Cannibal Country (Book 1): The Land Darkened Read online

  Barb slipped behind the bar. Allie joined her. Pete sat worthless in a chair, still holding his wounded arm like he was afraid it was going to run off on him.

  Josh looked to the man. “You throw in with these assholes, Pete?”

  Pete shook his head almost violently from side to side. “Shit no. Me and Allie was just tying one on and enjoying a quiet evening when these fucking thieves busted in.”

  Josh looked him up and down, then nodded. “Good. I didn’t take you for the Brutus type.”

  “Brutus?” Pete asked.

  Barb fought not to roll her eyes as she carried an armload of liquor to the cart.

  “As in et tu Brute.” Josh grabbed a chair, spun it backwards and took a seat behind Seth. Now he had the pistol pressed against the rear of the boy’s head.

  “Sorry.” Pete rubbed his bald, tattooed skull with his free hand. “I don’t follow.”

  “Brutus was Julius Caesar’s best friend. But he turned on him and participated in Caesar’s assassination.” Barb deposited bottles into the cart and turned to the bar to fetch more.

  “Thank God,” Josh said. “Someone else in this place with some culture. It’s about damned time. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Barbara Morrill.”

  Josh tipped his index finger her way. “Open one of those bottles and pour us both a shot.”

  Barb did as told. Not because she expected compliance would curry any favor with the man, but to buy time until a better idea came along. She handed Josh a glass. He accepted it but didn’t drink it down immediately.

  “That colored friend of yours, I’m pretty certain he drugged me earlier today.”

  Barb swallowed her booze, then refilled the glass. She had a nice buzz going and figured why the hell not.

  “That’s okay though,” Josh said. “I ended him.” He downed his shot and motioned to Barb for another. She obliged. “He won’t be getting one over on me again.”

  The warm haze of the booze made Trooper’s death something she could handle, at least until it wore off. But she suspected, if Big Josh had his way, there wouldn’t be time for the latter to occur.

  Barb swallowed her second shot then went to the bar for more bottles. As she did, she caught movement out the front window. Her vision was bleary from the booze but she was able to make out Wyatt and the man from the boarding house, or mini-mart, or whatever the hell it was. She quickly looked away so as not to alert Josh to their presence.

  Behind the bar, Allie was busy shaking from head to toe and struggled to stack liquor bottles in her arms. She dropped one and it exploded against the wood floor.

  “Clumsy slut!” Josh stood so fast the chair toppled over and that made Allie jump, and the remainder of her haul also fell.

  Barb realized that Josh had temporarily removed the barrel of the gun from Seth’s head. And she saw Seth’s hands fiddling with the shotgun that still rested in his lap. She tried to stare him down, to send telepathic mother-son vibes that screamed Don’t do anything stupid but it didn’t seem to be working.

  Her body was rigid as steel as she waited for Big Josh to start shooting, or for Seth to get caught, or for Allie to have a nervous breakdown, or for Wyatt and the man from the store to burst inside and save the day, but none of that happened.

  Because somehow, in the brief chaos of the bottles falling, Josh had been shot. A crimson stain spread across the lower half of his shirt. He stared down at it, mesmerized by its growing presence. Then he looked up, eyes scanning the people before him, his face as confused as that of a second-grader who’d just been asked to recite the square root of 113.

  “Which of you fuckers shot me?” The words came out lazy and slurred and followed by a thin dribble of blood and spit.

  “I did.” Trooper stood in the rear doorway, pistol raised. And without another word, he shot again.

  That one punched a throughway in Josh’s neck. The man took a staggering step to the left, then to the right, then back. Barbara thought he looked like a drunk at a wedding reception trying unsuccessfully to keep up with the electric slide.

  His arm twitched as he tried to bring up one of the .44s and shoot back, but he was already halfway gone. Barb watched as Trooper aimed and shot one final time. That bullet tore through the center of his chest and Big Josh fell backward. He collapsed on one of the tables, then slid off and dropped to the floor as his body went limp.

