Curse of the Gut Ripper

by Tim Miller

  Taking a deep breath, Buddy closed his eyes, pulled the knife back and thrust it forward. The woman screamed as the knife entered her body. Buddy felt her chest heave as warm blood sprayed on his hand. He pulled his hand away and opened his eyes. Her body was thrashing and twitching as she gasped for a few final breaths while the knife stuck out of her chest. Finally, the woman's body went still as Buddy turned away. He was finally a killer.

  Chapter 10

  Buddy couldn't shake the feeling of having killed the woman. For days, he slogged through training and could hardly eat. Sergei even cut him loose early the last day or two. It wasn't something he could just snap out of. He'd killed a woman. Nothing he could ever do would change that now. He sat in his room on his cot staring at the floor. It was late, and he should try to sleep, but he hadn't been sleeping well.

  "You pout all night; you should pout like man." Sergei said as he stepped inside. He was carrying a bottle of vodka and a couple of glasses. He walked over and sat down next to Buddy, poured a glass and handed it to him.

  "I don't like vodka."

  "This Chechen Vodka. You drink. Maybe it will put hair on your girly chest."

  "I'm not in the mood…"

  "Look. You been pouting and moping for days. We going to fix right now. You drink now!"

  Buddy held the glass up to his mouth, and the smell alone burned his nostrils. He took a sip and cringed as the liquor burned his throat. He coughed as his mouth burned. Sergei sat there laughing while watching Buddy gag. He had never tasted gasoline, but this tasted like what he'd imagine gasoline tasted like.

  "You get used to it. Take 'nother drink."

  Buddy tried another one; this one went down a little easier.

  "What is this?"

  "I told you. Chechen vodka. This got me through many winters during wars."

  "What wars?

  "The Chechen wars. I fought both of them. Very tough times."

  "Damn."

  "Yes. Damn indeed. I see many terrible things. I did many terrible things. I see women and children blown to pieces. Once there was a pile of bodies in a village of nothing but women and children stacked taller than I. Very sad."

  "Jesus Christ."

  "Yes. Having war in your home country is not a good experience. I've seen neighbor's homes blown up, and towns I used to visit turn to rubble. After wars, I moved here. My wife was killed during the war. There was nothing left for me there."

  "So how did you get involved in all of this?"

  "I teach self-defense at school in Austin when Pavarti met me. She took classes. One day she tell me about the Order of the Blade. She tell me what they are and why."

  "And you bought into it?"

  "No. I no give fuck who they are or what they do. They pay well. They offered me job training soldiers, but I train slashers."

  "That doesn't bother you?"

  Sergei finished off his glass and poured another full one of the vodka.

  "Killing is killing, and death is death."

  "Don't you get sick of it after everything you've seen and done?"

  "Not when it all I know. Shooting Russian soldier or stabbing some woman, all same to me. One not more special than the other."

  "These people have families; they have lives."

  "Life is risk. I could get hit by bus on way home, then I dead. I could have been killed during wars, but I lucky. Campers end up being in the path of the Gut Ripper? They not so lucky. So they die."

  "Jesus that's cold."

  "That, truth."

  Buddy had been working at his glass and was beginning to feel the effects of the vodka. His vision got fuzzy as his brain started to tingle. Sergei poured them both another drink.

  "You learn too. The people Gut Ripper kill, they not your people. They not your family or friends. They are meat. You kill them painfully and brutally. Eventually, you grow a taste for it."

  "Why? Why do this? Why keep some mythical slasher story going just to kill people? Pavarti said something about balance. What the fuck does that mean? Balance for what?"

  "I not know and don't care. I here to train, so I train. Sounds like bullshit to me. Balance, huh!" He shook his head and took another drink. "Sometimes thing just are what they are. You think too much. Your life will be made now. You have everything you need and you kill people. Who else can say that?"

