by Urban, Tony
Flesh of the Sons
Cannibal County - Book 2
Tony Urban
Drew Strickland
Copyright © 2020 by Tony Urban & Drew Strickland
Published by Packanack Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Visit Drew online - http://drewstricklandbooks.com
Visit Tony online - http://tonyurbanauthor.com
Created with Vellum
“And the king said unto her, What aileeth thee? And she answered, This woman said unto me, Give up your son so we may eat him today, and we will eat my son tomorrow.
So we boiled my son and ate him. And I said unto her on the next day, Give up your son so we may eat him, but she hath hidden him.”
2 Kings 6:28-29
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Afterword
More from Tony & Drew
Chapter One
It seemed too good to be true. One moment Wyatt and his family had been under siege from the cannibals and the next a cavalry led by the blond-haired Alexander, who both looked and acted like a hero straight out of a comic book, arrived seemingly from nowhere to save them.
As they walked, Wyatt struggled to comprehend this most welcome change of luck. And he wished Trooper was still there to see it. God, he missed that man so much.
Maybe it was the fact that he now had time to think about something aside from being attacked by man-eating bastards. The newfound feeling of safety was a blessing and a curse. And even though Wyatt was surrounded by all these new people, his old friend’s absence was even more marked.
Trooper would have doubtlessly been reluctant to accept the help. Wyatt suspected his old friend might have even declined the invitation to their compound to rest and recuperate, or at least made a show of it. He was the strong one. The independent one. The glue. And everything seemed lacking without him.
“What’s the matter, brother?” Seth asked.
Wyatt blinked his eyes to clear them of stinging tears. He glanced down at Seth who stared at him from his makeshift seat in the shopping cart.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Wyatt examined the others, checking to ensure Seth was the only one who’d seen his weakness. No one else paid him any attention and he breathed a little easier.
“Just thinking about Trooper.”
“Oh.” Seth let his mouth hang open like he planned to say something more, but either changed his mind or camp up empty handed and closed it again.
Ahead, their mother and Allie conversed with some of the women in the group. That made Wyatt smile. It would be good for Barbara, their mom, to have other women around. Females with whom she could casually converse with in a way that seemed as impossible for Wyatt as speaking Aramaic.
It would be good for Allie too. Wyatt hadn’t managed to say a word to her since Pete volunteered to die - sparing Wyatt and sealing his own fate. That asshole had to go and be a hero at the worst possible moment and now Wyatt got to carry around the guilt like a yoke on his neck. He knew that was a shitty and selfish way to look at what went down, but it was true. Just another notch on Wyatt’s belt of people he couldn’t save.
Supper plodded along beside a middle-aged man who kept tossing a tattered baseball into the desert, which Supper fetched over and over again. Even the dog was happy about their newly expanded group.
So why was he so damned melancholy? Wyatt didn’t have time to come up with an answer before one of the men in the group screamed--
“Incoming!”
The path ahead exploded, sending out shrapnel in the form of dirt and rocks. A stone the size of a fist caught a red-haired woman in the forehead, and she collapsed in a spray of blood.
Then, a bullet ripped through the chest of the man who’d been playing with Supper. He dropped to his knees, covering the wound with his hands, but blood forced its way through like water escaping a fissure in a dam.
The dog dashed to Wyatt’s side as another round kicked up dust at Alexander’s feet.
“Take cover!” Alexander ordered but they were in the midst of a wide-open expanse of Texas borderlands and there was nothing behind which to hide.
Wyatt looked at Seth. “Hold on.”
“Why?”
Wyatt didn’t respond. Instead he flipped the shopping cart onto its side, wheels facing the direction from which the gunfire had erupted. Seth hit the ground hard and grunted out an Oof as Wyatt forced him flat on the ground.
“Supper, stay,” Wyatt said.
The dog did as commanded and hunkered in the dirt beside Seth.
Wyatt looked toward his mother, toward Allie. Both were on the ground, hands covering their heads. That was good.
The people who’d saved them, the soldiers or militia or whatever the hell they were, all remained on their feet, trying to source the attackers.
Maybe some danger in his life was what Wyatt needed to shake the sadness that clung to him like cheap cologne. As bullets flew his way, for the first time since being rescued, he was able to forget about Trooper. Forget about what he’d lost. And focus on the new fight at hand.
