The Messenger (After Days Shorts Book 1)

by Medbury, Scott

  “Dad! What about the treats?”

  “Forget the treats, it’s time to go. Come on keep up!”

  Kane wasn’t stupid and even though he was disappointed, he could tell the men with the sharp teeth had spooked his dad. He had questions, but somehow his father’s urgency, the tone of his voice, told him now was not the time to ask them.

  As they made their exit from the square Kane looked over his shoulder one last time. The eyes of the man who had licked his lips were still on him and so were those of his comrades. Why were they looking at him? The boy began to feel genuine fear.

  3

  The messenger scanned the crowd on either side of the square. He cursed under his breath and walked purposefully across the square to the two marshals. They both stood up straighter as the big man approached.

  “What can we do for you stranger?” The stockier one asked, using his club to scratch his stubbly chin.

  The Messenger was in no mood to play games.

  “The cannibals you were watching, where did they go?”

  The marshal weighed up the red bearded man and then spat on the ground.

  “Gone and good riddance to those demon bastards.”

  “Yeah,” said the younger man. “Good thing too, we were gonna chase em out in another few minutes.”

  The Messenger ignored the lie.

  “How long ago, and which way?” he asked the older man.

  The man looked him up and down and snorted.

  “Believe me mister, someone like you does not want to fuck with them or you might find yourself being served for…”

  In a sudden blur of movement the red bearded man shoved the young marshal onto his backside and pinned the bigger man against the wall, his lower arm pressed hard against his throat.

  “Oh but I do want to fuck with them…” he whispered, into the man’s face.

  The young marshal climbed to his feet and rushed at the man holding his partner. In a move that was almost unfairly quick, the Messenger stripped the club from the hand of the marshal he had trapped, and swung it at the temple of the other. The younger man didn’t even groan as his momentum carried him face first into the mud.

  The older man put his hands up in surrender.

  “Please,” he said, in a choked voice and pointed a shaky finger to the northern end of the square. “That way, less than five minutes ago.”

  “Thank you,” said the stranger politely, removing his arm from the man’s throat before handing him back his club. He gestured at the man still face down in the mud. “You better turn your friend over before he suffocates. Later dude.”

  The Messenger ignored the stares that followed him as he strode out of the square, the axe strapped over his shoulders a stark warning to anyone thinking of intervening or pursuing him.

  He cursed his sloppiness back in the square. There was no place for nostalgia in his world. He left that for the people back in the city. For him, memories only brought pain and doubt, a fact reinforced by his recent lapse.

  He quickened his pace when he was free of the town and reached the top of the first hill quickly. The two lane road sloped gently down for a mile and then rose again into a second hill. The four cannibals we just beginning to ascend the second hill and further on he saw two more figures with a cart or something similar, near the top and about to disappear over the rise. He reached his right arm across his body into the opposite pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a pair of small binoculars. He held them one handed and focused on the cannibals.

  They were cavorting and dancing like idiots as they unhurriedly climbed the hill. Even from that distance he could hear the faint sounds of their scornful mocking. He scanned the binoculars up the hill and his gaze came to rest upon the two that the cannibals were following. The bigger figure was pulling a laden cart, forging up the hill surprisingly quickly as the boy pushed from behind. A father and son, too well fed for villagers, which perhaps explained why the cannibals were pursuing them. He watched them for a few seconds until they disappeared from sight. Their stalkers howled and continued up the hill.

  The stranger pocketed the binoculars and began down the hill. He didn’t bother to stay out of sight now. It would be better if the cannibals spotted him and left off their pursuit. He had dismissed his original objective of following them back to their lair. He had decided to kill them before they could hurt the father and his boy.

  4

  The road flattened out again for half a mile before rising up another, gentler hill and the boy’s father picked up speed, taking advantage of the level road while he could.

  “Stop pushing now Kane,” he panted, over his shoulder. “Come up beside me.”

  Kane was tired but adrenalin triggered by the bloodthirsty shrieks of the men behind them helped him catch up and keep pace with his father.

  “Drop your back pack while we run.”

  “But Dad, what about…”

  “Just do it, Son!”

  Kane shrugged off the heavy pack and let it drop to the road where the contents, bags of nuts and dried fruit, spilled onto the tarmac.

  “Good, now see the next hill?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “When we get to the top, the road curves to the right and heads back home. I want you to run ahead as fast as you can and follow it. You need to get home and warn Mom. If you hear them gaining on you before you get there, hide in the trees and wait until you’re sure they’re gone.”

  “What about you Dad?”

  “Don’t worry about me boy, I’ll be fine…you just get home to your mother in case…in case I’m delayed.”

  “Okay Dad.”

  It wasn’t okay. Kane was scared. He had never seen his father like this and knew something had to be seriously wrong for him to be sent on alone.

  The four men topped the rise about three minutes behind them and whooped even louder.

  “Don’t run little piggies!” one of them called.

  The road began to slope upwards and his father ordered Kane to push again. He looked at the men in the distance as he ran to the back of the barrow. Before he put all his strength into pushing the cart forward he stuck up his middle finger at them.

