It took Jill a couple of weeks, but eventually she realized that the heavier-set females were the ones being taken away first. She was naturally thin, muscled from her years of running track and swimming. Maybe she would be one of the lucky ones.
The guards that came to check on the captives never laid a hand on them, at least not in the basement. They said things like, “He likes his women with meat on their bones,” or “Cannibal will like you, sweetie.” It didn’t take long before Jill had an idea of what was going on. The guy’s name was Cannibal. Coincidence? She thought not. The women were given lots of food, fattened up so he could eat them? No, no way. She was being ridiculous. The scumbag guards would never put up with that, or would they?
In the meantime, she kept her spirits high, looked for any chance to escape, and ate enough to stay energized.
Chapter 9
Cannibal sat on his throne, a chair constructed from the bones and flesh of his victims. The room had been some kind of office, having a computer desk, bookshelf and lounge chair. It was just off the living room area, the chimney there heating one of the walls in his room nicely. Cannibal made the place his, the one room where he could be himself and strike fear in the people that entered it.
He was clearly the leader. The men he had led to the mansion respected and feared him. He maintained a sense of normalcy outside of his room, wanting the men to feel safe. His way of life was not even close to what passed for normal, even among murderers, rapists and thieves. Before he’d been arrested, his victims feared him, the terror on their faces supplying him satisfaction that sex brought to most people. Here, in the mansion, the men had the same looks on their faces as his victims used to. Fear and respect worked on the inside, as well as the outside, especially in this new world. He was their leader, and though his ways were different, they would follow him. He had led them out of the chaos and into a home, a place where grand things were possible.
As long as he had his food supply, Cannibal was satisfied. He would eat his men if he had to, but preferred having them as soldiers. And speaking of food, his supply in the basement was running low, and with how things were these days, he didn’t know how much longer he’d have the kind of fare he needed.
Before he was imprisoned, he’d had to be careful. Like all serial killers, he had to remain hidden behind a great big lie, an illusion. Create an alter ego for the public’s viewing pleasure. Minding his business, never playing music too loudly, saying hello to his neighbors and washing his car on a Sunday in the driveway of his neatly, bush-trimmed home. And when he went out to fulfill his innate needs—to kill and eat—the law was ever vigilant with his kind. Cameras were everywhere. Forensics improved everyday. Remaining free and out of prison required skill and patience.
The voices, the demons, had told him he would be rewarded for his killing and eating of his fellow man. He kept on killing for years, obeying the voices until one day he was arrested, tried, and sentenced. The voices continued to speak to him, telling him to keep the faith, and that one day he would be free to consume all that he desired.
A few years after his incarceration, he heard the news, then saw it with his own eyes; the dead had come back to life. The demons told him they were his children, doing what he had already been doing. They were mindless soldiers of Hell. They would never back down or show fear and their numbers were endless. It was Cannibal’s destiny to control them, but it would take time and effort on his part to complete the task. He needed to consume more flesh, and after he had been freed from prison, he saw that the voices had been correct. Now there was nothing to stop him from gaining the power of the undead, except for the undead themselves. He didn’t quite understand how he was supposed to eat all that he desired if his children were devouring his cattle, but that was okay, because all was going according to plan. He’d let fate take its course.
He reached out and picked up the charred arm on the table, then brought it to his mouth and began to tear the flesh away. He hoped soon to be able to eat the flesh raw, transforming into the zombie father his children needed. Once under his control, the world would be his.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” he said.
He knew how much his men hated reporting to him. It wasn’t just that they feared him, but disliked the odor of cooked flesh and watching him eat it.
“We have confirmation that the three new arrivals have already left Cliff House,” the man named Freak said.
Cannibal grinned, pieces of flesh stuck in his teeth. He had a stockpile of weapons, but the more the better. It was reported that these three had military grade weapons; weapons that would greatly help him tip the scales in his favor. The people of Cliff House would soon fall to him, this he had no doubt, then more food could be added to his pen.
