by Mark Allen
She smiled. “I’m late, we’ve been intimate a lot the last couple weeks, ever since I started feeling better. I don’t know how to explain it, Bill, but I can feel it. I’m pregnant.”
She climbed out of bed and hugged him, eyes bright with joy. Bill picked her up and swung her around, grinning like a fool. “I’m going to have a son!” he shouted.
“You don’t know that. Could be a daughter.”
“No, it will be a boy.”
“Hopefully the first of many,” she said. Then she grew serious and changed the subject. “Who are those people who live about five miles down the road? We met them once on the way to town.”
Bill had to think about it for a minute. “I think their name was Anderson,” he said. “Why?”
“After our fight this morning, after you left, I had time to think about some things. About everything, really.” She paused and swallowed hard, as if whatever she was about to say next was going to be difficult. “I … I believe in my heart that the reason my disease went away and why it went away so quickly is because … because of what we ate.” The last five words came out in a rush, as if she just wanted to say them as fast as possible and get it over with.
Bill just stared at her. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“And more so,” Hettie continued, “I haven’t felt this alive in a long time. Alive and pregnant, Bill! And it’s all because we…” Her voice trailed off as she moved closer to him with a vague look of guilt on her face. She put her hand on his chest and looked up at him. “Please,” she said. “Don’t make me say it.”
Bill patted her hand. “You don’t need to say it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m gonna go pay the Andersons a visit.”
She smiled at him. “Come back soon. I’m getting hungry.”
******
Nine months later, Hettie gave birth to their first child.
“It’s a boy,” Bill announced, wrapping the infant in a blanket. He handed the screaming baby to his wife.
Hettie was exhausted from the grueling labor, but she eagerly clutched the child to her bosom. A smile started to appear on her tired face, but before it could fully form, it turned into a frown. “Bill, there’s something wrong with him.”
He looked down at his newborn son. Studied the deformed head covered in bone spurs and lesions and stared into the strange, misshapen eyes that stared back at him. When the baby opened its mouth to wail, Bill glimpsed teeth already poking through the pink gums. He had never heard of such a thing and it told him that his boy was different.
Bill felt paternal love and pride burrow into his heart. “What are you talking about?” he said. “He looks perfect to me.”
Hettie looked down at her baby boy again. “He just looks … different.” Then her frown abruptly broke into a huge smile. “Oh, who am I kidding? He’s beautiful.”
“Soon as you can, I want to have another one,” Bill said. “That baby boy needs a brother. Hell, maybe two or three brothers.” Just the thought of sex made his dick twitch. He had become horny as hell—they both had—ever since they had started eating their neighbors instead of shunning them.
“I love you, Bill. More than anything in the world.”
Bill looked at his family and felt peace and contentment. As his son cried and his wife smiled, he knew he would do anything to protect them. They were his blood, and he would spill the blood of any who would dare to harm them. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe, happy, and healthy.
Nothing.
Chapter 9
Guns and Guts
Kevin and Holly remained in the cage for the entire day. Bill and his mutated sons feasted on Jack’s corpse for what seemed like hours and when nothing but bones remained—cracked open and sucked empty of marrow—they passed around a bottle of homemade moonshine. Morning became noon and noon became night and all they did was guzzle down the rotgut.
Except for Mongus. While the others drank, he just stared at Kevin and used his remaining hand to play with his axe, slowly and methodically running his thumb along the honed edge to test its sharpness. Even as big as the axe was, Kevin had no doubt that the giant could wield it one-handed.
Mongus’ patience abruptly expired. He slammed his fist on the table, glared at his father, then pointed at Kevin while grunting madly.
“Fine,” Bill said. “Go fetch him and let’s get this over with.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Never figured out why you boys think you need to play with your food before you eat it.”