  His defiant gesture was met with gleeful derision and some yelling but he didn’t catch any of the words except for eat and heart.

  They made the top of the incline and his father stopped, dropping the cart so that it rested on its prop, his chest heaving as he leaned over, hands on thighs, trying to catch his wind. Kane did the same. Finally his dad stretched to his full height, shaking his arms and trying to get blood flowing to his fingers again.

  “Run now Kane. Run home and don’t stop or look back,” he ordered breathlessly, before reaching into the cart and pulling out his machete.

  “But Dad…”

  “I said go!”

  His father hugged him briefly and a sob escaped Kane’s throat, he had seen the tears in his father’s eyes.

  “Go!” His father yelled, turning him away before shoving him in the back.

  Kane was propelled forward and barely kept his feet as his stumble straightened into a sprint. He followed the faded white lines in the middle of the road, and, as his father had ordered, didn’t look back, not even as he rounded the bend and disappeared from sight.

  Daniel Rand ignored the whoops and screams of the cannibals. His normally pleasant and open face was grim. He was resigned to the fact that he would probably die here and his task now, was to delay the cannibals as long as possible. It was a shame he didn’t have his shotgun, firearms were a rarity nowadays and he was pretty sure that the cannibals didn’t have one. It certainly would have evened the odds a little. No, it was better left at home in case Tracey needed it to protect the kids while he was away.

  He blinked away the bitter tears evoked by the thought of his wife and children.

  “Come on you dirty fuckers!” he screamed down the slope at the cannibals. The four men had slowed when they saw he meant to make a stand.<
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  “Oh we’re coming all right, Daddy,” said the tall man leading the cannibals.

  Now they were closer, Daniel could see the inverted cross carved into the skin of his forehead. It was a raw, open wound with puckered pink scarring along its edges.

  “Where has your sweetmeat of a boy gone? You send him to hide?”

  “Never you mind about him,” he yelled at them, as they closed to within thirty feet. “You worry about me.” He pointed the machete at him to emphasize his point.

  “Oh come on, where is he? I haven’t seen one as fat as him for a long time. Do you have more at home?”

  “Fuck you asshole!” the man yelled and grabbed the handles of the cart. He hoisted it and pushed it down the hill at his tormentors with an almighty heave. As soon as it was away and careening down the hill, he turned and ran.

  The harsh laughter of the cannibals rang out behind him followed a few seconds later by some curses, but alas no screams.

  The Messenger crested the hill behind them and ducked to the ground, just in time to observe the cannibals jumping out of the path of the driverless cart. Two of them only just managed to avoid it and climbed to their feet to the raucous amusement of their fellows. All four paused to track the progress of the cart as it broke up and finally collapsed in an explosion of timber and goods at the bottom of the hill.

  Their Messenger rose and found his feet as they turned and began sprinting after their prey, the leader unslinging his hunting bow as he went. He had gained a little on them, but they were still three quarters of a mile ahead of him. He loped after them, the hunter hunting the hunters.

  Daniel Rand sprinted along the road but ran straight ahead when he reached the bend. He leapt into the waist high grass that separated the old road and the forest and ran for the trees. The hoots and hollers behind him were much closer now and sent a fresh jolt of adrenalin through his system. He would need that adrenalin and more, a fact that was punctuated by the loud thunk of an arrow striking the trunk of a tree just inches to his right.

  He ducked and weaved and swerved as he ran into the shadows and dared to think that he would be able to lead them a long way off Kane’s trail. It was an illusion. Something struck him in the back, just under the right shoulder blade, so hard that it picked him up off his feet and propelled him face first into the carpet of pine needles.

  Daniel groaned as he came to rest, the piercing pain in his back agonizing and his breath whistling with each inhalation. He tried to rise to his hands and knees but his right arm was incapable of moving. His left hand scrabbled desperately through layers of pine needles before he found purchase on the ground beneath and was able to half crawl, half drag himself to a bush a few feet away. Every inch of that short journey was a new experience in agony. He finally settled under the leafy bush, struggling to breathe and held the machete in a white knuckled grip as he waited for death to arrive.

  “Here piggy, piggy, piggy!” called the leader. “Come out, come out wherever you are!’

  “You sure you got him Logan?” asked another, only to earn a cuff over the ear.

  “Shut up,” he whispered harshly. “Of course I got him. Spread out, and make sure you’re looking at the ground, if he’s still moving he will be bleeding.”

  It was Logan, the leader, who found him.

  “Over here!”

  The other three joined him within seconds and he pointed out the trail through the pine needles and the drops of blood. He walked on ahead, following the scuff marks until they reached a large bush. He put his finger over his lips to shush his mates. He could hear an irregular whistling sound. The sound of a pierced lung. He smiled humorlessly.

  “Lind, pull him out,” he ordered the one he had just cuffed.

  The squattest of the four thugs went to the bush and kneeled, peering under it. He gave a snort of triumph and reached in to grab the booted foot closest to him. There was a violent rustle of leaves and with a howl the cannibal jerked his arm back and looked dumbly at the three bloody stumps that were so recently the fingers of his hand.

