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

  “Well that’s specific,” Seth said.

  Pete narrowed his eyes as he stirred the soup. “My parents were both in the Air Force. We moved around a lot. Longest I stayed in one place was fourteen months in Okinawa. Kadena Air Force Base.”

  Wyatt wouldn’t have expected that. He knew the old saying about judging a book by its cover, but he was guilty of doing just that. If asked to guess, he would have said Pete probably grew up on the streets, or maybe an orphanage. That he had no family or support system. That he was probably in and out of prison all his life. He felt a bit like an asshole for jumping to such conclusions.

  “Have any of you actually been south?” Pete asked as he blew on his spoon to cool the scalding hot broth.

  “You talking about ever or?” Trooper asked.

  Pete shook his head. “Recently. As in the last year or two.”

  None of them had of course.

  “Have you?” Wyatt asked. He saw Pete glance Allie’s way before looking to him.

  “Made it as far as Kentucky the summer before last.”

  They waited for him to go on. He seemed to sense their anticipation and let the silence linger.

  “Well, spit it out,” Trooper said.

  Pete took a bite of the now cooled and edible soup before continuing. “I won’t lie to you. It’s bad down there.”

  “Bad how,” Seth asked. “I imagine you never bothered to crack open a dictionary, but there are a plethora of words available for you to use and a good portion of them would be more helpful than bad.”

  Wyatt saw their mother shoot Seth a look that would have made him shrivel, but Seth only grinned.

  Pete didn’t seem to find the humor in it and remained closed-mouthed.

  It was Allie that broke the silence. “Cannibals,” she said. “There are tribes of them. Like the Indians used to be. They fight with each other and eat anyone who enters their territory.”

  “Bullshit,” Seth said.

  Wyatt didn’t understand why his brother could be so dismissive of the idea when they’d seen the aftermath of what happened to Devan and June.

  Allie shook her head. “It’s not. Most of them are further west, like Arizona and New Mexico, but some of them come more this way.”

  “You actually saw tribes of cannibal Indians in Kentucky?” Wyatt asked.

  “It’s Native Americans, Wyatt,” Seth said. “Have some class. And I don’t think she’s actually discussing their ethnicity. Just implying they act like them. The stereotypical, Hollywood version, anyway.”

  “He’s right.” Allie’s gaze drifted to the ground. “And, no. We didn’t see them. But we met a guy who told us all about them. Said he was heading south with his wife when they got attacked in Arkansas. He told us they cut his wife open and ate her heart while it was still beating.”

  “And he just stood around and enjoyed the show?” Seth said. “Hell of a guy. I’d certainly trust him.”

  “It’s the truth,” Pete said. His voice teetered on anger. “That man had been scalped. And it’s not like they show in the movies where there’s just a little bit of hair missing. Like his barber got carried away with the clippers.”

  Pete used his index finger to draw an invisible line a few inches above his eyebrows. “They cut him here.” He dragged his finger around the back of his head, behind his ears, then around the other side. “All the way to here. Then they ripped his scalp off.”

  Wyatt caught Seth stared at him, still wearing his grin. Maybe Seth wasn’t buying what they were selling but Wyatt was. He’d seen the charred body in New England. He’d seen the butchered remains of Devan and June. He had no doubt that similar things, and worse things, were happening elsewhere.

  “That’s horrible,” Barbara said. She’d been holding a canteen of coffee between her knees and set it aside.

  Pete nodded. “It was. His skull was all scabby and black and half-infected. And the flies, shit, I can still remember those flies dive-bombing him and eating the skin that was rotting. And the guy acted like he didn’t even notice. I suppose he was used to it.”

  Allie shivered and Pete rested his hand on her thigh. Wyatt looked away.

  “If it’s so fucking dangerous down there, why did you want to come with us?” Seth asked.

