Cannibal Country (Book 1): The Land Darkened

by Urban, Tony

  Trooper turned to Wyatt and rested his hand on his shoulder. He felt Wyatt stiffen under his touch. “Wyatt, that animal’s in pain. The merciful thing to do is to put it down.”

  Wyatt turned back to him and when he did, he held a buck knife.

  “Jesus, Wyatt!” Barbara jumped to her feet and despite the situation being dire, Trooper was glad to see the woman had some spirit left in her.

  “Come on, brother,” Seth said. “You’re making this worse than it needs to be.”

  Wyatt raised the knife, displaying it. “It’s for the dog. His leg needs to come off.”

  Trooper shook his head. “You ain’t got nothing to sedate it. Nothing for pain. That’s tantamount to torture.”

  “If it doesn’t die from the shock, it’ll die from blood loss. Don’t do this,” Barbara said.

  Wyatt looked at her, then Seth. He saved Trooper for last. “You just want to eat him. All of you.”

  Trooper didn’t even consider lying. “You can stop its suffering and give us a decent meal. To me, that’s an easy call.”

  “He’s right. You know how much we need this, how hungry we’ve all been since Devan robbed us.” Barbara reached for Wyatt but he pulled away. Trooper knew she’d gone too far in trying to guilt the boy. If anything, her words had solidified his resolve.

  Wyatt moved to the fire and pushed the blade of the knife into the flames. “Stay back, all of you, and let me do this.” He held the metal in the fire until it became discolored from the heat, then ignored the rest of them, all his attention on the dying animal.

  “I’m really sorry, buddy. This is gonna hurt.”

  Trooper didn’t watch what happened next, but he heard it and that was more than enough. He thought Wyatt was being foolish, was being dangerously naïve, but he realized something in the boy had changed. Wyatt didn’t need or even want, their approval. He trusted himself. And Trooper thought that was the most important aspect of being a man. As much as he thought this was the wrong call, he admired Wyatt for standing up for himself, for doing what he believed was right, consequences be damned.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Diseased flesh sizzled as the knife sliced through it. Maggots were bisected and dissected, bursting with yellow ooze. Although the dog howled in pain, it was too weak to put up a fight. Wyatt pinned its head to the ground with his left hand, but it never tried to bite. He kept cutting with his right hand and didn’t stop until the knife broke free on the other side and the dog’s rotten leg came loose.

  Wyatt plunged the knife back into the fire as blood shot from the amputation site with alarming speed. The bottom half of Wyatt’s shirt and the top half of his jeans were saturated in seconds. Oh shit, he thought. They were right. The dog’s going to bleed out and all I did was make its last few minutes hell.

  The dog wasn’t struggling, so he used the hand that had restrained it to cover the wound and kept the knife in the flames until it was so hot the hilt throbbed in his palm. Then he pulled it from the fire and held the blistering steel to the wound.

  Blood and infection and maggots boiled against the metal and the smell reminded him a bit of a time that he’d put hamburgers on the grill, then went to play video games and forgotten all about them. When he remembered, almost an hour later, the burgers were the size of half-dollars and the color and consistency of hockey pucks. Despite the awfulness of the situation, the memory made him smile a bit. And gave him an idea.

  While the wound cauterized, Wyatt grabbed the severed limb. He turned to the others who sat on their sleeping bags and ate beans. They weren’t watching, but that didn’t deter him.

  “You all wanted meat for supper?” Wyatt asked.

  They risked looking his way and, when they did, Wyatt tossed the leg to them. “Here you go. Dinner is served.”

  The leg skidded across the ground before colliding with Seth’s useless legs. Barbara kicked it away, a look of horror on her face.

  It was Trooper that picked up the limb. He sniffed it. “Spoiled,” he said, then tossed it into the fire.

  “Don’t say I didn’t offer,” Wyatt said.

