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

by Jacob Rayne

  His jeans began to slide south without the button to hold them shut, but he couldn’t face tightening them.

  He’d piss himself for sure with the extra pressure on his stomach.

  Instead he held the waistband up with his right hand and began shuffling in the most undignified way towards the doors of the service station that looked as welcoming as the gates of heaven themselves.

  The lights in the service station were off.

  ‘Oh, please don’t be closed,’ he moaned as he blundered up the stairs towards the main entrance.

  There were only a few other cars in the car park, probably guests at the Welcome Inn across the road.

  ‘Please don’t be closed,’ he muttered.

  His low slung jeans almost tripped him as he reached the top step.

  Good job there’s no one about, he thought. I must look ridiculous.

  A quick check of the times on the service station window revealed that it should have been open for at least another half hour.

  Maybe they’ve fucked off early, he thought. That’d be just my luck.

  He tried the door, grinned with relief when it opened.

  The sticky warmth of the handle didn’t register in his mind, so desperate was he to void his bladder.

  The entrance to the station was in darkness.

  ‘Hello?’ he called out into the gloom, unsettled but unsurprised when there was no reply.

  ‘I gotta pee,’ he said, moving towards the far end of the toilets where a solitary light flickered on and off.

  He scanned round quickly on his way there, not wanting to be the victim of a mugging.

  No one there, so go drain the lizard.

  Welcome! Declared the sign on the wall outside the toilet.

  He’d never felt more welcome in his life but he paused for a full thirty seconds when he saw a thick trail of blood drops on the white floor tiles at the entrance. The flickering light from inside the toilets added to the menacing scene.

  Probably just someone with a nosebleed, he thought. Now get in there before you piss yourself.

  This fear became reality when he saw what waited for him round the corner.

  48

  ‘Shit, where’d he go?’ Campbell said, losing the car in a maze of back alleys.

  ‘That’s kinda the point,’ Osmo said, his hand rasping across his moustache. ‘Second right, third left, first left.’

  ‘How the fuck did ya remember that?’

  ‘I didn’t. Got GPS on this old thing,’ he said, holding aloft a surprisingly pristine smartphone.

  ‘You feeling better?’

  ‘Feel like lawnmowered shit but hop me up on them painkillers and I’ll be right as fucking rain, sonny.’

  Campbell followed the directions Osmo had given him and they found themselves in a rundown industrial estate.

  ‘According to this, it should be the last building on the right,’ Osmo said.

  Sure enough, the car that had helped them was there, its engine idling.

  ‘Let’s go say hello,’ Osmo said, shuffling to his feet. ‘Y’gonna give me a hand, son?’ he asked the bewildered-looking paramedic.

  He nodded and helped Osmo out of the ambulance.

  Campbell got out, fully aware of how conspicuous the stolen, battered ambulance was, and followed Osmo over to the car.

  ‘We gotta ditch it,’ the driver – also wearing a balaclava – said. He selected a key from a chain with near to three dozen on and opened the roller door of the building before them. He quickly got into the waiting transit van and reversed out.

  ‘Osmo in the front,’ he said. ‘Everyone else in the back.’

  He hid the ambulance and the getaway car out of sight in the garage, then drove slowly out of the estate.

  From there, they tear-arsed it along the bypass towards the next town.

  49

  Despite the heat from the piss-sodden jeans that clung to his legs, Ray’s blood ran cold.

  In the middle of the tiled floor was the eviscerated body of a woman in a blood-spattered Burger King uniform.

  On top of her was some fucking monstrosity, pale, blood-soaked, ravenous.

  Its long muzzle was dripping blood as it lifted its head to look at him. It seemed to smile, revealing teeth like ivory butcher’s knives. These too were coated with thick gore.

  It stuck its muzzle in again, gobbling up more of the fresh offal on display, then turned to Roy.

  He was too terrified to move for a few seconds, then he broke into a run.

  Though he didn’t dare look behind him, the sound of the huge creature’s feet hitting the tiles made him realise it was gaining on him.

