by Urban, Tony
Trooper met his gaze. “Pretty damned bad.”
“And all this time I thought you were indestructible.”
“I am. You tell anyone about this and you don’t have to worry about the maneaters. I’ll kill you myself,” Trooper said.
Wyatt smiled. The old man hadn’t lost his ego. That made him even more of a badass in Wyatt’s eyes. “God, I love you, Troop.”
Trooper shook his head. “You’re a good kid, but you’ve got shit taste in people.” He peered through the gaps in the wood siding, staring into the field beyond.
“They’re coming,” Trooper said. “Split off in a few smaller groups. That gives us a chance.”
Wyatt didn’t like the doubt in Trooper’s voice. They needed more than a chance. They needed to win and that’s exactly what he planned to do. “How many shots do you have?”
Trooper’s eyes told Wyatt everything he needed to know. “Three.”
Shit, that was bad.
“You?” Trooper asked.
Wyatt shook his head. “I gave my gun to Allie, to protect mom and Seth.”
He saw defeat on the man’s face and looked away. This wasn’t the Trooper he was used to, the one who thought he could take on the world. This man looked old and hurt and… scared.
No, Wyatt told himself, that was his own doubts clouding his vision. Nothing scared Trooper, especially a bunch of inbred cannibals.
“There’s no way he can be far.” A man’s shadow spilled through the open doors and onto the straw and dirt-covered floor of the barn.
Wyatt tensed, ready to move, but Trooper held his hand steady and shook his head once.
“Get in there and find out!” The voice was familiar, baritone and raw. Wyatt knew it belonged to Red.
Trooper set his pistol on the hay bale and pushed himself into a standing position. He wobbled and Wyatt thought he was going to fall, but he steadied himself and pulled out his hunting knife. You cover me, he mouthed.
As Trooper pressed himself against the barn wall, the cannibal entered. The man was short with a patchy beard and he held a long piece of rebar that had one end sharpened to a point.
The cannibal took one more step, his eyes scanning the sprawling barn. And just as he turned in the direction of Trooper--
Trooper brought his knife up, straight into the soft flesh under the man’s jaw. The blade plunged through his mouth and, Wyatt imagined, into his brain. His eyes grew impossibly wide, then fell shut. His body went limp and Trooper managed to hold him upright for a moment before easing the body soundlessly to the floor. Then he ripped his knife free and wiped it clean on his jeans.
Just as Wyatt began to relax, another cannibal, this one a woman with a wild mane of blonde hair, burst through the doors. She wasn’t cautious or careful like her friend. She entered with reckless abandon and the suddenness seemed to take Trooper by surprise.
She saw her dead compatriot on the ground, then found Trooper beside the body. She vaulted herself at him, swinging a small hatchet. Trooper jumped backward, escaping her blow but his knee gave way and he fell hard. In an instant, she was atop him.
Wyatt charged forward, slamming the woman into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of both of them.
Wyatt saw Trooper’s gun waiting at the ready, but he knew he couldn’t shoot as the sound would draw the lot of them inside. The element of surprise was their only hope. He had to kill the woman but do it quietly.
He thrust his hands into her hair, balling his fists and holding on tight. The woman bucked like a wild bronco and it took everything he had to hang on.
He steered her toward a wooden support beam that must have been ten inches wide and slammed her head into it. She hissed in pain, arms flailing, not about to give up. He hit her again and he heard a muffled sound of something breaking. Still she struggled to break free.
Then, he saw the nail holding a horseshoe fast to the beam. A good three inches of steel extended from the wood and Wyatt thought that was enough.
He lined her head up with the nail and smashed her skull into it. Her body twitched and spasmed and then went limp.
The woman hung there like a discarded Halloween decoration. Wyatt stumbled backward, sick at what he’d just done, but relieved that bout was over.
“That was good, but we need to move,” Trooper said.