  He looked down at the dog. Its eyes were closed, but it was still breathing. The wound, the makeshift surgical site, was charred black and mostly done bleeding. Wyatt didn’t know whether it would survive an hour let alone the night but he knew he’d made the right decision either way. He used his fingers to pick the remaining maggots off the dog, dropping them into the fire after their removal, and waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wyatt stayed awake the entire night, his head in the dirt beside the dog, listening, maybe waiting even for its breathing to stop.

  It didn’t. Before the others came awake, the dog regained consciousness, first raising its head off the ground and sniffing the air, then sniffing Wyatt.

  “Good morning, buddy. Glad you decided to wake up.”

  The Morrill’s had never owned a dog, they’d been a cat family. But even though his experience with canines was limited, he thought the dog seemed better already. The vacant, barely there look in its eyes was replaced by an alert curiosity. It strained its neck to examine the joint to which its leg had once been attached, but which Wyatt had wrapped in gauze. He’d redressed the wound once through the night after it bled through, but this bandage remained clean. So far.

  The dog sniffed, then took an exploratory lick.

  “No, boy. Don’t do that.”

  He stopped at the command surprising Wyatt. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

  The dog seemed to smile, mouth agape, tongue lolling. Wyatt ran his fingers through its fur, not caring about the stench or the bugs, although he knew he’d have to get him cleaned up if - when - his health improved.

  “I see it lasted the night,” Barbara said.

  Wyatt hadn’t realized she’d woken. He was still annoyed with her over the night prior. Over her willingness to give up on this living creature. “You sound disappointed.”

  Barbara clutched her hand to her chest. “Ouch. That hurt.” She smiled.

  Wyatt wanted to stay angry and sanctimonious, but her scarred face smiled so rarely these days he knew doing so would make him an asshole. And she didn’t deserve that. “Sorry.”

  “No, I earned that.” His mother crouched beside him and the dog. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I was selfish last night.”

  “Because we’re half-starved,” Wyatt said.

  “You’re in the same state as the rest of us and you didn’t want to kill it. You did the right thing.”

  Wyatt opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the right words so he stayed quiet.

  “I always wanted a dog, you know. But your father’s allergies.” She scratched the dog’s head. “He’s looking good.”

  “I thought so too but didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

  “Hope’s not a bad thing.”

  Wyatt realized she wasn’t looking at the dog anymore. She was looking at him. And he looked back, really looked, for the first time since she’d been attacked. His eyes welled up with tears.

  “Stop, Wyatt.” She reached out to him and cupped his cheek in her palm. “Please don’t let anything change who you are. Because you’re the best of us.”

  Wyatt felt like anything but. For most of this trip, he’d felt like the anchor holding them back and making things worse. Even before they left Maine, he was always letting them down. And she’d felt the same way. He was certain of that.

  He felt like he was supposed to say something profound, to spill his heart, but he knew if he opened his mouth he was more apt to sob than speak.

  His mother drew him in close and embraced him. They stayed like that for a while.

  “By God, is that mutt still alive?” Trooper said.

  They broke apart at his voice.

  “He is,” Wyatt said.

  “What a shame.” Trooper stood over the dog, stared down at it. “I thought you were gonna be my supper.” His accent came through. Supp’ah.r />
  The dog’s head snapped up, and it panted. Wyatt was sure now that it wasn’t his imagination. The dog was happy.

  “I think he likes that,” Wyatt said.

  “Likes what?”

  “That name. Supper.”

  “Oh hell no. Wasn’t nothing but a bad joke. You can’t call that dog Supper,” Trooper said.

  The dog’s tail thudded to and fro. Wyatt laughed and Barb joined in. “That settles it,” Wyatt said.

  Trooper shook his head but smiled. “All right then. I can see you’re never gonna let me live this down. Supper it is.”

  The dog pushed with its front feet, raising its chest off the ground. Wyatt saw its remaining hind leg scratching for traction in the dirt and began to panic. He reached for it, ready to hold it immobile.

