MEAT : The Definitive Uncut Edition

by Michael Bray

  II

  Garrett looked at the people around him, searching their eyes for any kind of a reaction. He had hoped he would feel better getting it off his chest, but if anything he felt worse.

  “And that’s it,” he said with a sigh. “I came back and did as he asked.”

  “Fuck!” Lee said, standing and pacing.

  Donald looked back to Garrett, and once again, his admiration for the old man grew. He still looked concerned— as would anyone— but he seemed to be coping, perhaps better than anyone else.

  “How are you feeling, son?” he asked.

  “I really don’t know. Okay, I suppose.”

  “You know we can’t do as he asks. We can’t just stay here and wait for our turn to die.”

  “I don’t know what other options we have. The place is locked down tight.”

  Donald nodded and then motioned towards the double doors leading out back.

  “What about through there?”

  Garrett glanced toward the doors he had fallen through earlier and his mind filled with images of dismembered carcasses and severed limbs and the huge, mountain of a butcher busy disjointing Arsenio’s troublesome knee.

  “I didn’t see any exits. All I know is it’s some kind of… butchery.”

  “Staffed?” Donald asked as Lee crouched down to listen in.

  “Yeah, the butcher was in there earlier.”

  “Think we could get past him?”

  “I doubt it. The guy was huge. And besides, who knows what it would take to subdue him. I’m not sure we can do it.”

  “Then we will have to kill him.”

  The cold tone in Donald’s voice shocked Garrett, who was finding his nerves were already frayed to beyond breaking point.

  “I doubt sharpened brooms will get us very far. Or didn’t you hear what I just told you?”

  Garrett instantly regretted saying it, more so the helpless tone in his own voice. Even to himself, he sounded like he had given up. Donald let it slide, and Garrett rubbed his eyes.

  “Sorry, Donald, it’s just... a lot to take in.”

  “Forget it, son. This situation is stretching us all to breaking point.”

  The word stretching brought back horrific images of Nicu’s gaping maw opening impossibly wide, and Garrett felt his stomach do an involuntary somersault.

  “You can say that again,” he said simply, hoping nobody had noticed his moment of horrific recollection. “But I suppose escape through the back is as good an idea as any. Tell me what you have in mind.”

  “Well, I was just thinking about the front door.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well it’s a low door, right? Narrow. Access wise it’s not very efficient.”

  “I agree, but don’t see the relevance.”

  Donald held his hand up and now he, not Garrett was the center of attention.

  “Look around you, son. The shelves are filled with stock. I’m not talking about the ‘other’ stock; I’m talking about the stuff all stores hold.”

  “Yeah. Sorry Donald, but I’m struggling to follow here.”

  “Deliveries, Ray. Deliveries. No way would they receive them through the front. I’d bet my house on there being a back door we could slip out of.”

  “All of us?”

  “No,” Donald replied carefully. “We need to be realistic. Just us.” Garrett opened his mouth to respond, but Donald cut him off.

  “Now I know it’s not ideal, and I know it’s not going to be easy to live with if we do make it, but let’s be realistic. Those other people have made their choice, and like it or not we have to look after ourselves now and forget about saving everyone.”

  “And you could live with that?” Garrett whispered.

  “Yeah.” Donald nodded. “Yeah, I think I could. I’m old, Ray, and I have seen some horrific things over the years. But I’m determined not to die here. Not like this. Not without a fight.”

  “And you all feel the same?” Garrett asked, looking at the group. Lee nodded. As did Helen. Garrett looked at khaki guy.

  “What about you?”

  “Yeah. Count me in.”

  “Okay. You got a name?”

  “Cody. Cody Ellison.”

  “Got it,” Garrett said, giving the briefest of nods.

  “That just leaves you.”

  Garrett looked at the Hispanic, acne-faced man with the bad mustache and greasy hair. He shifted uncomfortably and then stood.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a heavy Spanish accent. “I have a wife and four children. I... can’t risk it.”

