The Suicide Society

The Suicide Society

"One. Two. Three. Pull."

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

None of the revolvers went off this time. Neither Frank’s, Jeff’s, Kiev’s, Paula’s nor Jen’s.

"Meeting adjourned. I'll see you all next month then." Frank sighed. His face gave away that he was either jealous or disappointed.

Last meeting, there was only one report. Margaret ended her life with a smile on her face right there at the very table they all sat around. Nobody truly cared about the money up for grabs, they only wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. They were all drawn to the beauty of it all, that final moment when everything ended in a flash of heat and white.

Her body had been taken care of, but as per the rules, the aftermath still lie on the floor, a stinking spray of blood and bone and brain.

Once a month, they would meet and as the games continued, there would be more and more gore in the Proving Room until only one remained. The rules were they would all put in an undisclosed sum of money and the final member would get to keep it all. The only condition was that they must find a new secure place and recruit more members for the game. It was more "honor code" than real “rules”, but they trusted each other. They had no reason not to. They all played fairly.

This was the way of The Suicide Society.

They all kept in touch regularly. When one would want to “play the game” alone, they would talk each other out of it. The game was to be played properly.

Every player had a reason they wanted to play. They all had troubles and obsessions in their lives that they felt they couldn't handle. When the medicines and psychiatric help did nothing, they all found their way to the Society one way or another.

Paula was introduced to the club through the wonders of the internet. While perusing through various macabre chat rooms based around horror and murder and suicide, she’d met up with a random user. They became friends, regularly talking about how life sucked and joking about how they should set up a murder-suicide pact just to show them all.

Paula had always been the depraved sort who got a rush from cutting herself, letting the blood run until she became light headed. She’d done it since she was a young teen. She’d even been hospitalized for it several times when friends or family walked in on her unconscious and bleeding on the floor. Her near-death experiences became an obsession. A sexual obsession. “La petit mort” was to her the meaning of life and coming so close to death made it all that much more pleasurable. After every game she would be a little wet, her face flush. Every round got her closer. She masturbated the day Margaret died. She couldn't wait for her turn. She wondered if the moment the bullet passed through her skull she would have her final and most beautiful orgasm; her moment of infinite joy and pleasure.

Her online friend who brought the game to her attention, Kiev403, had a much more grounded view of the subject. He’d always wanted to die. The problem was, he was too chicken shit to do it himself. When he found Paula online, he’d found a friend he felt could help push him to finally end it proper. He’d made attempts, though half-assed. He’d swallowed pills. He’d slit his wrists several times, but never deep enough to result in anything but a small puddle of blood, a night full of sobbing and a morning full of mopping. He hoped and prayed that Paula’s love of death and dying would help him find the strength to end his own suffering.

He told her the very day he found out about The Suicide Society. He told her he’d overheard a couple girls talking about it. It was only a town or two over and it was a small gathering, but it was real. It existed. It took them a few weeks to sniff it out, but when they did, the last game had just ended and they were allowed to join rather easily. The two girls no longer played. They had lost. At the time, there was only Frank. And Frank welcomed them with open arms.

Jen had been a drug user for decades. She’d been through rehab enough times to have a room reserved for her at the facility. She’d tried many drugs: crack, pcp, copious amounts of alcohol, but her drug of choice was heroin. She was barely functional when she first began the “game”. Jen joined because she believed there was no other way for her to get off the junk. She had nothing to offer the world and her using was hurting as much as it made her feel good. She hated it. She hated herself. The game was the only thing that kept her sober. If she was going to end it, she wanted to feel what she could, not be fucked up when the barrel lit up.

Jeff was an exception to the group. He may not have cared about the pot or had any real troubles in his life. He was ex-military and only wanted to prove he was tough, not afraid of shit. He hated Kiev and Paula’s perverse obsessions with the concept of death. He hated Jen as well, simply because she was a drug addict. He found all of the members of the group weak. Jeff was the only one who didn’t jump or flinch when Margaret died. Margaret. He actually didn’t hate her. She had lived a genuinely hard life. Jeff had, for a time, gotten somewhat close to her. Learned her story more than the rest of them.

