Cannibal Country (Book 1): The Land Darkened

by Urban, Tony

  Wyatt stared at him, baffled.

  “Sink the Bismark? Build a log cabin?”

  Still nothing.

  “How are you so damn clueless, brother? The dog had to go shit. I decided to give him some privacy. Besides, your girl’s out there somewhere. Figured she’d watch him.”

  Wyatt hadn’t realized Allie was gone and surveyed the quarters. He saw Pete sucking scraps out from under his fingernails and moved to him. “You seen Allie?”

  Pete removed his finger from his mouth. It came out with a pop. “Really? You’re gonna ask me that?”

  During the night prior the couple had battled through their worst fight yet and, as far as Wyatt knew, Pete and Allie hadn’t spoken since it fizzled out. She’d spent the rest of the night walking at Wyatt’s side and then took watch with him earlier in the day. Wyatt was thrilled but tried not to let it show. Pete, of course, wasn’t enthused.

  “I just thought that maybe--”

  Pete cut him off. “She ain’t mine to babysit anymore, kid. So go ahead, flirt with her. Fuck her. I don’t give a shit. Just be aware, that slut’s going to take you for all she can get and spit you out like used gum when she gets bored.” Pete returned his fingers to his mouth.

  “You’re a real asshole,” Wyatt said.

  “I am aware.”

  Wyatt stood there a moment, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. He’d expected Pete to throw an insult back and, when that didn’t happen, Wyatt was unsure how to respond.

  He heard Supper bark outside and took that as his opportunity to exit the awkward encounter.

  When he stepped into the diminishing light, he saw Supper’s back end disappear into a thicket of dead Texas ash trees that reached skyward like skeletal fingers. He followed.

  He pushed through the trees occasionally spotting the dog which drifted in and out of sight before diving through a crop of seven-foot-tall pampas grass.

  “Darn dog,” Wyatt said as he pushed through the dry grass which slithered along his arms and face. He didn’t like going in blind, and he couldn’t see four inches in front of his face until he came out on the other side.

  What he found there took his breath away.

  A beautiful, unsullied lake stretched out ahead of him. The waters weren’t blue, but they were clean and clear and looked downright inviting.

  Supper had beaten him to the punch. The dog dove and jumped, trying to chomp mouthfuls of water with little success.

  Wyatt slipped off his shoes and ran toward the edge of the lake. He kicked a spray of water at the dog which nearly did a somersault in the air trying to catch it. The sight of the gleeful, three-legged mutt got him laughing. Between that and the cool, but delicate touch of the water, he couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so good.

  He remembered Seth’s comment about stinking and decided this was the perfect opportunity to remedy that. It took him under half a minute to strip off the entirety of his wardrobe and even less to plunge headfirst into the lake.

  It was cold but incredible. When he bobbed to the surface, he wiped the water from his face, flicked his hair back, and felt cleaner already. Short a washcloth, or even a bar of soap, he used brute force to scrub himself and felt almost guilty about the weeks - maybe months - worth of dirt he was depositing into the lake.

  Supper bounced from the water and ran to the shore where he shook himself somewhat dry, then spun around and returned to the wetness. Wyatt thought he looked cleaner too. Less chocolate and more vanilla.

  Wyatt dunked himself again giving his legs a good once over before popping back up. Then he heard another, further away splash.

  He froze and looked to Supper, making sure he hadn’t imagined it. The dog stared in the direction of the noise. It wasn’t his imagination.

  The sound had come from around a bend in the lake and another patch of pampas grass blocked his view. He waded further into the water and began circling toward it, careful not to make any noise himself, to not alert the splasher to his presence.

  Once he was beyond the grass he saw her and the breath was knocked out of him for the second time in just a few minutes.

  Allie faced away from him, her dreads soaking wet and hanging halfway down her back. She was only in the water up to her thighs which gave a good - too good - view of her backside. He tried not to stare, aware that sneaking a peek was wrong, but it was a struggle.

