Godland

by Stuart R. West

  Not the experience he’d hoped for.

  His repulsion stunned him. The sight of the girl’s arm torn apart by his bullet should have been invigorating, sexual in its power. But it wasn’t at all like killing an animal. Animals never looked back. Before the girl fell, she looked his way. Caught his gaze for one unforgettable second. Shock, sadness…life fleeting away.

  He wanted no part of this. Not cold-blooded murder.

  Yet. Yet…the girl was still alive. Hard to die from an arm wound.

  He could leave. Pack up his gear and get the hell out of here. He didn’t think she’d heard his name. But could she identify him?

  Somehow, the girl pulled herself to her feet. Cradling her shattered limb with her intact arm, she stumbled through the field, wobbly, uneven. Dazed.

  She’d almost made it to the road when Peter spotted the car. She screamed, unable to wave, trying to catch the driver’s attention.

  Peter winced. He pulled the gun up and captured her in the rifle’s sights. She left him no choice. A killing blow to put her—and his own fears—out of misery.

  Sorry, honey. Survival of the fittest, the law of the land.

  The girl dove in front of the car. Gravel scraped and shot up like buckshot as the driver braked. The car barreled into her. A meaty thud. Her body twisted into the air and landed on the car’s hood.

  Peter collapsed again. Dry heaving racked his body. Someone inadvertently delivered the killing blow to his prey. Much as he had done for his brother’s deer so many years ago.

  Sickness gave way to a comforting sense of relief. All was well once again in his world, his hands still clean from human blood.

  Now he needed to tell Edwin the deal was off. And get the hell out of Godwin, hoping he didn’t leave a trail.

  “Shit!” Matt screamed as the girl ran out from nowhere. He swerved, slamming on the brakes. The car fishtailed, the passenger side smashing into her hard. Her body flew up—a suspended moment of nightmarish ballet—then crashed down onto the hood. The car dove into the ditch. His chest crunched against the steering wheel when it stopped.

  He instinctively reached for his phone. Still no signal. He jumped out, barely keeping hysteria at bay.

  Unbelievably—miraculously—he saw her chest rise and fall. Her eyes were glassy with shock. An arm clung to her body by filaments of flesh. Shattered beyond repair, bone and blood jutted out of her damaged limb.

  “Jesus, God, I’m sorry!”

  Gulping for air like a land-locked fish, her mouth struggled to form words.

  A thought struck Matt. He remembered the name of his daughter’s friend. A long shot, but one worth taking. “Are…are you Lindsay?”

  Her pupils wandered, not necessarily moving in the same direction. Matt repeated the question. She nodded her head.

  “What happened to you? Where’s Shannon?” Hellish urgency pushed him to grill the girl more than he should have. She was barely coherent. Barely alive.

  “They…have…her…” Every word a chore.

  Matt understood. And he hated himself for what he had to do. “Lindsay. I’m sorry…but I have to go save Shannon. I’ll come back for you later.”

  Matt couldn’t bear her anguished look, the dislocated jaw he caused. He turned, setting out for the farmhouse. Behind him, he listened to Lindsay’s bubbling pleas for help, not even words now. But he had to leave Lindsay. He just had to. His crazy father had his daughter. Look at what Edwin did to this poor girl.

  “God damn it!” No matter how badly he wanted to find Shannon, he couldn’t leave this girl dying on a country road. Matt ran back toward Lindsay.

  Staring into the moon, Lindsay’s cheeks glistened from her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut when she saw Matt. He carefully cradled her in his arms and laid her down onto his back seat.

  “I’m going to get you some help, Lindsay. Just hang in there!” He gunned the car into reverse, squeezing the pedal down. The tires spun before grabbing traction. The car jettisoned out of the ditch and onto the road.

  Matt stopped. He looked down the road. Lights lit up the farmhouse.

  “Hold on, Shannon,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.” He pulled a U-turn and shot down the road.

  “I’m going to take you to the nearest neighbor, Lindsay. They’ll be able to call for an ambulance.” She sobbed softly, encouraging signs of life.

  “What did that bastard do to you?” Matt tried to keep her conscious with non-stop questions. “Is Shannon okay?” Saying the words aloud reawakened his fear of losing his daughter. This time forever.