  “Let it go,” Trooper said. “Dog knows its body better than you.”

  “What if he falls? Or breaks open the wound?”

  The dog - Supper - wasn’t listening. His back leg flexed and, after a great deal of effort, he was on his feet.

  He took a staggering step and Wyatt was certain he was going down. He gasped and lunged, but Supper steadied himself. He took another step. And another. Wyatt knew the dog wasn’t out of the woods yet, there was the potential for infection, or worse, but he wasn’t going to let himself think too far ahead. It was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Seth saw the mound beside the road before anyone else. He’d been staring ahead, making sure he had time to dodge potholes or debris while he pushed himself along. The last few days had brought them to roads that were on the flat side and he was glad to be able to move himself along most of the time.

  The dog usually hobbled beside him although its hobble was already developing into an awkward limp. He was impressed with how fast the dog - he hated to think of it as Supper and hated Wyatt for deciding that was its name - was improving. They’d given it an entire can of wax beans which it gobbled up but the real treasure came when they passed by a discount grocery store.

  All the human food was long gone but an entire rack of canned dog food remained untouched. Apparently, in the apocalypse, most folks only cared about themselves and stopped giving a shit about their pets. Real nice, Seth thought.

  Supper ate one can. Then a second. Then a third. It stared longingly at the others but Trooper had insisted they stop at three and that any more might cause it to barf up when it had eaten. The day after it ate three more. And the next.

  They also found some long-expired flea shampoo which Wyatt had used to clean up the dog. It made a dramatic improvement, both in the animal’s smell and appearance and Seth also realized that he hadn’t noticed any bugs on the dog lately. As Seth took in all of Supper’s improvements, he felt damn guilty about wanting to eat him.

  Supper loped ahead of him, veering toward the mystery lump. All Seth could make out was a dark color and something flapping in the wind. Maybe plastic or fabric of some kind.

  “Hey, Supper. Don’t run off.” He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly worried. They’d seen enough trash on this trip to fill Sebago Lake. There was no reason to believe whatever lied ahead was anything other than a garbage bag or chunk of a car or even some long-dead person’s tattered wardrobe. But he had a feeling, an instinct, that it was something more than that. “Supper!”

  The dog ignored him.

  “He won’t run off. He knows we got the food,” Trooper said from behind.

  Seth glanced back at the others. He didn’t want to come off as a nervous ninny, but he was already attached to the dog. It was really the only good thing that had come of the trip - well, other than his ill-timed lap dance - and he didn’t want to take any chances.

  “There’s something up ahead.” Seth pointed to the mound which was now a hundred yards away. Supper was half-way there.

  Wyatt had been lollygagging in the back, as he was prone to do, and jogged to catch up to him. He squinted and stared. “Looks like a tarp, maybe.”

  Seth thought that was as good a guess as any, but he picked up the pace even though the muscles in his shoulders and chest were already screaming for a reprieve. Wyatt matched him.

  The dog was just feet from whatever was sprawled on the ground and Seth realized his heart was thudding, and not from kicking the chair into overdrive. He was scared.

  That was stupid, he knew it. It’s not like some person or some wild animal would be lying in wait along a random stretch of country road that probably hadn’t seen travelers in two years. Nothing was that patient. So why was he so damn on edge?

  “What is it?” Barbara called.

  “Not sure,” Wyatt said.

  Supper was on the scene, almost dancing around whatever laid in the dirt. He alternated between poking his nose into it and scratching at it.

  Whatever it was didn’t react to that inspection and Seth’s breaths came easier. He allowed himself to slow his pace, which also helped. Once they figured out what the damned thing was he was going to let Wyatt push him for a spell and not feel guilty.

  It wasn’t long before Seth understood what was cast aside like so much garbage. Only it wasn’t a what but a who.

  “Son of a bitch.” Wyatt’s words came out in a whisper.

  “Devan,” Seth said.

  The man who had robbed them laid on his back. His long slicker was splayed out around him like a magical cloak, but if it had any special powers, they’d done him no good. Because Devan was dead.

