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

by Jacob Rayne

‘That was fucking horrible.’

  ‘Hey, you listen to me, Officer Campbell,’ Osmo snapped. ‘Those fucking things show us no mercy. Think of your wife. Think of your boy.’ Campbell looked as though he’d been slapped. ‘Don’t you ever forget what these things are capable of.’

  He nodded, his eyes still cast down to the floor.

  ‘Now get yourself in the right frame of mind. It’s kill or fucking be killed.’

  Campbell nodded again.

  Osmo took one more look at the stake impaled through the tramp’s head and the growing pool of blood with thick chunks of brain floating in the midst of it.

  ‘I’d fucking do that to every one of ’em if I got the chance,’ he grinned.

  96

  Baz had had a fleeting glance of the creatures in the derelict church before they’d perished, so he had some idea of what he was dealing with, but the sight of the creature that stood before him wrenched the breath from his lungs.

  Almost seven feet tall, with thick muscle covering every inch of its immense frame. Not a single trace of flab clung to its body. Its arms and legs were like tree trunks, dark veins popping out from beneath the skin. Its face was long, looking very much like that of a bat.

  The teeth were somehow the worst thing about it, like steak knives hewn from bone with a seemingly permanent coating of blood.

  It seemed to be smiling at them, its tiny, white eyes seeming to bore through their skin to the blood and flesh it craved.

  There was a huge scar in its belly, which was an even paler white than the rest of its flesh. Thick muscle had grown underneath the wound but it looked like it had formed badly round the scar.

  ‘You’ll die just like your daddy,’ Baz shouted, unable to help himself.

  This earned him a hard smack round the head from one of the tramps and an ear-splitting cry from the creature.

  ‘Not wise,’ the head tramp said.

  Baz noticed that he was somewhere between human and one of the monsters. Somehow this amalgamation was even more sickening.

  ‘We’re just waiting for your friends to come so we can finish this properly,’ the tramp said.

  Baz felt sick when he saw the pieces of flesh stuck between his teeth and the bloody saliva that strung from his lips.

  ‘Get it over with,’ Baz hissed. ‘I ain’t gonna fucking beg you.’

  The tramp grinned. ‘You’ll beg alright. You’ll be begging us to just kill you, mark my words.’

  97

  After Osmo and Campbell’s initial scare, the corridor was empty.

  ‘I’d hide if I were you too,’ Osmo shouted into the gloom. ‘I’m really fucking pissed off now.’

  Campbell genuinely considered his friend insane now. No doubt about it.

  The corridor opened on a room which looked like the inner workings of the abattoir. There were blood-stained white tiles all around.

  It wasn’t clear whether this was from the establishment’s new or previous owners.

  A thick mass of congealed blood covered the floor beneath the tiled wall too.

  There were metal doors lining each wall, reminding Osmo of toilet cubicles. The bloodstains on the floor beneath the doors made things less everyday.

  Osmo saw a pair of boots under one of the gates.

  He kicked the door open to find a skinned corpse sitting in the corner, mouth open in a silent cry, its hands clamped to its skull as though screaming itself to death.

  Vomit raced up his throat and splashed the floor at his feet.

  While his attention was taken up by this, Campbell edged over to the next door and booted it open.

  The door slammed back against the cubicle wall, as loud as a gunshot in the otherwise quiet building.

  As he turned away, happy that the cubicle was empty, a pale shape flew through the air towards him.

  He cried out in alarm, but his reflexes were honed now and he brought the stake up just as the creature hit him, caving in its breastbone with a sickly splintering of bone and a shower of blood.

  The tramp fell back, blood pouring from his gnashing jaws.

  ‘Nice,’ Osmo said, eager to tear his eyes away from the hideous corpse he’d found.

  The rest of the room was empty, but they took the time to fully explore the cubicles with what had almost happened to Campbell fresh in their minds.

  The door to their right led out onto the killing floor.

  In here were thick meat hooks suspended from chains hanging down from the metal ceiling joists. The floor was grated, to allow the blood to sluice through.