  “When did you get here, Troop?” Seth asked.

  Trooper shook his head. “I’ve been outside that door for the last two minutes.”

  “Guess we were distracted,” Seth said.

  Trooper limped to Josh’s body and poked at his head with his foot, checking for signs of life. There were none. “Ain’t a one of you with a lick of situational awareness. Damned disgrace.”

  Barb ran to Trooper and threw her arms around him. He patted her back in a somewhat awkward manner as he was still holding the gun. “I thought he killed you.”

  He shook her off and she realized his left arm hung limp at his side. There was blood and it was bent in a way that made her feel woozy.

  “He made a go at it.”

  Wyatt and Graham came through the front door and Barb watched her son’s face brighten as he saw the dead man on the floor.

  “It’s over,” Wyatt said.

  Trooper nodded.

  Despite having all odds against them, they’d come out victorious. A little worse for the wear, but alive. Barb thought that called for a drink.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  Wyatt spun around on the barstool where he’d been waiting for the throbbing in his ear to subside. Allie stood a short distance away and he noticed that her white crop top was stained with both blood, from bandaging up Pete, and dirt from tackling him to the ground and saving his life. Her face had also been scuffed in the fall and a red brush burn resided on her cheek, making it look like she’d been half-way through applying blush and given up.

  “Yeah. Sure,” he said.

  Allie pointed to the empty stool beside him. “Can I sit there?”

  Wyatt shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah.” He tried to think of something to add, something clever or amusing but failed.

  The woman sat, then reached for an undrunk shot that had been idling on the bar. She sipped it as she stole glances at him.

  “Your ear hurt?”

  “Not really.” That was a lie. It felt like… well, like he’d been shot. Or like someone had sawed his ear in two with a butter knife. The pain spread to the side of his head and created a headache from hell. But he wasn’t about to admit any semblance of weakness to the prettiest woman he’d seen in years.

  “Looks like it would.” Another sip. Her delicate fingers curled around the glass and Wyatt noticed that her nails were pristine. It wasn’t the type of thing he usually observed, but the cleanliness stood out and also made him self conscious of his own ragged fingernails which he cut occasionally, but more often chewed into submission.

  It had been four or five hours since the gunfight. For the first few wondered if any of the leftovers from Big Josh’s gang might show up bent on vengeance. None did though, leaving him to assume that they’d killed the lot of them or that any stragglers decided it wasn’t a fight worth having. That’s how it seemed to be with bullies. They were cruel and violent when they thought you were weak. If you could prove you weren’t, they scattered.

  Trooper had been shot in the outer flank of his thigh but it was a mostly superficial wound that Barb stitched closed after disinfecting it with high proof liquor. Trooper drank what was leftover. His left arm was broken too, but it seemed to be a simple fracture. They constructed a makeshift splint to immobilize it.

  After tending to Trooper, his mother had also used her sewing skills to tend to Pete who was so drunk he was sprawled on the floor parroting a poor rendition of Willie Nelson’s You Were Always on My Mind. He passed out soon after, a relief to Wyatt and, Wyatt imagin
ed, anyone else who could hear.

  Once the adrenaline wore off they regathered their newly obtained supplies and reclaimed their stolen shopping cart. They offered to dig a grave for Doris and Mute Sam but Graham and a few of the others from the trading post promised to take care of it.

  Big Josh and his minions were tossed into a pile at the east end of town where all the buildings were abandoned. Wyatt didn’t know if they’d be left to rot or burned and didn’t care.

  He was eager to move on. For their trek to recommence. Seth and their mother had claimed Doris’s backroom to catch a few winks but Trooper stayed awake for a while before he too succumbed to sleep leaving Wyatt the lone member of their party to sit and wait and wonder what lied ahead.

