Cannibal Country (Book 2): Flesh of the Sons

by Urban, Tony

  “Stop. I know you haven’t forgotten what they did to your brother. To Pete. What they would have done to us.” She paused. They both knew where she was going. Time to twist the knife. Rub salt in the wound. “Do I have to remind you what happened to Trooper?”

  “Allie, he’s a boy. A kid. Maybe not even a teenager yet.”

  She shook her head to deny that meant anything. Wyatt now looked her in the eyes. There was no shame in his conviction that he had made the right choice.

  “A savage is a savage no matter its age.” She dropped his hand. Not in anger or even overt rudeness. It was more like letting loose of an objectionable object. A slimy fish. Or a pile of dog shit. “You know better than this. That thing being here, inside here, with all of us, puts everyone in danger.”

  “The kid can barely move. He’ll be strapped into a hospital bed for the next month getting treated for the gunshot wounds I put in his body. If he lives at all.” Wyatt raised his voice to match Allie’s. They were getting close to an argument, the very opposite of what he wanted right now. “And what happened before… You can’t judge all of them just because of the actions of a few.”

  “Jesus Christ, Wyatt! He’s a goddamn cannibal. He eats people!” She said. “What makes you think he’s any different from the others. Did he tell you what he wants to be when he grows up? Maybe invite you back to his place for an afternoon snack. If he did, who was--”

  A loud crack interrupted her. They both stopped and listened for the announcement to come over the speakers.

  “Attention friends. Everyone is to return to their rooms for the remainder of the day. A special announcement and demonstration will take place at the front of the casino tomorrow morning at eight a.m. Your presence is required. Have a blessed evening.”

  Damn it, Wyatt thought. The voice didn’t sound any more or less cheerful than it did when announcing a meal, but he knew whatever was going to happen in the front hall probably had to do with the outing. And his gut told him it wasn’t good.

  Allie practically bounced off the bed and out of the room without another word. Wyatt wondered if she was that eager to be away from him or if she was really that subservient to the omnipotent, anonymous voice in the sky. He almost preferred the former because the Allie he knew, the Allie he loved, couldn’t be that much of a follower.

  Could she?

  Chapter 21

  Sleep had been impossible, both due to nerves and the throbbing in his butt. The pain was less this morning. No more flaming hot baseball in his right cheek, just an angry bump. He was out of bed before the pathetic excuse for sunrise and expected to be one of the first to the lobby, but he was wrong.

  Everyone was there. Not just the main gaggle of geese. Everyone.

  They were lined up like teenage girls before a boyband concert, chatting and nattering like giddy hens. And one by one they funneled outside. Being amongst them was about as high on Wyatt’s Things I Want to Do list as getting a jalapeno enema, but he allowed himself to be dragged along for the ride.

  Papa was already in the middle of his speech. Wyatt couldn’t see him yet and the sound was muffled by the doors, but the man’s voice rose above the din of the crowd as he preached about God.

  As Wyatt neared the entrance he could gather bits and pieces of the sermon, and it occurred to him that these people, living in an oasis of their own making after the wars, probably saw their fortune as a gift hand delivered by God himself.

  He couldn’t blame them. But even though he had just as much reason to be grateful he wasn’t sure how much religion had to do with his circumstances.

  Through the smoked glass Wyatt took in the scene. Papa stood on a large platform, outside of the gates which stood open, allowing a clear view. His guards were planted on the platform with him and Wyatt noticed that both now held AKs. But they weren’t looking in the same direction as Papa, which was at the growing crowd. They peered into the desert.

  Then, as Wyatt looked closer, he had to stop himself from swearing out loud. Seth was on the platform with Papa and he wore the biggest shit-eating grin Wyatt had ever seen as a stunning, buxom woman sat at his side. Their body language insinuated that they weren’t just sharing space. They were together.

  Just as he began to wonder how exactly Seth had managed to get in this coveted position so quickly, and who the woman was, Wyatt noticed an object at the rear of the platform. There stood a tall, wooden structure and affixed to it was an object wrapped in a white tarp.

