FULL MOON COUNTRY (FULL MOON SERIES (vol. 2))

by Terry Yates

  “What?” Scott asked again.

  “Humph…” Simon said, looking at the bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide. “This shit must be better than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Simon looked down and smiled at Scott again, his momentary furrowed brow gone now.

  “Well,” he started, “your face seems to be healing. This morning it looked like half of your face was gone. I must be losin’ it.”

  “What’s that smell?” Scott asked him, his nose crinkling again.

  “Oh that…dead rats in the woodwork, I think. I’ve had pest control, vermin control, and any kind of control you can think of out here, and no one can do anything about it. It’s frustrating.”

  “Well, I reckon you can untie me now,” he said weakly.

  Simon frowned. “I will in just a second, but right now, I have to clean your cheek again, and again, I don’t want you beatin’ the holy shit out of me. I mean this shit’s gonna burn a tad, so I’m gonna clean your face now, and I’ll untie you as soon as I’m done…okay?”

  Simon smiled down at him again. The guy didn’t seem so bad to Scott. The man had found him, taken him in, and cleaned him up. He felt he could trust him, so he relaxed.

  “So, what’s all this about wolves?” Simon asked, pouring the hydrogen peroxide on a washrag. “You mentioned that you were attacked by wolves, and then you said that they weren’t just wolves. What’d you mean by that…they weren’t just wolves?”

  Scott thought for a moment. The memory of the night before…or had it been two nights…he couldn’t remember. One second it seemed like years ago, and the next, it seemed like only an hour or two had gone by. He needed a way to try and explain what he’d seen, but he didn’t want this guy to think his pilot light was out, so he wanted to choose his words carefully.

  “They walked…”

  “They walked…what do you mean they walked?” Simon asked as he put the cloth to Scott’s face.

  Scott hissed, and then raised his chest as the hydrogen peroxide touched the wound.

  “See what I mean?” Simon told him. “That’s why I tied you down. What do you mean they walked? You mean they didn’t run…they just walked.”

  “No, I mean they walked up right.”

  Simon stopped dabbing his face and looked at him.

  “They walked upright?”

  “Yes…and they were huge…one of them was at least seven….eight feet tall.”

  Simon was taken a back. This guy must have fever dreams or something…eight-foot walking wolves.

  “Eight feet?”

  Simon leaned over him, transfixed as Scott told him about the wolves killing his three closest friends. His interest was extremely piqued when Scott told him about the tiny little wolf who looked like a hairy baby that had torn his cheek apart.

  “And they killed all of your friends you say?” was all that Simon could say.

  Had the man just told him that he’d been attacked by werewolves? Surely, they were bears and he was just too drunk at the time or perhaps it was too dark, and he was in a state of shock. He did say that the moon was full that night, but the moon had been full for an unprecedented amount of nights lately, before going back to three-quarter, then half, then quarter, and then no moon. He had noticed one, two nights ago when he was driving back from Mexico with his truck full of fruit. He remembered sitting at the border stop, which always seem to take forever, what with the agents and the dogs looking for everything from drugs and guns to illegal aliens. He’d stood next to the agents and noticed that the moon was extremely big and round that night.

  “Well, that is one terrifying tale, my friend,” Simon told him.

  “It’s the truth,” Scott shot back. “I saw ‘em! They killed my friends!”

  “Take it easy, Buddy. I’m not done with your face yet.”

  Scott relaxed again as Simon put the washrag down and took the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He removed the cap and held the bottle just above Scott’s cheek. His hands shook as he tried to get it just above the wound. He held it there for a few seconds before tilting the top of the bottle until the liquid began to flow out and into the wound.

  Scott screamed as his face began to burn. He pulled against the ropes, but Simon gently held his hand on his chest.

  “Easy…easy…all done now…all done.”

  Scott grunted and groaned. It felt like someone had sent electricity all through his face. He’d been burned with battery acid before, but it had nothing on this. This shit didn’t stop stinging until it was ready to.