  Buddy shook his head and took another drink a long one. It burned going down his throat but not as badly as earlier. He felt that one. His vision blurred as the room began to spin. Sergei was still talking, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it at this point. He was talking so fast. At least, it sounded fast to Buddy. He didn't care anymore. The vodka had been a good idea. Buddy needed the numbness. Maybe he'd ask if he could drink the stuff more often. It might help him get through this new hell he was living in.

  Like it or not, this was his new life. He could keep fighting with himself and with the Order and see where that takes him. So far it hadn't done much other than cause him stress, guilt and anxiety. Or he could embrace his new life and be the Gut Ripper. The thing is, what were his long-term prospects? He'd likely not live to be a seventy-year-old Gut Ripper. It was all too much for him to process. Like Sergei said, he thinks too much.

  Not to mention the room was in a full spin now. He looked at Sergei and saw three Sergei's sitting next to him talking about something he couldn't make out. He lay back on the cot and stared up at the ceiling that was also spinning. He decided he'd thought and lamented enough for one day. He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

  Chapter 11

  Buddy made it through the next few days of training with no problem. At this point, he felt as if he were on autopilot. The days blended in which he didn't mind at all. He wondered how much longer he had to do all this before they expected him to actually hunt and kill real campers. Part of that answer came after a couple more weeks.

  Sergei led him to the same clearing where he had killed the woman a few weeks before. His stomach sank, wondering just what they had in mind now. Sergei hadn't said anything as they came out of the cave. Once in the clearing, he blew his whistle. Moments later two more men appeared from the woods dragging a man who was bound and gagged.

  It was a young man who looked to be in his twenties or thirties. He had on a wife beater, jeans and a pair of running shoes. They threw him to the ground as the man lay there flopping around trying to scream through his gag.

  "You want me to stab another one? A guy this time?" Buddy asked.

  "Yes and no." Sergei put down his duffel bag and pulled out a tomahawk. It was made of a lightweight steel with a razor sharp blade and rubber grip around the handle.

  "So you want me to tomahawk him?"

  "You are going to do your first hunt today." Sergei nodded to the men. "Cut him loose."

  The men did as they were ordered, removing his bindings around his hands and the gag. The man stayed on the ground and immediately began begging for his life.

  "Don't hurt me! Please! I beg you! I won't tell police, I won't say anything. Please!"

  "Shut up," Sergei commanded. "Stand up."

  The man just sat there begging until Sergei kicked him.

  "Stand up and stop crying like sissy girl!"

  The man jumped to his feet and looked back and forth between the men.

  "Now run! Go!"

  The man turned and ran into the woods. Sergei looked at Buddy and nodded.

  "There, go! Get him!"

  "You want me to catch him and kill him?"

  "No, you to catch him and make some baklava. Yes, kill him!"

  Buddy shook his head, no longer in the mood to fight or argue. It was useless. He started after the man taking several slow, lumbering steps.

  "What you doing?" Sergei asked.

  "I'm going after him."

  "You walk like zombie."

  "Isn't this how slashers walk?"

  "This no Jason movie stupid boy! You Americans watch too much TV. Run!"
r />   "So I run after him?"

  "Yes! Haul ass, kill him! Go now!"

  Buddy took off running through the woods. The man already had a good head start on him. He ran for a few hundred feet when he stopped. He wasn't even sure where the guy had gone. He could have gone in any direction. They hadn't really worked on tracking. Maybe that would come later. Buddy stood and listened. To his right, he heard a stick breaking. It was a ways off, but loud enough for him to hear it.

  Turning in that direction, he ran until the man was in sight. Buddy was glad for the moment they'd been doing all the running and training, or he'd be out of gas by now. The man ran over some logs and behind some trees, but he peeked out to see Buddy coming for him. He turned and kept running.

  Buddy trotted along at a comfortable pace. He was gaining ground on the man who was terrified. That fear would only exhaust him faster. Before long, Buddy was only fifty feet behind the man. They ran out from the woods and near a rock formation. The man began climbing the rocks, which Buddy didn't get. The guy was only going to corner himself, but it was possible he was totally out of his head by now.