  It looked like a marshmallow. As Wyatt stared, trying to make sense of it, he thought it moved.

  Even though Papa was speaking, a murmur ran through the crowd like a babbling brook. Everyone was muttering, whispering, speculating. Wyatt gathered bits and pieces, enough to realize they were as clueless as himself.

  A wave of applause followed as Papa finished making a statement about the glory of Yahweh. As the noise silenced, a cry came from one end of the throng.

  “Show us, Papa!”

  “We want to see!”

  The yells were answered with more applause, but Papa chuckled and raised his hand to silence his people.

  “Alright… Alright.” Everyone hushed quickly. “Let us not forget the old saying. ‘Good things come to those who wait.’”

  Wyatt’s eyes drifted over to Seth, who watched Papa with the avid eyes of a wolf as the woman at his side rubbed his shoulder. Wyatt thought she looked less enamored with Papa than most here. She looked in the man’s general direction, but it was clear that was for show. At least, that was Wyatt’s read on her.

  “For anyone who isn’t yet aware,” Papa shifted on his feet, visibly tiring. Immediately some chuckles erupted. He knew the community well, and how fast word spread inside the casino walls. “Our protectors recently went out on a mission to procure a trade. Let’s take a moment to recognize their work.”

  A woman from the crowd screamed over applause and cheers. “Alexander, we love you!”

  Some started to chant, but Papa put his hand up and their words faded away.

  “Indeed. These men and women make sacrifices for us, for our home. They do things most of us couldn’t do.

  “On this mission they encountered another group that seemed to need help, and Alexander and his team tried their best to show them the glory of Yahweh. To help them understand that it’s only by working together that people can survive. Instead of listening and accepting the help...” Papa slowed down, and a hush immediately fell over the crowd. “Our protectors were attacked. And sadly, we lost three valued and trusted members of our community.”

  The crowd gasped. A few shouted, cried, wailed.

  “The risks were great, but they accepted them because of their love for you.” Papa continued speaking slowly, but his voice rose again in praise. “Every time our protectors go out, they know the danger. They understand they might be forced to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good.”

  The melancholy seemed to be spreading but Papa put a quick end to that. “Lest we despair, know that our protectors won the battle! And they killed the cannibals. The evildoers who dared attack the children of Yahweh!”

  The crowd erupted, cheers, chants, and cries. Papa let it go on for a moment longer than was appropriate, but watching his face, Wyatt could see a faint grin. This was the reaction he wanted. He’d played the crowd like a Stradivarius.

  The story wasn’t close to the truth, of course. Maybe that was for the best as, selfishly, it concealed knowledge of his own role in the debacle. So, he stopped himself from shaking his head at the exaggerations. At how Papa propped up the protectors who were scared and taken by surprise. No one here needed to know that religion had nothing to do with it. At least, that’s what Wyatt tried to tell himself.

  “Our protectors…” Papa waited for the last of the conversation to quell before continuing. “Our protectors faithfully carried out their duty to keep us safe and killed those cannibals. All except one.”

  With the gusto of a nightclub mag
ician, Papa pulled the tarp down from the structure in one ungracious move. He wobbled and Wyatt thought the man might fall, but then his attention went up. Along with everyone else.

  Vern, the boy he’d shot, the boy he’d fought to spare, was lashed to an X-shaped construction high above the crowd. His arms and legs were each secured to pieces of lumber. He wore only a dirty cloth around his waist, leaving his stomach exposed. His ribs and hipbones jutted out and seemed to point accusingly at Wyatt.

  In a flash of confusion, Wyatt looked around, certain that someone in the crowd would somehow connect him to what was in front of them.

  But no one did. They were too busy shrieking in a disparate cacophony of cheers and jeers. The sound reminded Wyatt of monkeys in a zoo losing their minds as the handler came around with their midday snacks.

  Wyatt eased into the darkness behind the crowd and stayed perfectly still. He wasn’t going to cheer, but also wasn’t going to risk being seen not cheering. He felt more pity for the boy now than he did after shooting him. And he knew that feeling, that empathy, was not shared by anyone else here today.