  Allie had been asleep too until just now. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated the chance to converse with her or whether he’d have preferred to remain alone with his thoughts.

  “You don’t say much do you?” A final sip and the shot glass was empty.

  “I guess not.”

  “Why is that?”

  He tried to think of a good reason before answering, but that only prolonged the awkward quiet and he decided to wing it. “I’m not sure. Seems like most of the time, when I do talk, I say the wrong thing. You ever hear that saying, ‘Better to stay silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt’?”

  The woman laughed. It wasn’t the tired, lifeless noise she’d made when he met her the day prior. This time there seemed to be genuine humor, maybe even happiness, along with it. “No. I never heard that, but I like it.”

  She reached for a bottle of liquor and refilled the shot glass, then tilted the bottle to him. Wyatt shook his head.

  “No thanks.”

  “I don’t know many men that turn down an open bar.” She threw a glance toward Pete who was now snoring face down, his rumbles ricocheting off the dirty floor. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Eighteen. You?”

  “Twenty-five. Before the attacks, sometimes it seemed like all I could think about was turning twenty-one because then I’d be a real adult and could get into the clubs and drink and dance and party all night long like they do in movies. They made it look so damn fun.” She held her glass but didn’t drink. “Never even got the chance because, when I finally turned twenty-one, it was already all over.”

  He considered adding a personal anecdote of his own, something in the same vein. Maybe telling her how much he’d looked forward to driving. But then he realized it would only serve to heighten their age difference. Eighteen and twenty-five didn’t seem bad but thirteen and twenty… Yeah, he wasn’t going to mention that.

  “Where were you from?” He asked.

  “South Jersey. Place called Cape May. You ever hear of it?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “It’s a touristy place. Not too far from Atlantic City. Has lighthouses and boat tours and the beach. I guess that stuff’s interesting when you don’t grow up around it but when you do...”

  Growing up in Maine - Vacationland - Wyatt could understand. He looked toward the front window where small vestiges of light were beginning to appear. It would be time to move on soon and he knew he should wake the others. But when he moved to slip off his barstool Allie set down her undrunk shot and grabbed his wrist.

  “You know you never did thank me.”

  “I didn’t?”

  She shook her head and her dreadlocks sashayed side to side. “Nope. But that’s okay. You don’t have to. You can do something else instead.” She smiled, revealing somewhat crooked but white teeth and something about her imperfect grin made him appreciate her even more.

  “What’s that?” He asked.

  Her smile faltered, just a tad, and a worry line made its appearance on her brow. He suddenly regretted asking.

  “Take us with you,” Allie said. “Please.”

  Wyatt swallowed hard. He knew his burgeoning crush on the woman was futile. She was older, more experienced, and worst of all, already in a relationship with another man. And even aside from that, the last time he’d welcomed two people into their midst it ended badly, teaching him a lesson he wasn’t anxious to relive.

  Something in his expression must have tipped Allie that good news wasn’t coming and her powder blue eyes lost their joy. “Don’t say anything now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking, okay? Just think about it.”

  “I will.” But he already knew the answer would be no.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Are you sure that bullet didn’t hit you in the brain after all?” Seth stared at his big brother, wondering how he could be so stupid. Wasn’t wisdom supposed to come with age?

  “I didn’t say we should. Or even that I wanted to. I’m just passing along the request.” Wyatt half-sneered at him. “Besides, she saved my ass while you hid out in the bar and got drunk.”

  Seth burped out a chuckle. That was true and he had no shame. “Not my fault I got all the brains in the family. Charm too for that matter.”

  Their mother and Trooper had been silent throughout the brief discussion and Seth checked their faces to try to get a read on where they stood, not that he had much doubt.

  Only they didn’t look like their minds were set and that shocked him so much he almost fell out of his chair. They were just weeks removed from being tied up and robbed by two strangers who seemed a hell of a lot friendlier than some tattooed pimp wannabe and his low rent girlfriend.