  The man got up almost ten feet, lost his footing and slid down. He landed flat on his back, allowing Buddy to catch up. Great, now he had to figure out how to kill him. He didn't want to, but there was no way out of this situation. Besides, it was probably another junkie or something. It was no real justification, but it soothed his conscience for the moment.

  He grabbed the man by the tank top and pulled him to his feet.

  "Please! Why are you doing this? Just let me go, please!" the man begged.

  "Shut up." Buddy didn't want to hear the man talk or know anything about the guy that might make him seem more human. Buddy pushed the guy down onto a rock, held his head steady and swung the tomahawk striking the man in the neck. The blow wasn't hard enough to remove his head, but it lodged into the side of his neck as blood sprayed up in the air, getting onto his shirt and some on Buddy's face.

  He took several more swings until the man's head rolled free. The man's body fell to the ground with a thud. Buddy picked up the severed head by the hair and held it up. The man's eyes were frozen open in an eternal stare of fear along with his mouth that was agape. Buddy cringed at the sight as he lowered it to his side and made his way back through the woods with the head. It took him longer to make his way back, as running was no longer necessary.

  He began to feel tired from the adrenaline dump and wondered if he was even headed in the right direction. Before long, he reached the clearing where Sergei was standing smoking a cigarette. Buddy walked up to him and tossed him the man's head. Sergei dropped his cigarette as he caught it. Buddy kept walking toward the cave, ignoring Sergei's surprised look.

  "Where you going?" Sergei called to him.

  "I did what you told me. I need a nap."

  Chapter 12

  Buddy didn't know what was happening to him, other than he was dying inside. Chances were, he'd already died. Whoever he was a few months ago was long gone. Maybe that was the point. They were killing off Buddy to bring out the Gut Ripper. Lying there in his cot, he couldn't sleep. He'd tossed and turned all night thinking about that man's severed head.

  The blank gaze and gaping mouth kept staring at him in his sleep. Over and over, he could hear the fleshy sounds tearing and squishing as the tomahawk separated the head from the neck. He wished he could take a Xanax or something to sleep, but it was not likely they had a medicine cabinet there. He got up and walked around his living area, which wasn't large. He'd figured by now they could give him a real room and not a fucking cave.

  Buddy walked down the tunnel into the dark. He figured he might as well explore some as he wandered around. As he walked, he passed other rooms similar to his. Some of the men who'd been helping Sergei were sleeping in cots in those little areas. The tunnel wound around, and he came to a door in the side of the wall. There was a small window, and he looked inside. A small lamp was on the floor offering dim light to the small room.

  This one looked more like a regular room. It had a floor and walls with a regular bed in the corner. Sergei was curled up in the bed as Buddy tried the door and it opened. He quietly stepped inside and saw Sergei's duffel bag just inside the door. Buddy bent down and flipped through it. There was a hunting knife inside along with other camping gear and clothes. Buddy grabbed the knife and walked over to the bed.

  He stood over looking down at Sergei, taking a deep breath he thrust the knife downward aiming for his heart. Sergei jumped awake and rolled to his side, kicking Buddy in the leg as he did so. The kick caught Buddy by surprise and he dropped the knife and went to one knee. Sergei swung at Buddy, but he ducked the blow and wrapped his forearm around Sergei's neck, locking him in a chokehold.

  Sergei struggled as Buddy tried to tighten his grip. The room was humid, and both men were sweaty, causing his arms to slip. Sergei broke the grip, grabbed Buddy by the upper arm and flipped him to the ground. They tussled on the floor for several minutes, throwing random punches at each other. Buddy took a few shots to the face, including a good one to his nose as he felt it crunch under Sergei's fist. For an older guy, he as a tough old bastard.

  Buddy got a few good shots him himself as Sergei lunged behind Buddy. Buddy grabbed his leg, but Sergei spun around holding the knife and stuck it to Buddy's throat while holding his head.