  “Hunting…us. Shannon’s…in cellar…” she trailed off.

  My God. He knew his father wasn’t a good man, insane, even. But hunting teenage girls—his own granddaughter? Evil, sickening.

  Matt blasted down the road to the Sowers’s home going nearly ninety miles per hour. His hands shook violently over the steering wheel. Sweat—or tears—stung his eyes. He pulled into the driveway of his neighbor from twenty years ago, relieved to see a light on inside.

  “I’ll be right back, Lindsay,” he shouted, already halfway to the front door. He pounded on the door until the outside light popped on. Matt squinted from the sudden brightness.

  “Who is it?” An old woman peered from behind the door’s curtain.

  “It’s Matt…Quail. I used to be your neighbor, Mrs. Sowers.” He hated using his birth name, but it would gain him easier entry. “I need your help!”

  Hesitantly, she opened the door. “Oh, I think I remember you…” She sized him up and down.

  “Mrs. Sowers, there’s been a terrible accident. I hit a girl with my car and she needs help!”

  Mrs. Sowers called for her husband. Mr. Sowers appeared, looking about the same as he had twenty years ago. “It’s Gretchen Quail’s boy, Earl. He hit a girl with his car!”

  Without saying a word, the old man sprinted out toward Matt’s car, long legs outrunning Matt. Mr. Sowers yanked open the door, bent and studied Lindsay. He straightened and narrowed his eyes. “The girl’s been shot!”

  “I…didn’t know that.” Matt’s heart fluttered, urgency pressing a fist down. “Look, I’ll come back later and explain everything, but right now…someone else needs my help. If you could call an ambulance and maybe help stop the bleeding?”

  “Yup. I’ll do what I can.” He rubbed his jaw, staring at Matt. “Maybe I’d better call the police while I’m at it?”

  “No…not just yet. I…need to find out what’s going on first.”

  Mr. Sowers took in a whistling breath between clenched teeth. Suspicion clouded his eyes then lifted. Thankfully, Lindsay’s immediate needs came first. “Let me get this poor girl indoors.” He scooped up Lindsay and jogged back inside.

  Matt jumped into the car, flooring it out of the driveway. Speeding toward the farmhouse, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

  Chapter Eleven

  Learning from his past mistake, Edwin kept this girl’s hands tied. Joshua dropped her onto the sofa and sat beside her, stroking her hair. Playing with dollies, for God’s sake.

  On the other hand, Edwin lorded it over his captive as she wept. At least she kept the waterworks to a dull roar this time. “Now, you just hush. It ain’t doing you no good. It’ll all be over soon.”

  Peter entered the house, whiter than a picket fence. “Game over,” he said.

  “What’re you talking about, boy?” Edwin strutted into the kitchen. He had a bad feeling about this. Practically could see his money going up in smoke.

  “I said ‘it’s over!’ I’m done with all of this.” Peter sat at the kitchen table, packing his hunting supplies.

  “Now, wait a damned minute, boy. We had a deal.”

  “I don’t care, Edwin. I’m finished and I’m leaving. Now.”

  “You haven’t finished your huntin’! You’re only half done.”

  “I am not hunting the other girl. Take her back—or let her go. Do what you want with her. I don’t care.
But I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “What’s the matter? Lost your guts for it?”

  Edwin watched his son nearly rise to the occasion, halfway out of his chair. Then he backed down. “It wasn’t what I expected.”

  “What the hell happened out there?” That bad feeling sunk lower. He had counted on Peter doing the dirty work, but the boy let him down. Again.

  “I wounded the girl. Then some car finished her off.”

  “What? How do you even know she’s dead?”

  “I’d count on it.” Peter’s voice lowered, his eyes haunted.

  “Goddamn it! What if she ain’t dead? What then, boy? What if they connect her back to us?”

  “That’s your problem. I’m certain the girl can’t be traced back to me. You’d better cover your own tracks. And so help me, Edwin, if you breathe a word of my involvement to anyone, I’ll come back for you.”

  “You think you can’t be identified, you dumb son-of-a-bitch? Well, we’ll just see about that. Joshua, bring the other girl in here…now!”