  The abattoir was perfect for the creature’s horrendous needs.

  Most of the meat hooks held a body.

  There was a pile of severed hands and feet in the far corner, dirty rust-coloured stains on the floor beneath them.

  Most of the bodies were impaled through the calves, hanging upside down, their throats opened in ragged, lipless smiles that still spewed blood into the troughs beneath.

  Some of the bodies had been flayed, others looked like ravenous mouths had already begun to pick them clean, revealing the gleaming bones beneath their skin.

  Osmo shuddered – a 70/30 split of the horrendous scene and the cold air in the room.

  Campbell brought up his meagre last meal, sending it flying down the drain with the blood that still dripped from most of the carcasses.

  Worse sights awaited them.

  Past the dozens of fresh bodies were others, some of them cleaved clean in half, displaying gleaming ribs and spine among the raw mass of dead flesh. The heads were removed in places, in others lolling back on throats that had been cut all the way to the trachea.

  Glassy eyes watched their every move, seemingly envious of the life they still possessed.

  ‘Jesus wept,’ Osmo said, gulping down. ‘It takes a lot to shock me, but fucking hell.’

  Campbell nodded, tears filling his eyes.

  It was all too easy to picture his wife and child hanging from the hooks, their blood trickling down the drain like crimson tears.

  Osmo cursed and pulled Campbell towards him as a door at the far end of the room opened, allowing more light to fall upon the dozens of hanging corpses.

  The extra illumination was not welcomed and Campbell felt himself retching once more.

  ‘He didn’t get far then,’ Osmo said, pointing out the naked, armless torso of Clive, the paramedic.

  Campbell didn’t get time to answer as one of the tramps came in, his breath steaming in the cold. A hacksaw glinted in his hand.

  Osmo pressed himself against the nearest corpse, the clammy skin making his bowels churn.

  Campbell was three bodies over, and had pulled himself up on the chain so the tramp couldn’t see his feet.

  While they did their best to stay silent and hidden, the tramp wandered between the bodies like a butcher surveying his stock.

  He plucked at the skin on the legs and chest of a few of the corpses, seemingly looking for the leanest cut.

  Campbell’s gorge rose once more. Half a mouthful of vomit crept up his throat. He reluctantly swallowed it.

  His arms were already aching from the effort of holding on to the bars.

  As Osmo watched, (Campbell was hiding his gaze from whatever the tramp was doing. He flat-out did not want to know) the tramp took the blade of the hacksaw to one of the corpses and began cutting into the shoulder joint.

  Congealed blood and slivers of bone came free in a sticky paste.

  The noise was horrendous, filling the darkened room and making both men cringe.

  Campbell tried to concentrate on anything other than the tramp and his grisly task. He looked round to see that Osmo was using the cover of the hanging corpses to creep towards the tramp.

  His head snapped round, his white eyes seeming to stand out clearly in the darkness. In the brief glance he had before he ducked back, Osmo noticed a thick leather apron, encrusted with thick splatters of dried blood. A bag of tools hung from one of the butcher’s hands.
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  One of the corpses moved a little after he had moved back.

  The apron creaked as the butcher moved towards Osmo’s hiding place.

  Osmo remained hidden although he guessed he’d already been rumbled. The tramp moved over to the swinging body, the blood-encrusted hacksaw still in his hand.

  He seemed much bigger up close.

  Campbell could see that the tramp had guessed Osmo’s hiding place, so he kicked the body he was leaning against.

  Upon hearing the chain jingling, the tramp’s head snapped round. Campbell’s skin crawled as the tramp’s eyes moved over him.

  The tramp glanced quickly between the two corpses that had moved.

  While he looked over towards Campbell, Osmo darted one corpse closer and stood, chest heaving, with his back to the tramp.

  The tramp, seemingly realising that there were two enemies hidden in the room, let out a high-pitched cry.

  A few seconds later, the sound of running footsteps echoed through the room and half a dozen of the tramps came racing in.