  “You stay here, fella, and you are as good as dead anyway,” Lee said, looking the man up and down.

  “I can’t risk it. At least here I have a chance, what you suggest...is suicide. I’m sorry,” he repeated, and then he walked away without looking back.

  “And then there were five,” Lee muttered under his breath.

  Garrett turned back to Donald.

  “Okay, so let’s assume there is a back door to this place. That still leaves us a huge, butcher-sized problem.”

  Donald looked towards Lee and tipped him a nod.

  “I think our friend here might have that covered.”

  Lee opened his jacket and showed them the gun. The group let out a simultaneous gasp as if Lee had just performed some kind of incredible magic trick instead of revealing the silver handgun sitting snug against his chest in its holster.

  “Okay,” said Garrett. “Maybe it’s worth a shot. It sure as hell beats sitting here and waiting for them to decide when and how to pick us off.”

  “Then we should do it soon,” Donald said.

  “Agreed.” Garrett looked at his watch. “It’s just after ten now. Let’s say half an hour to prepare, and then we make a break for it. Everyone okay with that?”

  Heads nodded, and frightened eyes looked on.

  “It’s important we keep this quiet,” Garrett added.

  “Why?” asked Cody, wringing his hands nervously.

  “Because,” Garrett said glancing across the room to Bernard’s ever growing group. “There are certain people in here that wouldn’t want to see us try for it.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t wait, and just do it before we have a chance to back out,” Helen said weakly, linking hands with Donald.

  “I need to do something first,” Garrett said, smiling as best he could manage at Helen. “I need to speak to Mark and give him the chance to come with us. It’s the least I could do.”

  “Son, you don’t owe him anything. He made his choice,” Donald said firmly.

  “Regardless of that, some of what he said was right. I need to do what I can. Just give me a few minutes.”

  Garrett stood and stretched. He couldn’t believe how exhausted he felt.

  “Lee,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah?”

  “If it comes down to it, if we need you to… are you prepared to use that thing,” he said, nodding to Lee’s jacket.

  “Don’t you worry about that, pal. You put any of these fuckin’ things in front of me, and I'll drop em' down. That I guarantee.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  “Let’s just hope the arseholes don’t get up again.”

  Garrett hadn’t even considered that as an option and forced himself not to dwell on it for too long.

  “We will have to cross that bridge as and when it happens. One step at a time until then.”

  Lee nodded. “Go do what you need to do, fella, and then let’s get outta here. Meantime, I’m gonna go for a piss and grab another beer for the road. Want one?”

  “Get me two,” Garrett said, clapping Lee on the shoulder. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  Mark

  Garrett could smell him before he saw him. He was standing in the corner and staring blankly at the wall. The little girl, Ellie, who had taken a shine to him slept under a clothing rack, blankets pulled up to her chin, face turned to the side. As Garrett moved close to Mark, he noticed he had foule
d himself but either didn’t care or hadn’t noticed.

  “Mark,” Garrett whispered, leaning as close to him as he dared.

  Still, he stared, eyes looking through the wall, mouth hanging open. It was a tremendously sorry sight. The young man with the deliberately messy hair and aviator glasses and that confident, self-assured swagger was gone. In his place was a haggard, broken thing, festering in its own stink and waiting for death to come. Garrett wondered just what it was that had sent him over the edge.

  “Mark, it’s me. It’s Ray.”

  There was no response. Not even the merest flicker of recognition.

  Garrett waved his hand in front of Mark’s eyes, and clicked his fingers by his ears, but Mark failed to respond. A surprising and overwhelming sadness swept over Garrett, who leaned even closer, doing all that he could to ignore the smell.

  “Mark, listen to me. We’re getting out of here, or we’re gonna try it at least. What do you say?”

  He put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “It’s not too late. Don’t just give up and die like this.”

