by Amy Miles
The old man has removed his apron and I notice that he has taken the time to wipe away any hint of the little girl’s blood from his hands before opening the door. I was right. He has done this before, perhaps many times since the world became a place filled only with death and greed. How many other unsuspecting people have stumbled across this man’s home and found prolonged imprisonment before a horrific and drawn out death instead of the aid that they need?
“Are you lost, missy?”
“I’m afraid so.” I step through the knee-heigh weeds, slowing my pace to appear distressed as I hit the slope that runs up to the barn. I haven’t yet reached the glow of the firelight, but he follows the sound of my voice easily enough but to know which direction I’m coming from. “I got separated from my group and have been wandering around for a couple of days trying to locate them, but my bum leg doesn’t help much. It got trampled when things went to shit in Nashville a few months back and it never has healed right.”
“I’m mighty sorry to hear that. Must make traveling difficult. Sure hope there weren’t any other complications.”
“No,” I shake my head when I reach the far edge of the firelight. “I’m fit as a fiddle apart from that.”
His smile makes my skin crawl but I force myself not to show my disgust as I smile back and raise a hand to wave my welcome.
“And your friends? You think they came this way?” He asks, looking around at his darkened property.
He is a cautious one.
I shrug. “I guess my tracking skills aren’t so great because I can’t find any sign of them. Figures they would leave me behind. I wasn’t too good at keeping up.”
He wipes his hands on his pant legs and tips his straw hat as I approach but he doesn’t move far from the door. “I ain’t got much, mind you, but I reckon I could spare a bit. My wife, Tilly, has been helping me clean an old cow in the barn. If that leg of yours will hold out a bit longer I could sure use the extra help. After we get her drained and hung up we can grab some soup and then tomorrow, if you’re not needing to be moving on I could use some help with the processing in exchange for a home cooked meal.”
I offer what I hope passes as a grateful smile.
“I’ve never done much processing before, especially this late at night,” I add innocently, “but I’m a quick learner. I really appreciate the offer, mister. It’s nice to know there are still a few decent people in the world.”
His upper lip twitches but I don’t draw attention to it.
“The name is Sally, by the way,” I offer as he turns to step aside and allow me to enter the barn. “Sally Warburton. And you are?”
When I step close to the old man he lifts his light to get a better look at me and I’m dazzled by it. Raising my hand to shield my eyes, I never see the baseball bat that slams into the side of my head the moment after I step inside the barn.
When I wake sometime later I find myself dangling from a rafter several feet above the ground with a wicked pounding headache. Thick ropes bind my wrists overhead and place a heavy strain on my shoulders.
“Well, that was about the stupidest thing that I’ve ever seen,” a nasally voice calls from somewhere behind me.
Long shadows stretch across the barn floor in front of me and I realize that the sun is already riding high in sky. I must have been knocked out for quite some time.
The scent of cooked flesh has diminished from the air and as I crane my neck around in search of the old man I discover that he is nowhere to be found. The table where I last saw the little girl is vacant and the leather bindings drape harmlessly over the edge.
Kicking out my feet, I work to maneuver myself around enough to see the young man who spoke a second ago. He has been moved away from the hay bale and now has his hands and ankles chained to the tractor. A new trail of blood is dried over his right temple and his upper lip has been split since I last saw him. Two bits of cloth have been shoved into his broken nose. They are obviously the reason for his altered tone of voice.
“Yeah, well, I have to admit that didn’t exactly go as I had planned. I’m guessing he took my gun, didn’t he?”
“You think?” He winces as he raises his chained hands to gingerly touch his forehead and then pinch the bridge of his nose. With a pained since he releases it and gently tugs the cloths free. They are stained red but not with any large amount of fresh blood, thank goodness.
“I know that you saw what he does to us. Why didn’t just keep right on going?”
“Is that what others have done? Saved their own skin and left you behind to suffer at the hand of that bastard?”
He grits his teeth and looks away. “They did what they had to do. I can’t blame them for that.”
“Maybe, but I’m not that sort of person. You needed my help so here I am.”
He snorts. “A lot of good you’re doing hanging up there like that. What are you going to do? Stare him to death?”
“And what about you? Do you enjoy being his personal punching bag just because you can’t hold that sharp tongue of yours for five seconds? You’re in the wrong position to be passing judgment, kid.”
His scowl falters when his lips splits further and he’s forced to lower his gaze. I’m guessing he does it so that I don’t see the tears welling in the corners of his eyes at the sudden flood of pain. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think.”
Despite the stifling warmth of the day, I know all too well how the spring nights in the mountains will bring with it a chill this this boy won’t be able to combat if left prey to the elements. He has nothing on besides a ratty t-shirt and threadbare jeans that hang low on his hips. The old bastard didn’t even leave him a blanket for the night before and there’s a lingering shivering in his muscles as he slowly warms up.
