Sick Bastards

by Shaw, Matt

  It’s meat.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  Meat.

  “Anyone want to say anything?” he asked.

  No one did say anything. Whether they wanted to, or not, was another matter altogether though. I’m sure we all had something to say but realised there was little point. At the end of the day there was no sense dragging it out any longer than entirely necessary. Father nodded his head and stood up. He picked a knife up from the table - a large butcher’s knife Mother had brought in - and headed towards the door to go and get the meat.

  I nearly offered him a helping hand. Nearly. I couldn’t though. The thought of what needed to be done (cutting skin off a still-warm corpse) before having to eat it...No way. There was no way I could see the body and then stick the pieces of flesh in my mouth. At least sitting here, in a room away from where the meat was being prepared, I could pretend that everything was normal. I was just sitting in my house, waiting for Father to bring me my dinner.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  Just meat.

  Steak.

  A nice prime piece of fillet. Fresh from the butchers. Blue - just the way I like it.

  Nothing more.

  Nothing less.

  My mind played back the mental image of seeing the head separate from the neck of the body. My mind played back the spray of red into the blue sky. My mind played back the sight of the head rolling to a stop and the way the eyes seemingly settled on me (the latter part of the thought clearly an extra detail my imagination added for whatever reason). Stop thinking about it. What’s happened has happened. It’s finished. It’s over with. No need to dwell on it. It was a question of him or me (and the family). I did what I had to do. And I’m certainly not about to eat a piece of his body. Certainly not. I’m just sitting here waiting for Father to bring me my steak.

  I love steak.

  Shame I don’t have some chips to go with it.

  I’m not sure how long Father was out of the room for. When he came back in he had a plate of meat with him. I didn’t dare pay any attention to the plate, nor the blood on his hands. Instead I just stared at his face. His pale face. A look of horror in his expression that I’ll never forget despite wishing I could. I wanted to ask him whether he had taken a minute to try a small piece for himself but the words didn’t come from my mouth.

  Mother asked, “Are you okay?”

  He nodded as he put the plate down in the centre of the table.

  “Plenty left over if anyone fancies it!” he tried to joke.

  No one laughed.

  No one moved either. We all just sat there - none of us able to take our eyes from the plate. It’s a shame we knew what the meat was because there, on the bloodied plate, it looked like a kind of ham.

  Father took a deep breath in and sighed it back out again. “Down the hatch.”

  Quick as a flash he picked a small piece of meat up (thankfully most of them were cut fairly small in size) and threw it into his mouth which promptly clamped shut. He paused there for a second or two. You could see, on his face, that he was having an internal battle with his thoughts about whether to chew or spit it back out. Slowly he chewed. We all watched for his reaction. It was clear the meat wasn’t the best yet he hadn’t spat it back out which (on some levels) was a positive.

  “Pork.”

  He swallowed.

  “Shame there isn’t some brown sauce in the house,” was another attempt at a mood lightening joke. Again no one laughed.

  Mother picked a small piece up, and I did too. We both put the pieces of fillet steak into our mouths and slowly chewed down. Father was right. There was an element of pork to the taste. The texture was...Chewy, uncooked ham. I couldn’t help but wish there was some gas in the house with which we could have cooked some of the meat. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to light a small fire, outside, with which we could have cooked a little of the meat? Perhaps that would have made it more bearable.

  “It’s not as bad as it could be,” I said to Sister.

  She didn’t look convinced. She was clearly struggling with the whole idea of eating a fellow human despite it being our best chance of survival. I don’t know for sure but starvation must surely be a horrible way to die and whilst it’s fair to say none of us would have starved immediately - it wouldn’t have been long before the effects of hunger started to take their toll on our bodies; especially as none of us was particularly large to begin with.

  “We’ll need to keep our strength up,” Father told her, “just in case those things outside come by...We can’t be weak.” You could see by his face that he sympathised with Sister. He hadn’t wanted to eat the flesh either. None of us did. “You can do it,” he added.

  “Forgive me Father for what I am about to do.”

  Sister quickly picked up a piece of meat (the smallest on the plate) and threw it into her mouth before promptly chewing down on it as quickly as she could. Seconds later she swallowed it down. The speed she ate with, I’d have been surprised if her taste buds had the chance to register any flavour. She gagged and (for a minute) I thought it was going to come back up and land in a mushed up state back on her plate. Thankfully for all concerned, it didn’t.

  Father reluctantly took another piece from the pre-cut sections. He put it in his mouth and began the chewing process once more. I looked at Sister and Mother and they both reached forward for another taste knowing that the small pieces already swallowed would not be enough to sustain us.

  I guess we aren’t taking it in turns anymore.

  “How about if we lit a fire?” I asked Father. “There are papers in the lounge - we could use those...Perhaps cook some of the meat? Might make it...”

