Spit and Die

by Jon Athan

  Christopher ran through the archway and stopped near the front door. He stared up at the top of the stairs, horrified. He saw James, bloodied and confused, wrestling with a mutilated woman. The nightmarish visuals caused him to shudder like a frightened pup.

  Before Christopher could bolt into action, James fell over the handrail at the top of the stairs. He landed on his head in the first floor hallway. A bone-crunching thud echoed through the house, followed by the sound of the rattling floorboards. He groaned, hissed, and snorted as he twitched on the floor. Blood leaked from a gash on his forehead and cascaded over his face as he tried to lift his head. He survived the fall, but he couldn't move.

  Christopher staggered back as the woman walked down the stairs. Her mutilated face caused him to shake and mumble. His fingers slipped and slid on the leather sheath as he struggled to draw his hunting knife.

  He stuttered, “Don–Don't... Don't come any closer. Sta–Stay away from me!”

  The woman ignored him as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She walked past Christopher and approached James instead. She towered over her victim as she stared down at him, amused. James mumbled indistinctly, unable to form a comprehensible word. He sought help, that much was obvious.

  Eyes welling over with tears, Christopher cried, “Get away from him! D–Don't hurt him, ma'am. Please, don't hurt us...”

  The woman placed her knee on James' back. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and lifted his head from the floor. James rapidly blinked as he stared at Christopher, begging for a helping hand with his glimmering eyes. Blood streamed across his face and dripped onto the floor from the tip of his nose.

  Christopher's clammy fingers glided over the sheath. He couldn't unbuckle it, he couldn't draw his weapon.

  The woman thrust the scalpel into James' throat. She slowly slid the sharp blade across his neck. She sliced through his Adam's apple, leading the blade to the other side of his neck.

  James coughed and grunted as he gargled his own blood. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, blood poured over his bottom lip, and his legs violently shook.

  In awe, Christopher whispered, “This can't be happening...”

  The woman released her grip on James' hair, causing his face to hit the floor with a loud thud. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and cleaned the scalpel. When she finished, she calmly walked through a doorway under the staircase. The sound of creaky floorboards seeped into the hall as she walked down a flight of stairs and entered her dungeon.

  Christopher stood in shock. In a matter of minutes, he witnessed a brief fight at the top of the stairs and a brutal murder only four meters away from him. Murder—it wasn't like the movies. It was jarring and traumatic. The death of his acquaintance, someone he only knew for a few hours, crushed him, plowing through him like an eighteen-wheeler.

  He slowly approached James' body, tears dripping from his eyes with each blink. He bent over and gently shook James' shoulder, but to no avail—the young man didn't awaken. He looked at his hand with a grimace of disgust. James' blood painted his fingertips red. He had blood on his hands, guilt on his shoulders.

  A roaring buzzing sound emerged from the basement.

  Christopher recognized the sound—a chainsaw. He cried as he staggered away from James' body. He had to abandon James and that fact killed him inside. He didn't have any other options, though. He couldn't wait until the woman caught him. A small hunting knife—which seemed to be trapped in its sheath—couldn't compete with a chainsaw.

  He ran out of the house as the woman walked up the stairs. He ran in place at the bottom of the porch steps as he planned his next move. He thought about retracing his steps and returning to his car, but he didn't want to lead the chainsaw-wielding maniac to his girlfriend. So, he sprinted into a field of dry crops on the right side of the house.

  He could still hear the growling chainsaw inside of the house as he jumped over the dead crops. He slipped and slid on the soil, barely keeping his footing. He struggled to control himself as fear and adrenaline pumped through his body. He felt a warm sensation in his legs. He glanced back at the house and gasped.

  The woman burst through the front door. She stood on the porch and glanced around, frantically searching for Christopher.

  Christopher took a tumble in the field, landing face-first in the dirt. He quickly crawled forward, then he turned around to see what he tripped on. His eyes widened as he spotted two human heads protruding from the soil like common plants. The decomposing heads had thick, droopy gray skin. Some parts of the heads were even missing skin, leaving their skulls exposed.