  “You okay?” Simon asked gently.

  Scott nodded his head, tears of pain rolling down his cheeks.

  “I take it that smarted a might,” Simon said.

  “Yeah,” Scott said, almost whispering.

  “Then tell me how this feels.”

  Before Scott knew what was happening, Simon began to pour the entire bottle of hydrogen peroxide into the wound. Scott screamed in agony, his entire face burning. Simon tilted up the bottle until every white drop of liquid had disappeared into the hole. Scott continued to scream and struggled against the rope trying feverishly to loosen his bonds.

  “Ah!!! You bastard…you piece of shit!” he screamed, still struggling against the ropes.

  “That looked like it hurt,” Simon said, still looking at the wound.

  “You piece of shit!” Scott screamed. “You worthless piece of shit!”

  “Now, now,” Simon cooed. “A little pain means a lot of healing. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that…or did I just make it up? Hmm…”

  Once Simon saw that the bonds were holding, he took his finger and jabbed it into the wound. Scott screamed again as Simon dug deeper with his finger mashing against flesh, muscle, and finally jawbone.

  “I can feel your teeth, Scott,” Simon said softly as he pressed down on the jawbone, causing Scott to wail, saliva flying from his mouth in all directions.

  “Stop it! God, stop it!” Scott yelled. “Please!”

  Simon removed his finger from Scott’s jaw and stood up. Scott continued to scream even after Simon removed his finger from the wound. He watched as the red blood and the white hydrogen peroxide oozed down from the tip of his finger onto the floor.

  “Why did you do that?” Scott yelled, moving his head left and right, attempting to sling the tears of pain from his eyes that were blurring his vision.

  “Well, I gotta tell ya’, Buddy,” Simon started, still looking at his bloody digit. “Usually, I go for girls, but you just sort of fell in my lap.”

  “What are you talking about?” Scott whimpered, his vision finally beginning to clear.

  “Oh, I tend to pick up the occasional girl here and there.” Simon looked one last time at his finger, and then wiped it against the side of his leg before continuing. “You would think that in this day and age, women would have more sense than to get in a vehicle with a stranger, but no…”

  “What do you mean…you pick them up?” Scott asked, trying to slowly and stealthily loosen the ropes.

  “I pick them up. What do you think I mean? Usually, it’s hookers at truck stops, but sometimes, it’s runaways or damsels in distress whose cars have conked out on ‘em in the middle of nowhere. Really, women should not take long trips by themselves.”

  “What do you do when you pick ‘em up?”

  Scott could feel his wrist making its way under the rope that held down his midsection.

  “Depends on where I am and who they are. If it’s a hooker, we’ll find a secluded spot somewhere, usually off the road…and if it’s a runaway or a woman who needs a lift, I have to be a little more creative. I try to catch ‘em looking out the window, and then whack ‘em with a crowbar that I keep next to the seat. Now, if I’m close to home, I’ll just bring ‘em back here. If it’s a hooker, they’ll come willingly…others have to be coerced.”

  “By coerced, you mean bound and gagged,” Scott interjected. He could feel his thumb making its way under the rope.<
br />
  “Eh…I guess you could say that,” Simon retorted. “You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to get black girls to come with you. You just open the door and they hop in, but I’ll also tell you this, they put up a fight like you wouldn’t believe…so do Mexican girls. White bitches just tend to give up and leave everything to divine providence.”

  “What do you mean…give up?” Scott almost had his hand completely under the rope.

  “Die…expire…start pushin’ up the daisies.”

  “What do you do when you’re alone with ‘em? Rape ‘em?”

  “I hate that word rape. It’s so impersonal.”

  Scott chuckled. “So impersonal.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  Scott winced as he pushed his hand and then his wrist under the rope. “I was just laughing, because you don’t seem any different than me…just another country boy…but the way you talk, you sound educated.”

  “That’s because I have a petroleum engineering degree from UTEP.” Simon told him, beaming with pride.