  98

  Baz found that the thick chain that the tramps had used to secure him to the floor had one slightly weaker link.

  He had been working at it while the tramps were busy with the creature.

  Better that than looking at what was going on in the room.

  He’d seen one of them come in with a wheelbarrow laden to the brim with bloody pieces of what he guessed were people, and his mind and eyes were glad of a distraction.

  The tramp had tipped it at the feet of the creature and the ensuing feast had been like nothing he’d ever seen.

  The huge creature had practically inhaled the meat, stopping only to chew a few times and savour the blood that still seeped from it.

  Within two minutes the pile of severed body parts was consumed, the creature baying for blood once more.

  ‘He’s still growing,’ Dwayne explained with a sickly smile. ‘We’re exhausted trying to keep him in food. But there’s plenty here for him to be getting on with.’

  Baz tried to work at the chain, but it wasn’t happening.

  His fingers were already lacerated and bleeding from trying to separate the thick metal links and they slipped in the slick bloodstains already on the chain.

  Dwayne moved closer, a gleaming sickle in his hand. His grin widened as he looked from Baz to Nige and back again.

  ‘Eenie, meenie, minie, mo,’ he said, moving the murderous blade between the two of them as he counted.

  The end of the count saw the blade pointing to Nige.

  ‘You’re the lucky one,’ he told Nige, exposing his sharpened, blood-covered teeth. ‘You’ll have a quick death.’

  Osmo and Campbell both tried to remain silent but they knew it wouldn’t be long before the tramps found them.

  There were only so many hiding places they could use, only so many bodies to cower behind.

  The one thing in their favour was the respect the tramps held for the hanging carcasses or they’d probably have already been discovered.

  Osmo was still pressed against the back of the body, his white knuckles trembling around the handles of the stakes.

  Campbell’s arms were also shaking, but this was from the effort of holding himself up on the chain.

  He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Even if he did, his arms would be next to useless by the time he got to fight the tramps. Also, he was trying to hold his breath, to avoid it steaming in the chilled air.

  One of the tramps was almost beneath him. Another was close to Osmo, carefully checking behind each of the corpses.

  It was only a matter of time before they were discovered.

  So it was a relief – of sorts – when a struggling, shouting figure was dragged into the room by a pair of burly tramps.

  Any relief they’d felt evaporated when they saw that the captive was Nige.

  They both watched, mouths agape, as the tramps hauled down one of the hanging bodies and slung Nige up in their place.

  Nige thrashed wildly, spinning on his chain like a punchbag in the throes of being pummelled.

  One of the tramps pulled out a blade that glinted in the dim light.

  Nige’s frantic breaths plumed around his face as his efforts to free himself doubled.

  The tramp’s lips parted in a gruesome smile as he brought the gleaming blade to Nige’s throat.

  99

  Unsurprisingly, it was Osmo who broke cover first.

  The man’s fearlessness made Campbell jealous and concerned at the same time. It simply wasn’t healthy to be so blasé about being slaughtered by some undead fiend.

  Osmo let out a deafening howl that reverberated off the walls.

  But it was too late; the blade opened a savage scarlet smile in Nige’s throat. Blood spewed out, gurgling down the drain in the killing floor beneath him.

  Suspended upside down, Nige twitched wildly, the chain jingling musically with his movements.

  Osmo ran in and shoved one of the hanging bodies into the tramp who had killed Nige.

  The hanging body hit the tramp hard and knocked him off his feet. He landed on his arse with a weary exhalation of dire-smelling breath.

  Osmo was in straight away, pulling down one of the empty hooks – the chain extended easily with a little pull – and thrusting the tip of the blade through the tramp’s calf before hoisting him up so he spun from the chain, caterwauling and trying to free himself.

  The pain of the hook moving forced the tramp to abandon his efforts to escape and just hang, uselessly, hissing and screaming.

  Osmo dodged his wild swings and shoved him into another tramp who was now racing in.