  Just then Supper bounced through the water, carefree and obnoxiously loud.

  Allie spun his way. “Who’s there?”

  He’d seen her barely there breasts during the encounter behind the bar, but now he saw all of her. His stomach tightened and he felt like his head was floating off his shoulders. He turned away from her, but it was too late.

  “Wyatt?”

  Oh shit, he thought. He was going to look like a perv. A typical, horny guy who’d followed her there and spied on her. The excitement he’d felt a moment earlier turned to dread.

  “How long have you been there?” She asked.

  “Not long, but maybe long enough. I’m sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I don’t own the lake.”

  He risked a quick glance back. Allie hadn’t moved, hadn’t covered herself. He looked away again.

  “I’m not an eclipse, Wyatt,” she said. “You won’t go blind looking at me.”

  “I didn’t know anyone was here. I followed Supper and--”

  “Turn around,” Allie said.

  He did.

  Allie stood before him, wearing nothing but the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “Come closer.” Her voice was soft, maybe even seductive. Or maybe that was his imagination.

  He went to her, slow and cautious, like a soldier maneuvering through a field of landmines.

  She reached out to him and grabbed her hand, then pulled it to her. She dragged his fingers across her bare waist, then up, closer to her breasts. He looked from them to her face. Her lips were parted, inviting. He leaned into her and took her chin with his free hand. But he hesitated. Is this the right thing to do, he wondered. Is she really over Pete?

  But this was what he’d wanted for so long. What he’d dreamed about. How many times in his life was he going to waste the perfect opportunity?

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

  That was when the screaming started.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Wyatt scrambled out of the water, onto the lakeshore. He grabbed his pants and pulled them on. He was still soaking wet, so that simple act proved more of a challenge than he was used to, but he managed. Then he shoved his feet into his shoes and ran.

  The screaming was his mother. It sounded just like that night back in their home. When he failed her. When he wasn’t there when she needed him. And here he was, repeating that monumental fuck up.

  “Wyatt!” Allie called after him.

  He could hear her chasing footsteps but didn’t stop. Supper was at his side, galloping on his three legs and keeping pace with Wyatt who was running as fast as his feet could carry him.

  Soon he came to the road that led back to the house. Another twenty yards and he was close enough to see, in broad strokes, what was going down.

  He froze.

  Allie collided with him and they almost fell, but he caught her and regained his balance. She opened her mouth and he knew she was going to ask why he stopped. To prevent her question, he turned her toward the building.

  The cannibals, the same group from that earlier night, had arrived. Two of them chased Barbara who pushed Seth in his wheelchair in the opposite direction. But they were faster and closed the gap in seconds.

  His mother spun around and Wyatt saw her hand raised. He knew she was holding the .38 and she put it to use. A slug punched a hole in the belly of the cannibal nearest her and he fell into the dirt, holding the bleeding gut shot.

  The other cannibal didn’t miss a step, kept charging at her. He clutched a machete that was half as long as his body and reared back with
it, ready to swing.

  Before he could, the left side of his head exploded out in a spray of gore. As the contents rained to the ground Wyatt had a vision of the most disgusting pinata of all time.

  Wyatt looked to see who had shot and found Trooper holding his Desert Eagle. Another cannibal was racing at him from the rear, a man with a pair of garden shears.

  “Behind you, Trooper!” Wyatt screamed.

  Trooper spun around and took aim, plugging the man in the chest. The man dropped to his knees, then face-planted in the soil as he died.

  Wyatt turned to Allie. “Stay here and hold on to Supper.”

  He didn’t wait for her response.

  As Wyatt ran he saw Red, the big cannibal with the axe, step out of the house where they’d spent the day. He rushed to the second man Trooper had shot.

  “Zeke?” Red grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and pulled his face off the ground. When he realized the man was dead his eyes blazed. He eased him back to the dirt and turned to Trooper, axe in hand.