Chapter Two
Between the incoming rounds and the initial explosion, the air had turned brown in a dusty fog that made it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet in front of your own face. Through it, Wyatt sought out the soldiers and found them.
The group had locked in on the attackers. They had their AK 47s shouldered and returned fire. After a volley of gunshots Wyatt raced to Alexander’s side.
“Where are they?” Wyatt asked.
Even though return fire was hurtling their way, Alexander stood tall. Again, Wyatt was reminded of a comic book hero. Fearless in the face of danger.
Alexander looked to Wyatt, then pointed northwest. It took a m
oment to make sense of what laid beyond the haze, like trying to see underwater, but soon Wyatt’s vision came into focus and he saw them.
Two men, about a hundred yards away, crouched behind a large, rusted out van.
Just as he set his eyes on the pair of men, he saw one of them catch a bullet to the skull. Blood exploded from his noggin, splashing into the van and painting it in brain matter and disintegrated bone.
The other man stared at his dead companion and seemed to lose interest in the gunplay, raising his arms in the air.
“Who are they?” Wyatt asked.
“I’m about to find out,” Alexander said. “Care to join me?”
He was walking before Wyatt could answer. Wyatt glanced back at his own group who were still prone on the ground but risked curious looks now that the gunfire had ceased. He knew he should stay with them should anything else go wrong, but he also sensed these new people would scrutinize his every move. It was important to make the right kind of first impression as he was bound to be stuck with it.
He chased after Alexander, breaking into a near jog until he caught up. Alexander glanced at him and smirked. “You’ve got big balls, Wyatt. I like that.”
Ahead, the man left alive came into clearer view. He sported a straggly, gray beard and wore a pair of eyeglasses for which both lenses were cracked. As far as Wyatt could see, he had no weapons of his own, but the dead man’s rifle was discarded in the dirt within arm’s reach.
“What do you think?” Alexander asked Wyatt as they got closer.
It was only then that Wyatt realized none of the other soldiers had tagged along. “Why’d the others stay back?”
“In case there’s more in the party that decided to circle around or flank us. Can never be too careful.” He stole a glance at Wyatt. “Besides, if he’s got any more bombs with him and plans to go out in a blaze of glory, I’d rather everyone else wasn’t blown to bits.”
“Oh.” Realizing that he’d been deemed expendable didn’t make Wyatt feel any better. He had a death grip on his pistol, ready to put it to use at the first sign things were heading south.
“Don’t worry, though. I’m sure we’re fine.”
When they reached the van Alexander went straight to the dead man. He grabbed the rifle off the ground and passed it to Wyatt as he double checked the shooter to confirm his expiration.
Wyatt stared at the man who was still alive. In addition to his unfortunate facial hair his clothing was tattered, and his exposed flesh was covered in a mixture of fresh wounds and healed scars.
“Please,” the man said. “He’s been holding me captive. Killed my family. Ate my son.” He clutched his shoulder with his left hand, covering up a bleeding hole.
“Say that’s true. What made you so special that he kept you around? It certainly wasn’t your pleasing aroma.” Alexander knelt before the man, only a few feet apart. Too close, Wyatt thought. But Alexander also kept the barrel of the AK trained on the man’s chest.
“He wanted me alive to torture me. Said my screaming made him laugh.” He spat in the general direction of the dead man. It was pea-soup green and thick with snot.
“How’d you two come to know one another?” Alexander asked, his voice flat and impossible to read.
“My family and I was just walking the roads, hoping to find some people or food. Then this feller came along and asked if he could walk with us. He had the gun and we was unarmed so how could we decline?”
“Not the kind of man to take no for an answer, huh?” Alexander stared unblinking at the fellow who seemed to grow more agitated by the word.
“No, sir. That night we made camp and I woke up to my wife screaming. That bastard stabbed her in the belly and split her open like a watermelon. Then he kilt my boy. Shot him dead then toasted him over the fire.”
“Roasted, you mean.” Alexander’s mouth turned up in a slight grin.
“Pardon?” The man’s eyes were wide and confused.
“You said he toasted your son over the fire. You toast marshmallows. You roast people. There’s a difference.”
“I-- I-- If you say so.” The man looked past Alexander, toward the others who waited along the road. “Can you folks please help me?”
Wyatt knew it wasn’t his place to speak and waited for Alexander to answer. Instead, there came a rifle report.