  Unfortunately, his low-slung jeans fell, tangling up his legs and sending him to the floor in a panicked, sweating heap.

  His forehead hit the tiled floor and he saw stars for a second. Then the creature was upon him.

  His scream echoed around the toilets until the creature tore his throat out in a steaming torrent of blood.

  50

  When the creature had finished with the remains of the fat man, Dwayne and his bearded brethren moved in for sloppy seconds.

  Their sharpened teeth dug into the remaining skin, pulling it aside to expose the fear-softened muscles.

  Enamel scraped bone, leaving not even a trace of flesh on the flaccid carcass.

  They greedily gulped down the meat, savouring the blood that squeezed out with every bite.

  Dwayne head-butted one of his brothers to one side as he tried to steal the leftover kidney.

  The brother stared at him but everyone knew Dwayne was in charge, a point underlined when he began to pull his murderously sharp scythe from the back of his trousers.

  The weapon wasn’t even halfway out of its hiding place before the other tramp took the hint and admitted defeat.

  Dwayne pulled the organ loose in a spray of congealed blood droplets, holding it in one bloody palm like the most exquisite of apples.

  Then he dug in, savouring the tender flesh and the blood that oozed from the organ.

  He chewed slowly, relishing every morsel. The other tramp watched, green-eyed with envy.

  Dwayne smiled at him, thick streams of blood running from either side of his mouth to stain his beard.

  He finished the organ with two more bites, simultaneously elated and disappointed.

  When it was gone he licked the thick blood from his hands and went back to the arm, the only part of the man that had not yet been picked clean.

  His teeth made short work of scraping the flesh from the bones.

  Soon the fat man was nothing more than a pile of bones sitting in a puddle of blood. Every scrap of skin and muscle had been picked clean, consumed, enjoyed.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Dwayne said, his tongue darting in and out of his beard to mop up the remaining blood that coated it.

  A quick wipe with his hand got the rest, which was greedily slurped off with his greying tongue.

  The other tramps got up from lapping at the puddle of blood on the floor, a little reluctantly, but none of them wanted to anger Dwayne. They’d all seen what he was capable of.

  ‘Leave him where he is,’ Dwayne said. ‘Get our mutual friend to the van.’

  The tramps grimaced at the effort of lifting the creature, especially with a belly full of blood and raw meat.

  The urge to hurl was constant, especially at the pace Dwayne was moving, but they knew to dawdle was to risk discovery and, worse, to invite their leader’s wrath.

  They carefully loaded the creature into the van and Dwayne set off for their new home.

  51

  In the next town, the car pulled into an industrial estate which looked identical to the last one and headed for a rundown garage at the far end.

  The driver opened the roller door and pulled inside.

  ‘Right, we should be ok here for the time being,’ he said.

  They all got out, the paramedic and the car’s driver helping Osmo to a battered,
beer-stained settee in the corner of the garage.

  The driver and his companion whipped off their balaclavas.

  ‘Say, nice to see you again, Officer Campbell,’ said a man Campbell found familiar but hard to place.

  ‘It’s Baz, from the barn,’ Osmo said.

  ‘Ah, shit, yeah. You ok?’ Campbell said, throwing his arms around him like a long lost brother.

  ‘Not bad, mate. Just wish we were meeting under different circumstances.’

  Campbell nodded.

  ‘That was some stellar driving, mind,’ Osmo beamed. ‘Even I’d have struggled with that one.’

  ‘Everyone’s got a talent. Mine’s driving like a dickhead,’ Baz laughed. ‘This is Nige. He was good mates with Max, Chris and Bobby.’

  ‘Wanna give these bastards a taste of their own medicine,’ Nige said, rubbing the shotgun like a loyal pet.

  ‘How’d you find us?’ Campbell said.

  ‘I had ’em on speed dial,’ Osmo said. ‘We met up a few times, more to talk about our losses than anything. But we decided one time to come up with a contingency plan in case those things ever came back.’