Now that his heartbeat was slowing down Wyatt could hear the others, their footsteps, their voices. They were at both the main door and the side door. The cannibals had them surrounded.
“Where are we supposed to go?” Wyatt asked.
Trooper grabbed his pistol and pointed to a rope that hung from a crossbeam in the deep recesses of the barn. “Up.”
Wyatt followed the rope and found that it lead to a loft twenty feet off the ground. Light dribbled through a dirty window and Wyatt realized that was their escape hatch. They went to it.
“Climb, damn it,” Trooper ordered and Wyatt obeyed.
His forearms burned, but he used his thighs and feet to help push himself up. Damn, it was so much harder than climbing the rope in gym class had been, but he was doing it.
Just as he flopped into the loft he realized the footsteps had transitioned from outside the barn to inside.
Wyatt stared down at Trooper. “Come on, Troop!”
Trooper hadn’t been watching him. He’d been looking around the barn. Trying to source the footsteps that sounded more like a stampede of animals than people. And they were so close.
“You’re gonna have to haul me up.” Trooper grabbed his end of the rope. “Untie it from the beam and tie it around your waist.”
Wyatt’s fingers worked against the bulky knot, undoing it in short order. He grabbed it, looped it around himself, and began to lash it together when--
The rope burned through his hands and disappeared. He stared at his empty palms for a moment, then down to the floor to see what had gone wrong.
Trooper bundled the rope and tossed it behind a pile of moldy feed bags.
“Trooper, what the--”
“There’s no time. They would have got us both. This way is better.”
“No! You need--”
“Be quiet now and be a man about this.”
Wyatt’s eyes stung like he’d just caught a face full of saltwater. “But we can’t… I can’t...”
“Ayuh. You can and you will.” Trooper swallowed hard. “You’re my best friend, you know that, Wyatt?”
Wyatt thought Trooper might have been crying too, but his bleary vision made it impossible to know for certain.
“Now, keep quiet up there. I won’t be going down without a fight, but don’t feel obligated to watch.” He turned away from him, then shouted. “You keep running, Wyatt! I’ll hold them off!”
Trooper hobbled out of sight underneath him, toward the front of the barn. Wyatt saw five cannibals there. Four more came in from the side. All had weapons.
Trooper raised his pistol. He shot three times. He killed three cannibals. Then, he tossed his gun aside and drew his knife.
Red stepped into view. “The boy run off on you, old-timer?”
Trooper shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t blame him. I couldn’t keep up.”
Red nodded. “That’s okay. I’ll get him, eventually. I’m a patient man.”
Trooper took a staggering step toward the de facto leader. “I’ve taken down bigger men than you. Tell me what makes you so special. You think you’re some kind of badasses? You think you’re ruthless?”
“No, I don’t.” Red said. “I think we’re hungry.”
Two men sprinted at Trooper, but he was ready. He swung at the first, cutting his throat in a spray of blood. The second grabbed Trooper’s arm and yanked it backward, at an angle that hurt just to see. The knife fell from his hand, useless now.
The mob rushed him. All except Red.
Trooper was a hero. But even heroes fall. He threw punch after punch. Then took punch after punch. Then he collapsed to his knees, battered and swol
len and bleeding.
“That all you got, you shit heads? One old bastard against the lot of you and that’s the best you can do?” Trooper began to climb to his feet, tired, his chest heaving.
“You’re one tough son of a bitch, old man,” Red said.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Trooper spit out a mouthful of blood.
Red swung his ax. It landed in Trooper’s neck, above the collar bone. Wyatt choked back a scream. The tears ran down his face, just like the blood continued to run from his friend.
Red jerked the blade free and swung one more time. That separated Trooper’s head from his body. The big man stepped to him and picked up Trooper’s severed skull with one of his oversized mitts. He passed it off to a woman who accepted it and dropped it into a sack.
“Gut him and bring the meat. The rest of you look for the boy.” There was no emotion in his voice. It was just another meal to him.