  It was with sickening dread that Wyatt realized Vern was right after all; he’d never have the chance to get old.

  Tears streamed down Vern’s face, carving clean channels through the muddy filth. Wyatt wished he’d done something other than talk in those few seconds they were alone in the medical bay. Something to help. Something that mattered.

  “Cannibals.” Papa spat out. The crowd continued its cheer, now turning from glee to lust. “Deceivers!”

  The crowd repeated the words, some of them shaking fists in anger.

  “Vermin!” Papa raised both his palms into the air. “Sinners!” His usual strong, loud voice was a low growl, but still audible over the crowd. His southern drawl made it sound like a snake moving through tall grass.

  “Please…” The boy gasped. “You don’t get it. We’re starving to death. My little sister, I watched her waste away to nothing but skin and bones. We need to eat. We--”

  “You were coming here to take what we have!” Papa screamed, silencing him. “We are family! We are children of Yahweh! He is our father!” He pointed a fat finger at the boy. “Tell me, you miscreant, what kind of God do you follow because I know of none that allows you to steal and kill his children. To gobble us down and devour our souls.”

  Vern laid his head back against the board, his mouth open and slack. He remained silent.

  “As I suspected. God-hating savages, the lot of you!” Papa reached under his podium and emerged with a sword. The blade was long and glistened even in the dim half-light of nuclear winter. It reminded Wyatt of something a Confederate general might wield. Custer or Jackson.

  Vern saw it too. His eyes grew wide, two panicked white orbs against the grime of his flesh. Wyatt watched as the boy pulled at his restraints, tearing his own flesh in a vain attempt to free himself.

  Without a hint of hesitation or remorse, Papa pushed the blade into Vern’s side. The metal pierced under his rib cage, sinking deeper and deeper.

  As a geyser of blood erupted from the wound, Vern shrieked, a noise that only increased the crowd’s mania.

  Wyatt stumbled backward. This bloodthirsty mob wasn’t the community of people that was so eager to greet him and his family less than a week ago. Was there something in those hugs and handshakes that he missed? He wondered how they were able to hide such large fangs.

  As he tried to find his mother and Allie in the crowd, to see if they fell on the side of madness or reason, he instead found Franklin holding a torch as he pushed his way through the men and women and to the platform. There, Franklin passed the torch to Papa like they were kicking off Hell’s version of the Olympic Games.

  Papa put his hand out and the obedient crowd went silent again.

  “Any of those who intend us harm,” Papa yelled out as if his voice could carry across the expanse outside of the casino boundaries. “Any who would refuse the truth, who refuse to acknowledge and accept Yahweh… You will find only immeasurable pain and death!”

  And then, to Wyatt’s growing horror, Papa turned and extended the torch to Seth. There was a moment of hesitation, a moment of hope for Wyatt, but Papa leaned into his brother and spoke words no one else could hear. Seth’s face went blank and cold.

  Seth pressed the torch to the wooden structure which, Wyatt realized, must have been coated in gas or oil as the fire raced across it lightning quick. The flames licked at Vern’s feet, then his legs, then set afire the loincloth. Within seconds all of him was burning.

  The boy unleashed a high-pitched wail like nothing Wyatt had ever heard.

  Someone in the crowd began to chant Seth’s name. More followed.

  “Seth! Seth! Seth!”

  Wyatt stared as his brother looked away from the flaming boy and to the audience. His expression, one of prideful accomplishment, scared Wyatt even more than the preceding horror.

  It was all too much. Wyatt understood death earned in a fight. Death served by a knife or a bullet. But he never imagined the revulsion of watching a human being burned alive. The sound of the flesh sizzling. Of the dying boy’s screams descending into choked gurgles. The smell.

  God, the smell was the worst. It wafted over the crowd like heavy fog and assaulted Wyatt’s nose. Fought its way into his open mouth.

  He could taste the char and smacked his lips shut, but damage had been done. His stomach lurched but, to his revulsion, it growled too. As if that instinctual, primordial part of his anatomy was unable to differentiate one cooking meat from another. And it wanted satiation. He hated himself.