  “Excuse me, family. Have you all lost your freaking minds? How is this even an option?”

  “Seth, we have to consider the situation,” Trooper said. “We have a long way to go and I’ve got a broken arm. It’ll be a long time before I can push you, or even push one of the shopping carts.”

  Seth huffed. “I can push myself.”

  Trooper knelt down to Seth’s level. It always annoyed him when people did that, made him feel like a child being talked down to. “Most of the time, yes. But we have to get across the Appalachians and no matter where we do it, it’s going to be long and steep. Two extra people could be an asset.”

  “Or they could kill us for our stuff.”

  Barb finished off the can of fruit cocktail they’d shared for breakfast and set it aside. “If they wanted to kill us, they had plenty of opportunities already.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. It was as if sometime between when he’d passed out the night before and when he woke up this morning everyone he knew had undergone a lobotomy. But he could see the writing on the wall and knew stomping his feet in protest would only serve to make them take him even less seriously.

  He turned his attention away from them and to Supper who had flopped onto his side on the dusty floor and rested. Seth snapped his fingers and the dog sprung to action and came to his side. He scratched under his chin and stared into his big, chocolate-colored eyes and shook his head.

  “Fine then. But I’m putting it on the record that this dog is smarter than the three of you combined.”

  Before they set out Trooper laid out the rules.

  “Neither of you will carry a weapon. Not a gun, not a knife. Not even the can opener. All you got are the clothes on your back and if we catch you with anything more than that, you’re on your own.”

  Allie nodded, eager and submissive. Pete shrugged his shoulders. “What if we get attacked? We won’t even be able to fend for ourselves.”

  Seth was about to pipe in, to remind the man that he was oh so helpful when shit hit the fan the night prior, when Wyatt cut him off.

  “We’ll deal with that if it happens. But until then, you have to agree. And if you don’t, you can stay here. That’s the deal.”

  “We agree,” Allie said. “We’ll do whatever you say.”

  Seth imagined she had a lot of experience doing what men said. She didn’t seem bad at all really, but he didn’t like the way Wyatt looked at her. He’d seen that look before, for a whole year actually, when Wyatt was twelve and pining over N
ikki Latshaw who everyone knew was the prettiest girl in the neighborhood. She was all he could talk about even though the girl never, so far as Seth knew, talked to him.

  The fact that Wyatt was falling for the woman was as clear as the sky used to be and Seth was scared. Part because Allie already had a guy, one who looked and acted like a piece of shit and pieces of shit didn’t appreciate someone else making moves on their girl. But also, maybe more so, because he didn’t want Wyatt to have anyone else taking his attention. Because that meant less for him. And being the youngest of them and a cripple to boot was already more isolating than he could handle sometimes. He didn’t need more piled on.

  At least he had the dog.

  Except, at the moment, the dog was nestled at Allie’s feet while she gave him the world’s best belly rub.

  Fuckers, Seth thought. All of them sucked.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  They were a little more than halfway through their first day together when they broke for lunch. There hadn’t been much time for talking until then, not that Wyatt minded. Everyone seemed to be on eggshells, still trying to get a feel for one another and find their place in the expanded group.

  Trooper had built a small fire upon which they boiled water for chicken noodle soup. It was the kind with stars and pea-sized bits of dehydrated chicken that Wyatt remembered as the go-to food he’d eaten while recovering from a cold or the flu when he was a kid. That soup, and jello, always seemed to make everything better.

  “What was life like in Maine, anyway?” Allie asked.

  Wyatt glanced around the group to see if anyone else wanted to answer. No one did, so he stepped up. “Cold.”

  “Were there other people there?”

  “Not really,” Wyatt said. He had no interest in telling them about the men who’d broken into their house. Who’d maimed his mother while he watched. He wanted to change the subject. “What about you, Pete? Where were you from?”

  They’d been passing the soup around the loose circle and Pete accepted it from Allie. “All over.”