  Mark turned his head slowly, first looking at Garrett’s hand on his shoulder, and then with what looked to be a monumental effort, looked him in the eye. Garrett somehow kept his expression neutral, but inside, he wanted to scream. Mark’s eyes were empty, dull voids. His Adam’s apple moved, and he opened and closed his mouth. With an incredible effort to force himself to speak, the words coming in a dry, grating whisper. Garrett leaned close and listened to the cracked words and felt his heart sink as they registered with him.

  I deserve to die here. Look after Leena.

  “I understand. I’m sorry,” Garrett said softly.

  He hoped to see understanding or even forgiveness but saw only that blank, vacant stare. He was about to walk away when Mark grabbed onto his arm, his dead man’s voice, this time, uttering just four words.

  I kept my promise.

  Overcome with both guilt and sadness, Garrett found himself choked up at just how confused and disoriented Mark had become.

  “I’ll look after Leena. I’ll do my best to get her out of here, okay? I promise.”

  Garrett was close to breaking down and realized then that his plan was the right one. Because even though the odds were small, it was better than becoming an empty shell like Mark and the others who had given up or just weren’t able to cope anymore.

  “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “It doesn’t hurt this way.”

  The words cut Garratt deep, and yet made sense. Like some of the others, Mark had chosen to shut himself off, to find a place to await his death and accept it on his own terms. Although they were relative strangers, Garrett couldn’t help but feel a bond, one which he’d hoped they would share for a little bit longer. Taking a last look, Garrett turned and headed back towards the others.

  Negotiations

  Lee walked into the oak paneled restroom, leaned against the sink and let out a deep breath. Away from the prying eyes of the other people who were trapped in their own unique kind of hell, he could drop the act of being a thick-skinned tough guy and acknowledge his fear. He splashed water on his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He thought that under the circumstances, he was doing okay, and was certainly holding up better than some. Even though he was doing his best to remain calm, he couldn’t ignore the giddy somersaulting sensation of nervous terror which was bubbling in his stomach. He was grateful at least to have the gun. He could feel the comforting weight of it strapped under his jacket, and even though he had only fired it once, he was glad it was there. He had already decided that if it came to it –and their planned escape failed—, then he would turn it on himself.

  Suicide wasn’t something he had ever considered, and in fact, in the past he had always had a real problem with those who turned to it as a means of escape. But the last few hours caused him to reassess his opinion because the thought of becoming a slab of shrink-wrapped flesh on sale in this hell hole made the idea of putting a bullet into his brain seem like the easiest decision in the world.

  For the first time, he thought he understood a little of why people who without any warning, one day decided to go and find a quiet place to hang themselves, or take a full bottle of prescription pills washed down with booze and drift off into the ever-after. He could even see how those unfortunate victims of the 9/11 terror attacks in New York found it inside themselves to leap to their deaths rather than stay in the burning buildings. Lee realized when it came to the inevitability of death, it was perhaps better to decide when to bow out on your own terms rather than let somebody else do it for you.

  He thought about his daughter, his beautiful baby girl, who might not have all the lights switched on upstairs, but at least he could still look into her eyes and know there was someone in there, someone loving and aware, wondering why life dealt such a devastatingly cruel hand. He wondered if he could do it. If he could find it within himself to leave her alone in a world that contained these…things that had trapped them. A world so bitter, twisted, and cruel that it thought nothing of taking good people and then chewing them up and spitting them out again.

  It was a question he didn’t think he would be able to answer until the time came. If his daughter’s smiling, drooling face swam out of the darkness of his mind, just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, what would he do then?

  He closed his eyes and pushed the thoughts aside. They would do him no good. He splashed more cold water onto his face and was about to leave when he heard a subtle, hollow thud coming from one of the stalls. Lee turned off the tap, plunging the restroom into silence. He turned towards the three white stall doors, which were all closed.

