The sick chuckle from Kyle made Reed turn back around to face him. The look of sorrow and disgust on the man’s face gave Reed pause. He could tell Kyle was struggling to find words to express his thoughts.
Kyle’s facial muscles quivered while grinding his teeth. After swallowing twice, Kyle finally whispered, “We can get them in one trip. Three of them were children.”
God help us.
Children.
HUNTING SEASON ENDS - Saturday - December 20th – 2:00 p.m.
Shaun Kilpatrick finished loading up his trophy buck, securing it to the back of his four-wheeler. The morning cold had been vanquished by warm sunshine. Taking off his gloves to finish tightening the rope, Shaun was thankful his fingers were no longer frozen. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Emmett Jefferies would be so jealous when they rolled up to camp. The buck was Shaun’s last tag for the season and Jefferies had yet to shoot one.
“What’s so funny?” Jared Starkson asked.
“Oh, just picturin’ the look of irritation on Emmett’s face. He’s gonna be pissed I won our bet.”
Jared laughed and it sounded louder than normal in the quiet woods. “You may have won, but I guarantee you he ain’t gonna pay up. The man’s tighter than a virgin’s asshole.”
“True, but you know, it ain’t about the money anyway. At least, not for me. I just love makin’ him mad.”
“Yeah, I get that. You ain’t changed none all these years. You’re worse than an old woman, holdin’ onto a grudge for somethin’ that happened ages ago.”
Shaun snorted. “You’d be singin’ a different tune had Emmett porked your girlfriend on prom night. In your own car.”
“Probably. The difference between the two of us is I wouldn’t still hang out with the douchebag. And I wouldn’t be a cop, either, since I’d have a felony arrest record for assault. I’da beat the fucker to a pulp.”
“Like I said, I enjoy tormentin’ him every chance I get. You know, showin’ him how much more of a man I am than he is. Tormentin’ lasts much longer than a beat-down.”
Jared shook his head and climbed onto his four-wheeler. “Ah, the age old ‘my dick is bigger than your dick’ game. Gotcha. Say, while we’re on the subject of tormentin’ others, want to explain to me why you haven’t kicked Craig out of the club yet? I mean, we’re riskin’ a lot by havin’ him here. What if he slipped and brought some shit here? We could lose our jobs.”
“You really suck as a friend sometimes. Craig just lost his way after Sabrina died. Would you still be as harsh with your criticism of Craig if it was the bottle he hit—like you tend to do—rather than coke?”
“Doesn’t matter because that ain’t what happened. Booze is legal to buy. Coke ain’t. End of story.”
“Craig’s been clean for three months now, so stop worryin’. He needs the support of his friends, not condemnation.”
“Will you use that same argument with the Chief? If so, I guarantee you it won’t work. You gotta let that thin skin of yours toughen up and stop bein’ so nice to others who can fuck up your world in a flash. That’s why, after we get back to camp, I’m headin’ home. Already got enough meat for the rest of the year, and I don’t want to tempt the fates any longer. Craig’s a liability.”
Ignoring the taunt, Shaun settled on his own machine after taking a picture of the fifteen-point buck. He clicked over to Facebook and tried to upload it, but nothing happened. The little blue ball in the corner continued to turn. “Damn woods! No cell service.”
“You and social media. You’re almost as obsessed with it as you are with Marian. Oh, and speakin’ of her, what’s goin’ on with you two? Rumor around town is your unit’s been seen at her office several times in the last week. Please tell me that’s not true. I can’t take any more of your bitchin’ about her shenanigans.”
Shaun grimaced at the mention of his estranged wife. “Gee, and I thought that’s what friends are for. Guess I was wrong. As I mentioned, your friendship skills are sorely lackin’.”
“Give me a break. I’ve endured way above my quota of listenin’ to you dissect your relationship. You married fools are the reason I stay single. You said after she whored around and got knocked up by another, the marriage was over. What’s changed now? Did she learn how to give a better blow job or agree to a three-way?”
