Merciless

by Bryan Smith

  Merciless copyright © 2019 by Bryan Smith. All rights reserved.

  Grindhouse Press

  PO BOX 521

  Dayton, Ohio 45401

  Grindhouse Press logo and all related artwork copyright © 2019 by Brandon Duncan. All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Matthew Revert © 2019. All rights reserved.

  Grindhouse Press #055

  ISBN-10: 1-941918-54-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-941918-54-8

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including mechanical, electric, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author.

  For Matt and Anna Hayward

  Other titles by Bryan Smith

  House of Blood

  Rock and Roll Reform School Zombies

  Darkened

  Highways to Hell

  The Dark Ones

  Some Crazy Fucking Shit That Happened One Day

  The Freakshow

  Soultaker

  Queen of Blood

  Grimm Awakening

  Blood and Whiskey

  The Halloween Bride

  The Diabolical Conspiracy

  Deathbringer

  Strange Ways

  Slowly We Rot

  Surrounded By Bastards

  The Reborn

  Bloodrush

  All Hallow’s Dead

  Christmas Eve on Haunted Hill

  Seven Deadly Tales of Terror

  The Late Night Horror Show

  Go Kill Crazy!

  Wicked Kayla

  Murder Squad

  Last Day

  Depraved

  Depraved 2

  Depraved 3

  68 Kill

  68 Kill Part 2

  Kayla and The Devil (Kayla Monroe: Haunted World Book 1)

  Kayla Undead (Kayla Monroe: Haunted World Book 2)

  The Killing Kind

  The Killing Kind 2

  Dead Stripper Storage

  Kill for Satan!

  Dirty Rotten Hippies and Other Stories

  House of Blood

  1

  THE COUNTRYSIDE IN EAST TENNESSEE was beautiful in October. With Halloween right around the corner, yellow and burnt-orange leaves made the trees shrouding the winding roads of mountain country look festive and spooky. This was especially so in the early stages of twilight as shadows descended, the temperature dropped, and the wind whistled through the trees, stirring and scattering the falling leaves.

  For newlyweds Grant Weatherby and Lindsey Harper, the scenic mountain vistas made for the perfect romantic backdrop as the second day of their long-planned journey across the continent drew to a close. They’d be spending tonight and the next two days at a cabin that had been in Grant’s family for generations. Several sets of keys existed for the cabin and were passed around among various branches of the large, extended family throughout the year. A loose collective of elder family members kept track of when the property was occupied or available for use. Grant had reserved their time at the cabin and picked up the keys just last week. The cabin was still some dozen miles or so distant when Lindsey announced an urgent need to pee.

  Grant frowned behind the wheel of the big Ford truck as he steered it along the winding route. “For real? You don’t think you could hold it just a bit longer?”

  Lindsey responded with a tight-lipped shake of her head. “Absolutely not. Sorry, but the need came over me all of a sudden. I feel like I might pee my pants if you don’t stop and let me out.”

  Grant’s frown deepened as his gaze swept both sides of the road. At first there was no obvious place to pull over. The road was narrow and the slight shoulder left little room for parking. Any vehicle coming up from behind them would have to swing out into the opposite lane temporarily to get around their truck and its large attached camper. With the sky getting progressively darker, it was too easy to imagine an oblivious truck driver slamming into their parked vehicle. Another factor was the road’s many swoops and dips, which meant there were numerous blind spots along the route, a potentially deadly hazard.

  Just as he was about to voice these concerns to his new wife, he took the truck around a bend in the road and spied an area a short way up ahead where the trees on the right thinned out and yielded to a roadside clearing.

  He smiled as he glanced at Lindsey. “I was about to go on about how troublesome stopping anywhere along here would be, then lo and behold . . .”

  The expression on his wife’s face was a strained blend of tension and amusement as Grant eased the truck off the road and into the clearing. She muttered something about serendipity and bolted out the door before he could come to a full stop, making him realize she hadn’t exaggerated the urgency of her need in the slightest.

  The door on her side was standing open as he moved the gearshift over to P and cut the engine. Cool evening air drifted in, making him shiver slightly. He was in jeans and a short-sleeved Boston University t-shirt, an outfit that had been more comfortable at the start of the day.

  Leaving the keys in the ignition, he got out and gave the driver’s side door a heave. The groan of the hinges as the door clunked shut was a reminder of the vehicle’s vintage. He’d inherited the 1997 Ford and camper from his uncle, a lifelong bachelor who left no children behind upon passing seven months earlier. The late Carl Weatherby, Jr. had instead left a number of things to his only nephew, most of which Grant didn’t give one shit about.

  The truck and camper were another story, though.

  The idea to roam the country with Lindsey once they were married came to him shortly after Carl’s funeral. Grant and his bride-to-be had good jobs and some money saved up. Both had also accumulated quite a bit of vacation time. They were perfectly positioned to embark on an adventure of the sort usually reserved for either the very young or elderly retirees. Instead of jetting off to Jamaica or some other tropical destination for their honeymoon, they’d see the country from sea to shining sea, creating memories to last a lifetime. In the decades to come, they’d be telling and retelling their children and grandchildren all about it.