As Mongus stepped toward the kennel, Kevin thought about retreating into the farthest corner of the cage and forcing the mutant to come in after him. But he knew it would be a waste of time, a fleeting delay of the inevitable. So rather than retreat, he met Mongus at the door. As a show of defiance, it was pretty pitiful. But it was better than nothing. If he had to die, he would rather die defiant than die cowering in the corner.
As Mongus hauled him out of the cage, Kevin glanced at his Stoeger shotgun leaning against the wall near the table.
“Thinking about going for it, boy?” Bill taunted. “Thinking that if you can just get your hands on that piece of hot lead hardware, you might be able to save your skin, avenge your dad, and get the girl? That the general idea flittin’ through your tiny little brain right now?”
Kevin didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Apparently Bill could read his mind.
“Well, you can think about it all ya want, but for that thought to become reality would take one damn big miracle the likes of which ain't been seen since the loaves and fishes.” Bill chuckled. “And in case you ain’t noticed, God hasn't exactly been making His presence felt around here in quite some time.”
Even in Hell, God is there.
Kevin wasn’t sure where the thought came from—probably some snippet of a Sunday school lesson from a long time ago.
He felt himself suddenly lifted into the air as Mongus picked him up and then slammed him down on the cutting table, still damp with his father’s blood. Kevin fought, but even his prison-hardened muscles were no match for Mongus’ freakish strength. Even though the mutant was missing a hand, he still held Kevin down with ease. The few blows that Kevin managed to land were ineffectual. It felt like he had punched a concrete block.
He heard Holly scream, “Leave him alone!” and turned his head to see her pressed against the kennel, gripping the links with white-knuckled fingers.
Then he focused all his attention on Cyclops as the one-eyed mutant sledgehammered the empty bottle of moonshine and picked up the shards of broken glass. Fear did a fast crawl through Kevin’s guts. Cyclops’ filthy hand tried to pry open Kevin’s mouth and he resisted with everything he had, clenching his jaw so tightly shut that he risked cracking a tooth or two.
Better a ruptured molar than what Cyclops had in mind for him.
Snarling, the mutant grabbed the sledgehammer and raised it high over his shoulder. Realizing he was about to have his lips pulped and his teeth shattered, Kevin abruptly decided defiance might be overrated. “Okay!” he said. “Wait! I’ll do it.” He opened his mouth as wide as he could to show his compliance. No reason not to. If Cyclops slammed him in the face with that sledgehammer, blood and broken teeth would run down his throat and choke him, forcing him to open his mouth anyway.
Grunting in satisfaction, Cyclops set aside the hammer and proceeded to cram shards of glass from the broken moonshine bottle into Kevin’s mouth. Kevin thrashed his head from side to side as he felt the sharp edges lacerating his inner cheeks. Ropey strands of bloody saliva whipped around his face.
But even through the pain and horror of the violation, there was hate. He wanted to kill these bastards so badly. Kill them … or die trying.
Please, God, just give me one chance.
Turned out that maybe God hated the cannibal mutants too, because Cyclops made the mistake of leaning over Kevin with a gloating grin on his twisted mouth and bloodlust burning in his only eye.
That bulging eye made a damn good target.
Kevin spit the mouthful of broken glass into Cyclops’ face with everything he had. His mouth got cut up even more in the process, but it was totally worth it. Cyclops staggered back, screeching—one of the shards had impaled his eye, instantly blinding him. The orb bulged grotesquely for a moment and then popped, a thick, gory sludge oozing from the deflated eyeball.
The rest of the cannibal pack froze for a moment, unable to believe what had just happened. Then Holly pounded her fist against the cage and yelled, “Hell, yeah!” and they all burst into frenzied motion.
With an enraged bellow, Mongus grabbed his axe and swung it at Kevin’s head. But Kevin had seized the moment and was rolling off the table. The axe narrowly missed smashing into his skull and thudded into the wood instead.
Moving with the desperation that comes from knowing you are truly screwed if you’re too slow, Kevin managed to snatch up his shotgun before anyone could stop him. He pivoted toward Mongus just as the giant pulled the axe out of the table for another swing.