She was a simple housewife for a time until she lost her family. Her husband cheated on her repeatedly and when she finally had the balls to try to turn the tables on him, he’d already hired a private investigator to keep tabs on her. She was caught in the act. He had pictures and plenty of them. Pictures of her driving into an apartment complex at night. Pictures of her kissing her man on the side. Pictures of his penis in her mouth. She was caught dead to rights.

Normally, Jeff would have detested such actions, but he had something of an understanding. While he was shipped off, his wife cheated on him as well. The only difference was they didn’t have children, luckily. He’d found out after he got out of the service. She called him a chicken shit, a coward. The irony was he’d spent the last six years fighting for his country, most of that time overseas. She’d spent that time hiding out and shacking up with another man almost as soon as he’d left.

He wanted to file for divorce, but she, being the coward she was, didn’t want to give up the income, the stability. So he did the next best thing and shot the both of them mid-coitous. He’d lucked out and followed them to an empty park. He made it look like a simple mugging gone awry. The cops never found out. The killing gave him a rush, much like when he was overseas, but it just didn’t feel the same. He didn’t have much of anything to worry about, even when the cops came banging on his door. He was quickly acquitted due to lack of evidence.

After that, he needed to keep the rush going, so he started hanging around dangerous areas at night. Ganglands, seedy night clubs, etc. Places your average person would not be caught after dark. Jeff learned about the game after a particularly gruesome bar fight. A well-dressed, but unshaven man approached him as he huffed and puffed, catching his breath after beating a man nearly to death with only his fists. At first, Jeff thought this man was questioning his actions, but soon learned he was giving him the ultimate test. He was giving him a chance to prove his lack of fear. He thanked Frank and they met up at the next gathering.

Finally, Frank. Frank was always cool and level-headed at these meetings. When Jeff would lambaste Kiev for sobbing before playing, he would calm him. When Paula got out of hand with her sexuality after each game, he would talk her down, though a few times after everyone had left, he’d fucked her right there on the table. He was the mastermind behind the last few rounds of games. There was always a look of seriousness in his eyes. A look that said I want to win. In a way, he did tend to win. He’d gotten the money before and threw some back into the pot for the next round of players. But like everyone else, he was there for a reason. Nobody quite knew his story, though.

Frank always gave the others time to let out their aggression and stress before the games began. He knew a shaking hand led to misfiring, which they wanted to avoid. At one time, a player, similar in spirit to Kiev, accidentally shot another when his gun went off. It was all they could do to not turn their guns on him and open fire themselves. Frank remembered it perfectly. It was his first round of the game.

As another month passed, things played out as per the norm. Kiev and Paula spent most of their time together. Kiev smoked pot to calm himself as he watched Paula cut. They would occasionally have sex or watch each other masturbate.

Jen did well to fight her urges to get high. She sat at home most days spinning the cylinder of her .38 Special. Watching the chambers pass like cels in a film reel. Sometimes she debated the relevancy of the group. Wondered if it was even worth it to wait. But she understood it wasn't just about her. Not anymore.

Jeff needed an outlet for his anger. He still frequented the bars. He still fought.

Nobody knew what Frank did with his time. They only knew he would contact them when it was time and they had to make sure they were ready, self-destructive habits or not.

When the next round of the game began, they each arrived shortly after the other. Jen was the first through the doors of the “Proving Room”. Frank, as usual, sat at the head of the table, his own .38 special sat in front of him. The lamp hanging overhead gave him an eerie look. He wore, as always, a nice, dark blue three piece suit. His short, but tousled brown hair shined in the light, but his face was darkened, shadowed. When he looked up at her, she was able to see more of his face, though his eyes and sharp features were still shadowed. “Glad you could make it,” was all he said. She pulled up a seat and drew her revolver from her pocket and sat it in front of her and waited patiently for the rest to show.

Jeff showed next. As always, he slammed the door upon entry. He looked rough. His days of fighting and hating seemed to be catching up with him, but there was no sign of slowing down. His firearm wasn't just a simple .38 Special like the rest. He carried a .44 Remington Magnum. He was a fan of Inspector Callahan.