  Joshua carried her into the kitchen, taking his sweet time positioning her into a chair. Still playing with dollies. Jesus Christ a’ mighty.

  “No!” Peter zipped up his bag and rushed toward the kitchen door.

  Edwin yanked the rag from the girl’s mouth, tore the blind from her eyes.

  “Peter? Uncle Peter?”

  With a hand on the doorknob, Peter froze. His shoulders collapsed. He turned slowly, avoiding looking outright at the girl. Peter sat back down and unzipped his bag. If Edwin didn’t know better, he thought the boy looked downright remorseful.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” asked Edwin. “Do you know this little girl, Peter?”

  “Hello, again, Shannon,” said Peter. He sighed as he rolled his rifle onto the table. “Looks like the hunt’s back on.”

  Shannon screamed.

  Peter turned toward his father. “You stupid old fool. You’ve grabbed your own granddaughter.”

  Edwin dropped into a kitchen chair. He poked the bill of his cap up, considering things.

  “It’s Matt’s daughter.” Peter shot the girl a look, loaded with guilt. “You ignorant asshole,” he hissed.

  “Well, I’ll be goddamned!” Edwin coughed out a dusty laugh, dry as the desert.

  Like a bound-up toddler, the girl rattled her fists. Building to a tantrum. Then she ripped out a teeth-jarring shriek, a fine how-do-you-do to her grandfather.

  Matt parked his car a mile from the farmhouse and ran the rest of the way. The jog winded him but he couldn’t risk driving up to the house. If his father was sick enough to hunt humans for sport, then stealth was the best option.

  For the first time in many years, he prayed. He’d long ago felt abandoned by God. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

  With the house in sight, Matt paused to catch his breath. Dropping to a crouch, he made his way through the grass lining the driveway. A new Lincoln Town Car sat in the driveway, a vehicle he didn’t recognize. Couldn’t be his father’s. He’d never buy such an extravagant car.

  Light dribbled through the kitchen and living room’s drawn blinds. A sure sign something was happening. In the past, his father made damn sure the lights stayed out if a room remained unoccupied.

  Matt peeked through the living room window. Three figures crowded around the kitchen table. His father flailed his arms about, shouting. Next to him sat Shannon. It had to be her. Even though she’d grown and matured, her features remained the same. Pale and obviously terrified, her simplistic and natural beauty still took Matt’s breath away. At that moment, he wanted to hold her, protect her, and take her away from the madness of his father. But he couldn’t. Not just yet.

  Across from Shannon sat the third member, an unwelcome surprise. His brother, Peter. Matt couldn’t believe it. Never in a million years would Peter return to the farm. Never. Matt took a closer look. Peter sat calmly, nonchalantly cleaning a rifle. Bile rose up in Matt’s throat. His head pounded, his pulse lively in his ears.

  Peter…not Peter… My God, he’s a part of this…

  A low rumbling growled behind Matt. He swiveled, nearly stumbled, and steadied himself against the house. The hound dog’s eyes appeared dangerously uncertain, its body language threatening. Hackles raised across its neck. Then it bared its teeth. Rearing back and prepared to attack.

  Holding out his hand, Matt stooped down. “Easy, boy…good dog,” he whispered. “It’s okay…good boy.”

  The succession of barks blasted off like a string of firecrackers. Matt shot to his feet and made for the cover of the Town Car. The dog raced toward the kitchen door, panting between barks. Kneeling behind the car, Matt risked a glance through the back window.

  The porch light slashed on. The front door banged open. Edwin stood on the top step holding a flashlight. He swept the beam across the yard.

  “Shut up, Jeremiah,” he shouted before delivering a kick to the dog. Tail between its legs, the dog ran for the safety of the barn.

  Footsteps crunched across the gravel. The stream of light played over the car’s roof before falling into the car, barely clearing Matt’s head. Matt held his breath. His knees burned from squatting. The beam snapped off. Edwin returned to the house, humming a gospel song. The kitchen door opened and closed. Matt waited a few seconds before lowering himself to the ground. Finally, he expelled his breath.