  Only he wasn’t just dead. He was butchered.

  Seth had seen the aftereffects of hunters breaking down deer. It was part of life in Maine. They’d hang the deer from a tree limb or sometimes even a basketball hoop above their garage door and start cutting. First, they’d disembowel it, dropping its gut pile in a steaming heap. Then, with a few slices in the right places they could peel away the skin easier than Seth could husk an ear of sweet corn at the annual Fourth of July picnic.

  Once the skin was removed, they switched knives and started carving away the meat. They didn’t stop until all that remained was the head, bones, and hooves.

  That was all that remained of Devan, only swapping out hooves for hands and feet. It was like someone had tacked the ends of his extremities and his face onto a prop skeleton, the kind people sat in their yards on Halloween. Only the little bits of gristle, and the flies that feasted on those macabre bits that clung to the bones, made it obvious this was no decoration.

  Barbara spilled out a startled yelp. “Oh my God!”

  Supper jumped, startled by her exclamation. He stumbled to the side before recovering and hobbling away from the body and to Wyatt.

  “Who could do something like this?” Barbara kept her distance from the carnage.

  Seth caught his brother and Trooper exchange a look.

  “Starving people get desperate,” was all Trooper said.

  Seth surveyed the area around the body. The ground was smashed and trampled, not by a single set of footprints, but many. He’d expected to see bad shit on the road. He even figured there was a decent chance he’d die. But this - people slaughtering other people for their meat - that was beyond anything even his vivid imagination had conjured.

  “I wonder what happened to June,” Seth said.

  “I don’t think I want to know.” Barbara grabbed the handlebars to his chair and turned him away from Devan’s corpse. “Come. I can’t look at this anymore.”

  As she pushed him up the road Seth half-turned in the chair, still trying to grasp the reality of the situation and wondering what had come of the girl.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  They found June’s coat less than a mile southeast. It was sliced down the back and stained with blood. A football field past that they came across her flower print blouse which was in two pieces and soaked scarlet.

  Her body was twenty feet away. She was in much the same condition as Devan, a skeleton with appendages. But it was clear she’d either put up more
of a fight or had more fight brought to her. Three of her fingernails had been ripped from her right hand. The soles of her feet were ragged and shredded from running shoeless. Her face, which Seth had found so pretty, was a swollen purple bruise and barely recognizable. The rest of her was gone.

  No one said much and Seth wondered if they were in shock, or had already grown accustomed to the horror. He figured it was some of both. No one mentioned her empty midsection or the baby which had resided there either.

  There was no sign of their food, weapons, or shopping cart. “Whoever did this got all our goods too,” Trooper said.

  Seth looked to him. “You think that’s why they were attacked? For the supplies?”

  “I’d say it’s a good possibility.” Trooper noticed a can half-buried in the dirt near the body and grabbed it. It was Moxie soda. “Real good possibility.”

  “I guess they did us a favor then.” Seth regretted saying it out loud. Sometimes his mouth seemed to have no filter. The others were used to that, but he had a feeling this might have been too far.

  “Seth!” Barbara’s glare made him feel about five inches tall.

  “He’s right.” Trooper said.

  Now Barbara directed her laser stare Trooper’s way. Seth was glad for the reprieve and considered thanking him, then thought better of it. Regardless, his mother’s anger had no effect on the old man.

  “Don’t waste a good conniption over those two, Barb,” Trooper said. “A man reaps what he sows. They found that out the hard way.”

  It sounded cruel, but it was true. Besides, the world was cruel. And Seth had a bad feeling that things would only get worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wyatt surveyed the area with something akin to awe. He’d never seen anything like the trading post before, not in real life anyway. It reminded him of the old movies he used to watch on TV late at night. Shanty towns in the middle of nowhere run by outlaws or bikers. Places where the only law was to be stronger or meaner than everyone else and mayhem reigned.