  “And where would we cook it?” he asked as he swallowed his second piece. “There’s nowhere indoors where we could safely keep a fire under control and - if we light it outside - the smoke might attract those things to us. We can’t risk it.” He took another handful.

  I didn’t argue with him. He was right. He was always right.

  I took a second piece of flesh for myself.

  Here we go again.

  Bad Dreams

  I don’t remember who told me. It could have been my father. It could have been my mother. I doubt it would have been my sister. Like so many of my beliefs, ideas and thoughts - they’re all in my head; I just don’t remember how they were planted there. For all I know some teacher in some school (or even a friend from years gone by) told me this particular thought and I just don’t remember the occasion: eating cheese before you go to bed gives you nightmares. I don’t remember if there is any truth in that sentence. I can’t recall ever trying it if I’m going to be honest. Had I (before the blast) at some stage in my life eaten cheese before bedtime because of some uncontrollable urge or because I was curious to see what happened? Or was I the sort of person who believed most of what I was told and did my best to avoid it?

  I really wish I knew.

  I also wish someone had told me the same rule applied when discussing human flesh.

  It wasn’t human flesh. It was prime fillet steak. The best you can buy.

  Despite finishing the meal a few hours ago I couldn’t shake the taste of flesh from my mouth. Sadly we had all but run out of anything to drink other than water which, by some stroke of luck, was still obtainable from one of the house’s many taps. Refreshing - yes - but hardly what you need when you want to cleanse your mouth of disgusting tastes.

  We should have been more careful when it came to rationing the toothpaste when we first moved into the house but then, I guess, we didn’t expect to be here so long. Stupid really. We should have known we were going to be here for some time...

  I rolled onto my side. Sister was sound asleep. She looked so pretty there, illuminated by the few beams of moonlight penetrating the barricades by the window. I don’t know why but impure thoughts leaked into my mind - at first they weren’t necessarily of her. They were j
ust of women in general. What it would feel like to be with one, to lay with one, to feel their touch upon my skin.

  I couldn’t remember, whereas other sensations I hadn’t experienced since the blast, like stubbing a toe for example, I could recall perfectly. I couldn’t help but wonder whether I was a virgin before; a thought which promptly slipped from my mind as I wondered about the touch of a woman once more. Even the sight of a naked woman...

  I hesitated for a moment.

  My mind stuck on the last thought I had; the sight of a naked woman. There was a girl, only a few feet away from me, who was near naked under the thin sheet which covered her, choosing to sleep in bra and knickers as opposed to full clothes.

  Quietly I sat up and dragged myself across the floor to where her mattress was. Quiet as a mouse (and slowly so as not to wake her) I pulled the sheet back to reveal her perfect body.

  My penis strained against my shorts at the mere sight of her. At the thought of her touch, I couldn’t help but touch it. All the time, my eyes were transfixed on her breasts. I’d give anything to feel her hand wrapped around my shaft. Anything...

  “What are you doing?”

  I looked up to her face and jumped when I realised she was staring - not at my face but at my right hand gripping my penis within my shorts. I pulled away but she already knew what was happening.

  “I’m sorry...” I said. I felt my face redden and went to turn away from her but she bolted upright and stopped me mid-turn. She turned me back around to face her. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She shushed me. A smile on her lips. A twinkle in her eye.

  “Let me help!” she pleaded.

  Before I could object or do anything, I felt her hand fondle my crotch. Her touch felt so good. So electrifying.

  “How’s that?” she asked as her fingers wrapped around the shaft and began a firm stroking motion. I couldn’t help but sigh. I didn’t need to answer. She knew I was enjoying it. I’m not sure how but I felt myself harden, more so than I had already done. “Close your eyes,” she whispered.

  I didn’t want to though. I couldn’t take my eyes off her body. I wished that I could be inside of her. Feel her snatch around me. I knew it was wrong but I didn’t care. After all - what if we were the last humans? We’d need to repopulate the world so surely it would be deemed acceptable. We ate human flesh for our survival. Who was to say we couldn’t fuck for survival too?

  I pushed her back onto the mattress and ripped her knickers off with a quick motion revealing a hairy bush and pretty pink lips of her tidy looking vagina. She didn’t stop me. She pulled me closer until I fell on top of her. A little bit of fiddling on her part, and a thrust on mine, and I was inside of her.

  I slipped in with so much ease. She was so wet yet so beautifully tight. The sparkle in her eye was brighter than the beams of light offered by the moon. I felt her hands grab my buttocks. She seemingly pulled me even closer to her, forcing me in as deep as I could go. We both let out a sigh of delight.

  Suddenly I woke up. I was on the floor where I had drifted off to sleep. She was on her mattress where I had left her. A peaceful look on her face. A frustrated look on mine. An erection straining uncomfortably against my boxer shorts.

  A weird dream?

  I felt disgusted with myself.

  I started the evening by eating human flesh and then I ended it with dreams of fucking my own sister. After killing someone today, too, I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what I am becoming and exactly how far I’ll go to ensure my own survival.

