“A man saved me. With a chainsaw,” Ethan tries, for lack of anything better to say. He’s fumbling at this point. “He saved me. But I think he’s dangerous.”
He’s not even sure why he’s telling this woman this, after she has shown no concern for his bloodied, bruised state, or his obvious distress.
But he can’t let her put herself and the child in her arms in danger. He takes a deep breath and adds, “I think you should leave. Go somewhere safe.”
At this, the woman shows the first sign of emotion she’s shown during the entire conversation. She laughs, hearty and long, with her head thrown back.
“Little boy,” she says, amused, “The man who you saw was my son. He protects this place, along with his sisters. He ain’t a danger to me or his baby cousin.”
Ethan can barely believe what he’s hearing. Stunned, he replies, “Your son slaughtered a man. Tore him to ribbons.”
The woman grins, showing two rows of yellowed, chipped teeth. “Guess he's good for something after all. My Tommy. Wouldn’t hurt a fly except those who come prowling where they ain’t belong. Made sure of that. Raised him right.”
No. No—that’s not true. That’s not true, because this Tommy clearly saw the bikers beating the hell out of Ethan, and yet, when the bikers took off running, Tommy still tried to train his chainsaw’s teeth on Ethan.
“Ain’t that right, sweetie?” the woman asks the child. “Uncle Tommy’s just doing as he's told, huh?”
The child in the woman’s arms giggles and nods enthusiastically.
There’s… something wrong. Something wrong with these people. Something wrong with this entire day. Something wrong with Ethan for thinking this road trip was a good idea—an appetizing idea, even. He should have never done something like this alone.
Slowly, Ethan backs away from the counter, the woman, the child’s melodic giggle.
And he runs. He runs straight out the door of the gas station without looking back.
His heart is pounding, his head swimming with a suffocating uncertainty.
Is he overreacting right now? Should he have just stayed with the woman, asked her for help?
Shit. He surely just insulted her by running—but Ethan can’t fight the overwhelming dread chasing his heels right now.
He can’t second guess himself. He needs to find his keys in that field and then get the hell out of here, turn back the way he came. It doesn’t matter if his van runs out of gas. He’ll walk until he gets a signal on his phone.
The scent of blood hits him newly as he veers past his van, the dead biker stinking of raw meat in a way Ethan had never known a human body would stink. But he supposes it makes sense that human meat would smell no different than freshly butchered animal meat, bloody and packaged for consumption. He holds his breath. Doesn’t look at the biker’s ruined corpse. Keeps walking.
There’s distant shouting from the cornfield, but Ethan steels himself and crashes into the rows of crop. Desperately, he pushes the stalks to the side, eyes locked on the ground for the telltale glint of his ring of keys.
The dirt the stalks of corn rise from is cracked and dry, neglected in every way. Fine dirt kicks up and quickly coats Ethan’s sneakers—no wonder the woman in the shop looked so dirty. It’s like this place is crumbling, slowly turning to dust, dissolving everything along with it.
It’s going to grind him to dust, too. It already is, isn’t it?
Ha. Ethan laughs to himself, pulls a hand through his sweaty curls. He can practically feel his sanity draining.
His search takes him further and further into the corn—how far did the biker throw his keys? The man had chucked them pretty far. They could be anywhere. The crop is planted so close together that he can hardly see anything but the thin row of dirt ahead of him and to one side at a time.
He’s never going to find his keys. Maybe he should go back to his van, grab his phone and what water he has. Take off on foot into the corn, away from the shouting, the distant roar of the chainsaw.
He can’t believe that guy—Tommy—is still chasing the biker gang down. Hasn’t the man done enough? Those bikers were terrified, practically pissing themselves as they took off into the corn. It’s not protecting his land and family at this point. It’s not self-defense—it never was. Perhaps the first kill was, because the man did save Ethan from being beaten to death on the side of the road but...