A flame of anger ignited in Shaun’s gut. “Watch it, Starkson. That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about. We’re workin’ things out. We have no choice.”
Jared raised an inquisitive brow. “There are always choices, Shaun. What…oh, shit. Please tell me it ain’t yours?”
The anger from seconds ago dimmed as Shaun recalled the last discussion he had with Marian and her gynecologist. He hadn’t told a soul about the results of the DNA test since he found out two days ago. In a low whisper, Shaun replied, “Yeah, it’s mine.”
Jared’s dark brown eyes widened in shock. “Oh, shit. That does change things. If it were me, I’d already skedaddled out of town.”
Shaun let out a huff of air. “I was so shocked when I found out, a kitten could’ve knocked me over. I’d convinced myself it wasn’t mine. Still sort of numb about the whole thing. Can’t believe I’m gonna be a dad.”
“Wow—me either. You’re a better man than me, Kil. Even if it was my bun in the oven, not sure I’d want to turn on the stove someone else has been cookin’ at.”
Despite the intense subject matter, Shaun couldn’t stop himself from laughing. His best friend since second grade had a sick sense of humor. “That’s why you’re the whore-dog and I’m the loyal retriever.”
“So, when does this little bundle of joy arrive?”
“Due date is January 26th. Oh, and in case you’re interested, it’s a girl.”
Jared let out a low whistle. “Let’s hope she takes after the loyal retriever side of the tree, not the—”
“Enough, Jared. Again, that’s my wife and child you’re talkin’ about,” Shaun grumbled.
The conversation ended when gunfire broke the silence of the woods. The sounds of weapons discharging were common during deer season and wasn’t the reason they both froze. What transformed the two friends from carefree hunters back to concerned cops was the amount, followed by the screams of grown men.
Exchanging glances with Jared, Shaun saw the worry he felt on the inside beaming across Jared’s face. They fired up their rides and flew through the woods back toward camp, which was several miles away.
Shaun topped the hill and stopped, turning off his four-wheeler. Jared did the same. “Let’s go in on foot.”
They both reached for their rifles and dismounted, creeping through the dense underbrush toward the encampment. Shaun and Jared had spent every hunting season in the same woods for over twenty years and knew every inch of the area.
The woods were bathed in complete silence. No chirps from birds or squirrels, not even the usual din of insects. As they picked their way closer, Shaun strained his ears for any sound. The gunshots had ceased, as well as the screaming. The stillness was almost more terrifying than the noise.
When they reached the edge of the camp, their original concerns morphed into fear.
The camping chairs surrounding the fire pit were all overturned, food and utensils left where they’d been dropped. Impressions in the dirt indicated a lot of activity.
“What the hell?” Shaun muttered.
Jared crept over and let his hand hover inches above the ashes. “Cold. Been out for a while.”
Shaun stepped over to the front porch, drawn to the disemboweled torso of the twelve-point buck Craig Jackson shot earlier. The thing had been ripped to pieces and strewn from end to end of the fifty-foot porch. Nothing was left of it but skin, antlers, and bone.
Glancing up, Shaun searched the area and counted all the vehicles. Sixteen—just like when they left—yet none of their hunting buddies were around. A cell phone was face-up on the ground, the edges coated in blood. Peering closer, he noticed the last number diale
d was 9-1-1.
The front door to the eight-room cabin they all shared was wide open. Several sets of bloody footprints led inside. The bay window had been shot out, the shattered glass glistened in the afternoon sun.
“All their buggies are still here, too,” Jared whispered from Shaun’s right.
The hair on Shaun’s neck stood erect when something gold and shiny caught his eye.
Then another.
And another.
The empty shell casings left a trail from the front porch into the interior. Shawn snapped his fingers and pointed. Jared’s face blanched when he saw the vast amount of spent ammunition and blood spatter.
Both men went into cop mode. They swept the cabin, keeping their steps tight and quiet as they followed the trail of bullets and blood. When they reached the back door in the kitchen, bloody hand prints on the floor, walls, and doorknob greeted them.