“I understand that you’re a survivor, kid. I also saw how much you care about that little girl. It’s obviously enough to take a few punches and keep right on going, but you need to be smart about this. Letting him beat on you isn’t going to help you get out of this place alive.”
The boy yanks on his metal chains. They stir up a small cloud of dust when he pulls against them so that he can shift his position. His eyes darken as he sinks into the shadows. “What do you know about it?”
“Quite a lot, actually. I know a thing or two about torture and pain. It doesn’t take long before it begins to wear on you, both mentally and physically. Muscles can atrophy over just a couple of weeks without proper exercise, especially when you’re forced to sit or kneel. I’m guessing he kept you down in that hole under the barn floor for quite a while judging by how skinny you are. You are weak, unarmed and malnourished. Running isn’t exactly your best option against this guy.”
“I could make it.”
“No, you can’t, and thinking that you can will just get you and that little girl killed,” I snap back at him. “Before I came out here and found you I got a good look at his house. The guy has a wall filled with trophy animal kills, a psycho obsession with cleaning and he’s obviously unhinged. More than that he’s also patient, cunning and skilled. This is his playing ground, not yours. You wouldn’t make it a mile on your own with him tracking you, let alone trying to take that injured girl with you.”
“I won’t leave without her.”
I nod in agreement. “I don’t expect you to. That’s why you need a plan.”
He mulls over my words, swallowing hard as he draws his legs up into his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Why do you even care?”
“Because I’m a decent person, or at least I like to think that I am.”
He snorts. “Haven’t met many of those during the past few months. Seems like most people are more animal than human these days.”
“Well, I’m not.”
I can feel his eyes on me as they search me, no doubt trying to decide
if I’m just as crazy as the old man. Finally, he nods. He really has nothing to lose at this point. “So what is my best option of breaking out of this hellhole then?”
“Me.” I say without hesitation. “I’m going to finish what I started and get you out of here. I promise.”
The bitter laughter that bubbles up from between his lips makes me sad. How many other people have professed the same thing only to fail him in the end?
It is human nature, at least for those people who still possess a heart, to help those younger and in need. This boy may be fourteen or fifteen years old, but he’s obviously been abandoned more times than he would care to admit, whether by choice or by death. He is alone and trying like hell to look brave, but I can see that he is scared shitless.
“I won’t leave you. That’s another promise.” But I know that I will. Just not before I know that they are safely away from this place.
I crane my neck back to study the ropes tied over the beam. They are tightly woven and braided in a slipknot that will only tighten each time I pull against it. Already my flailing has begun to give me rope burn on the flesh inside my wrists.
I look to the walls in search of a knife that I can use to cut the rope but I am too far away from any of them and the boy is chained on the opposite side of the room. There is no chance of either of us getting our hands on one.
“Where are the keys to your chains?”
The boy doesn’t raise his head. “In Flannery’s pocket.”
“Shit.” Well, that option is out. “And the girl? Did he take her too?” I ask, following the line of the rope to where it is tied off on a support beam. The rope is looped multiple times around a shiny metal boat mooring and wound tightly. No amount of bouncing and pulling against my bindings will loosen it.
“Maybe.”
I look back at him. He may think that I can’t see the cautious glance that his sending my way but I see him all too well in the dark. This kid has an attitude the size of this barn and as grating on my nerves as it may be, I guess I can understand. He’s been through more horrors than most that have survived this long. I can’t imagine a life of always wondering if you are next in line to be on the dinner table.
“Let’s assume for a second that not everyone left alive is just out for themselves. Let’s also assume that I did in fact risk my own neck to try to help you, which I can guarantee you is a rare thing to find on this back road. I could have walked away, minded my own business and pretended that you weren’t in trouble, but the fact is, I’m not that kind of person.”
That final sentence catches in my throat. “So here I am, like it or not. Now, you can either cut me a little slack and help me figure this out or you can just sit around and wait for that scumbag to get back and start hacking off your fingers and toes for his dinner. It’s your choice, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“I call it how I see it.” I twist the ropes and kick my legs so that I can see behind me. The wooden table where the little girl was laid out earlier has been methodically sanitized. The stove embers have burned out and the grilled forearm and hand have been removed.
“How about we start with something simple? What’s your name?”
He presses his lips tightly together.
“If you don’t want me calling you “kid” then you’re going to have to give me something to work with. Trust me, I had a guy who decided my name was Dumbass for a while because I decided to be stubborn and I never lived that one down.”
His lip twitches with amusement but he remains silent.
“Okay fine. I will go first. My name is Avery and I’m from St. Louis—”
“I thought your name was Sally?” He interrupts me. “I overheard you tell Flannery before he struck a home run on the back of your melon.”