  Pete didn’t answer. Neither did Allie, at first, but after a moment she spoke up. “Life was hard at the trading post. Always people drifting in and out who acted nice but most of the time weren’t.” She looked to Wyatt, then Barbara. “We’re hoping it’s like you said. That maybe there’s something better down there. Once you get past the cannibals, I mean.”

  “That’s far from a certainty,” Trooper said.

  Allie gave a weak smile. “I know but it’s something. It’s hope.”

  Wyatt understood what she meant. What good was living if all hope was gone?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  After more than two months of traveling little had changed aside from their geographic location. Crossing the Appalachians wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as bad as Wyatt had expected. Pete and Allie both took their turns pushing Seth which helped tremendously. Once they were out of Pennsylvania they continued southwest through Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois where the land grew flat and monotonous, but was easy to traverse.

  Trooper’s arm was mostly healed and out of the sling, but Wyatt wouldn’t allow him to lift anything heavier than a fork. Their gunshot wounds were healed and hadn’t become infected. The food was holding out and there had been no need to put their guns to use. All things considered, life was good.

  Only Wyatt didn’t feel good. The main issue was boredom. It seemed like they’d exhausted every life story, mined every possible anecdote, and played every road trip game they could imagine. If he heard another recitation of I spy with my little eye he’d be apt to shoot whoever said it. As each day blended into the next, he craved something new. Something, anything, that could break up the mind-numbing, soul-crushing sameness that had come to dominate his life.

  It didn’t help that his infatuation with Allie had grown by leaps and bounds, while Pete’s whiny, selfish personality made him want to puke. Having to watch them be a happy, affectionate couple day in, day out was a special kind of torture. He tried to put aside his feelings for the girl, but it was still a work in progress.

  On the less depressing side, contrary to Pete’s earlier assertions that the land was riddled with cannibals, they had seen none. It wasn’t only bereft of cannibals but humans as a whole.

  They hadn’t encountered a single person since leaving the trading post. Occasionally they’d stroll by a house or building and Wyatt would get the feeling they were being watched. And there were random signs of life. Footprints, freshly discarded trash, even some laundry hanging in a wash line to dry in western Missouri, but their eyes saw no people.

  Not until they reached Arkansas.

  They usually had good luck finding an empty house to crash in for the night, but they happened to be on a long stretch of desolate highway when darkness fell and the best they could do was an industrial, brick building which looked to have been victim to an earthquake or tornado. Only two of the four walls remained upright, but a copse of dead maples stood guard against one of the open sides and would serve as a nice wind-break. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

  Their progress had been slower lately as the days grew shorter. The added hours of dark brought with them more time to be cold and a fire was no longer a luxury but a necessity to survive the night.

  Trooper had a nice blaze going and Pete had gathered enough scrap wood to last the night. After a dinner consisting of canned peas, canned beets, and some hot chocolate it was time to turn in.

  Seth had volunteered to take the first watch, but Wyatt hadn’t yet drifted off. He stared across the flames to where Allie and Pete laid together, his arms around her waist. The flickering orange light of the fire danced across her face and Wyatt thought that would be the perfect sight to fall asleep to when--

&n
bsp; Branches snapped and popped as something - someone - broke through the trees. Wyatt was first to his feet, followed by Trooper who was shockingly spry all things considered. Each of them drew the pistols holstered on their belts. Seth took hold of his shotgun, one hand on the barrel, one on the stock. Barbara held the .38 revolver she kept at her side through the nights.

  Only Allie and Pete were unarmed. Wyatt wondered if it was time to break that rule but had no time to say it out loud before two figures sprinted into the makeshift campsite.

  “You dumbo goons!” The man in the lead said. “What the Sam hell do you think you’re doing?” He was scrawny with an unkempt beard that hung halfway down his chest. That, coupled with a blue slicker he wore made Wyatt think he looked like a ship’s captain.

  The man who was second in line was equally thin, but balding with only a horseshoe of gray hair atop his head. One of his eyes was clouded over with a cataract and both of his top front teeth were missing.