“Do everything possible to take them alive,” Cannibal said, pointing the severed arm at Freak. “I need more flesh.”
“Yes, Cannibal,” the man said, then hurried out of the room.
Cannibal tore another piece of meat from the arm. Today would be a good day, he thought. A very good day.
Chapter 10
Kyle Dillard turned off the walkie-talkie and removed the batteries. He placed everything in a large plastic bag, then put the bag in a metal lockbox. Secured, he returned the box to the hole in the ground. Digging even a small hole during this time of year was difficult. He’d had to use a hammer and a railroad spike to soften the earth before shoveling with the spade.
He filled in the hole, then kicked snow and leaves over it.
Kyle Dillard was a convict, sentenced to ten years in prison for driving the getaway vehicle in a bank heist. He was small in stature, thin, wore glasses and appeared as non-threatening as a bunny. He did not fair well while on the inside, often bullied and beaten, raped and robbed.
During the prison exodus—his cell door open—he remained in his cell. He hid beneath his bed for fear someone would kill him. Maybe when the prison was empty, then and only then would he attempt to leave. He figured most inmates wanted nothing more than to leave the place, not caring about settling scores or whatnot, but seeing an easy target like himself might be too much for someone who had been looking to hurt him.
When it had quieted down, hearing the occasional straggler pass by, he snuck a peek from under his bed and nearly vomited when he saw the most feared prisoner of them all, Cannibal. The monster, standing over 6’3” and weighing close to 300 pounds wasn’t running like the rest of Sing Sing’s inhabitants. He was standing, staring into Kyle’s cell. Kyle ducked back under the bed, hoping the man hadn’t seen him or would just leave him be.
“Don’t be afraid, little man,” the giant said. “Come on out.”
Yeah, okay, Kyle thought, as urine soaked his crotch. No way in hell. Keep going you big, crazy fucker.
“I will protect you,” the man said. “You shall be a member of my human flock.”
Kyle didn’t move and hoped the notorious serial killer would move on. Why someone would release him, Kyle did not know.
He heard the man’s footsteps echoing off the floor, praying that the man was heading off somewhere else. All the other prisoners must have left by now. It was himself and Cannibal. He’d heard rumors about the big man, that he only ate hefty people. If that was true, he was safe, but it still wouldn’t stop the guy from killing him. Then he thought about it; the big man had been confined for so long. It would be like locking up a sex maniac and giving the guy the ugliest girl on the planet. He’d take whatever came his way. Bony or not, Kyle was dead.
“I won’t ask again,” the man said. “You’ll be on your own amongst your fellow inmates or food for the undead, my children.”
“Children?” Kyle said aloud, not meaning to. He crouched lower and closed his eyes like a child hoping the boogeyman would go away. Time seemed to stand still. Quiet filled his ears so that he only heard the rush of blood. Unable to take it any longer, he opened his eyes and saw an oversized pair of prison-issued sneakers.
He swallowed, then glanced up.
Cannibal stared back, grinning. The sleeves from his prison-supplied evergreen-colored shirt had been torn off, revealing well-muscled arms. Kyle was reminded of the time he met one of the NY Giants’ linemen.
Holding out his oversized hand, blood-caked around the fingernails, Cannibal said, “It’s okay, little lamb. You will be safe by my side.”
Seeing he had no choice in the matter, Kyle took the man’s hand and rose to his feet. He stiffened, waiting to be attacked, but the big man simply turned and walked out of the cell. “Follow me.”
Wherever they went, no one bothered them. Kyle couldn’t believe the carnage he saw. People were looting, shooting, stripped of body parts, eaten to the bone. The dead were everywhere. The police presence was null. It was every person for his or her self. He saw Bulldog, one of the prison’s most notorious men, pummeling a woman to death just before a pack of zombies fell on him. Kyle couldn’t have been more satisfied as the man screamed.