  He sat for five minutes before he dared to move again. Seeing his father again scared him. Bigger than life and twice as bad as death.

  A shiver overtook Matt. He looked over the familiar grounds. From the vantage of the cornfield, he would be able to keep an eye on the house.

  Matt sprinted for the field and settled in behind the first row of corn. Again, squatting proved hellish on his knees, so he sat on the damp ground. The cold seeped through his clothes, his flesh, his bones.

  If his family’s intent was to hunt Shannon, they’d let her go first. His brother always liked the challenge in hunting. At least he hoped he’d give her a chance. Once they released her, Matt would grab her and get the hell out of Godwin.

  Shannon stared at her uncle with disbelief. She had only met him once, briefly at that. Yet, she had felt an instant kindred to him. She felt he understood her. Something she didn’t get from her squabbling parents at the time.

  Now he could barely look at her. All of his attention stayed firmly planted on his gun as he polished it with relish. It seemed unfathomable this man—her uncle—would do this to her.

  “Why?” She heard the quiver in her voice but was determined to stay strong.

  The long moment of silence before he looked up seemed interminable. “Excuse me?” He spoke softly, but his eyes remained as cold as the steel in his hands.

  “Why? Why do you want to hunt me? Tell me why.”

  “Shannon, I don’t want to hunt you. It’s just how it played out…through no fault of my own, I might add.”

  “Then why do it, Uncle Peter?” She emphasized “Uncle” every chance she got.

  His eyes flitted about the kitchen, unable to meet her gaze as if suffering guilt. “I don’t want to hurt you, Shannon. Believe it or not, I’m truly sorry it has to be this way. It’s nothing personal, I assure you.”

  He reached across the table, placing his hand over her two bound ones. Shannon snatched her hands away at his foul touch.

  “I honestly believe had things been different, I could’ve grown to like you, Shannon.”

  “Why does it have to be this way?” Tears welled up in her eyes, the dam breaking again.

  “Because now it’s a matter of my survival. Had your sick bastard of a grandfather not dragged you in here and had you not identified me…” He shrugged. “Well, it was my every intention to see you released.”

  “I won’t tell anyone, Uncle Peter. I swear!”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t believe you.”

  “What did you do to my friend?” Shannon dreaded the answe
r, but she had to know.

  “I shot her in the arm. Then a car ran into her, killing her.” Lines wrinkled his forehead as he grimaced. “She didn’t suffer long.”

  Shannon couldn’t stop crying. Just couldn’t do it. And she absolutely hated herself for showing weakness. She hated reacting like a simpering, helpless little girl. But mostly, she hated these men. Her so-called “family”.

  “Is…is he really…my grandfather?”

  “I’m afraid he is.” His upper lip curled like a dried leaf, obviously no love lost between father and son.

  “And who is Joshua?”

  “I’m not even certain what he is.”

  The kitchen door opened. “Well,” crowed Edwin, “as I told you, nothing to worry about ’cept for an ol’ ’coon, probably.”

  “Are you sure about that? You’ve managed to screw everything else up.”

  “You’d better show me some respect in my house, boy. I’m not the only one who messed things up tonight.” He leered at Shannon. “So, how’s my precious little granddaughter doing? I can’t believe something so pretty came from my useless son.” He caressed her hair. Then his fingers ran down her neck and dropped to her shoulder. Shannon shuddered from his cold, leathery fingers. When she tried to pull away, he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back into the chair. From the living room Joshua grumbled, low and menacing.

  “Leave her alone!” Peter bolted upright, sending the chair sliding behind him.

  “I’m just showing my granddaughter some love. Ain’t no harm in that.”

  “Yeah, like you showed your children ‘fatherly love’…especially, Mary.”

  The old man dropped his grin. He stormed toward Peter, prodding a finger into his face. “You watch what you say to me, boy.”

  Tension, thick as smog, filled the room. Finally, Peter broke the silence and said, “Let’s get this over with.” With a knife, he cut through the ropes binding Shannon’s hands. Peter leaned over and whispered, “Shannon, you’ll have a chance, I promise you that. I’ll give you a ten-minute head start. Your best bet is the woods. It’s about ten miles from there to the nearest farm.”