  Wyatt wasn’t sure who the Captain’s question was directed at, or even if it was a question at all, but he raised the pistol, nonetheless.

  Trooper had done the same and Wyatt thought his old friend was going to shoot if the man got any closer. But instead of approaching them, Captain went to the fire. He kicked at it, frantic, smothering it with dirt and chunks of bricks and anything else close enough to douse the flames. The second man joined in and did the same. Soon enough the fire was diminished to red-hot embers.

  “What the hell do you thi--” Trooper began.

  “No time to ask. Hide you ninny. Hide or die,” Captain whispered.

  “What is going--” Barbara’s question was cut short when the balding man grabbed her and wrapped his hand around her mouth.

  Wyatt’s finger was on the trigger and he was ready to shoot, but the man holding his mother only shook his head and held the index finger of his free hand to his lips in the unspoken sign for quiet.

  “They’re coming!” Captain ran to a pile of fallen bricks and camouflaged himself on the ground behind it.

  And then Wyatt heard it too. The noise was loud and only getting louder. Footsteps. Broken branches. It sounded like a stampede of horses galloping through the trees.

  The two men who had invaded their camp were the least of their worries. Wyatt knew that now and so did Trooper.

  “Everyone find cover,” Trooper said. He grabbed Seth’s wheelchair and the two vanished behind a portion of the wall.

  The man who’d been keeping Barb quiet dragged her out of the building and away from the coming sounds. Then Pete and Allie hid behind a heaping section of collapsed roof and shingles.

  Wyatt grabbed hold of the leash he’d found for Supper back in Indiana and pulled the dog with him until they were out of the building and into a thicket of dry brush. He pushed a path into it, the dead branches scratching at his face and arms, but he had to get his dog, and himself, out of sight. Out of view from whatever, or whoever, was coming.

  As he settled in, he turned back to the building and saw a new man had arrived. He looked older than the others. His hair, more white than gray, was pulled into a ponytail. He scanned the area with wide, desperate eyes.

  “River? Georgie?” The man asked. But no one answered. He turned, took a step away from where the fire had been and toward the back of the building, but didn’t make it any further.

  A pack of people, ten, maybe fifteen, broke from the trees and sprinted at the man. They looked wild and filthy. They clutched bats, axes, and chunks of metal. Anything that could do damage. Anything that could kill.

  The man never had a chance.

  One of the pack swung a baseball bat and struck his shoulder. He yelped as he fell backwards, landing hard on his ass. Another swung what looked like a tire iron and landed a glancing blow that ripped open the man’s cheek, a hole so deep it revealed his decaying teeth.

  A woman swung a bat and connected with the man’s ribs. Wyatt heard the sound of his bones breaking even over his bellowing screams.

  Then another figure stepped into the group. He was tall with broad shoulders and a wooly mane of red hair. The others seemed to part, to allow him better access. This new arrival gripped a double-bladed axe with which he reared back, then swung down.

  The old man’s screams came to an immediate halt as the axe landed just a few inches from his neck, nearly cleaving his upper body in two.

  Blood was shot from the wound in wild arcs. More poured from the man’s mouth and he gagged as he choked on it. A few moments later he went limp and the red-haired killer ripped the weapon free of the body, which fell sideways in a slow-motion tumble before landing in the dirt and weeds.

  Wyatt had to remind himself to breathe.

  “Where are the other two?” Red, the man who’d dealt the fatal blow, asked.

  “Can’t be far,” one of the others said. “And look at all this shit.” He motioned to the shopping carts of supplies. “There were more here.”

  Red nodded. “Get the body out of here and prep it.”

  Four people grabbed the lifeless body and carried it in the direction from which they’d come. Wyatt watched as the man’s head dangled loose, flopping with each step of the people carrying him.

  Then Wyatt turned his attention back to the man with the axe, to the one he thought of as Red. He dug through their carts, pulling out random canned goods and weapons. He seemed to have little interest in the firearms but fondled the knives with an unnerving amount of care.