  Then, making a point of using the same knife that had killed Nige, he stabbed hard into the tramp’s throat and ripped the blade all the way through his trachea.

  The blow almost decapitated the tramp and the resulting blood spray coated Osmo in further layers of gore. He bellowed with laughter, adding to Campbell’s impression that he had well and truly lost the plot.

  Campbell dropped from the chain and waded in with flailing fists and feet.

  The deafening crack of pulverised bone seemed to reverberate round the room for an eternity as Osmo took down one of the tramps with a hard mallet strike to the jaw. He slumped to the floor, blood spilling from his shattered jawbone.

  Campbell fought hard, battering his enemies with everything he had, but he was up against the huge tramp who’d first been in the room with them.

  He took everything Campbell gave with a smile on his face.

  While the exhausted ex-policeman sought the energy to maintain his attack, the tramp head-butted him, smashing his nose and sending blood pouring down his face and throat.

  He staggered back and another tramp took him down with a hard strike to the back of the head.

  Osmo cried out as Campbell fell to the floor, lost beneath the writhing mass of feet that mercilessly booted the breath from his battered body.

  The stake sunk into the big tramp’s belly but he just laughed this off too, crushing his strong fingers into Osmo’s throat until he turned purple before hurling him into one of the hanging bodies.

  The tramps waded in on him too, kicking him like there was no tomorrow.

  Bloody and broken, he was finally given the mercy of oblivion.

  As the door opened, revealing the unconscious forms of Osmo and Campbell, one of the tramps came to undo Baz’s chain.

  ‘Fucked if this is how I’m gonna die like,’ he said, grabbing the chain between his bloody fingers.

  He darted in fast, surprising the tramp by managing to wrap it round his throat. He pulled for all his worth, making the tramp’s face turn purple as the blood to his brain was suddenly cut off.

  ‘Let them go,’ he said, indicating his fallen friends. ‘Or I’ll squeeze this till his fucking head pops off.’

  The tramp struggled weakly, his hands clawing uselessly at the chain. He let out a sickly gurgle that gave Baz hope.

>   ‘I fucking mean it,’ he said, further tightening the chain around the tramp’s throat.

  The creature bellowed its rage at its feeding time being disrupted. It moved forwards so fast that Baz hardly even saw it, fast enough as to be a blur.

  The tramp’s neck broke with a crack, his head turning almost all of the way round, giving Baz a glimpse of razor teeth and milky white eyes. Still, the tramp seemed to be grinning, having the last laugh even in death.

  ‘Fuck,’ Baz said, realising that his leverage was gone.

  Then the creature was on him, tearing gaping wounds in his belly and savouring the hot hails of blood.

  100

  Osmo came to with the sensation of being watched.

  ‘In the devil’s asshole once more,’ he muttered.

  He patted himself down, realising that all of his weapons had been taken.

  They were out on a limb as it was, but going in unarmed was a prospect that terrified even him. A stream of piss ran down to warm his legs and make his trousers cling to his clammy skin.

  His entire body shook.

  He glanced round and saw that Campbell still seemed to be out cold.

  Things seemed to be going from bad to worse.

  Then he heard the creature’s rabid cry and he realised that he knew nothing about bad yet.

  Osmo cried out as the creature began to tear out Baz’s organs.

  The tramps turned to look at him, watched his bulging eyes fall upon Baz’s body, twitching in its death throes, throwing thick gouts of blood from the savage wounds in his chest.

  The creature moaned to itself in delirium as it devoured one of Baz’s kidneys.

  Just when he thought he was about to go insane with the sight of it, a silhouette filled the doorway and a particularly skinny tramp marched in. Despite his wasted appearance, it was clear he was in charge.

  ‘Ah, you’re here,’ Dwayne said, eyeing the two men like a kid eager to tear open his Christmas presents.

  The creature lifted its blood-soaked muzzle from Baz’s chest cavity and let out a cry of utter fury as it recognised Osmo, the man who had given it the hideous scar on its stomach.