  “UTEP?”

  “University of Texas-El Paso.”

  “Really?” A few more stealthy wiggles and his arm would be free.

  “Yeah. I grew up in El Paso…I know…blond hair, blue eyes. Needless to say, I was the whitest kid in school. My father was a minister. He and my mother came from Michigan, feeling the call of the Lord to minister to the brownskins and others living in a savage and barbaric land. They never seemed to realize that they were in Texas, and that most Mexican’s are already Christian, but they came anyway, and believe it or not, the people liked ‘em. Yeah, I was born on a Navajo reservation. My parents wanted to be among the people, and they were.”

  Scott nodded his head and smiled as Simon prattled on. He’d completely loosened his one arm, trying not to move it too much under the bedspread. He reached over and began to try and free the other arm. He didn’t know what this psycho was going to do to him, but he wanted a chance to defend himself. At least with his arms free…he didn’t know what he was going to do about his legs, because he knew that there was no way to do it without being obvious about it, he had hope. He needed that hope.

  “So, that’s pretty much it. I left the oil business and started driving a truck.”

  “Why?” Scott asked him.

  “Why do you think?” Simon laughed.

  “Because of your…hobby?”

  Simon laughed out loud. “I like that…my hobby.”

  Scott’s free hand tugged at the rope, while he tried to wiggle his right one through.

  “But basically, you’re right. Driving trucks does make it a little easier to do the things I like to do. Truckers always seem reliable. People trust them for some odd reason.”

  Scott’s other hand was working itself through the rope. For a moment, his thumb was caught in the rope, but he kept wriggling until he freed it.

  “What do you do with them?” he asked, trying to get his index finger through.

  “What…the girls? Well, if I’m on the road, I find a secluded place and…”

  Simon stopped talking. He was looking down at where Scott’s arms were under the bedspread. He had managed to slide his thumb, index, and middle finger through his bindings. He only needed to get his other two fingers through and his upper body would be free.

  “And what?” Scott asked him, pulling his last two fingers through the rope.

  Before Scott knew what was happening, Simon jumped at him, landing hard on top of him. Scott pulled his hands out from under the covers before Simon could pin him. He grabbed hold of Simon’s neck and hung on. If he let go, he didn’t stand a chance. Simon grunted as he tried to escape Scott’s embrace, while simultaneously attempting to hold him down.

  Scott could feel Simon’s breath against his neck as he grunted and swore. For his part, Simon was surprised by Scott’s strength. The man had lost a lot of blood and hadn’t eaten in several days, but there he was, holding on for dear life. He felt like he was in a vice-grip that was being tightened.

  As strong as Scott was, Simon was still stronger and in better shape. He began to move and twist, trying to disengage himself from Scott’s hold. Scott could feel himself losing his grip. Simon was too slippery and would be loose at any moment. Scott knew that this was it…that he wasn’t going to get away, so maybe he’d just do his best to fix this sick bastard’s wagon. Just as Simon was pulling free, Scott opened his mouth as wide as he could, and bit down hard on Simon’s forehead. He’d been aiming for his nose, but just before he bit down, Simon began to slide out of his grip. Scott knew that there wasn’t much meat on a forehead, but he sank his teeth down hard. Simon let out a yelp, and then began to twist his head free. Scott continued to press down with his teeth until he just couldn’t hang on any longer. As Simon pulled away, Scott could feel his teeth scraping across the top of his head.

  Simon let out one last, loud grunt, and pulled away, his hand immediately shooting up to his forehead.

  “Shit!” he screamed, spit flying wildly from his mouth. He reached up and touched his hand to his forehead. When he pulled it away, he saw small droplets of blood on his finger. “You dickhead! Here, I help you out, and this is how you repay me!”