  "What you fucking doing?" Sergei yelled. "You lost your stupid mind?"

  "I was trying to kill you."

  "I see that. Why?"

  Sergei put the knife down and walked over to his bag. He put the knife in the bag and dug out a couple of towels. He tossed one to Buddy as he began wiping his face with the other.

  "Clean yourself up. What is wrong with you?"

  "I want to get out of here. I'm fucking sick of this. I chopped some poor asshole's head off today. I don't know if there is a hell, but if there is I'm going to it for sure."

  "There no hell. Besides, I told you, death is death. You just bring sooner. You do great job today. You chased him down, you caught him, and you no hesitate. Killed boy in perfect Gut Ripper fashion. You almost there. Soon going after real campers."

  "I still don't get why."

  "I told you, balance," a voice said from the doorway. It was Pavarti.

  Both men looked up at her as Buddy tried extra hard to wipe the blood off his face.

  "What the fuck does that even mean? Balance?"

  "Balance in nature. Look at the Sub-Saharan desert; you have zebras, and you have lions. The lions prey on the zebra. Our world has become far too civilized. We have no balance. People come and go each day to their jobs with no fear of death or even danger."

  "That's bullshit. People die all the time. Car accidents, murder, and stuff."

  "Those are random. We here at the Order are a small part. Sometimes we go weeks without any victims. This is why the Gut Ripper inflicts as much terror as possible on his victims. It's not just about inflicting death, but inflicting fear and pain. Return them to their primal instincts. Right before they die is the first time most of them ever lived."

  Buddy looked at Sergei, who shook his head and shrugged.

  "What the fuck are you talking about?"

  "I told you that you wouldn't understand. It doesn't matter. You just need to do your job," she said. "Now get back to your room."

  "Why can't I have a room like this? I'm sick of sleeping in a cave on a stupid cot. I want a TV too."

  Pavarti rolled her eyes.

  "Look. You'll get better accommodations once you are officially the Gut Ripper. This is how we do things and have always done them. You're almost there. And stop trying to kill Sergei. He's done nothing but help you."

  "Help me kill innocent people."

  "Well, you're not innocent. Should we kill you?"

  "What?"

  "You've now murdered two people. That makes you far from innocent."

  "You fucking made me kill them. You threatened my family."


  "You still made the choice. Like it or not, you are becoming the Gut Ripper. Soon you will be craving it. Trust me, it happens each time. Now head back to your bed. You’ve got a big day tomorrow," Pavarti said.

  "What? Hunting another homeless guy?"

  "Come with me."

  Buddy stood and walked out. She walked alongside him through the tunnel.

  "After tomorrow, you'll be a full-fledged killer and your doubts will be no more."

  "I doubt that, but ok," he said as he reached his cot.

  Pavarti smiled at him and put her hand on his shoulder. For the first time, he saw her smile. His skin went warm at her touch as he looked into her eyes at the low light. She was, even more, beautiful smiling. She patted his shoulder before she spoke.

  "Trust me."

  Chapter 13

  Buddy woke up to a group of men throwing a bag over his head while dragging him out of his cot.

  "What the fuck? What's going on?"

  They held him down while taping his hands behind his back and dragged him through the tunnel. They tossed him into the back of the van, and the van began moving. He figured they were still in the park based on how bumpy the ride was. They weren't on any real roads.

  "What's going on? Is this about last night? Because I attacked Sergei?" No one answered as he struggled against the tape. The ride lasted several more minutes before they stopped. The men grabbed him and dragged him out of the van hauled him along the ground for several hundred feet before dropping him completely. One of them had removed the tape and bag before they ran out of the cage.

  Buddy stood and looked around. He was in a large cage that was open on top. There was ten-foot tall chain link fence surrounding him. The perimeter was around fifty feet. Inside the cage were four other men. All of them were looking at him as if they wanted to rip him to shreds.