Kevin worked the trigger twice in rapid succession. The first slug caromed off the axe blade, but the second carved a gory crater in Mongus’ gut. He staggered backward, dropped the axe, and clutched at his oozing entrails.
Even blinded, Cyclops proved dangerous. He used the sound of the shotgun blasts to home in on Kevin’s position. He stalked forward, swinging his sledgehammer crazily in front of him like a blindfolded kid trying to hit a piñata. Kevin pointed the shotgun at the charging mutant but a wild blow from the sledgehammer knocked the barrel to the side as he pulled the trigger. The shot discharged harmlessly into the cabin wall.
Cyclops brought the hammer back around, but this time Kevin was ready. He ducked beneath the blow, felt the rush of displaced air as the hammer passed just above his head. He quickly rammed the shotgun up under the mutant’s chin and slammed down on the trigger.
Instant cranial obliteration.
Bill’s hand was on his rifle and Boss was reaching for his chainsaw as the rotten sludge that passed for Cyclops’ brains splashed against the ceiling.
Kevin trained the shotgun on them. “Don’t even think about it, you sons of bitches,” he threatened, though he suspected some of the toughness was lost due to his bleeding mouth. Then again, maybe the blood spilling down his chin made him look like a badass.
Whatever it was, Bill and Boss seemed to get the message, because they both stopped in their tracks. Still, Bill didn’t seem all that alarmed. “In case you can’t count, boy,” he said, “you’ve only got one shot left and there’s two of us.”
Kevin shifted the shotgun so it pointed directly at Boss. “So I’ll put a slug through his fuck-ugly face,” he said, then swung the Stoeger toward Bill, “and then I’ll shove this shotgun up your ass until you’re tasting gunmetal on your tonsils.”
“I suggest you put down the gun and maybe, just maybe, I’ll think about letting you walk out of here alive,” said Bill.
“The only thing that’s gonna be put down is you,” Kevin said. “Now let Holly out of that cage and everyone gets to live to die another day.”
Bill shook his head. “Not happening.”
“Then you’re dead. Simple as that.”
“Soon as you pull that trigger, my boy here will be on you like stink on shit. He’ll rip your arms off and beat you to death with them.”
“Maybe. But you’ll still be dead.”
Bill cocked his head and studied Kevin. “You’re tellin’ the truth, ain’t ya, boy? I can see it in your eyes, plain as day. You’re in a killin’ mood.”
“You sick bastards killed and ate my father. Doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out why I want to blow your brains out your ass.” His mouth burned with pain and all the blood seeping from the lacerations was making it hard to form words. “But what I want right now is for you to let Holly out of that damn cage.”
Bill turned to Boss and said, “Do it,” before turning back to Kevin. “You won’t get far. You know that, right? These are our hills, our woods. We’ll hunt you down in the dark and when we get you back, what we do to you will make what we did to your father look like a fuckin’ pillow fight.”
“Reminding me of what you did to my father might be hazardous to your health,” Kevin said grimly. His finger tightened on the trigger. He really wanted to blast a hole through Bill’s face. If only I had two slugs left instead of one.
Boss walked over to the kennel and opened the door.
“Now back away,” Kevin ordered.
Boss complied, but his glare made it clear that if ever got his hands—or chainsaw—on Kevin, there would be no mercy.
Holly stared at the open door for a moment, as if unable to believe what was happening. She probably felt like a damned soul who has suddenly found an escape hatch out of Hell but is too afraid to take it for fear it might just be an illusion designed to give birth to hope … and then brutally crush it.
Kevin was just starting to think she really wasn’t going to leave the cage when she suddenly scrambled out, flinging tufts of filthy straw into the air behind her in her haste to exit her prison.
As she ducked through the kennel’s opening and stood up, a huge fist reached out and grabbed her ankle. She shrieked and looked down. Despite the big hole in his belly, Mongus wasn’t done dying yet. His hand clasped around her ankle as he started to pull her to him.