  Baz nodded. ‘And when shit started kicking off at the hospital we were pretty sure some a them fucking things had survived somehow.’

  ‘Since then we’ve been in touch all the time. I had a feeling we’d need back up,’ Osmo said. ‘So, not so gung-ho now, eh?’

  Campbell grinned. ‘Nice work, Osmo. And Baz, Nige, you turned up at exactly the right time.’

  ‘Cheers, man,’ Baz said. ‘Now, this place – and the last one – is off the books. They were Chris’s, poor sod. His family gave it to us. The cops’ll never trace us here, as that van’s been off the road for a good few months now. We got beds, TV, food. Reckon we can wait it out here until we find out where them things are.’

  ‘Yeah, no doubt,’ Osmo said.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Nige said, aiming the shotgun in the direction of the paramedic who was fidgeting with a loose thread on his trousers and looking around nervously.

  ‘Found him in the ambulance we nicked,’ Osmo said. ‘Officer Campbell here kidnapped him and made him fix up my leg.’

  ‘Nice,’ Baz and Nige said at the same time.

  ‘Is he safe then?’ Baz said, running his eye over the paramedic.

  ‘Not a fuckin Scooby doo,’ Osmo said, shrugging.

  ‘I’m safe,’ Clive insisted.

  ‘I don’t like the look of him personally,’ Nige said, wrinkling up his nose.

  ‘Me neither,’ Osmo said, ‘but he did do a hell of a job on my leg. So it’s my say so on it. No one does anything to him without my permission. Got that?’

  ‘You’re in charge,’ Baz said without hesitation. ‘But we can’t let him go round here.’

  ‘No,’ Osmo said. ‘He’d no doubt have the place crawling with pigs.’ He winced. Apologised to Campbell, who waved it away.

  ‘So, what do we do with him?’ Nige said. ‘Cos the last thing we want is for him to escape.’

  ‘Not sure yet,’ Osmo said. ‘We’ll just leave him for now.’

  Nige furrowed his brow but lowered the gun.

  Baz turned to the door and led them into the office area of the garage which was decked out with bunk beds, fridges and shelving units.

  ‘Beer, anyone?’ he asked.

  ‘I think we should keep a clear head,’ Osmo said. ‘So no more than two.’

  Baz nodded. He handed the beers out to everyone but Osmo, who’d looked at it like it was a dog turd and declared, ‘I don’t touch that shit no more.’

  ‘I fucking need this,’ Clive said and necked half of the bottle in one gulp.

  ‘Best get comfy, gents,’ Baz said. ‘We might be here a while yet.’

  52

  Dwayne was bleary-eyed but happy as he pulled into the car park of the building he’d located on the map.

  The rolling fields around it gave him a strange sense of déjà vu, especially when he saw the many scarecrows that stood sentry around the perimeter.

  He smiled, this already felt like home.

  Part 3 A (kinda) romantic interlude

  53

  Nineteen-year-old loner Brian Douglas was on his first shift at the morgue a few miles from the hospital.

  The day had gone well, the introductions to his colleagues had been a pleasant surprise; they were a decent bunch and his supervisor seemed like a genuinely nice guy too. It was unusual as Brian had never really fitted in anywhere. Most people wanted nothing to do with him so it was nice to feel accepted for a change.

  His boss, Will, had asked him to stay late to supervise the delivery of a body. Wanting to appear eager, he had agreed.

  Will had apologised and said that he couldn’t stay, and that Brian was on his own.

  ‘You gonna be ok?’ Will asked, concern written across his face.

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ Brian said.

  Will nodded. ‘Good lad. They should be here shortly after midnight. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Brian smiled.

  Will’s footsteps gradually receded.

  As the door to the office clicked shut, the quiet became alarming. It was silent save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lighting overhead. The lights flickered, casting the room in a surreal glow.

  Brian sat at the desk, studying a manual on embalming procedures. The clock on the wall showed 11:45.