  Trooper was too busy fighting off another attacker to see Red’s approach. The old man stuck the barrel of his .44s into the man’s gut and pulled the trigger, sending a geyser of blood out his back. Trooper shoved him aside and looked for his next opponent.

  Wyatt leveled his pistol at Red, not an easy task when running full bore. He aimed for center mass and squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet ripped through Red’s flank and the big man dropped his axe. His hand went to the wound, but remained upright through it all.

  Red turned to face his shooter and witnessed Wyatt’s mad dash. Rather than stay put and accept another bullet, he lumbered back into the house, leaving a thin trail of blood behind.

  With the big man out of the way, at least temporarily, Wyatt’s attention went to his mother and Seth. Two cannibals battled with them. One held a metal pipe and the other a broken baseball bat.

  Seth landed a sucker punch to the dick of the man with the bat who fell to his knees in response. Seth grabbed the man’s wild hair and yanked his head back and forth, probably giving him whiplash from hell.

  As Barb tried to hold off the woman with the pipe, River leaped into the fray and tackled the cannibal to the ground. “Don’t you hurt River’s woman,” he yelled.

  The two rolled in the dirt, scratching and clawing at each other like two feral animals, but the woman slipped free and regained her weapon. She popped River in the jaw, smashing in a few of his black teeth, then spun around and swung at Barb.

  Wyatt wanted to yell out, but there was no time. The pipe bashed his mother in the temple and she fell in a motionless heap.

  “You bitch!” Wyatt screamed as he aimed and shot. The woman who’d struck his mother flew through the air like a figure skater doing a toe loop before hitting the dirt.

  “Wyatt, get your brother out of here!” Trooper shouted.

  When he looked toward Trooper, Wyatt saw another half dozen cannibals coming in their direction. He wasn’t about to tuck tail and run no matter what Trooper told him to do.

  Wyatt arrived at his mother’s side. Seth was in the midst of choking the life out of the cannibal who’d once possessed the broken bat. River was on his knees, holding his hands to his bleeding mouth.

  Wyatt pressed the barrel of the pistol at the cannibal Seth had by the throat and shot. Seth looked to him, wide-eyed.

  “Shit, brother, I had that one taken care of. Seems like a waste of a bullet.”

  Wyatt didn’t respond. He grabbed River by his shirt and dragged him to his feet. “Take my brother and do what you do best. Run.” He shoved the filthy, bleeding man toward the wheelchair and watched him grab the handles.

  “Fair enough, friend,” River said. He pushed the chair as he ran.

  He knelt beside his mother and rolled her onto her side. She was out, but alive and, all things considered, maybe that was for the best. He turned her face back to the dirt so that a casual observer would think she was dead and stood. Ready to finish this fight.

  “Fucking savage!” Pete’s voice was filled with agony. Wyatt turned toward the noise and discovered that a female cannibal had just stabbed him in the side. She twisted the knife and Pete yelped, a miserable sound if Wyatt had ever heard one. The guy might be an asshole, but Wyatt didn’t want him dead.

  “Pete!” Allie screamed.

  The sound of her voice shocked Wyatt. He’d told her to stay away, to stay safe, but clearly, she hadn’t listened. What good did she expect to do with no weapon? And where was his dog?

  Before the knife-wielding cannibal could finish off Pete, Trooper dropped her with a gunshot to the hip.

  Trooper grabbed Pete and shoved him toward Allie and Wyatt. “Get everyone out of here,” Trooper yelled then turned back to the wounded cannibal.

  He stomped on her wrist, the blow knocking the knife from her hand. He grabbed it, then with his other hand grabbed a fistful of her matted hair. She struggled, but he held firm. “You bastards want to act like monsters? I can play that game too!”

  When he put the knife to her throat, the woman began to scream. No words at first, only sounds. Then he started cutting.

  “Please!” She yelled. “Please don’t!”

  Trooper glanced down at her. “You made your bed. Time to lay in it.”