  Lindsey was squatting above the ground with her back against the side of the truck not facing the road. Should anyone come driving around the bend in either direction, the angle would effectively shield her from view. She had her denim shorts down around her ankles as she relieved herself. Her eyes were closed and her head was tilted back as Grant approached from the other side of the truck.

  He eyed her sleek legs and exposed ass and felt an unanticipated stirring of lust. Stirrings of lust for his wife happened on a regular basis, of course, but rarely in so awkward a setting. She opened her eyes when she sensed his presence and turned her head to smirk at him. He suddenly wanted to chew on that succulent bottom lip of hers more than anything.

  She was done peeing.

  Instead of pulling up her shorts when she stood, however, she kicked them away as she leaned against the side of the truck and started fingering herself. She made a noise of arousal and let out a heavy breath. “You could fuck me right here,” she told him, voice turning husky. “No one would see.”

  Grant’s cock stiffened as he watched Lindsey pleasure herself. “What if a cop comes along and decides to see what we’re up to?”

  She opened her eyes again and looked at him, her flushed features radiating pure lust. “Then we get a ticket for indecent exposure or whatever and have a crazy story to tell our friends. Or we have a threesome with the cop. Either way, I want you to fuck me right now.”

  Another sound of a
rousal escaped her lips, this one somehow more wanton and redolent of pure erotic need.

  Grant went to her and did his best to give her what she wanted.

  2

  AFTER IT WAS OVER, THEY were in no hurry to travel the modest remaining distance to the cabin. The little roadside clearing struck both of them as a good place for some postcoital relaxation time, overlooking a little valley between hills as it did. They took a couple of lawn chairs from the camper and positioned them facing the hill on the other side of the valley. The last faint traces of daylight were visible just above the trees atop the other hill, a sliver of sky tinged a dark pink beneath the encroaching darkness.

  Lindsey lit a joint and passed it to Grant after taking a single deep inhalation. He frowned as he put it to his lips and took a more modest hit. “Not sure what I think about this new penchant for risky behavior. First it’s the public sex. Now we’re smoking weed right out in the open.”

  Lindsey groaned as she leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. “Oh, relax,” she said, smirking again as she glanced at him. “Not a single car has come by since we stopped here. It’s like we have this whole corner of the world to ourselves.”

  “That could change at any time.”

  She laughed. “That’s part of the thrill of it.”

  Grant took another small hit from the joint and passed it back to her. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so. And what I say goes.”

  She said it in a humorous way, but there was truth in her statement. His wife was a strong-willed woman accustomed to getting her way more often than not. Denying her what she wanted in any situation was a rare thing. Not that he had a problem with it. Even her wilder impulses led to fun experiences more often than not.

  He waved the joint away when she tried passing it back to him. “No, thanks. I’ve still got some driving to do.”

  “Oh, come on, we’re practically there already. And pot’s basically legal now, so what’s the big deal?”

  Grant sighed. “Weed isn’t legal everywhere yet. It definitely isn’t in this state, by the way. Besides, this road is tricky even in daylight. I’d rather keep my wits about me until we get to the cabin.”

  “Fucking pussy.”

  Grant smiled in an indulgent way. “I like fucking your pussy.”

  Lindsey laughed.

  Some silent moments elapsed as they watched that tinge of pink above the treetops continue to darken and fade away. Grant couldn’t help marveling at how quiet it was out here in the country this time of year. In the summer, they’d be hearing a nearly constant buzzing of cicadas or the chirping of crickets, but the only sound of any significance at the moment remained the fall breeze stirring dead leaves.

  Lindsey took yet another hit off the joint. “We should make it our mission to fuck in every state in the country. How many people can claim to have done that?”

  Grant chuckled. “It’d give new meaning to the term ‘sex tourism’ anyway.”

  She nodded. “Hell yeah, it would. We’ll save Hawaii for the end, a quick weekend flight out there and back before heading back to our mundane suburban existence.”

  Grant frowned. “I wouldn’t call our lives mundane.”

  She yawned as she snuffed out the half-smoked joint by rubbing the lit end on an arm of the chair. “They are, though. This whole adventure aside, we’re a prosperous but average white couple engaged in an ordinary existence. We’re just like any other John and Mary Smith living on Everyday Avenue, with white picket fences as far as the eye can see.” She smiled in the slightly wicked way she only ever showed him. “Except in that one special way. You know the one I mean.”

  Grant smiled, too. He did know.

  His stomach growled.

  Lindsey cocked an eyebrow as she glanced at him. “You sound as hungry as I feel. A good, hard fuck always get my appetite revving.”

  Grant nodded. “We should pack up and head on out to the cabin. Maybe grill some burgers or brats when we get there.”

  Lindsey rubbed her stomach and frowned. “Sounds good, but I’m hungry now. Let me at least get some crackers out of the camper before we move on.”

