A Feast of Flesh: An extremely gory horror novel (Flesh Harvest Book 2)

by Jacob Rayne

  He and Guildford carefully lifted the wounded creature from the trunk and into the house.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Dwayne said, on the verge of panic. ‘What were you thinking? You know it’s only a bairn.’

  ‘I thought it could cope.’

  Dwayne shook his head, incredulous. ‘There are two girls up there in the bedroom. Bring them down.’

  Guildford was up the stairs in a heartbeat. His eyes widened when he saw the girls. Especially when he noticed one of them was his sister.

  ‘It’s you or her,’ Dwayne told him.

  Guildford’s cowardice beat out his morals.

  The creature quickly disembowelled the two girls, greedily slurping the flesh from their carcasses and savouring every drop of blood. Dwayne knew that the blood would heal it, given time.

  ‘I’m going to get him out of here, in case you were followed. Where’s she at?’

  ‘We got her out first. Put her in one of the morgue vans.’

  ‘Nice one.’

  ‘You want me to come with you?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  40

  The ambulance drive was every bit as harrowing as Campbell had expected.

  Osmo had stuck the sirens on as soon as they were out of the car park and kept his foot glued to the floor for almost all of the journey. He weaved in and out of traffic – often veering onto the wrong side of the road – without giving them chance to slow down or get out of the way.

  Campbell winced as he almost ran over a pedestrian in the middle of a zebra crossing.

  ‘Didn’t he hear the fucking sirens?’ was Osmo’s furious reply.

  To top it all, he skidded across a junction and almost took out the glass entranceway of one of the town’s restaurants.

  Campbell’s hands ached from gripping the seat so hard.

  ‘Relax and enjoy the ride,’ Osmo grinned.

  Campbell was too frightened to smile.

  ‘At least it’s taking your mind off those hideous fucking things,’ Osmo said, grinning impishly.

  ‘True,’ Campbell said and couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘It’s somewhere round here,’ Osmo said.

  ‘That’s the car there,’ Campbell said. ‘The reg matches anyway.’

  Osmo shunted the back of the car. ‘There’s one in the bank for us,’ he grinned. As they went past he slashed the rear tyres.

  ‘What if it’s not him?’ Campbell said.

  ‘Then I’ll buy him some new tyres. Happy?’

  Campbell nodded.

  ‘Let’s get you some clothes while we’re in here. Aside from ya sticking out like a horse’s cock you’re gonna catch your death running round in that blood-soaked nightgown.’

  Campbell nodded.

  ‘How’s your leg?’

  Campbell see-sawed his hand back and forth.

  ‘So better than it was?’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon so.’

  ‘You might be better off staying in the car, making sure no one sneaks up on us,’ Osmo said.

  He grinned as he saw the trails of blood leading up the path. ‘Looks like we got the place alright.’

  Campbell’s heart began to thrash once more.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ Osmo said, letting in a deep breath before launching himself at the back door of Guildford’s house with a stake in each hand.

  As the door flew open in a spray of splinters the smell of freshly shed blood flooded into his nostrils.

  ‘Where are ya?’ he said, holding the stakes ready.

  Silence greeted him.

  A few minutes later Osmo appeared from the doorway, a look of utter disappointment on his face.

  ‘Motherfucker,’ he shouted.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The trail went right through the house and out to the garage,’ he said, forlorn. ‘We fucking lost ’em.’

  41

  Osmo went inside to look for clues to where the car had gone.

  He grimaced as he saw the stripped corpses of two young girls.

  Their torsos and limbs had been mauled, almost every inch of flesh torn loose and devoured, but their faces were pretty much intact, revealing to him the full extent of the agony and misery that had made up their final moments.

  The fact that the blood was still coursing from their ruined bodies made it clear that they’d only just missed their enemies.

  As Osmo left the bedroom, he heard a shuffling sound in the shadows behind him.

  ‘Come on out, ya yellowbelly,’ he hissed, the stakes held ready.

  He heard nothing further, but moved to squint into the gloom.

  The light, of course, was out.

  Don’t know why I even tried it, Osmo thought with a frown.

  While he squinted, things began flying through the air towards him.

  A ceramic house shattered into shards on the wall behind him, a small snow globe whizzing past his ear and joining it in pieces.

  A larger snow globe did find its home, hitting Osmo square between the eyes and drawing dozens of beads of blood as it splintered on his face.

  ‘Shit,’ Osmo hissed and staggered backwards, his vision blurred and his head spinning.

  A second heavy object – another snow globe, not that Osmo had sense enough to make this out – thudded into his head and made his legs buckle. He took a knee like a boxer on the wrong end of a hiding.

  Something darted out of the gloom at him and, even with his senses and mind reeling, he could tell it wasn’t one of the creatures.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ he muttered.

  It didn’t even seem to be one of the hybrids, the many tramps on the change between human and vampire.

  I can take him, headache or no headache, he thought, gritting his teeth and trying to focus.

  When Guildford came out of the shadows, Osmo wasn’t surprised to see he had a thick beard, eyes a little too close together and blood-smeared hands which were clasped around the hilt of a gleaming samurai sword.

