed incisors. “Better think twice about your next move,” the mutant leader warned.
“Yeah? Or what.” Jack took another step back.
The ground collapsed under him as the thin screen of twigs and leaves covering a punji pit—a large hole bristling with sharpened stakes—broke beneath his weight.
He flailed, trying to keep his balance, but it was too late. His leg plunged into the pit. A stake impaled his ankle, another stabbed through the meat of his calf. Hot pain blazed through him as muscle fibers ruptured beneath the stakes’ merciless penetration. He toppled backwards, dropping the gun in the process.
“Or that.” Boss moved in and kicked the shotgun out of Jack’s reach. It skidded across the ground and came to rest in a pile of bleached bones. He motioned to Mongus and Cyclops, and the hulking savages surrounded Jack. They dragged him from the pit, the stakes ripping apart his leg in bloody spurts, ragged chunks of meat clinging to the sharpened wood like shish-kabobbed morsels ready for a cannibal barbecue.
Jack was tossed to the ground and the three mutants immediately began stomping the shit out of him. Their heavy boots smashed into his face, crashed into his skull, and thudded against his ribs. Just before he blacked out, Jack heard the distinct sound of his own bones breaking.
And then nothing but merciful darkness.
Chapter 7
Death Comes Ripping
Kevin made it back to the hunting lodge in record time despite the thorns that clutched and scraped at him every step of the way as if trying to slow him down. He slammed through the front door, tore off the knife-slashed shirt that hung in rags from his torso, and threw on a flannel shirt. Next, he grabbed a scope-mounted shotgun from the rack on the wall and slung it over his shoulder.
There was a shelf full of ammo boxes beneath the gun rack. He loaded the shotgun with twelve-gauge slugs and then shoveled as many shells into his pocket as he could fit. He didn’t know how many he would need to save his father, but when it came to bullets, too many was always better than not enough.
He bolted from the cabin and raced back up the trail.
******
Jack brutally regained consciousness when Mongus jerked him to his feet by his arm, yanking the shoulder out of the socket. Cyclops did the same thing with his other arm, another sickening crack causing Jack to shriek. The vicious stomping had left him weak and broken; only the support of the two mutants kept him upright. He looked like he was on a cross, arms stretched out, feet together, and shoulders slumped, head hanging limply.
Wicked eyes gleaming with predatory fire, Boss picked up the barbed-wire-wrapped logging chain they had planned to use on Kevin, took up position behind Jack, and with a vicious snarl began scourging his back. The mutant leader’s massive fists wielded the metal-barbed chain with the ease and skill of a Roman centurion filleting a condemned criminal with a cat o’ nine tails.
The first few lashes tore Jack’s shirt to ribbons. The next few lashes did the same thing to his back. Blood spurted from the deep, flesh-ripping lacerations. And the blows kept coming. Pain beyond anything Jack had ever known slammed through his body.
Against his will, he screamed.
******
Kevin sprinted down the trail, boots occasionally slipping on frost-coated rocks, threatening to turn an ankle and hobble him. His lungs burned from exertion, but he continued his manic run through the thorny brush back to the mutants’ cabin.
Off in the distance, his father’s screams shattered the morning air into frozen splinters of aural agony.
Kevin felt his heart contract as if clenched by a cold, painful fist. He picked up the pace, sprinting desperately toward his dad’s terrible cries. Not again, he thought as his boots pounded the earth. I can’t lose another parent to a killer.
He ran toward the father he had thought he hated, knowing that he would do whatever it took to save him. Hang on, Dad, I’m coming.
******
Boss let the blood-dripping logging chain drop from his fist to fall in a coiled heap like a metal snake
. The mutant leader wasn’t even breathing hard from the exertion of scourging Jack. Mongus and Cyclops let go of Jack’s arms and he collapsed on the ground, his back shredded into raw hamburger. Glimmers of bone glistened wetly in the mangled mess.
Boss walked over to the large wooden cross, where the skeletal remains nailed to the wood grinned down at him in a death’s head grimace. Boss pulled the whole thing out of the hole—rotting carcass and all—and lugged it back over to where Jack lay prostrate. He let it fall to the ground in a billow of dust and dirt, the desiccated skeleton rattling from the jarring impact. Only the spikes kept the bones from falling off the cross. But when Boss began to kick at the flesh-stripped skeleton, the bones broke free and scattered everywhere until nothing remained on the rough-hewn crucifix.
The wood didn’t remain bare for long. Boss and Mongus dragged Jack onto the cross. He was far too weak from blood loss to even try resisting. Splinters from the cross scraped across his whipped-open back like a cheese grater and he nearly blacked out again from the pain.
Unconsciousness would have been a mercy. Consciousness was living hell.
Right now, hell ruled the day.
Jack was dimly aware of his wrists and ankles being bound to the cross with barbed wire. The realization that he was about to be crucified filled him with terror, but the beating and scourging had robbed him of any ability to fight back.
He didn’t even scream when Cyclops hammered the stakes through his hands and ankles.
Jack felt himself being lifted as the mutants tipped the cross back into its hole. As the cross dropped back into the ground, the impact slammed his nearly-exposed spine against the cross’ vertical beam, ripping an agonized gasp from his lips. The sound seemed to be music to the mutants’ ears as they stepped back and marveled at their torturous handiwork; their jagged-toothed grins showed their pleasure at what they had done.