“I hope so. It’s not her sister that’s worrying me, though...” Slim took in the dark house, a wind chime sang softly on the porch, but other than that, complete silence.
“Her old folks?”
“Yeah...God knows how many people are infected, John. Even Meg...”
No. That couldn’t happen.
Meg would be fine.
She had to be.
They climbed the steps to the front door. Slim’s heart thundered in her chest as she realised the door was partly open. It swung gently on its hinges, coerced by the evening wind; beyond the gap in the door...only darkness.
“Open it,” she said.
John opened the door wide and entered the hall. She crossed the threshold behind him, into the murky hallway.
“Meg?” John whispered.
Slim felt her muscles tense at the sound of his voice in the suffocating gloom. Her eyes, quickly growing accustomed to the dark, darted from corner to corner, taking in the familiar and well-loved surroundings, penetrating every pocket of pitch black for even the smallest sign of movement.
In her hand she held a butcher knife she’d taken from the Stevens’ place. The weight of the metal and the rough carving of the wooden handle was small comfort, here in the dark.
If only we’d found the gun I’d dropped.
That had been a lost cause. When the gun had been jettisoned from Mrs Stevens’ hand, it had landed in the deep foliage, way back in the garden.
Lost to darkness.
She and John had searched, but only momentarily. The threat the bloodthirsty police officers posed had urged them forward. Kept them moving.
Those animals may still have been lurking out front. Instinct telling them that to remain in the vicinity of the horror on the street would surely increase their chances of running afoul of the lunatic cops.
Leaving, and leaving quickly, had been the only option, yet she rued the loss of the firearm, afloat here in this empty house.
Again, she thought of poisonous spiders, and webs spun in secret places.
She could just make out the shape of John’s weapon in the inky blackness; the very same shears that had almost severed his manhood, not twenty minutes ago.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
To her left, Slim heard the soft murmuring of voices. She turned in the direction of the sound, tracking it through the door to her side and into the dark confines of the kitchen. Turning the corner into the dining area, she found the room to be cast in a soft, orange glow; the flickering light of a fire, shining in from the patio out back. Shadows danced on the worktops beneath the window as, outside, the voices grew louder.
Slim smelled the food, sweet and succulent and oh-so mouth-watering.
Raising her hand, she signalled for John to stop, and together they crouched beneath the sink, out of the line of sight of whoever was out there. As she listened, Slim made out the voices of Meg’s parents, Arthur and Laura. The chat seemed casual, unforced. Her heart swelled with the hope that they were okay.
Not tainted.
Not corrupt.
Slim listened intently.
“I gotta hand it to you, Laura, you cook a mean steak, honey,” Arthur said, his words softened by a mouthful of food.
“Thanks, sweetheart. I do my best. I just wish Meg was able to enjoy it.”
He sighed, “Yeah, me too. All this vegetarian nonsense really has gone too far.”
Slim raised her head to peer outside. Meg’s parents were stood over their barbecue stand, both with their backs to the window, their forms silhouetted against the warm glow emanating from the grills flames.
They seem fine, she thought.
But are they?
Wait. Wait and see.
Slim waited, lowering herself from the light source and back into the gloom. She raised her finger to her lips. “Shhhh.”
John nodded, clutching the garden shears tight as he could. Even in the weak light, she could see the fear in his eyes.
Outside, the married couple continued chatting.
“We’ll ask her again. Maybe see if we can make her see sense,” Laura said.
“Don’t hold your breath, honey. She’s got the will of your mother,” he laughed.
“Arthur!” she admonished him, giggling softly.
They seemed fine.
But what of Gemma...where was she?
As if on cue, the conversation turned to their youngest daughter.
“I still can’t believe she did it, you know,” it was Laura. “She loved that cat.”
“I know, honey. It was a bit of a shock.”
“She has to learn she can’t treat her possessions like that. She has to learn respect for the things she owns. She doted on that dumb animal. They were practically inseparable. How could she do it? It just makes no sense.”
They’re fine.
Thank god.
With a sigh of relief, Slim raised herself and prepared to announce her presence. John came up with her.
Outside, Arthur laughed, “Well, I think our second born has learned her lesson now...”
As he stepped aside, Slim saw what was on the barbecue.
A scream crept up in her throat and she pushed a hand to her mouth to hold it in.
“Holy fuck,” John gasped, stumbling back from the window.
Laid out on the barbecue grill, and cooking over the flames, was a human arm.
Small.
Child size.
The small flames lapped at the sides of the cooking meat; the heat causing the skin to bubble and pop. The underside of the limb was charred black, and the flames had devoured the tiny fingers, leaving little but jagged bone poking out from the withered black digits.
Slim world stopped spinning.
That’s little Gemma.
That’s their daughter!
She watched in horror as Laura lifted a fork and poked at the meat as though testing it. Carefully, she turned the charred arm over, letting the still uncooked side taste the heat from the hungry flames.
“We have to go, Slim,” John uttered from her rear. “Now.”
Slim found words eluded her.
Like a deer caught in the lion’s predatory stare, she couldn’t look away from the atrocity.