Along with an open door and a strange, chomping sound from the left on the back porch.
Shaun recognized the noise first and mouthed, “Bear?”
Jared looked at the amount of blood pooled on the floor by the back door and shrugged his shoulders.
Holding up his fist, the signal to remain still, Shaun took a long step backward. He peered out the small kitchen window to get a better view out back. Fearing his fellow hunters had been victims of a four-legged predator, he needed to see exactly what they were dealing with—and how many. Black bears were abundant in the area, and maybe a family of them had stumbled upon…
Time froze the minute Shaun’s brain registered the incoming signals from his eyes. A wave of dizziness hit him. Hard. For a second, he saw double of the disgusting sight.
Craig, what are you doing? Why are you eating Frank’s stomach?
Unable to contain his thoughts, Shaun muttered, “No way.”
Jared took one step forward toward Shaun’s position and whispered, “What is it?”
It was the last words Officer Jared Starkson, the forty-three-year-old best friend of Shaun Allen Kilpatrick, would ever say.
Because the second the sentence left his mouth, Craig Jackson burst into the kitchen and landed on top of Jared. Both men fell to the ground, Jared’s gun clattering across the floor. In shock, Shaun hesitated for a split second before firing. The bullet ripped through Craig’s shoulder, but didn’t stop him.
Jared’s screams gurgled to a stop when Craig opened his bloody mouth and latched on to Jared’s windpipe, tearing it out with one bite. Jets of red arterial blood shot from the wound almost two feet in the air, coating Shaun’s legs and the kitchen floor in seconds.
Taking a deep breath, Shaun took aim and fired again, this time hitting Craig’s thigh. Blood and flesh burst from the wound, yet Craig never gave any indication he felt a thing.
Jared was no longer fighting to survive. His limbs were convulsing from the enormous loss of blood. Shaun knew only seconds remained before Jared died, so he chambered another round and blew Craig’s head off.
And Jared’s, after the bullet exited Craig’s skull and entered his best friend’s.
“Oh Jesus—oh, Jesus! What in the hell?” Shaun muttered while staring at the bloody mess in front of him. He couldn’t grasp the fact he just killed two friends with one shot.
Shaun’s question was answered by the appearance of Frank Wilson’s mangled body. Unable to walk since both sets of thigh muscles were gone, Frank pulled himself into the kitchen by grabbing onto the edge of the door. Shaun felt his stomach juices burn the back of his throat when he noticed a thick smear of intestines and blood left in Frank’s wake.
Frozen in horror and shock, Shaun couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Frank’s eyes were solid black. A strange pattern of blue lines covered his face and exposed arms. It reminded Shaun of a road map.
Shaun’s wits returned after Frank opened his mouth and let out a spine-chilling growl.
On autopilot, Shaun raised his rifle and fired. The bullet pierced Frank’s skull just above the bridge of his nose. With one last gurgle, Frank’s head slammed into the wood floor with a loud thump.
Noise outside caught Shaun’s attention. Stepping over the corpses on the kitchen floor, rifle steady, he looked out the open door.
Unable to form words, Shaun’s mouth went limp at the sea of blood and flesh littering the backyard. Fourteen bodies in various states of dismemberment were strewn across the dead, dried leaves. The ground gleamed crimson underneath the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. The only way he could tell they were his friends and hunting buddies was by their torn clothing.
When he realized two half-eaten bodies were still moving, Shaun was hit with another bout of dizziness.
Stepping back into the main part of the cabin, Shaun forced his fingers to quit shaking so he could extract his cell. He needed to call for help and prayed the sporadic cellular service would work.
It didn’t. He was greeted by a robotic, droning voice: “We’re sorry. All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.”
“That’s for land lines, not cell towers!” Shaun roared into the mouthpiece.
With no choice left but to leave and get help—or at least, get closer to a functioning cell tower—Shaun pulled his keys from his pocket. Adrenaline pumped through his muscles and he ran out the front door, across the yard, and to his truck. Nerves on edge and mind spinning, he fumbled to get the door open.