  The remaining others began to search the building and Wyatt knew it was only a matter of seconds before some, or all of them were discovered.

  He clutched the pistol, raised it carefully, trying not to break any branches and give away his location too soon. He was lining up his shot, aiming at Red, when--

  Captain dashed from his hiding place and in the direction of the remaining killers. “You poon licking pinheads think you can kill West and get away with it?”

  All the attackers turned toward him, weapons raised.

  “Looney ding dongs all dressed up like dime-store villains. You ain’t so tough. Psycho man-eating goons’ll all rot in hell!”

  He continued screaming, but the words dissolved into the unrecognizable mutterings of a crazy person. And Wyatt assumed that he likely was.

  “Get him,” Red screamed.

  Captain spun on his heels and dashed toward the rear of the building. Toward the hiding spots of Wyatt and the others. The possibly crazy man pushed through the brush, less than a foot from Wyatt and Supper. He saw them and flashed a manic grin.

  “Whatta ya waiting for, bonehead? Run!”

  Wyatt was tired of running. As Captain disappeared into the night, he returned his attention to the coming mob. They were within fifteen feet, and easy pickings.

  He shot and a man with a hatchet in one hand and a hammer in the other fell. Red and the others froze in place and looked to their fallen comrade.

  Wyatt shot again. That round dropped a man who’d been carrying a spear fashioned from a rebar rod. It took him a moment to realize he’d just killed two people. That he’d joined the ranks of Trooper and Seth as a man who was capable of taking a life if the situation called for it. That didn’t make him feel good. But it was too late to go back.

  Then Trooper joined in. A woman with a baseball bat went down. Then a young man, maybe even a teenager, with a pipe.

  Wyatt heard Seth’s shotgun go off and the man with the tire iron squealed in pain and grabbed his midsection. Blood seeped through his hands.

  “Clear out!” Red said as he turned and ran. The others followed.

  Wyatt tried one last shot, but the bullet went astray. Trooper had better luck and felled another of their party. In seconds, the rest were gone.

  Wyatt’s heart pounded in his chest. He’d been longing for excitement, but not like this.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Trooper pushed Seth free from their hiding place. Wyatt and Supper were next out. Then Allie and Pete. Barbara
and the man who’d hidden her emerged last.

  “Everyone okay?” Trooper asked and they all nodded. He returned one of the Desert Eagle’s to its holster. “Good.”

  Not that anything about this situation was good. A handful of dead bodies lay scattered around the floor. Several more of the killers had escaped and were likely pissed off. And they now had an additional new face clinging to the group.

  He looked to the man, with his blank eye and haggard face. “What the hell did you bring down on us?”

  The newcomer shook his head. “It’s not like that, friend. See, they spotted your fire… We spotted it, I suppose. We came running through because we were being chased and--” The man stopped talking and dug his index finger into his ear, scratching. He smiled revealing a mouth filled with broken and rotten teeth.

  “We shouldn’t stay here. We can’t stay here, see. They’ll be back. They’ll be looking for me. And now you too. River don’t want to be here when they come back. Do you?”

  The man, River, was frantic and obviously at least two thirds crazy. His presence made Trooper uncomfortable, like sharing a room with a skunk, but he was right.

  “Who were they?” Trooper asked.

  “Let’s go and River will tell you all about it.” He extracted his finger from his ear and examined the wax that had wedged itself under his long, ragged nail. Then he stuck his finger into his mouth and sucked away like it was the world’s sweetest lollipop.

  Trooper watched as he wandered out of the building, in a different direction than the killers.

  “That dude’s two fucking beers shy of a sixpack,” Seth said.

  Trooper thought the boy crass, but correct. “I would not disagree. But he’s right. We can’t stay here.”

  The group moved as fast as they could away from the road and through the trees. Trooper was in the lead, trying to catch up to the newcomer who was surprisingly fleet of foot. He took a quick glance behind him, making sure everyone was there.