  “FUUUCKK!” he shrieked, cradling his ruined hand as tears streamed from his eyes. “Look what he did to my hand!”

  “Fuck!” yelled the leader, looking at the sky for strength.

  He savagely kicked Lind out of the way and took a step forward before nocking another arrow and shooting it point blank into the bush. He was rewarded with a yelp of pain.

  “Useless fuck!” he bent over and screamed at the cringing Lind before turning to the others. “Don’t just stand there, get him out of there!”

  The other two drew their knives and were more cautious as they pulled the moaning man from his hiding place. The second arrow had gone through his right hip and the tip protruding from the other side left a furrow in the forest floor as they dragged him into the center of the clearing. The fight had gone out of him. Blood bubbled on his lips with every whistling breath and his eyelids fluttered as he fought to stay conscious.

  The leader dropped beside him and roughly tilted him onto his side and began pulling the first arrow from his back. He did it slowly, relishing the gargling scream it produced. When it was free he let the man fall back onto his back and held the bloody point in front of his eyes.

  “This is the same arrow I will use to bring your boy down. I’ll make sure it doesn’t kill him though because I want to skin him alive. The meat tastes so much better that way…”

  The man’s eyes widened and the muscles of his face shifted under pale skin as he said something they couldn’t hear. The leader bent over him. “What’s that?” he asked, cheerfully. “I can’t hear you Daddy.”

  “I said fuck you!”

  The dying man lunged up at the cannibal, his open mouth finding his tormentor’s ear and biting down hard. The cannibal flinched, but too late and the ear made a terrible wet, ripping sound as the other man jerked his head, ripping it away like a dog pulling muscle from a bone. He then fell back and with the last of his strength spat the ear away into the dirt.

  Now it was the leaders turn to scream and he clapped his hand over the shredded flesh, the warm blood pouring through his fingers.

  “You fucker,” he spat with barely concealed fury as he pulled his hand away and looked at it.

  Logan rose to his feet and Lind, his injury briefly forgotten as self-preservation kicked in, shuffled quickly out of his leader’s reach. His two cronies had already moved a safe distance away. He ignored them and pulled a knife with a long, thin blade from his belt and bent over the dying man.

  “Your boy,” he said almost conversationally, as he sliced off the dying man’s ears one at a time with two economical movements. “Is going to suffer for days and days before I put an end to him. But before he does I will starve him until he begs me to eat these.”

  He waved the fleshy offering in front of his victim’s eyes, but only received a choked gargling in response. The leader placed the ears into a pouch on his belt and then bared his sharpened teeth in a terrible smile before placing a steadying hand under the man’s head and driving the long thin blade slowly and deliberately into his eye. He kept pushing until the blade hit the back of his victim’s skull. Daniel’s body stiffened, a ragged final sigh escaping his lips.

  Logan withdrew the blade, wiped it on his sleeve and sprang to his feet.

  “Come on,” the leader said. “Let’s go hunting.”

  The two uninjured cannibals fell in behind their leader immediately, but Lind took the opportunity to viciously kick the dead man in the head several times before turning and running after his mates.

  5

  The Messenger reached the long grass and availed himself of the cover it offered, crouching and moving forward, well to the left of where the cannibals and their quarry had trampled it. He heard screaming and shouting from the trees but had difficulty telling how far in they might be.

  The noises subsided after a while and he decided to enter the forest, planning to circle around and fall upon them fro
m the front. He was running for the tree line when the leader, the side of his head a red mess, burst from the forest barely 20 feet away. The Messenger ducked down in the grass, watching until three of them had emerged. He had begun to think the father may have taken down the fourth when he also emerged a good few seconds behind his companions.

  He waited until they were on their way and then quickly ran into the trees the way they had come, resigned to the fact that he was too late. It wasn’t hard to follow their trail and as he ran through the dappled sunlight, he inspected the floor of the forest, trying to piece together what had happened. There was no evidence of a child’s passing and it led him to believe that the father had tried to lead his pursuers away, perhaps hoping to give his son time to escape. The more he considered it, the more he believed he was right, if not, the bastards would still be at their butchery.

  He found the mutilated body of the man a few seconds later. There was no point checking for a pulse. There was no sign of the boy. With his suspicions confirmed he turned on his heel and began his own pursuit.

  Kane ran on, his chest heaving. It had been an hour since his father had ordered him to go and the fear and adrenalin that had fueled him initially, was finally fading. He was nearing the end of his endurance. He had just passed a tall tree that his dad had called ‘Big Red’ as they passed it on the way to the village that morning. That happy, carefree walk that had held such promise for the eleven year-old, seemed days ago, not hours. He slackened his pace to a walk, the tree meant he was less than an hour from home and there had been no sign of the bad men.

  Kane even considered stopping to wait for his dad. He was sure by now that he had dealt with the problem of the bad men, but decided the risk of catching an ass whooping for disobeying orders wasn’t worth it. His dad had been very serious about it. Every now and then he would turn and look back along the road, hopeful he would see his father in the distance but was disappointed each time.