  Their eyes were gouged out by the crows. Maggots slithered in-and-out of their eye sockets while others squirmed in their gaping mouths. Patches of long hair remained on their heads. Judging from the facial features and hair, it was safe to assume the victims were women—and they were buried from the neck-down.

  His bottom lip quivering, Christopher whispered, “What the fuck is this place?” He glanced up and shouted, “Shit!”

  The woman finally spotted him. She ran down the porch steps, holding the roaring chainsaw over her head.

  Christopher scampered away from the rotting heads. He could only hope his pursuer would trip on the heads and kill herself with the chainsaw. He jumped over another set of dead crops, then he ran into the overgrown grass. He squeezed past a set of shrubs, then he slid to a stop.

  He spotted the abandoned housing development a quarter-mile away. Thanks to the sunlight, he could clearly see the area was desolate. However, the houses still offered him a place to hide. He clenched his jaw and sprinted as fast as possible, exerting all of his energy. He easily outran the maniacal woman, arriving at the housing development in ninety seconds.

  As he jogged across the unpaved street between the houses, Christopher murmured, “No one's home. I have to find a... a... a hiding place. Somewhere she can't see, somewhere she can't reach... Where do I go? Where?”

  He ran through the doorless doorway of a one-and-a-half story house to his left. He found himself in the unfurnished living room of a house. Dust clung to the walls and spiders skittered across the floor, but it was surprisingly clean. He ran towards the staircase to his left. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and whimpered. All of the stairs were broken, snapped and cracked.

  “Damn it,” he muttered.

  Christopher glanced over his shoulder as the growling chainsaw grew louder. He refused to surrender. He entered the kitchen through the archway in the living room. Like the other rooms, the kitchen was unfurnished, so he couldn't find any longer or stronger weapons. The sound of the chainsaw increased in volume as the woman jogged onto the unpaved road.

  Christopher ran out of the house through the back door. He jogged in place as he glanced every which way, hopelessly searching for an escape route. Beyond the pasture, he could see the mountains and hills. He wondered if the murderous woman would chase him until he died or if she'd eventually run out of stamina.

  I can't survive out there, he thought, I don't have any water, I don't have any survival skills.

  His eyes sparkled with hope as he spotted a stack of plywood along the back side of the house. The stack stood a meter tall. He stared at the plywood, then at the gutter, then back at the plywood. A chainsaw could easily rip through the plywood, but the woman wouldn't be able to climb onto the house with the chainsaw.

  He hopped onto the stack of plywood, then he grabbed the gutter. The gutter sounded as if it would break at any moment, groaning and creaking, but he was able to climb onto the roof of the first floor. The sun beating down on his neck, he crawled across the roof and peeked over at the unpaved road below.

  The woman ran out of a house across the street, swinging the chainsaw every which way. She screamed—a blurt of incomprehensible noise. She lost track of Christopher and that frustrated her. She peeked into another house, but she found the same results—nothing. She turned off the chainsaw as she shambled back to the mansion, whimpering lik
e a newborn baby.

  Christopher sighed in relief. He rolled onto his back and stared at the blue sky. He watched as a fluffy cloud sailed across the sky. He held the sheath close to his chest and cried. He thought: if I pulled the knife out, I could have saved him. He held his hands over his face and sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks and mucus dripping from his nostrils. He was stranded on top of the house, forced to fight for survival without a plan.

  Chapter Seven

  The Sheriff

  “Look!” Kiara shouted as she pointed ahead. “It's a car. It's a... It's a cop car! We're saved! Oh, God, we're actually saved!”

  Lucas and Nina walked a few meters behind Kiara, vigilant but curious. The couple leaned to their right and stared over Kiara's shoulder. They peered through the heat haze rising from the sweltering pavement. A man appeared to be sitting on a police cruiser on the side of the road less than half-a-mile away from them.

  Kiara asked, “You see it, right? I'm not going crazy, am I?”

  Lucas smiled and said, “I see it. It's the sheriff.”