Kevin feared he would have to use his last shot to save her—which would actually be the death of them both—but she managed to kick herself free and ran to stand behind him.
“Well, well, well,” Bill sneered. “A scared little punk and a one-armed preacher’s whore. Won’t exactly be the most challenging hunt we’ve ever been on.”
Kevin heard Holly open the door behind them and began backing toward it, keeping the shotgun trained on the cannibalistic killers. “I’d think long and hard about that hunt if I was you.”
“You ain’t me,” Bill said.
Kevin paused in the doorway. “Just remember that sometimes the hunter is the one who gets fucking killed.”
He slammed the door and together he and Holly ran from the cabin.
Chapter 10
A Dead Reckoning
Kevin and Holly fled toward the woods, knowing that any minute Bill and Boss would be after them like hounds after hares. As they passed the bloody cross, Kevin spotted his knapsack lying on the ground and scooped it up without breaking stride. He slung it over his shoulder as they passed between the huge boulders and entered the thick, unforgiving forest.
“What’s our plan?” Holly asked, panting. Just the short dash across the clearing had left her nearly out of breath. Not a good sign.
“The plan? Run like hell,” Kevin said.
“Good plan.”
They put the plan into action, fleeing through the woods in a desperate, pell-mell dash that ignored the limbs that whipped them and the thorns that scratched them and the roots that tripped them. But it soon became apparent that Holly could not maintain such a pace. She gave it her best, but after a few minutes of running blindly through the dark woods, she collapsed against a tree, heaving for air like an asthmatic having an attack. Her fingers dug into the bark as she grimaced in pain.
Kevin ran several more yards before realizing she had stopped. He trotted back to her and lightly touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, still trying to catch her breath. Every time she exhaled, her breath plumed fog-like in the cold night air. Finally she said, “Have to … rest. Been in that … cage … for two years. No … exercise.” The words came out in staggered huffs. “Lungs … ain’t … what they … used to be.”
“Holly, stopping isn’t really an option. Those bastards can’t be far behind us.” Kevin scanned their surroundings but all he could see was moon-lit darkness and twisted shadows.
“Sorry … no choice. Have to … rest.” She raised her head and looked at him. “Leave me … if you ha
ve to.”
Her eyes were luminous in the moonlight. Despite everything—the death of his father, his mangled mouth, the fact that they were being hunted by genetic freaks who wanted to turn their bodies into all-you-can-eat buffets—Kevin found himself drawn to her.
He gently touched her cheek and said, “That’s never going to happen.”
They held the fragile moment for a few seconds that Kevin refused to think of as wasted, and then he moved away, a plan formulating in his brain. Just off the trail was a large, decaying log that would nicely serve his purpose. He opened his knapsack and pulled out a hunting knife. He had planned on field dressing a deer with it, but if this plan didn’t work, he and Holly would be the ones gutted.
“You still believe in prayer?” he asked.
He expected her to hesitate—how could she not, given all that she had been through?—but she answered immediately. “Yes. Why?”
Kevin walked over to a tree and hacked off a four-foot-long branch. “Because you might want to fire one off right about now.”
“Something wrong with your lips?”
“Yeah. A giant-ass mutant motherfucker rubbed broken glass all over them.” He grinned at her for a second, exposing blood-stained teeth, then grew sober. “Guess I’m just not much into God these days. Kind of surprised you still are, after all the shit you’ve been through.”
“How do you think I got through all that shit?”
He stared at her for a moment. Her faith was impressively unshakeable. Kidnapped, tortured, presumably violated in ways he didn’t even want to think about, her arm amputated … and yet she continued to believe. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she told him that her favorite Bible verse was, Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him. He shook his head and started stripping the leaves off the branch.
As he worked, he said, “Just so you and I are clear, if we make it out of this alive, I’m going to kill your father.” He didn’t look at her as he said it. Just kept his head down, whittling away at the branch.