The man’s body slammed into the van as the force of the gunshot hurled him backward. He opened his mouth and groaned, allowing a stream of blood and spittle to spill free, and then his eyes went vacant.
Wyatt turned to Alexander and saw smoke wafting from the barrel of his AK47.
“Why?”
“He was lying,” Alexander said.
“How can you be sure?”
Alexander stood. He kicked the newly dead man over. In the small of his back was a rusty revolver and a large hunting knife was sheathed on his belt.
“Not many hostages are armed.” Alexander took the man’s gun, emptying it of bullets and depositing the lot into his pocket. He passed the knife to Wyatt. “A souvenir. A reminder that there’s no room for stupidity in the world anymore. Cannibals, crooks, murderers. They’re all out here and you need to figure out who’s dangerous and who’s not. Otherwise, you’ll just be another body in the road.”
Wyatt realized how fast Alexander and his group could have mowed all of them down, along with Red and the other cannibals. That they could all be dead in the dirt like these men. “Why’d you trust us?”
Alexander paused to consider it. “You have an honest face.”
He broke into a wide smile that revealed near perfect teeth. Of course, Wyatt thought. Just like almost everything else about him.
Alexander gave him a light tap on the shoulder as he stood. Wyatt followed and they headed back to the others. “Papa says there’s always room for kindness. And dessert.”
Wyatt nodded. He remained grateful this group had found them, and he was even more grateful they judged them worthy of kindness and not a bullet.
Chapter Three
Wyatt thought, after a more than 2,000-mile trek, he was in good shape. That he could keep pace with just about any man around. But after five hours of following Alexander and his companions, he was dragging. The soldiers seemed as fit as Kenyan marathoners and despite lugging their weapons and gear, they moved at almost twice the usual lackadaisical pace Wyatt had grown accustomed to.
He paused to suck down several swallows of water. He was thirsty but this was more of an excuse for a break. One he hoped wouldn’t belie his exhaustion.
“I’ll take some of that,” his mother said.
Wyatt handed the bottle to Barbara and saw she was tired too. Her hair was slick with sweat and clung to her head like a helmet. The sight made him grin despite his own subpar condition.
“What’s so funny?”
“You look like a refugee,” he said. “Like we’re on the Trail of Tears or something.”
Barbara half-smiled but her remaining eye stayed serious. “That didn’t end too well, you know.”
She was right of course, and Wyatt lost his grin. He hoped their journey had a better ending than that.
It had to. They didn’t come all this way just to be locked up or slaughtered. No God could be that cruel. Right?
“Share the love,” Seth said. He reached for the bottle which was down to a few sips. Barbara passed it to him. “Thanks. That’ll quench my thirst.”
“At least you don’t have to walk at super soldier speed,” Wyatt said.
“Being paralyzed and one-legged does have its benefits.” Seth dropped the empty bottle into the cart.
Supper sat at their side and whined.
“Sorry, pooch, I drank the last drop,” Seth said to the dog who hung its head in disappointment. “Maybe Wyatt can ask his boyfriend for another.”
Seth’s mocking smirk annoyed Wyatt but he refused to let it show. Besides, Seth was half-right. Wyatt didn’t have a crush on Alexander, but he admired the man’s courage
and common sense. He supposed, in a way, the man reminded him of Trooper. Maybe that was wishful thinking on his part, but he was eager to find someone to fill that void in his life.
As he stared in Alexander’s direction, the man startled him by looking back, almost as if he had felt Wyatt’s eyes on him. He caught Wyatt gawking and gave a short wave. “It’s up ahead.” Alexander pointed to a low embankment. “Just beyond the hill.”
Thank God, Wyatt thought as he grabbed the handle of the shopping cart and resumed pushing. If they weren’t there soon, he was liable to collapse and that was the last thing he wanted to do with Alexander and the others watching.
Cresting the incline sapped him of whatever strength he had left, but the view was worth it. A hundred yards away, a casino six stories tall jutted up from the desert floor like an adobe monolith. It featured Spanish architecture with half round arches, ornate tile, and wrought iron.
A chain link fence, obviously a new addition since the apocalypse, guarded the property and even at this distance, Wyatt saw people.
“Holy shit,” Seth said.
“Seth!” Barbara slapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“What? It’s amazing.”