  PART SEVEN

  Now

  Leaving it Behind

  I finished the last of the meat (prime fillet steak). I hated that I had to do so but Father was right (of course) - I would need my strength if I was going to survive out there by myself. I knew it was going to be hard anyway (surviving) but, even so, I didn’t want to stunt my chances more so by refusing to eat what was already prepared. Had it been a question of preparing it myself - from someone breathing - then it would have most likely been a different outcome. I would have left the house hungry. An empty stomach.

  I am a killer - yes - but I don’t want to be.

  I stood up. This is it then. Nothing else here for me. Time to leave. For good.

  The nagging feeling (which had kept me here other times I went to leave) started to creep into my thought process once more. I did my best to dismiss it. I’m serious this time. I’m leaving.

  I left the room and headed down the stairs. As I reached the bottom step, Sister and Mother stepped out from within the lounge. They both looked as though they were sad.

  “You do this every time,” said Sister, “just stay with us. It’s fine.”

  “I can’t,” I told her.

  I crossed the hallway towards the front door where I started to move the various pieces of furniture (found from around the house) which were stopping me from opening the door. Neither Sister nor Mother helped me.

  “Your father will calm down,” said Mother.

  The fact he could be so cold to me (to all of us) didn’t bother me. I could live with it if it was just that but it wasn’t. It was how he behaved in general that I couldn’t live with. It was how they all behaved that made me feel as though we were less of a family - and I blamed myself for that too. I wasn’t guilt free. Far from it. The difference was I at least felt I could redeem myself. I thought I could go back to how I was; the innocent lad as opposed to the flesh eating, incestuous killer that I had grown to be. I knew I could go back. Try and put it all behind me. Move on with my life in whatever capacity that the outside world permitted.

  When they realised I wasn’t going to stop dismantling the barricade, they both started to help me despite Father advising against it from the lounge. With three pairs of hands the doorway was soon clear for me to make my escape.

  I turned to Mother and Sister.

  “Stay with me!” Sister looked as though she was about to cry, her eyes welling up and the glimmer of humanity back in there again. It was just a shame I knew Father was only too capable of making it disappear into the blackness with so much ease.

  “Come with me!” I told her again.

  She looked at Mother. Mother shook her head. Sister shook hers. I felt my own eyes well up too.

  “I’ll come back for you. As soon as I find someone, or something, I’ll get word to you. I promise...”

  Sister hugged me. A warm embrace. I didn’t want to let her go. Why did I feel like I was saying goodbye to a lover as opposed to a sister? My confused state of mind was playing tricks on me. This was why I needed to leave. I pulled away from her squeeze, worried that I may not be able to leave if I stayed much longer. I gave her a peck on the cheek before I turned to Mother. An awkward kiss between us (neither knowing which cheek the other was aiming for) made me accidentally kiss her on the lips. A reflex lick of my lips and I was sure I could taste Father...

  “Travelling light?” Mother asked. She was referring to my lack of luggage.

  “Best do,” I told her. No sense in letting a bag of useless belongings slow me down and I was sure I’d find something, at least, within a day’s worth of walking. From the patchy memory I had of my past life, I was never too far away from anywhere that you couldn’t walk to in a day or two. Not in this country.

  ...And speaking of Father - he didn’t come to wave me goodbye. Not even a shout out from the lounge. I guess having a soul meant I wasn’t part of his family anymore. Disowned. It didn’t matter though. I didn’t go to him either. I simply smiled, one last time, at Sister and Mother and stepped from the house.

  “CLOSE THAT DOOR!” I heard Father call out from the lounge.

  As I turned to face the trees to the side of the house I heard the door slam behind me and - seconds later - the sound of the various objects being stacked against the door once more.

  No turning back now, not that I wanted to. I didn’t want to give them (well, Father anyway) the satisfaction.

  I
took a deep breath and stepped from the porch down onto the driveway. A few more steps and I was walking on the ever-growing grass and - seconds later - I had passed the first of many trees which lay ahead. My adrenalin was already pumping; not through fear but rather the endless possibilities stretched out in front of me. I only wish Sister had come with me.

  * * * * *

  I remained alert as I continued to walk through the woods. Not just for any of those potential people (the ones who were infected with god only knows what) but also for survivors who may have been stumbling around seeking help just as I was. My eyes would dart from the horizon down to where I was stepping; one minute watching out for signs of trouble and the next looking down to ensure I wasn’t going to trip on a large log, or twist my ankle on a bit of uneven ground. All the time, my mind was wondering as to how I’d react if I did meet another person, such as myself. It had been so long since I had seen anyone, who didn’t end up on the dining room table, that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to speak to them normally - my necessary social skill standards seemingly having slipped these past few weeks. God. It all happened so fast. One minute living a relatively normal life and the next...What had we become? I shook the thought from my mind and went back to fretting about what would happen if I met someone out here.