The streets were lined with vehicles. People drove over bodies—both dead and alive—and onto lawns, smashing through fences and mailboxes. But the streets were too small, the roads too clogged. Cannibal and Kyle took to the forest to make their way out of town before working their way back to the road that led to the Thruway.
They came to a house just outside of town. Cannibal smashed the door down. A family was there, the father holding a sledgehammer, the son a knife.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” the man threatened. Kyle could tell he was scared and was no fighter, and if he could see that, then Cannibal did too. The big man came forward, the father swung the sledgehammer. Cannibal nimbly sidestepped the blow, then grabbed the tool with one hand and shoved the lanky man to the floor. The son came at him with the knife. Cannibal swung the tool and smashed the kid in the side of the head. A loud crunch echoed around the room. Blood exploded from the impact as the kid landed on the floor. The father howled in agony. Cannibal stood over him, raised the hammer and smashed the man’s face, killing him instantly.
“What’s going on, Henry?” a woman’s voice called from down the hall. Then Kyle saw her, a woman in her late forties with long blonde hair and a slender build. Her eyes went wide, jaw dropped open at the carnage. She screamed, then ran back down the hall and into a room. Cannibal grinned and went after her.
Kyle remained where he was. He felt bad for the family, but if his protector needed to do this to others, and Kyle would remain safe, then so be it.
Screams erupted from the room the woman was in. “Mom! No!” came a high-pitched girlie scream. Kyle’s heart sank a little, knowing the big man was killing two innocent women. No, one woman and a girl. He didn’t want to know how old and imagined she was in her late teens. Cannibal returned to the living room holding two arms, one smaller than the other. Blood covered his chest. Kyle felt weak in the knees. Cannibal laughed. “Don’t pass out on me, little man. We have work to do.”
For the next couple of hours, Kyle helped Cannibal with the bodies, cutting them up and placing the parts in the oven. He threw up a few times, Cannibal chuckling at his displeasure.
When it was time for the man to eat, Kyle went into the bathroom and puked what little food he’d eaten from the household’s fridge. The entire house filled with the odor of cooked bacon, which wasn’t bad until he pictured what was cooking. He remained there until Cannibal called him, letting him know it was safe to come back.
“I feel good again,” the man said. Grizzled bones were left on the kitchen table. Kyle guessed if he was to stay with this man, then he’d have to get used to his eating habits. Right now, the world was in chaos. He needed protection. He had no choice. If he found someone better to protect him, then he’d consider changing teams, but for now it was “TEAM CANNIBAL.”
Kyle set out around the house, looking for valuables, then realized there was no place to sell them. From what he had heard, the epidemic was everywhere. What mattered now was survival gear. He found a backpack in the boy’s room, antiseptic in the bathroom, a toothbrush—unopened, a bar of soap, and in the bedroom he took pairs of socks and underwear from the father’s drawers, the size looking as if it would be okay. From the kitchen cabinets, he grabbed some canned goods, crackers, tea bags, and candy bars.
“We’ll stay here for the night,” Cannibal said. “We have a secure place and food. Tomorrow we’ll head north, going over the Tappan Zee Bridge.”
Kyle wanted no part of remaining in the house, but wasn’t about to argue. Anything Cannibal wanted, Cannibal received. He stayed in the parents’ bedroom while Cannibal slept in the living room. As long he kept the door closed, the odor of cooked meat mixed with the coppery smell of blood wasn’t too strong in the bedroom.
Over the next two days, the two traveled toward the highway, staying the night in Tarrytown. Cannibal found the remains of a police officer, his Glock 21 and 3 clips still on the body. “My children don’t need such things,” Cannibal said, shoving the gun into his pants.
Later that same night, they broke into a home and found an elderly couple sleeping. A shotgun rested next to the bed. Cannibal slaughtered them with his knife, then handed the weapon to Kyle who waited in the kitchen with a cup of Earl Grey tea. “Now you can defend yourself.”