  Scott wasn’t listening. He was too busy trying to loosen his leg ropes. Let the psycho rant and rave, he thought to himself…as for me…

  That was the last thought Scott had before hearing a dull thwack and feeling a blinding pain. He fell straight back, his head landing on the pillow as if he’d only had a bad dream. He didn’t know if he was dying or just passing out. The pain in his head made it hard for him to focus his eyes. He wanted to scream out “Help me!” but he didn’t…or he couldn’t. Someone like this nut was experienced enough to make sure that he is either in the country, or has a soundproof room. Either way, he wasn’t born yesterday. He knew there’d be no one to hear him.

  The sharp pain in his head began to ease a little, but not for long. His vision came back just in time to see Simon standing above him…a bloody crowbar in his hand, about to swing it down again.

  CHAPTER 7

  Scott stirred, a low moan escaping his lips. He kept his eyes closed as he regained consciousness. His throbbing head reminded him of what had happened and where he was. He stirred again as he began to open his eyes. Something tightened around his neck and he began to choke. Excruciating pain shot through his back, shoulders and neck. He was lying on his stomach, hogtied with a loop around his neck, causing the rope to strangle him if he tried to even move, much less escape. He gagged as he tried to lie still, but he’d already put the wheels in motion. He gasped and wheezed as the bonds tightened.

  “Bitch, ain’t it?” he heard Simon say from somewhere above him. “You’re smarter than most of the girls I bring here. They thrash and pull and tug, until Lordy Mercy, some of ‘em strangle before I even get to ‘em. I usually have to cut the ropes within minutes, but not you…you’ve figured it out. Lay still and you won’t strangle…how hard can it be?”

  Scott continued to wheeze as Simon continued. He could see Simon’s legs as he paced back and forth. Scott also saw something shiny at his side, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He looked down at the pillow and saw his own blood in dried puddles on the case. His arms and shoulders began to spasm, causing the rope to tighten again. Sharp pains that felt like needles stabbed him in the back. Scott arched his back until he thought it would snap.

  “Yep, you’re getting’ the hang of it,” Simon told him. “You’re gonna be a toughie.”

  Simon paced back and forth for a moment. Scott could hear him moving about. It sounded as if he was getting something out of the closet. The putrid smell that permeated the room was even stronger than before. Scott stayed as prone as he could…he didn’t know why…he knew that there was no hope of escaping this time. He was meant to strangle, and strangle he would. He was taking in very little air. He should probably just go ahead and give up…just start pulling as hard as he could…get it over wit
h, but instinct and his closing trachea made him sit still.

  Scott could tell that he was bending down. He tried to take in some air. Only a little made its way into his windpipe. Even with the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear himself railing loudly.

  “Here,” Simon said, placing something below him.

  Scott continued to stare straight ahead, not daring to look down. He didn’t want to because the odor of decay was ripe and right under him. He knew what it was or had a good idea.

  “This is Brandy.”

  Before Scott had a chance to react, Simon’s hand reached down below him and brought up a severed head. It was a woman’s or a young girl’s, he couldn’t tell, because the flesh was dark gray in color, telling him that she’d been dead awhile. The eyes were gone and the lips were rotted away revealing two rows of beautifully white teeth. Scott averted his eyes, casting them downward. Simon sighed, reached down, picked up the head, and put it in Scott’s face.

  “Come on, Scott…don’t be like that. Say hello to Brandy. Come on, give her a kiss.”

  With this, Simon pressed the head into Scott’s face. He wanted to gag as he felt the lipless mouth touching his head. Instinctively, Scott tried to pull his away causing the rope to tighten even more. Panic was setting in now as Scott’s trachea closed up even tighter.

  “Come on, Scott! Kiss her! Come on!” He pressed the face even harder against Scott’s face before finally dropping it in front of him. “Ah,” he said walking to the wardrobe. “Maybe it’s colored girls that you like.

  Simon stuck another head, this time a black girl, in front of Scott’s face. Scott’s eyes were bulging out so much now that he couldn’t see the severed head. It didn’t have the stench that the other had, so it must’ve been fresh kill.