First kill. Why is Ethan thinking this way? He can’t be sure Tommy will kill another one. Yet, everything in his instincts tells him Tommy is going to kill the bikers, every last one of them.
And. Yeah, the man did save Ethan, but he’s almost certain that was just an accidental consequence of a desire to slaughter the gang of bikers. The man tried to attack Ethan too, but, he stopped… that means something, doesn’t it?
Fuck. He needs to stop thinking. Needs to find his keys. Or turn back, grab his phone and start walking. Fuck. He doesn’t know. He needs to make a decision, needs to think, can’t think. Can’t think about anything but that hulking man and the flecks of blood flying off his chainsaw.
Just when Ethan’s about to cry out in frustration, thick fingers grab his elbow and jerk him to a halt. He whips his head to the side so fast his neck protests.
A woman. A woman so large she has to be related to the giant man from before.
Where had she come from?
She looks to be in her thirties, thick and muscular beneath her tattered clothes, which are splattered with fresh blood. Her straw-colored hair hangs around her face as the old woman’s did, wild and reaching all the way down to her waist.
A manic look adorns her face, her grin matching the old woman’s from the gas station. If it weren't for her terrifying expression, Ethan would find her oddly beautiful. Absurdly, Ethan registers that she looks an awful lot like the little girl in the old woman’s lap. Is this the girl’s mother?
“Well ain’t you a cute one,” she says, sucking her lip between her teeth and eying Ethan with a hungry look. “You wasn’t with them bikers, were you?”
Ethan cringes and tries to tug free from her grip, but her fingers tighten, long nails digging into his flesh. He needs to force a reply, but nothing comes. He should have run. Should have grabbed as many supplies from his van as possible and run as far away from here as he could.
“Too bad for you, got caught up in the gang’s mess,” the woman continues, unperturbed by the stark panic on Ethan’s face. “Bet you just wanted to pass through and fill up the old tank, eh? Poor thing. Too late for that now.”
Too late for that now?
Too late for that now?
What does that mean?
In the distance, another woman’s voice rings out, shrill and commanding. “Sally! Tommy! Get your asses over here! Keep em alive! Line ‘em up!”
The woman holding him must be Sally, then, because she turns to Ethan and grins even wider.
“That’s good news for you,” she tells him. “Guess you get to keep breathing for now.”
Panic renewed, Ethan looks down at the woman’s free hand—she’s holding an axe, the blade wet with blood.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
What is wrong with these people?
When the woman switches her grip to the back of Ethan’s neck and nudges his lower back with the axe, Ethan has no choice but to obey her.
“Move,” she growls, and Ethan starts walking.
3
Sally leads Ethan through the corn until they’re back in the road. As soon as they break through the edge of the cornfield, Ethan’s blood turns to ice.
There, in the middle of the road, the remaining three bikers are lined up, bloodied but alive, hands bound behind their backs, kneeling and begging for their lives.
Tommy stands towering behind them, chainsaw silent but dripping at his side. A second woman, shorter than Sally but just as muscular, backhands one of the bikers and yells at them to be quiet.
Desperately, Ethan makes
eye contact with Tommy across the road. The large man is staring him down, jaw locked and impassive as ever. He looks as frighteningly strong as he did earlier, and absurdly, Ethan thinks that the name Tommy is horribly unfitting and juvenile for a man of his incredible stature.
“Please,” Ethan says, quiet enough for only Sally to hear. “Please, I’m not with the bikers. You know that. Please.”
He’s not even entirely sure what he’s asking—perhaps to be let free, or to not be added to the lineup, or for Sally not to shove him over to the other woman.
The second woman catches him as he stumbles, letting out a rumbling laugh as she makes quick work of shoving him down to his knees right alongside the bikers. Ethan’s kneecaps burst with pain but he shuffles into line with the others with some violent prodding from the woman.
“Gotta be gentler on that one, Beth, he’ll break quicker than the others,” Sally tells the other woman.