  The group shared a sigh of relief. They couldn't help but laugh, too. It wasn't a shared mirage caused by heat exhaustion, it was real. They had walked on the left side of the road for thirty minutes without a single sign of life. The road remained desolate during their entire walk, abandoned by humanity. There weren't many animals around, either. With their limited supply of water, they wouldn't have made it to the nearest town before collapsing.

  They jogged down the side of the road. Kiara jogged ahead of the couple, jumping and screaming for help. Lucas held Nina's hand, making sure she didn't fall behind. As they approached, they could see the sheriff sitting on the hood of the car. Despite their yelling and running, the sheriff remained calm and seated, as if he were bored.

  Out of breath and drenched in sweat, Lucas, Nina, and Kiara stopped in front of the cruiser. Nina and Kiara bent over with their hands on their knees as they wheezed and groaned. His hands on his back, Lucas walked around the women as he caught his breath. He kept his eyes on the sheriff, baffled by his nonchalant demeanor.

  The sheriff wore a long-sleeve tan shirt and olive-green trousers. Pit stains already formed on his shirt. Fortunately, he had an extra in the trunk. His wavy hair protruded from under his beige shade hat. Stubble covered his well-defined jawline. His baby-blue eyes were difficult to read. He was in his late thirties, but he could have passed for much younger. The man was handsome and charming, but he gave off an enigmatic vibe.

  The sheriff didn't seem concerned about the group. He stared down at the handheld speed gun in his right hand as he patiently waited to continue his duty.

  As he recomposed himself, Lucas asked, “Didn't you hear us calling you, man? We... We need help. We woke up, um... one, almost two hours ago and some of our friends were missing. They left their clothes and belongings behind and... and I don't know, man. They're just gone. We need your help.”

  The sheriff stared at Lucas with a deadpan expression. He glanced over at the women, examining them from head-to-toe.

  In a soft voice, the sheriff said, “My name is Micah Wakefield. You can call me 'Micah.' I'm the sheriff around these parts. Since I've never seen you in this county—and, believe me, I know everyone around these parts—I think it would be wise of you to identify yourselves. And, please avoid any sudden movements. We don't want any trouble, do we?”

  Lucas furrowed his brow and shook his head, amazed. He was befuddled by the sheriff's sheer negligence.

  Lucas stuttered, “My–My name is Lucas. This is–”

  “What's your last name?”

  “Santiago. My name is Lucas Santiago. This is my girlfriend, Nina Nakamura.”

  Kiara stepped forward and said, “I'm Kiara Foster.”

  Micah nodded and said, “It's nice to meet y'all. It really is. Now, please, calmly explain your little situation.”

  Lucas said, “I told you: some of our friends are missing. We were tired, so we spent the night on the side of the road. We slept in our cars. When we woke up, my friend, Andrea Stone, was missing.” He pointed at Kiara and said, “Her friend, Carlos, was missing, too. We looked around and, um... Someone cut our tires, so we couldn't drive. Some of our other friends went over to a big house a few miles down the road.”

  Micah pointed behind the group and asked, “That way?”

  “Yeah. They saw some tracks, so they decided to follow 'em to a house we saw back there.”

  Hmm—the sound of contemplation and hesitation slipped past the sheriff's sealed lips. To the group, it sounded like he didn't believe them.

  Micah said, “Please don't get offended by this, I'm just doing my job after all, but I have to ask: have you consumed any drugs in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “No,” Lucas responded. “We're clean, okay? We stayed hydrated, too. We weren't hallucinating or anything like that. This is real, sir.”

  “Good, good. You see, I caught a kid the other week and he told me about a man who took his sister and... and ate her face. It took me a while to get him under control, but I got him—eventually. After I locked him up for his own safety, I investigated his claims. It's my job, as you can see. Well, it turned out the kid was high on bath salts. He ate his sister's face for no apparent reason. He was, um... He was 'tripping,' as they say. So, I don't want you kids bringing that kind of crap to my wholesome town. I won't have it.”