  Before Grant could say anything to that, they began to perceive the rumbling and clanking sound of a failing engine. It gave up the ghost with a final loud rattle as the vehicle came to a halt at the side of the road. Right at the edge of the clearing, from the sound of it.

  After exchanging frowning glances, Grant and Lindsey got up to go take a look.

  3

  THE RUSTBUCKET PARKED JUST OFF the road looked even older than their truck. Twice as old, maybe. It was a decrepit-looking compact of indeterminate make, twin-tone in faded blue and red, a dirty piece of plastic sheeting covering the busted-out passenger side window. A man in a flannel shirt and dirty jeans got out of the car and popped the hood, lifting it up and propping it open with the built-in rod. He was in early middle-age and his brown skin indicated Hispanic heritage.

  He peered at the engine in a way that struck Grant as obviously clueless. He made no attempt to reach in and touch anything or even lean in for a closer examination of the engine’s ancient components. The man scratched the back of his neck and heaved a sigh audible from twenty feet or so away.

  Lindsey nudged Grant with an elbow and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Check out this idiot and his hundred-dollar car. If he’s a legal citizen, I’ll eat a fucking hand grenade.”

  Grant lifted an eyebrow. “Wow. A hand grenade. That’s a serious bet.”

  “Think I’m wrong?”

  Grant shrugged. “Don’t have an opinion one way or the other.”

  Lindsey smirked. “Okay, Mr. Noncommittal, how about this? Go over there and talk to him. Hear what he sounds like. If I’m right, you buy me something sparkly and expensive.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “I’ll do that really perverted thing you like,” she said, still whispering. She put her mouth against his ear, tickling the lobe with her tongue. “You know, the one I’ve been withholding just to drive you crazy. You usually have to beg for it for weeks.”

  The elaboration was unnecessary. He’d known what she was talking about right away. His agreement was immediate: “It’s a bet.”

  They could hear the man muttering in frustration as he continued to stare helplessly at the apparently dead engine. After another few moments of watching him, Lindsey leaned close and whispered in Grant’s ear again. “Go talk to him. Keep him occupied. Where are the keys?”

  Grant frowned. “They’re in the truck. In the ignition. Why?”

  She gave him a look of deep impatience as she started moving away from him. “Need to get in the camper for a minute. Just go talk to him, okay? Don’t let him go anywhere.”

  Grant frowned harder. “But . . . why?”

  “Just fucking do it.”

  “Fine.”

  Grant started off toward the man and his stalled car. Before he could get there, he heard the familiar groan of hinges as Lindsey opened one of the truck’s doors to lean in and snatch the keys from the ignition. He didn’t know what manner of chicanery his new bride had in mind, except that it likely involved messing with this stranger in some way. It was yet another example of her penchant for risky behavior. Thinking about it made him slightly nervous. He just hoped she wouldn’t do anything too outrageous this time. At some point her luck would run out and she’d mess with the wrong person. An unstable or perhaps even mentally ill person.

  He hoped today wasn’t that day.

  The man in the flannel shirt turned toward Grant as he drew to within a few feet of the shitty-looking car. His grin had a sheepish but amiable quality to it as they made eye contact. “Hey, man. I really hope you’re more of a gearhead than I am. I’ve got no clue what I’m doing here.”

  Grant’s expression was somewhere between a smile and an apologetic grimace. “I don’t even know how to change my own oil. Sorry.”

  Inwardly, he w
as celebrating.

  The so-called “perverted” thing he liked was definitely happening tonight. This guy sounded as all-American as a sitcom dad from the 1950s. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Lindsey’s face when she heard his voice.

  The man nodded and rubbed at his patchy beard. “Figures. This useless bucket of bolts is probably beyond the help of even a skilled mechanic at this point, anyway. Imagine I’ll have it hauled off to a junkyard. Guess I’ll be on foot until I can get back to Danville.”

  Danville was the little town they’d passed through about ten miles back. This guy had clearly been headed somewhere in the other direction, but the next town down the road was another dozen miles at least beyond the turnoff that would take them up to their cabin. That would make it a journey of twenty-five miles or thereabouts from this spot.

  “Hell of a walk ahead of you either way you go.”

  The man’s features twisted in a pained-looking way, perhaps a reflection of the dread he felt at the prospect of walking that great a distance. “Yeah. Shit. Guess I better get started.”

  An awkward silence lasting several moments ensued. Grant’s instinct was to offer the stranded motorist a ride back to Danville, but he knew Lindsey would not want to share traveling space with a complete stranger, especially this one. Not even for a relatively short ride. The offer therefore went unspoken.

  Then he thought of something else, a way to help with minimal personal involvement. “Oh, shit. My phone. Surely they have a wrecker service back there in Danville. I could call you a tow truck.”

  The man’s amiable grin returned. “That’d be a big help. I’d really appreciate it. Hey, maybe while we’re at it, I could call my boss at the supermarket, too, let her know why I’ll be so late getting there.”

  Grant nodded. “No problem. Happy to be of some kind of assistance, at least.”

  He dug into a hip pocket to drag out his phone.

  “Hey, honey! That won’t be necessary.”