“If he breaks, he breaks,” Beth spits, and then, moving in front of the line of bound men, she says, “This here’s my sister Sally and my brother Tommy. The woman you’re scaring to death inside the fuel station is our Ma. And she’s got Sally’s little girl with her, too.”
“And this is our property you’re creating a ruckus on,” Sally adds.
One of the bikers spits on the road and then growls, “This is a public road. Ain’t yours, and don’t open a fucking gas station if you don’t want customers.”
“You ain’t no customer of ours,” Beth sneers, fisting her hand in the man’s long hair and pulling his head back. “We know your kind, causing trouble where trouble don’t belong. You’re not welcome here.”
“Then let us leave, we’ll be on our way,” Jed says calmly, with whatever remains of the authority he has as the gang’s leader.
“Too late for that,” Beth says, vicious with amusement. She’s clearly deriving pleasure from exerting superiority over these men.
Ethan can’t help but feel that’s somehow less awful than what the bikers did to him—the bikers were exerting superiority over someone weaker than him. But this family is picking on the bullies.
“I’m—I’m not with them,” Ethan blurts, instantly regretting it when Beth’s attention snaps to him. “I was just passing through when they attacked me.”
“Too bad for you,” Beth dismisses coldly. “Should’ve kept driving.”
Another chill prickles through Ethan’s veins. On some level, this family knows what they’re doing to the bikers surpasses self-defense, don’t they? They know it goes beyond just protecting their property, right? They must know it’s sick and twisted. They must know no law enforcement will agree that splitting a man in half with a chainsaw is remotely legal.
They don’t want a witness to whatever twisted code of ethics they live by out here, free from the eye of the law.
And Ethan is a witness.
They’re going to kill him.
They’re going to kill him and there’s nothing he can do to save himself now.
Beth sticks her fingers in her mouth and unleashes an ear-splittingly loud whistle.
A bell chimes in the distance, and the old woman and the child make their way over to the road.
No.
No—a child should not be witness to any of this.
Why are they bringing the child?
And.
The welfare of the little girl is probably the last thing Ethan should be concerned about right now, because she’s unscathed and in no physical danger, and he’s… well, he’s about to die. Probably.
Still, Ethan can’t keep his mouth shut.
“Please,” he says, swallowing his fear when Beth shoots him a silencing look. “Don’t let the little girl watch whatever you’re going to do to us. Please.”
Beth stares.
And then laughs so forcefully that she doubles over.
“Seriously?” Beth asks, as if she’s questioning Ethan’s intelligence.
Sally snorts, opening her arms for the little girl, who runs to her side. “Daisy don’t need no protecting from no outsider. My little girl can handle her own, can’t you darlin’?”
Daisy nods enthusiastically.
The girl’s glowing expression, vibrating with pride under her mother’s attention, takes Ethan aback so much that whatever protest he has left dies on his lips.
Something is wrong here.
Very wrong.
This isn’t normal.
What fresh hell did he stumble into?
“Alright honey, which one do you want?” the older woman from the gas station asks. “I reckon we have room for three. Should last us a good while.”
What?
What?
Room for three of them where?
Why?
Ethan’s skull buzzes with pain—confusion vibrating more painfully than any of his scrapes and bruises.
Almost shyly, Daisy extends her tiny arm and chubby fist out towards Jed, pointing at him.
“That’s my girl,” Sally beams. “Knows how to pick ‘em.”
Daisy giggles.
“This one got all the fight knocked out of him,” Beth muses, shoving Ricky on the back of the head, forcing him to bow lower on his knees. “I say we keep him too.”
Keep him.
What does that mean?
Ethan’s pretty sure that if he’s not chosen right now, he’ll be killed instead.
Even if they plan to kill the bikers they’re choosing later, living another day is better than being slaughtered out here like roadkill.