  Lucas removed his cap and dug his fingers into his hair. He turned towards Nina and Kiara. He couldn't help but chuckle, surprised by the sheriff's tangent. People were missing and their lives were in danger, but the sheriff was too busy telling small-town stories to help.

  Lucas turned towards the cruiser and said, “Our friends. We need to find our friends, okay?”

  Micah asked, “Did you try calling them?”

  “They left their phones behind.”

  “Do they have a history of disappearing?”

  “No, not like this. Andrea likes messing around with guys, but she doesn't just disappear. It's different this time. I mean, she wouldn't run off in the middle of our road trip. She wouldn't have anywhere to go.”

  “Okay. I'll humor you for the moment. I don't really have anything else to do anyway. I was only sitting out here waiting to catch a few speeders so I can make some money for our little town. The economy hasn't been treating us well as of late, I hate to say,” Micah said. He stood from the hood of the cruiser. He beckoned to the group and said, “Hop into the back seat of my car. Y'all can lead me to your cars so I can investigate the crime scene and find your friends.”

  Lucas leaned to his right and stared into the interior of the cruiser through the windshield. The cage partition between the front and rear seats was worrisome. By entering the car, they would be relinquishing their freedom and cornering themselves.

  Lucas asked, “Aren't you going to call it in?”

  “Of course I am. I'll call it in while we drive to the scene of the crime.”

  As she stood behind her boyfriend, Nina stuttered, “Wha–What about backup? You–You're going to do this all alone?”

  Again, Micah stared at the group with a steady expression. Their reluctance was suspicious. They asked him for help, but they refused to accept his helping hand.

  Micah said, “Y'all are sounding like you have something to hide. Listen, you're not in Dallas. You're not in Houston, either. I'm the only sheriff in my small town. I have a civilian dispatcher working for me at the station. I can deputize him, but I don't think he'll make much of a difference. He ain't the brightest boy. Now, do you want my help or not?”

  Lucas glanced at Nina, then at Kiara. To his dismay, they looked at him for direction. He was responsible for their well-being. He refused to put Nina in harm's way. Although he barely knew Kiara, he still cared about her safety. He's a sheriff, he thought, he's one of the good guys, he's here to help us.

  Lucas said, “Fine. It's only a few miles down the road.”

  “Alright, let
's get to it,” Micah said.

  As directed, the group squeezed into the back seat. Lucas and Kiara sat in the window seats while Nina sat in between them. The immense heat in the car immediately smothered them.

  As Micah drove onto the road, Lucas leaned forward and asked, “Don't you have some sort of 'missing persons' procedure? Shouldn't you be calling the FBI or something?”

  His eyes locked on the road, Micah said, “I'm going to call it in to my dispatcher. If I find anything I can't handle while I investigate, he'll contact the proper authorities. The situation is under control right now. Besides, if you really want to find your friends, the sooner I get out into the field, the better.”

  Lucas sighed as he sank back into his seat. The sheriff made sense. As Micah grabbed his radio and called his dispatcher, the travelers glanced at each other with worried eyes. They didn't have any other options. They could only wait and see.

  ***

  The police cruiser rolled to a stop near the hatchback. The vehicles remained parked in the same place. The tent still stood a few meters away from the cars. Nothing had changed since the group split ways.

  Micah grabbed his shade hat from the dashboard, then he climbed out the car. He placed the hat on his head as he opened the door next to Kiara.

  The sheriff said, “Come on, climb on out of there. I want y'all to stand in front of my car while I investigate. Please keep your hands in front of you at all times. I don't want any problems from y'all.”

  One-by-one, Kiara, Nina, and Lucas climbed out of the car. They walked to the front of the police cruiser. The sheriff never threatened them, he was pleasant company, but they still feared him. As far as they were concerned, there were no other police officers in the area to control him. He could have been a psychopath with a badge.

  Micah searched the area between the vehicles and the tent, carefully lunging over any potential evidence. He spotted the residue from the bonfire. Crushed beer cans littered the ground around him. He knelt down and inspected a crushed blunt.