Cannibal continued his death trek, as Kyle came to call it. The man killed many people and zombies, hating to do the latter. He rarely used the gun, preferring to use his bare hands. Kyle found more weapons along the way, a .30-30 rifle, a sawed-off twelve gauge, and a Beretta pistol.
Every night, the big man ate human meat, the whole scenario still unnerving Kyle. It was something he knew he’d never get used to. He actually thought about trying the meat, seeing how strong Cannibal was, but then realized what he was about to do and threw up.
By the time they reached the bridge, killing became second nature to Kyle.
Getting across the bridge on foot wasn’t too difficult; most of the zombies were still roaming around the cities and towns. Vehicles crawled at a snail’s pace. They met other convicts along the way. Only one had been a problem for Kyle when he was on the inside. Cannibal killed him one night and ate him. Kyle was grateful.
The others teamed up with Cannibal, immediately accepting his leadership. The men, killers themselves, feared the large man, even when they held guns. Kyle was in awe of his new friend and protector and couldn’t have asked for anything more.
The group of fifteen men made their way up and into the mountain area. They passed many houses, mostly secluded, but finally settled into a mansion. It overlooked part of the Hudson River, had fireplaces, and plenty of room. The basement was huge and Cannibal immediately had the men go to work on making a cage.
From that point on, he ordered his flock to bring back people, people he could eat. They were not to harm anyone, and were told to bring as many females as possible—females being Cannibal’s preferred meal of choice. The heftier the woman, the better.
In secrecy, the men had their fun, raping and killing, but always made sure to bring back plenty of “untouched cattle.”
Over time, guns were rounded up from nearby homes. A State Troopers’ barracks was broken into and assortments of weapons were acquired, including assault rifles and tear gas.
Another nearby mansion served as home to a group of survivalists. Mostly people from the community. Cannibal armed his men and sent them out to storm the place and take more prisoners, more food. But the group proved tough, not only fending off his people, but killing some in the process. He attacked a number of times, each time succeeding at only failure.
“Kyle,” the big man said, having summoned the worm to his room, “I need you do something. Something very important.”
“Anything,” Kyle said, and meaning it, as long as it wasn’t allowing himself to be eaten.
“I need you to go to them. Become one of them.”
“But I—”
“You will do this,” Cannibal said, softly. The large man placed a
hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “I told you that you would be an important part of my family. You would be needed. Do you remember this when I found you in your cell?”
Kyle nodded.
Cannibal smiled and Kyle saw pieces of flesh protruding from the man’s teeth. “They will take you in. You will gain their trust. And while you’re doing this, you will report back to me using one of our walkie-talkies.”
Kyle didn’t like this, but defying his master was not an option.
“We’ll get your back-story straight,” Cannibal said. “You came wandering in from another town. You said you were originally from Florida, so stick with that. You’re a salesman. Remember to keep things simple.”
Kyle set out two nights later, dropping the lockbox containing the walkie-talkie in the nearby woods. He dirtied himself up, ripped his clothes, then wandered down the Cliff House’ driveway where he was met by armed men.
He was searched, questioned and watched closely for the first week. But he knew they would come around to trust him, or forget about him. He was an unassuming presence, a man who blended in well, disappearing into the crowd. He was small and always came off as non-threatening. He was the poster boy for judge-a-book-by-its-cover. And Cannibal must have known this, hence the reason for sending him. He couldn’t let the big guy down, not after all the man had done for him.
Kyle eventually found his way alone to the lockbox, dug a hole and buried it, marking the surrounding trees so that he would be able to identify the area. He reported in a few times, telling Cannibal that all was well and not much was going on. Then, the visitors arrived with their high-powered machine guns. They weren’t going to spend but a night at Cliff House. He had to alert Cannibal. He also learned of something most distressing. Not bad news for himself or the rest of humanity, but to Cannibal it would be devastating.
Machines of the Dead (Book 2) Page 6