Part of Ethan wishes these bikers would speak up, would fight back, so that Ethan can have another chance to escape amongst the chaos. He could have run. He missed every chance he had. It’s too late now. The only thing keeping him rooted is the fact that he's outnumbered now.
“Yeah, take that one for sure,” the old woman says, nodding at Ricky.
Ethan is shocked that a cruel man like Ricky is submitting to these people. What kind of hell did he go through in the cornfield? What scared him so much that he’s keeping his mouth shut now? Even their apparent leader, Jed, isn’t attempting to barter.
The third remaining biker has been quiet this whole time. Ethan doesn’t know his name. He’s bleeding pretty badly from his shoulder. Ethan’s on his knees right next to the wounded man, and a lingering glance at him reveals gnarled flesh scrambled in a coagulating gash. He must have been grazed with the chainsaw. That’s the only explanation for the way his skin is a sloppy, barely connected mess around the wound.
“I guess this one will do for our third,” Beth says, kicking the third, quiet biker. “He’s worse for wear, but the last one’s too scrawny.”
Too scrawny?
Why does that matter?
Are they planning to put them to work or something?
It doesn’t matter—if he’s not chosen they’re going to kill him, right here and now. He’s sure of that.
Desperately, Ethan’s eyes lock on the giant man from before—the old woman said his name was Tommy.
Tom.
He spared Ethan before.
Maybe…
Sweat and tears sting in Ethan’s eyes as he stares the man down, pleading.
Tom’s gaze is already fixed on Ethan. Ethan’s not sure the man has stopped looking at him since he was ushered out of the field by Sally.
There’s a tragic lack of expression on his stony face. His eyes just as dark as his short, inky hair.
This man isn’t going to save him.
Whatever happened before, Ethan mistook it for mercy.
It wasn’t.
Ethan’s not sure this man knows what mercy is.
“Might as well be him,” the old woman agrees, impassive, indicating the third biker. She's on her second or third cigarette. Ethan doesn't want his last lungful of air to be filled with the scent of blood and tobacco.
It’s then Tom moves. He steps forward, strong gait heading directly towards Ethan.
This is it.
&n
bsp; They’ve chosen the three bikers. They get to live another day—as to why, Ethan has no idea. Maybe their fate will be worse than his, in the long run.
Tom steps directly in front of Ethan. The proximity only serves to show Ethan just how small he is compared to the man, who towers over him in his scuffed denim overalls. No shirt beneath. Just hard muscle.
Ethan is outnumbered. He should try to run anyway. Try to live.
Why? To go back to college like he’s supposed to? To continue on with his dead-end, rat race life? Because really, that’s all anyone’s life is. Work. A few hours at home. Sleep. Work again.
He doesn’t want that. He’s been dreading that hell for as long as he can remember. His parents always thought it was morbid for a child not to have dreams. For a child to know their future would be doomed to monotony.
Ethan sighs. Wants to close his eyes. Can’t manage to take them off of the hard expression of the man looming above him.
Tom grabs a fist full of Ethan’s shirt collar. Drags him forward until he’s on all fours on the pavement. Keeps dragging, as Ethan’s forced to flail along, legs skidding across the road.
Tom stops when Ethan is pulled away from the line.
Separated.
Separated to be killed, right here, right now.
Tom keeps a fistful of the back of Ethan’s shirt, choking him slightly as he holds Ethan in place at his feet.
He’s going to die. He’s going to die and this man is going to kill him.
“This one,” comes a deep, gruff command.
Tom?
Ethan looks up. For the first time, Tom isn’t looking at him. He’s shrugging towards the third biker, the one Ethan doesn’t know the name of.
“Not that one,” Tom says. “This one.”
Suddenly, the grip on Ethan’s shirt doesn’t feel like the prelude to violence—instead, it feels… possessive.
Is… is Ethan understanding this correctly?
Is Tom choosing him?
Choosing for him not to be the one who dies right now?
Beth laughs harshly. “You ain’t never chose a meal before.”
Dangerous Savior Page 3