I grit my teeth at his description and feel the pounding in my head amplify. “If you want to survive in this world, kidk you’re going to have to learn to think on your feet. Lying when you need to get by isn’t always a bad thing to do.”
He snorts. “So says the person telling me to give her my real name.”
“Make up one up for all I care. I just need something to call you.”
He scrunches up his face for a moment and I realize that he’s actually trying to think of a fake name.
“Fine, Kid it is then.”
“Screw you.”
I laugh. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Kid. Some people might hate that but it proves you’ve got spunk. I can respect that.”
“I don’t want your respect.”
“Maybe not.” I search the wall behind him and see that the cleaver the old man used before has been cleaned and hung back in its rightful place. “But you’ve got it all the same.”
“Whatever. I can live with Kid for now.”
“Good. Now how about you shut that wiseass trap of yours for a few minutes while I figure out how to get us out of here before that psycho comes back?”
He looks away to stare out at the approaching dusk. “He won’t come back today.”
I twist back around to look at him. “How do you know?”
“He never does. He has to make sure Hope makes it through twenty-four hours before he starts cutting again.” His Adam’s apple bobs and I feel a sharp and sudden stab of sympathy for the kid.
“Some don’t make it that long, do they?”
“No.” He kicks at the ground. “That’s when the rest of us would get really worried. The meat spoils too fast once the heart stops beating.”
Hearing the boy call a person meat feels far too callous considering he is next in line for the chopping block, but I know that it has become his only way of surviving. Something separating yourself from something horrible is all you can do. A dead friend has to just be dead and nothing more.
“How many people went before you?”
“There were fourteen of us when I arrived. I don’t know how many there were before that.” He glances back over at me and his face drains of color as he swallows hard. “After a while you sort of get numb to it. I know that sounds terrible but it’s the truth. People are taken. People scream. People die. It’s just the way things are here.”
“And you two are the last?”
He nods and curls his legs tighter into his chest.
“Where’s the wife? I think he said her name is Tilly.”
The kid turns his head and presses his cheek against his raised knees. “She’s been gone for a good bit. I think losing her sent him over the edge. He talks to her sometimes. I’ve seen him out walking in the yard with his arm out like he’s escorting her ghost. From what the others said, she died in his arms. Seems she went out to the outhouse one night while he was sleeping and started screaming the woods down. By the time he found her something had already mauled her.”
I stop wrestling with the ropes. “Mauled?”
He nods. “Word has it there wasn’t much left of her stomach by the time Flannery got to her. He had to put her down himself.”
If this story had been told to me at any other time in my life, I would have written it off as a mountain lion or a bear attack, but the sick feeling coiling in my gut tells me there’s something more to this story.
“Did he see the animal that got her?”
He shrugs. “Guess not. When he arrived she was alone. Said he saw some bloody footprints and figured she was attacked and tried to get back to him.”
I want to tell him that it would be impossible to walk while holding your guts in. I know from personal experience that once a Flesh Bag starts gnawing on you, you’re not getting away.
“After that, he turned on the people staying with them,” he says. His voice has dropped to little more than a whisper. “Laura was the last to go from that original group. She was his cousin.”
My breath hitches. “He ate his own family?”
I lower my head and close my eyes. It all makes sense now. I would bet money that he saw the Flesh Bag that ate his wife. When his mind snapped from shock it allowed him to see everyone in his home as just another among the walking dead.
He probably doesn’t even realize these are real, living people he’s keeping prisoner.
Then a thought strikes me.
“How long ago did you say the wife died?”
His eyebrows pull in together as he thinks. “It’s hard to say. I don’t exactly have a calendar anymore.”
I roll my eyes. “Just give me a guess.”
“I’ve probably been here about two months by now so I’d say a month before that. Maybe a little more.”
My heart makes its final plummet into my stomach. Three months ago would have been right around the time Dr. Wiemann’s victims were tossed over the wall as failed experiments. It would make sense that those that survived would span out, biting and spreading the virus as they went as they were consumed with hunger. The suffering and subsequent death of all of these people are on the doctor’s hands as well. Anger swells up within me as I think of how many lives Dr. Wiemann has ruined.
“He will pay for this.” But even as I say the word he, I know that I am actually referring to both of these evil men at the same time.
NINE
I have never been all that great at coming up with a plan of escape and executing it. I guess you could say that I’m more of a “fly by the seat of my pants” sort, but this time I know that I’m going to have to put a bit more planning into it. Not just for my sake but for the little girl’s.
The only way I’m getting out of these ropes is with leverage and hopefully a heck of a lot of luck, but after several hours of tugging, pulling, swinging and general thrashing, I am no closer to finding a way out of my bindings.