Wyatt watched them rip off Trooper’s shirt, watched them slice open his belly and his steaming intestines spill onto the floor. Then, they each grabbed a limp and carried him away.
No one found him. None of them even took a second look around the barn. Trooper had known exactly what he was doing. He was always right.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Wyatt waited in the barn until it was beyond dark. He wanted to ensure the cannibals were gone, but more than that, he needed to cry himself out, alone. He couldn’t go back to the others weeping and weak.
He needed to be their strength now, and that meant trying to convince himself that he could step into Trooper’s shoes. That he was capable of being their leader. He wasn’t quite there, but the tears had ceased and it was time to move on.
Before he could do that he needed to descend from the loft. With no rope to shimmy down, he was left with one option. He stared out the window, to the pile of moldy hay below. The distance wasn’t terrible, but he kept wondering if anything might be hidden under the hay. Ancient, rusty farming tools. Something sharp. He had no way of knowing for sure, but there was no other option.
The window was painted shut and it took three hard kicks to break it free. With that done, he slipped through the opening and perched on the window frame. One deep breath and he jumped.
“We can’t sit around with our dicks up our ass,” Pete said. “Those fuckers know we’re in here. I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m just being realistic.”
Some of the fear Wyatt had felt on the return trip to the farmhouse dissipated. All the way there he’d worried that the cannibals had returned to the house, had taken - or killed - everyone.
But they were alive. And he breathed a little easier.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Barbara said. “Not until everyone is back.” She stressed the everyone and Wyatt could hear the worry in her voice. He didn’t want to break this news, but he also knew to delay it would do no good.
He rapped on the door. “It’s Wyatt Let me in.”
There came the sound of chairs sliding and footsteps inside. Wyatt heard furniture being moved away from the door and then it opened. As soon as Barb saw him tears burst from her eyes. He would have cried too, he wanted to cry, but his swollen, pained eyes were empty.
“My God, Wyatt. I’m so happy you’re back.”
She embraced him with such force that he lost his breath. “I thought I lost you. I don’t know what I’d--”
“You didn’t.” He examined her, trying to see how much new damage she’d sustained. He saw the remnants of blood in her hair and a swollen welt near her temple.. “Are you okay?”
She wiped her eyes and nodded. “Allie and Pete brought me in here. I was out for about an hour.”
“More like two,” Allie said. She’d been standing to the side and Wyatt barely noticed her presence. “I cleaned her up as much as possible.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt said.
She nodded.
“Where’s the old man?” Pete asked, ruining the moment.
This was what Wyatt had been dreading. Throughout the walk back to the farmhouse he’d rehearsed and debated what he’d say but still came up empty. He paused now, trying to find the words, but his hesitation said it all.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Barbara grabbed his forearm and her brief moment of composure vanished. Her happy, relieved tears were replaced with grief. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck! What happened? How?”
Wyatt saw no sense in sharing the gory details. Maybe in time, but he doubted there’d ever be a reason to share what he’d witnessed. No one needed to live with that vision of Trooper except him.
“We were outnumbered and trapped. He blew out his knee and couldn’t run anymore.” Wyatt forced himself to look each of them in the eyes. “He died saving me.”
Barbara stumbled to a hickory rocking chair and collapsed into it. Her body quaked with sobs.
Allie sidled up to him and took his hands in her own. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt.”
He wanted to embrace her, to take comfort in her, but this wasn’t the time. He nodded.
To his extreme surprise, even Pete came to him and gave him an awkward tap on the shoulder. “Sorry, kid.”
Wyatt appreciated their condolences, but didn’t feel worthy and their kindness was almost more than he could handle. He had to change the course of the conversation and looked around the room. “Where’s Seth?” He asked. “I need to tell him.”
He saw Allie’s eyes grow wide and began to panic.
“What? Where’s my brother?”
Allie reached for him, but he pulled away.