Tears welled up as she thought of little Gemma. Her delicate smile and shining eyes, her quick laughter and mischievous manner.
She had loved that little girl.
And now she was no more than cooking meat.
Outside, Arthur groaned as he bit into the soft meat held in his hand. Slim gagged as he began to chew.
It was indiscernible what part of his daughter he was feasting on, and for that, Slim was glad. Still, her mind reeled.
A liver, a calf, one of the poor girl’s underdeveloped breasts?
“You know what?” the cannibal asked his wife. “I think we ought have another word with Meg. See if maybe she’ll have a taste. I’m sure if she just tries it...”
“You may be right. Lemme finish cooking this and I’ll go get her.”
“Can you get me a beer while you’re at it?” he asked.
“I’ll think about it.” Lara playfully punched her husband’s arm as he took another bite out of his daughter. “I don’t see why I should have to be the one who goes all the way upstairs to get her, mister! I did all the cooking.”
Upstairs!
Meg’s upstairs.
Slim spun on her heels. “Come on.”
John, too shocked to challenge her lead or even think in any kind of straight line, followed her lead.
Slim gripped the knife tight in her hand, making her way for the staircase and up into her best friend’s room with a new fond sense of urgency. Terror traced her every step, stifled her every breath, she ignored it and pressed on through the darkness in this house of horrors, all the while alert to any sounds coming from the cannibals outside.
At the top of the staircase...Meg’s room.
Quiet as she could, Slim reached f
or the handle and turned it.
The door opened without as much as a creak.
Inside, the room was lit by candle. It painted the walls in a delicate light that lied of comfort and calm.
She quickly scanned the room.
Slim let out a cry when she saw what was on the bed.
Of grief or delight, she wasn’t sure.
“What is it?” John asked from behind her.
“Stay here, guard the door. If that bitch comes up, kill her.”
John laid a hand on her shoulder and tried to peer over her and into the room. She turned on him. “No, John! No time. Just do as I ask. Please.”
John nodded, and Slim entered the room, silent and stealthy as an alley cat.
On the bed, with her feet and hands bound to the posts with zip cords, was Meg.
She was naked, her soft skin glistening in the candle’s gentle glow. Her naval was a patchwork of slashes, each one no more than a few inches long, yet ugly and ragged. Blood slowly seeped from the wounds and painted the smooth white of her skin.
Slim recognised the wounds from any number of horror movies she watched, and her heart seemed to shrink and wither as she took in her friend’s torment.
Meg had been whipped.
Dear God, the bastards whipped her.
Slim knelt by the bedside and laid her hand on Meg’s face.
“Meg?” she whispered. “Are you in there?”
Meg’s eyes fluttered then opened. It took her best friend a few moments to recognise her, and then she smiled.
Despite all the horror Meg had endured. The betrayal, the grief, the terror...she still managed a smile.
Tears ran like rivers down Slim’s cheeks and onto the sweat-soaked pillow that propped her best friend’s head up.
“I knew you’d come...” Meg croaked.
“Damn right.”
Slim forced a smile of her own, and then stood. “We have to get you out of here, they’re coming for you.”
The despair she saw in Meg’s eyes broke her heart.
“Let me cut these cords.”
“Please hurry,” Meg whispered.
The sharp blade sliced easily through the thin plastic bonding, and in seconds, Slim had cut both her friend’s arms free. She winced as she saw the deep welts the cords had sliced into Meg’s wrists.
Meg lowered her arms and let them fall to the bed, her muscles all but spent, as Slim moved down the blood-stained mattress to her feet.
She had just placed the blades edge on the first of the two cords when John screamed. “Fuck!”
He ran into the room and slammed the door behind him. “We’re fucked,” he gasped.
The wooden staircase thundered with the sound of footsteps. John turned on the door and pressed his full weight against it. “Hurry the fuck up, Slim! Help me!”
Slim cut the cords fast as she could, and made for the door. She hated leaving Meg lying there on that fouled bed, but she’d been robbed of choices. She slammed into the door just in time, as, from its other side, the door was rammed with fearsome force. Both she and John almost lost their footing, barely managing to hold the door shut. Laura was a small, dainty woman, and considering the enormous pressure being put on the door, she knew it had to be Arthur who was doing the damage.
His voice confirmed it, “Slim, you little bitch! Open this fucking door right now, or by god, when I get my hands on you, I’ll slice you open and bathe in your guts!”
On the bed, Meg screamed, “Go away, Dad! Please!”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, you hippy bitch. You’ll come down these stairs and eat your sister this goddam minute!” Again he rammed the door, pushing Slim and John back at least a foot before they regained their stance.
He would be in soon.
“Leave us alone!” Meg begged.
“Your mother and I have had it up to here with this vegetarian shit! We cooked her just for you, and this is all the gratitude we get!? Open this fucking door right now!!”
The big man crashed into the door again. Wood splintered as the centre of the door began to cave in.
It wouldn’t matter how long they could hold the door against him, if the damn thing caved in.
Slim grunted as she and John pushed the door closed once more. Slim realised what she had to do.