  “Anyone in here?” he said, his voice sounding incredibly loud and crisp in the silence of the room. He held his breath and waited, but there was no answer. He took a cautionary step towards the doors, wishing they were the three-quarter length ones with the gap at the bottom so if there was someone— or something— hidden inside, then he would at least be able to see it. He wanted to run, to turn away and pretend whatever he heard was nothing more than a harmless short fuse in his overworked mind, but something inside him—perhaps pride or even stupidity— wouldn’t allow it. Even though his instincts were screaming at him to just go, to get back to the others and leave whoever was in here to their own devices, he found himself taking another cautious step towards the doors and at the same time reaching inside his jacket for the gun. It felt heavy in his hands, and even though he had expected holding it to empower him, it did nothing to settle his nerves. With a trembling hand, he pushed the first door open, holding his breath and waiting for something to leap out and grab him, but the stall was empty. He exhaled and wondered how long his frayed nerves would hold out. He moved cautiously to the next door, straining his ears for any hint of sound. He pushed, but it held firm.

  “This one is used, sir,” came the quiet, broken English from the other side.

  “You okay in there, fella?”

  “Yessir, thank you. I just eat too much.”

  “Sorry, pal.”

  “No problem, sir.”

  Lee was about to holster the gun when he saw the T-shirt screwed up in the corner of the room. He recognized the design, white with a silk print of Marilyn Monroe on the front. It was torn across the shoulder, and Lee’s instincts bristled to life. Instead of fear, a sudden rage came over him instead, because he knew the T-shirt belonged to Leena. Lee licked his lips and adjusted his grip on the gun.

  “Hey, fella, you wanna open the door and let the girl out of there?”

  “Go away and mind own business.”

  “That’s fine with me, pal. You just let her out of there, and we can leave it at that.”

  “Girl mine. Go find own girl.”

  “I don’t think so, fella. You let her out now, or I’m coming in there. You should know I’ve got a gun, pal, and I’ll use it if I have to.”

  He took a step back, spread his feet and pointed the gu
n at the door.

  “You hear me in there, mate?”

  “Yesyesyes. I send out girl!” spat the frustrated, disembodied voice from behind the door.

  The lock clicked open, causing Lee to almost pull the trigger, but he somehow held his nerve. Bo had one hand over Leena’s mouth; the other was around her bare waist, and he had a short, sharp knife clutched in his podgy grip. Lee tried to assess Leena’s wounds as best he could without reacting. Her shoulders and arms were covered in bruises and superficial bite marks, but as far as he could tell none looked particularly deep. To Lee, they bore all the hallmarks of torture rather than to actually cause any real damage. One thing was for sure. Bo wasn’t like the others here, at least if what Garrett had said was anything to go by. Lee wondered if he was perhaps some kind of hybrid – half human, half vampire. A slave of sorts destined to live forever to serve his masters. Leena’s eyes were wild and frightened, and she stared pleadingly at Lee. Somehow he forced himself to stay cool as Bo pushed her ahead of him, his sweaty, bloated head only just visible over her shoulder.

  “See? Girl is okay. You give me gun, and I give you girl,” he said from behind his human shield.

  “No chance, pal,” Lee said, knowing even if he were confident with a gun, the shot would be hard. He couldn’t take the chance of hitting Leena. Even so, the way his hands were shaking took the option of firing away from him anyway.

  “You give me gun or girl die,” Bo barked, glaring over Leena’s shoulder.

  Lee looked for a shot, any large enough area of flesh he could aim for, however Bo was frustratingly well hidden. Lee had always been good at bluffing. It had got him out of many a tough situation, although the stakes had never been as high as they were now.

  “Look, mate, I have my own problems. You leave her be and we’ll all walk out of here, and that’ll be the end of it. I don’t wanna have to kill you.”

  “You leave now,” Bo grunted.

  “That ain’t happenin’, fella. Not without the girl.”

  “I tell master. Master won’t be happy.”