“Stop it. Tell me what’s going on.” He couldn’t lose Seth and Trooper in the same day. Within the same few hours. He couldn’t survive that.
“Seth’s not here,” Allie said. “We haven’t seen him since the attack. Him or River.”
It was pointless to search in the dark, but the night was the longest of Wyatt’s life. Between reliving Trooper’s death and wondering if his brother had met the same fate, he didn’t get a moment of rest, or peace.
He’d never been so anxious for dawn, such that it was.
They searched as a group, not risking anyone breaking off alone. Wyatt had given Supper a good sniff of one of Seth’s ripest shirts, but the dog was no search and rescue hound and after three hours they’d found no sign of Seth or River.
Next on the list was the lake. The place where, less than 24 hours earlier, Wyatt had experienced the high point of his life. There, in the water with Allie he felt like he was on the precipice of his greatest dreams coming true. Now his life was in tatters.
They’d made it three quarters around the lake when Wyatt spotted a hedge of pampas grass quivering. The day was windless and there was no reason for the grass to move unless something - or hopefully someone - was within it.
He held his breath as he drew his pistol with one hand and pushed aside the tawny foliage with the other. Please let this be Seth, he thought. Didn’t God owe him that much?
As the blades of grass separated he saw not Seth, but River. The man had scooped a shallow trench in the dirt and huddled in it. His entire body shook and his pants were wet around the groin where he’d pissed or shit himself - or both from the smell of it.
“Don’t hurt me. River’s harmless. He promises.” He held his hands in front of his face and kept his eyes pinched shut.
Wyatt grabbed his arm, rougher than he’d intended, and jerked it sideways. “Get up, it’s us.”
River opened one eye and looked at them. “Are they gone?”
Wyatt dragged him to his feet. “For now. Where’s my brother?”
The man squinted in the dim light, his face squinched like it was collapsing inward. “Th-- Th-- They got him, my friend.”
Wyatt felt like puking. “What do you mean they got him?”
“The cannibals. They found us just after dark. Five or six of em.”
Wyatt grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him close and not even caring about the man’s stench. He was on the verge of los
ing his mind. “What do you mean they found you? I sent you off together, but you’re here and Seth isn’t so what the fuck is going on?”
“I-- I-- I had to get away, to get safe. River don’t fight. River runs, that’s what my friends say.”
“You don’t have any friends, you chickenshit bastard! They’re all dead because you left them just like you left my brother!”
He shook the man side to side, sending River’s head snapping to and fro. He sobbed and vaguely green snot ran from his nose.
He felt a hand on his arm. It was his mother. “Wyatt, don’t. You’re making it worse.”
Wyatt didn’t care. He could snap the coward’s scrawny neck for all it mattered. Or he could just shoot him.
He remembered that he was holding the pistol and he pressed the barrel to River’s temple hard enough for the gun to sink a quarter-inch into his flesh. He might not have been able to save Trooper or his brother, but he could still get some form of vengeance.
“P-- Please,” River pleaded. “I tried pushing him, but that chair don’t go through the dirt too good. River did everything he could. Even your brother, he told me to run. So while they were carrying him away I did.”
He was less than a second from pulling the trigger when River’s words sunk in. “They took him alive?
River nodded several times. “Carried him away in his chair like he was one of those Egyptian queens.”
Wyatt removed his finger from the trigger and returned the pistol to its holster. He released River and the man fell backward, looking fearful and grateful at the same time.
As he turned to the others he worked out the plan in his head. It was half-assed but better than nothing. “Go back to the house. All of you. Barricade yourselves inside and load all the guns. If we’re not back in two days head south.”
“Wyatt what are you--”
Wyatt cut his mother off. “Do it.”
She didn’t look pleased, but she nodded. Wyatt avoided Allie’s pleading gaze and instead focused on River. The squirrelly man quickly bobbed his head in agreement. “I’ll go with them. We’ll stay inside like you said. Forty-eight hours. River promises.”