  Brian looked up from the manual to find that it was after midnight.

  ‘Where are these guys?’ he muttered.

  The room had become chilly over the last few minutes and the cold was making him need a piss. He reluctantly went to the toilets, the flickering lights illuminating every other step he took.

  As he emerged from the toilet, he heard someone knocking on the door.

  Startled by the sudden noise, he jumped.

  He breathed slowly, trying to regain his composure. The last thing he wanted was to look like a scared kid when he met the delivery driver.

  He opened the door to find a fat, scruffily-dressed man thrusting a clipboard in his face.

  ‘Two cold ones for ya,’ the delivery driver said, his words accompanied by waves of rancid breath.

  Brian took the clipboard and signed in the area indicated by the poke of the driver’s chubby finger.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand with them,’ he smiled.

  Brian followed him out to the back of the van and they lifted one of the black body bags. Brian was startled by how difficult it was to carry the limp body.

  ‘You’ll learn, kid,’ the delivery driver said.

  They set the body bag down on one of the examination tables in the morgue and went back for the second. Brian was a little out of breath, whereas the fat man wasn’t.

  ‘Not as unfit as I look, huh?’ he grinned, then kissed one of his flexed biceps.

  Brian laughed, eliciting a bigger grin from the delivery driver. They lifted the second body, which was much lighter than the first.

  ‘Always lift the biggest one first,’ the driver said, winking at Brian to show this was wise advice. ‘The next one is always a breeze in comparison.’

  They set the second body bag down on the table.

  ‘New here?’ the driver asked.

  Brian, still winded from the exercise, nodded.

  ‘I’ll help you get the first one out of the bag,’ the driver said. ‘The buggers sometimes have a mind of their own.’

  He unzipped the first bag, revealing an alabaster white female face.

  ‘Whoa, this one’s in good nick,’ the driver said.

  The woman was still pretty, even in death, but her teeth looked a little strange. Despite this, Brian began to get turned on.

  Suddenly, the realisation of what he was thinking made him feel like tossing up his lunch.

  ‘You’ll get used to it, kid,’ the driver said, giving Brian a slap on the back that seemed to be friendly but stung like hell.

  The driver pulled the edges of the bag down
past the limp limbs and folded them underneath themselves.

  ‘Leave the bag under there to soak up anything that comes out,’ the driver said. Again he winked at Brian. ‘Easy as that. You can do that with the second one, yeah?’

  Brian nodded, still a little queasy from his glimpse of the woman’s body.

  ‘Attaboy. Trust me, you’ll be fine after a fortnight. You learn to switch off. See you again.’

  The driver swaggered out of the door, shutting it behind him.

  Brian jumped as the door slammed shut.

  It was eerie in here, in the dim, flickering light, accompanied by two fresh corpses. Enough to make his skin crawl.

  It was very tempting to walk out and never look back, but he really needed the money, so he was stuck until the useless bastards at the job centre came up with something else for him.

  He went to look at the woman again, but stopped himself. If he did that, he doubted he’d be able to deal with the second body. Instead, he approached the closed body bag, keeping his back to the woman’s body.

  He closed his eyes and took deep breaths while he tried to prepare himself for dealing with the unseen corpse.

  54

  Inside the closed body bag, Dale, one of the weekend drivers for the company, was lying as still as he possibly could.

  The white facepaint he and one of the other drivers had applied was itching like mad, but he couldn’t risk moving.

  The trick was to wait until the rookie had the bag open and was looking right at you before you moved.

  Then, the newcomer would, without exception, shit their pants and run screaming from the building.

  It was a morbid hazing ritual, but the morgue workers found that working with corpses day in day out warped their sense of humour. He almost laughed at the idea of the new kid’s face when he saw a moving corpse, but he resisted.

  The wait would be worth it.

  Outside, Will was waiting with his ear pressed to the door. Frank and Gareth, two of the other morgue workers, were standing just behind him.

  The first night ritual was one they’d been doing for many years now, and it never failed to amuse.