  ‘Ah fuck, I can take ya, whether you got a sword or not. Come at me. See what fucking happens.’

  Feeling a distinct lack of truth in his threats, Osmo struggled to stand. Guildford came closer, swinging the sword through the air in deadly arcs as if to prove a point.

  ‘I got blades too,’ Osmo scowled, still struggling to find his feet.

  He threw one of the knives as the tramp swung a blow, sinking it deep into his shoulder. Guildford cried out and his decapitating blow missed by a few inches.

  Osmo got to his feet, swaying like he hadn’t since his drinking days. He pulled one of the stakes out, but Guildford had rallied and managed to knock the weapon from his hand.

  He cursed as the blunt end of the blade stung his fingers and made making a fist with that hand nigh on impossible.

  Guildford slashed the blade, taking out Osmo’s Achilles. Osmo screamed as his limb collapsed in a raging tide of hot blood and agony.

  Guildford moved slowly over to him, kicking the stake out of his good hand and standing on the wrist to make sure he didn’t go for another weapon.

  Osmo groaned as he realised his other hand was still useless for the time being.

  Guildford took his time, savouring the fear on Osmo’s face.

  ‘Get it over with, scruffy, I ain’t gonna fucking beg ya.’

  Guildford grinned. Despite Osmo’s protests it was obvious he was frightened.

  He raised the sword slowly, the blade winking in the light.

  As it begun its descent Osmo couldn’t help but feel that this was the last time he was going to stare death in the face.

  42

  As the blade dropped towards his throat at a frightening speed he was suddenly aware of movement behind him.

  One of the broken snow globes suddenly flew through the air, its jagged shards of glass impaling themselves into Guildford’s face.

  He let out a hideous scream and flew back. The blow disrupted his strike, making the sword’s tip embed itself into
the ceiling. The impact wrenched the handle out of his grasp.

  Osmo struggled to figure out what was happening, but it was Campbell, God love him, come to save the day in true cop style.

  Guildford was wincing as he removed the shards of glass from his bleeding visage.

  ‘Relax, it ain’t made ya any uglier,’ Osmo laughed.

  Campbell ran in before Guildford recovered and gave him a hard stomp to the belly.

  Guildford flew back, sending clouds of plaster dust rising from the ancient walls. He slid down onto his arse, his chest labouring for the breath Campbell’s boot had stolen from him.

  Campbell grabbed the snow globe and shoved the sharp end into Guildford’s face again.

  The noise was sickening, a horrid wet squidging and the sound of gushing liquid as Guildford’s blood coursed down his face.

  Campbell pulled him down so the base of the snow globe was on the floor, the tramp’s face still impaled on it. He then raised his boot and stomped hard on the back of Guildford’s head.

  The noise was horrendous.

  The glass and pot shards slid ever deeper into Guildford’s face, releasing more screams and dark blood.

  ‘Where did he take them?’ Campbell said.

  ‘I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Guildford sobbed through a mouth thick with gore.

  Campbell stomped again, further driving the lethal points into fragile facial tissue.

  ‘I can keep this up all night,’ he said.

  ‘I really don’t know what you’re on about.’

  Another stomp, another sickly squish, another thick torrent of blood.

  ‘You’re going to die if you don’t tell him,’ Osmo said, thinking clearly enough to wrap his belt tightly around his knee as a crude tourniquet.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Guildford repeated.

  Campbell stomped again. Guildford’s scream was ungodly as the shards cut deep into his face, sending more of his blood racing across the floor in a gleaming pool.

  Guildford had made up his mind to die here. If he led these men to Dwayne and the creatures he was in for a much worse fate, he took heart from that fact.

  Besides, he had failed. This was his penance.

  Campbell stomped a fifth time, further embedding the snow globe in Guildford’s face. One of the shards of glass had dug into his throat now and blood was pissing out of the ragged wound.

  ‘I think he’s done for,’ Osmo said.

  ‘Yeah. Don’t think he was gonna tell us anyway.’

  ‘No, me neither. Give him a stomp for me will ya?’

  The final stomp drove the glass fully into Guildford’s throat, releasing his remaining blood in a geyser which sprayed across the floor at their feet.

  ‘Let’s get you to the hospital,’ Campbell said.

  ‘No, get after them,’ Osmo insisted.

  ‘You ain’t dying on me yet, old man.’

  Campbell carried him back to the ambulance where Osmo managed to talk him into getting the paramedic to address his injuries.

  They were both despondent, as they thought it would be a long time before they caught up with Dwayne and the vampires.

  43

  After much poring over maps of the surrounding areas, Dwayne had pulled into a service station to programme the sat nav. He had a destination in mind, a secluded spot that looked perfect for their needs.

  He was looking forward to getting there and settling in.

  His mind wandered to his daughter. Where the hell had she gone?

  He knew that if she was close his son could pick up on her thoughts but he was still passed out in the back of the van.

  The marauder’s stake had done some severe damage to his guts. Judging by the pained expression on his face, breathing was still akin to medieval torture.

  Dwayne was worried about him, but more than this he was furious. They were going to pay for breaking up his family.