  “Let this be a warning!” Papa cried out again, nearly choking over the smoke covering the sky. “If you seek to do us harm, this...” He turned to the X, feasting his vengeful eyes on the burning center mass, on the boiling blood that leaked from it. “Is how your time on Earth will end. I pray this message reaches you. For Yahweh knows who his children are, and who will follow the true path.”

  Papa turned away from the fire, which rose higher and flame silhouetted him like an avenging angel.

  Wyatt wanted no part of this. He continued his retreat until he collided with the glass doors and couldn't move anymore. Then he closed his eyes and prayed for it all to end.

  Chapter 22

  Wyatt laid on his bed with Supper by his side. His rough fur felt good, comforting. And he’d missed that because next to Trooper, Supper was his best friend. Even though the dog wouldn’t be able to answer any of his questions from the morning. From the demonstration.

  “Jesus.” Wyatt whispered and scratched the dog’s ear as a memory of the fiery death of Vern flashed.

  Supper used his paw like a hand, his toenails like fingers, and clawed at his arm. More attention please. The dog had his eyes closed with his teeth half-bared in what passed for a smile.

  At least someone was happy.

  Wyatt stared out the window and watched the windmills turn lazily. He felt knotted up over what happened and had retreated to his room for the entirety of the day. He’d expected someone - his mother, Allie, maybe even Alexander - to come and talk to him. To discuss what had gone down.

  But no one came. And he was getting the feeling that no one would ever come. That he could rot inside that room holding his own, private pity party while life went on as normal outside these four walls.

  Hiding wasn’t going to solve anything. He’d skipped breakfast and lunch. The call for dinner was almost an hour ago and Wyatt decided to see if there was anything left. He rolled off the bed and called Supper to follow.

  The dining hall was mostly empty, as were the silver pans which typically held food. He passed by the scraps, instead snatching a pear from a bowl at the end of the line. It wasn’t much, but as he bit down and juice filled his mouth, the taste made his stomach rumble. That reminded him of the presentation, and he muscled past the self-loathing and fled the room.

  His plan to return to solitude was interrupted when he spo
tted Barbara, Allie, and Seth surrounding a roulette wheel and eating their own meals, all of which were more substantial than his pear. The only person he didn’t know was the woman beside Seth, the one from the demonstration. Wyatt noticed that she had a few fingers entwined in his brother’s hair and he suspected they were already more than friends.

  He almost moved on, but Seth spotted him.

  “Hey, brother.”

  Wyatt nodded. “I didn’t think you associated with us commoners anymore.” He tried to sound light, playful, but suspected the words came out with his true feelings instead.

  Seth pretended not to notice. “You know how it is. Got to keep a pulse on things.” He pointed to an empty chair. “Have a seat.”

  Wyatt did, sliding in beside Allie. She pointed to her plate. “We can share.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Not much of an appetite. Not after…”

  He hoped someone would take the hint.

  Barbara was the first to speak. “That was unique.”

  Unique, Wyatt thought? We watched a boy get cooked alive. “Am I the only one that feels sick about that? I mean, the way people cheered. Like it was a goddamn show.”

  A heavier quiet fell over the table. Wyatt looked around at the faces. Allie had stopped eating and stared back at him with judging eyes.

  “With what those cannibals did, killing our people.” Barbara said. “He was executed for his crimes. And we know how brutal those monsters are. They eat other people, for crying out loud.”

  Wyatt noticed her change in tone, how she muttered the last part. How she said, ‘our people’.

  “Got what he deserved.” Allie muttered in a low voice. “If we show weakness, that will be the end of us. All of us. You know that.”

  “Maybe.” Wyatt said. He wished he could have pulled back on saying so much.

  A long, uncomfortable silence passed before Barbara took mercy and ended it. “Seth, I didn’t realize how much Papa trusted you. Some of the women say you’re his understudy.” Her voice was filled with pride, as if her son had just got an A plus on his spelling test rather than be the headliner in an execution.