“Hey Arthur?” she shouted.
On the other side of the wood, she could hear him step back, positioning himself for another run at the fragile door.
“What do you want, you little whore?” he growled. Slim noted that he’d stopped in his tracks for the moment.
“Go fuck yourself, you limp-dicked old prick!”
Arthur roared, charging for the door. His heavy footsteps were just outside the door.
“Now!” Slim yelled. She grabbed John and pulled him to the side, releasing their holds on the door and falling aside just as Meg’s heavyset father smashed into it once more. With no one there to resist him, the door flew open, smashing into the wall as Arthur hurtled into the room, unable to thwart the forward momentum generated by his own massive form.
With a scream of surprise, he ran into the room, arms flailing and kept running until he ran straight into the adjacent wall.
Slim heard a sickening crack as his face mashed into the concrete and his nose exploded. She was on her feet and running at the man, even as he slid down the wall, leaving a trail of blood, snot and broken teeth clinging to the prettily flowered wallpaper. By the time his body hit the floor, she was on top of him, riding him down to the carpet, face-first.
Without wasting a moment, Slim jammed the butcher knife down into the back of his skull.
Meg’s dad barely made a sound as the steel tore through his scalp and penetrated his skull, cleaving through the meat of his brain and killing him instantly.
You gotta be fucking kidding me!
John stumbled to his feet, his eyes never leaving Slim as she yanked the blood-sluiced blade free from the man’s skull. A jet of the red liquid followed the blade withdrawal, spraying Slim in the face as she backed away from the corpse.
She never even flinched.
My God, she’s amazing.
He was barely aware that Meg was screaming. Turning, he saw that she’d perched herself on the end of the bed, seemingly too shocked, or too far gone to give a rat’s ass, that she was butt naked.
Despite himself, John was helpless.
He drank in her image like cold beer under the summer sun. As her body hitched with her crying, her perfect breasts jiggled ever so slightly. It was a sight to behold.
I’m a goddam pervert. This is not the time.
He looked lower, to the cleft between her legs, where a soft downy mound of blonde pubic hair promised untold pleasures within.
Jesus, pull your shit together.
He dragged his eyes from his beautiful friend, and back to Slim. She was on her feet now, her shoulders rising and falling as she swallowed a lungful of air. He wasn’t sure whether she was breathless from exertion or from shock.
Or was it excitement?
He wondered momentarily how much force would be required to bury a knife in a man’s skull, and quickly decided he’d rather not know.
Slim, it seemed, had taken upon herself the mantel of leadership, and that suited him just fine.
All he wanted to do was get the fuck out of town and never look back. Whatever was driving people crazy, it was spreading.
Slim was ignoring Meg for the time being. She was all business.
“Where’s Laura?”
“I don’t know. She wasn’t with him.”
Slim walked to the door and looked out into the near impenetrable gloom. All was quiet. Laura had to be down there somewhere.
Waiting for her chance to strike.
“Stay with her,” she said.
She left the room without another word.
John sat there, torn between the twin severities of stark terror and utter awe. As she vanished into the thick wall of blackness
and faded from view, he made for the bed.
Meg seemed barely aware of his presence as he leaned before her, grabbed a handful of bedclothes, and wrapped them over her trembling shoulders.
Slim wiped the bloody knife on her shirt and moved downward, one step at a time, being as careful as she could to not make a sound.
She’s down here, and she knows I’m coming.
Have to try and maintain some goddam element of surprise.
She’d certainly surprised Arthur.
Plunged a fucking knife into his brain.
I’d call that a surprise.
Not the time to think about what you done to him.
Or the others.
Keep moving forward. You gotta protect Meg.
Slim imagined that in this world, there was surely no greater sin than the act of killing one’s child, and these monsters had not only murdered their youngest, but had cooked her corpse, eaten her flesh, and even tried to force their first born to consume the meat.
They were no longer Arthur and Laura.
They were animals.
And she would deal with the animal named Laura accordingly...
As she made her way slowly down into the stillness of the ground floor hallway, her eyes swung from side to side, scanning the doorways for even the slightest hint of movement, of shadows within shadows, solidity within murk. There was no sound, but she could sense the cannibal down here.
She could taste the woman’s madness on her tongue like acid.
Find her.
Deal with her.
Get Meg. Get the fuck out of here.
There would be time later for consolation; for holding each other, for comforting and for healing. Now, though, she knew she had to hold strong. Emotions would only cloud her instincts, remove her from the moment.
And the moment was where she had to be.
In this moment, she was only one wrong move away from being brought down.
Perhaps she, too, would find herself on the barbecue, sizzling and spitting as her meat accepted the flames.
No room for thoughts.
No room for fear.
Slim held the knife in front of her like Excalibur, her every nerve ending electrified as her natural born defence mechanisms coerced her psyche and her physicality into new, unknown territories.
Up ahead, the kitchen. The barbecue was still lit, and the room still cast in that hellish glow. She didn’t look outside at the food...at little Gemma’s remains.
AFTERTASTE Page 12