  44

  Campbell reckoned he and Osmo were already wanted men.

  The boss of the hospital would be on the lookout for them, as, no doubt, would the authorities.

  Even stopping was risky, but it was clear to him that Osmo was in a bad way. He’d lost a shitload of blood and was starting to talk gibberish.

  He pulled into a layby and shoved the gun into the startled face of the paramedic.

  ‘Don’t fucking move,’ he bellowed. ‘Or I’ll take your head clean off.’

  Osmo would be proud, he thought.

  ‘I’m not a bad guy, really,’ he told the disbelieving paramedic.

  He balled his fist and brought it back, ready to strike Campbell.

  Time to back it up, Thomas, he thought and swung the shotgun butt hard into the paramedic’s face.

  The resulting crack echoed around the back of the vehicle and the man’s nose erupted in gouts of blood. He slumped back, his hands cupping the shattered appendage.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Campbell snapped.

  ‘Clive,’ the paramedic winced. His posture was still tensed, like he was preparing to attack.

  ‘Clive, don’t get brave again cos next time I’ll not be so kind,’ he spat, aiming the barrels of the gun at the paramedic’s groin.

  Clive shrunk back.

  ‘That’s more fucking like it. Now, listen to me. A good friend of mine is seriously injured. I need you to fix him up.’

  ‘Why don’t you just take him to the hospital?’

  ‘We’re on the run.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Clive muttered.

  He winced as he saw the wound in Osmo’s leg.

  ‘Can you fix it?’

  ‘It’s not going to be easy.’

  ‘Do it, cos if he dies you die.’

  Clive nodded.

  Campbell locked the doors up tight and watched.

  ‘Quick because the cops might already be after us.’

  Clive fixed Osmo up as best he could, which was easier said than done as he was being flung around in the back of the ambulance; Campbell had seen blue lights in the rear view mirrors and was off like a shot.

  Campbell swallowed hard as he saw the amassed police behind him.

  Never there when you want them, he thought, thinking especially of his colleagues in the force around the time he and Osmo had first met. But always there when you fuck up.

  He knew it was going to take something drastic to save the day, but he was fucked if he could think what it was.

  45

  Roy Davies cursed as his bladder fought against the seam of his jeans.

  He’d known the third can of Monster energy drink he’d consumed was a mistake, his old bladder couldn’t take much more than a pint these days.

  But it had been the only option as he didn’t fancy falling asleep at the wheel of his immense eighteen wheel rig.

  Fifty-two is too old for this shit, he thought, trying to unbutton his jeans with one hand to relieve some of the strain.

  He’d only been doing the job a few weeks and still was yet to familiarise himself with the road networks.

  He forever found himself venturing into the unknown, a prospect he’d have savoured as a young man, but one that terrified him now.

  All he wanted was steady work, something that would keep him at home with Marjorie and the kids, but he was forced to be away from home for so long.

  He squinted as he passed a road sign.

  Services, ten miles.

  He grinned, put his foot down.

  It couldn’t come quick enough.

  46

  As the first cop car drew level with the ambulance carrying Campbell, Osmo and the terrified paramedic, the twin headlights of a speeding car suddenly appeared in the wing mirror.

  The driver was seriously pushing his luck considering the police presence.

  There was a roar that Campbell heard even over the blare of the sirens and the whine of the many engines.

  The cop car spun wildly, its rear end fishtailing across the road and slamming into the side of t
he ambulance.

  Osmo jolted awake as the wall above his head was smashed in.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Campbell said, steering hard to right the vehicle before it plummeted off the side of the road.

  The bypass they were speeding down had a crash barrier – which he had no doubt would be as much use as a chocolate fireguard – and beyond that was a steep drop.

  Another roar tore through the darkness and the second cop car skidded too, narrowly missing the ambulance and ploughing into the side of the first cop car, showering the road in broken glass and pieces of shattered bodywork.

  A man in a black balaclava leant from the car’s passenger window, a shotgun balanced on the window frame.

  Fire spewed from the muzzles again and the front tyre of the third cop car erupted in a riot of ruptured rubber and escaping air.

  Inches from the central reservation, the car skidded to a halt.

  The fourth and final car drew level with the ambulance while the car bearing the masked man sped ahead.

  After flashing a dirty middle finger at the cops, the driver pulled out in front of them and – in a manoeuvre which Campbell thought suicidal – suddenly jammed on the anchors.

  The cop car had nowhere to go, stuck between the ambulance and the central reservation, he had no choice but to jam on the brakes and hope for the best.

  Steam hissed from the shattered radiator as the cop car shunted the back of the car carrying the masked men. The unfortunate cop in the driver’s seat slumped forward over his wheel, blood pissing from his face.

  After aiming a final triumphant shotgun blast into the cold night air, the masked man’s car pulled away.

  ‘Wondered when he’d make an appearance,’ Osmo said. ‘You follow him.’

  Campbell’s brow furrowed, but he followed as the masked man turned off at the next junction.

  47

  Roy grinned as he pulled into the service station.

  ‘Finally,’ he said, killing the engine and almost falling out of the cab in his haste to get to the toilet.