  He ripped the blade across her neck and hot blood jutted from the wound. He kept cutting, sawing back and forth. Her arms flailed but Trooper held tight and soon she’d bled out.

  Shortly after that, Trooper finished cutting. Her body fell to the ground. Her head remained in his hand.

  Wyatt thought his old friend had gone mad as he raised the severed head into the air.

  “You want to fight? Bring it!” Trooper shouted. He hurled the head across the lawn and it rolled until it collided with the front porch.

  About that time, Red emerged from the house. His face was almost as crimson as his hair and Wyatt saw that he’d tied one of their old blankets around the wound in his side. The big man pointed a meaty finger at Trooper.

  “Bring me that son of a bitch!” Red’s voice boomed like thunder across the prairie. “I want to eat his heart!”

  Trooper ran and the cannibals chased.

  Red stayed behind and Wyatt watched him go to the headless woman and lift her body off the ground. She looked like a rag doll in his arms.

  Part of him believed Trooper could finish them all off on his own, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He grabbed his mother’s unconscious body and dragged her to Pete and Allie.

  “Hide her and hide yourselves.” He handed Pete his shirt, which he’d never bothered to put on but had tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  “What’s this for?” Pete asked.

  “Wrap it around yourself. And try not to die.”

  He handed Allie his pistol. “Use this if you need to, but make it count.” Wyatt turned away from them, but Allie grabbed his wrist.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Trooper.”

  Before she could protest, Wyatt charged toward trouble.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Trooper ran toward the barn he’d seen the night before. It wasn’t far, a few hundred yards, but he didn’t plan to escape them in a footrace. For one, they were younger and faster than he was. For another, he didn’t want to escape them. He only wanted to distract them and draw them away.

  He could hear their angry chatter in the near distance and ran faster, pushing his knee to the limit. He felt a pop, but ignored the subsequent pain. He saw the barn ahead, closer now, a football field away and slightly to the east. His knee popped again and that time it was audible, like his body was shouting at him that his running days were soon to be over, probably forever.

  He pushed himself to keep going, to not ignore the pain, but to embrace it. To use it as his motivation. As a big fuck you to his past, to the cannibals and to whatever power above - or below - was trying to stop him before he was finished.

  A cattle guard and
metal fence were ahead. The barn less than twenty yards behind it. When he hopped the fence he landed hard, creating nauseating shock waves of pain that sent him to his knees.

  The cannibals were closing in. He could see their ugly, wild faces grinning, thinking they had him. He wouldn’t let that happen. He stood up and took his first step, but his knee gave out again.

  “Cocksucker,” he muttered, trying to pick himself up.

  He had to move, but his body was giving out on him. He looked at the cannibals as they came running toward him. The barn was so close. He tried to count how many shots he’d fired and cursed himself for only having the one gun on him. In the haste, he couldn’t recall how many bullets he had left, so he dropped the magazine and counted. Three bullets remained.

  He looked back to the cannibals who were nearing the gate. His eyes were tired, but he knew there were more than three. Maybe this hadn’t been such a grand plan after all.

  He shoved the magazine back into the pistol and chambered a round. Then he aimed. But before he could fire, hands grabbed him from behind and dragged him backwards.

  “Don’t shoot, Trooper.”

  He looked over his shoulder and realized it was Wyatt.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “What the hell are you doing here?” The old man raged at him as they entered the barn. Flecks of spittle flew from his mouth and rained on Wyatt’s face.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to thank me.”

  “Thank you?” Trooper said. “Damn it, Wyatt, I was drawing ‘em away from you. You’re supposed to be back there keeping everyone else safe.”

  “Things are handled there.” Wyatt looked out the barn doors. The cannibals hadn’t just slowed down, they’d stopped completely. He wondered if there was some chance they hadn’t seen the men enter the building.

  He took the moment to pull Trooper further inside, depositing him atop a stack of hay bales. Trooper grimaced as he sat, clutching his ruined knee.

  “How bad is it?” Wyatt asked.