Once inside the cab, he set his rifle in the seat next to him and tried to stick the keys in the ignition. They slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floorboard. “Dammit!”
Bending down to retrieve them, the weird grunting sound he heard Craig mumble earlier hit him. It was coming from his right. Snatching the keys from the floor, he shoved them into place and the engine roared to life. The growing sense of dread didn’t stop him from glancing over to the passenger window.
“Holy fuck!”
The once-familiar face of Martin Lawson stared back at him through the glass, his eyes the same as the others. The ebony nothingness was like staring into the pit of Hell. Martin’s white cheekbones and the upper part of his teeth where the soft flesh had been ripped off, were visible. The sickening sight was like a magnet, pulling all of Shaun’s attention to the gore. The pull broke when Martin’s bloodied hands slammed against the window, making the glass crack.
“Enough of this shit! I’m outta here!”
Slamming the truck into reverse, Shaun tromped the gas. In seconds, he was on the narrow, dirt road leading him away from the carnage at deer camp. He never let up on the gas, making the three-mile, bumpy journey to Highway 270 in record time. The gravity of the situation left tears sliding down his cheeks. Inside the quiet cab, Shaun offered up silent prayers for the dead.
After about four miles, he tried the phone again and got the same results.
Willie’s Pit-Stop was less than half-a-mile away and Shaun knew he could use their phone. He pushed his Ford F-150 hard, zooming down the empty two-lane highway at over ninety. Jerking the wheel, he pulled into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. He left his truck running, jumped out, and ran inside.
“Malvern police, official business. Need to use your phone,” Shaun yelled, looking around the quiet store for an employee. He was greeted by silence while making his way to the counter. “Hello?”
Gut instincts, honed from years of being on the force, kicked Shaun right in the stomach. He slowed his pace and inched toward the counter, eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. Less than three feet away from the cash register, he smelled it. The thick odor of copper and the stink of bowels made Shaun hold his breath.
Death.
The floorboards creaked underneath his weight as Shaun stepped over and peeked behind the counter. His ragged breath caught in his throat.
There wasn’t much left of the old man. Willie’s snow white hair looked as though it had been dipped in a can of red paint. The cavity meant to hold internal organs was nothing more than strips of flesh and rib bones. Clutched in h
is right hand was a Ruger, a spent shell casing resting near his head, a gaping hole on the other side.
God, I hope you blew your brains out before…
Backing up, Shaun moved over to the cash register where an ancient, black rotary phone sat. It had been in the same place since he was a boy. Willie Hopkins was too cheap to purchase a new one. Shaun hadn’t seen anyone use the old thing in years. He hoped it still worked.
Picking up the dirty receiver, he winced.
No dial tone.
A grumble rose from the back room Willie used as the office. After what Shaun experienced in the cabin down in Poyen, he didn’t feel the need to see what was making the noise.
He’d bet everything he owned he already knew.
Racing back to his idling truck, Shaun floored the accelerator and headed toward Malvern. Dead, leafless trees zoomed by in a blur of gray as the speedometer neared one-hundred. When he passed the road sign noting Malvern was only five miles, he tried his cell again.
Dead air.
“What in the hell is goin’ on?”
A thousand thoughts raced through Shaun’s mind at almost the same pace as the speeding truck. In minutes, he crossed the city limits, hitting the brakes when he came upon a blockade of military vehicles obstructing the entrance to downtown.
“What in the world?” Shaun muttered, slowing the truck down for a better look.
When he noticed a large group of people covered in blood and gore ambling toward the county jail, some in uniform, some not, Shaun stomped on the gas. He forgot all about Jared, Craig, Frank, Willie, and the others while dodging the dead.
All he could think of at the moment was getting to Marian.
And their unborn daughter.
By the time Shaun drove through town, he knew things were much worse than he imagined back at camp. Hundreds of dead bodies and abandoned vehicles crowded the streets. While dodging them, he realized the rifle in the seat next to him wasn’t near enough protection from whatever was going on.
Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2) Page 7