Kiev and Paula showed last and loudest. Paula cackled her way up to and through the door as they entered. Kiev stank of marijuana smoke, red-eyed. Jen sneered at the sight of them. Every time she saw them, she liked them less and less. Not that it mattered. Everything would be done soon.

After a few moments of letting the giggling to die down, Frank finally spoke up, “So. We all made it back. That’s wonderful.” They all looked his way. Kiev seemed to barely be able to turn his head. His eyes were almost closed, he was so high. Paula still snickered. Jen suspected she was high as well. Or drunk.

“Do we really gotta listen to these dumb fucks over here?” Jeff slammed his palms on the table and shot up out of his seat. He was already becoming infuriated with their antics.

Frank calmly, but sternly responded, “Let them have their jollies. We’re not here to spite each other, we’re here to play the game. Besides, what’s more important: shutting them up or getting through this?”

Jeff bit his lip and slowly sat back down, “I’d just rather enjoy some peace of mind beforehand. Just in case, ya know?”

“Agreed,” Jen chimed in, looking back at Paula and Kiev, “I do my best to stay clean for this shit and these lowlifes come barging in reminding me of the past that brought me here in the first place. It just doesn’t seem fair.” She turned to Frank. His face was still shaded by the light. He hadn’t moved an inch since she got there. It freaked her out a little, “But I guess the quicker we finish this, the better.”

Finally, Frank’s face changed. He smiled. A toothy grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. Even Paula became quiet at this point. Something about Frank just seemed to freak them all out. Maybe it was his experience with the game or perhaps it was just something else. Something more sinister.

Without another word, Frank produced a small satchel from beneath the table. Nobody had noticed it when they entered. It was dark underneath and they were more interested with their own affairs. He tossed it on the table. “Paula. Kiev.”

Paula grabbed the satchel and dumped the contents out in front of herself and her friend. two more .38 Specials and a handful of rounds. Whatever had put the giggles in her before, at that moment, was whisked away in that one motion. “Each of you take one.” They silently obeyed. Kiev didn't seem quite as stoned as before, but it was still obvious he wasn't sober.

Frank reached into the inner pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a single bullet. “Everybody take one from the table. Jeff, I’m assuming you brought your own, correct?”

Jeff nodded. He then reached at the back of his trousers and pulled out his ever over-compensating .44 Remington Magnum. He popped open the cylinder and pushed the ejector rod. 6 sizable rounds fell onto the table in front of him. He laid the revolver on the table next to them.

“Good. I see we’re all ready to play, correct?” They all nodded solemnly. Even Kiev was at full attention. His eyes were still blood-shot. He still stunk. “Today we’re going to play a little bit differently. Today we are taking partners.” A confused, slightly agitated look washed over the group, “I take it there are some questions?”

Visibly most annoyed, Jeff spoke up, “Yeah, like what the fuck are you talking about? There’s only five of us!” The rest of the group looked around at each other nervously and then back to Jeff then to Frank who was grinning still. Kiev began to shake.

“I understand that, Jeff, but I also understand that there is some serious animosity going on between some of you. I know you won’t disagree with that. What I am offering is a chance to quell some of that hatred and return things to a more...amicable atmosphere.”

Jen immediately glanced at Paula, whose eyes were still glued on Frank. “So then who will your partner be?” Paula spake. Frank’s head tilted slightly as he turned towards her. “You. And Jen.” The two looked at each other with anger and disdain and Jen was the first to speak up, “What the fuck?! Are we gonna have a Mexican stand-off or something?”

Frank chuckled under his breath a little, “Something like that.” He turned to Jeff, “Do you have a problem working with Kiev?” Jeff stared down his nose at the stoned, scared little man that cowered in his chair across the table from him. “Nah, I’d love to shoot that little bitch in the head with ol’ Callahan here,” he patted his gun.

“Kiev? Problem?” Kiev had begun to tear up, “Fuck yeah! Why do I get that meat head?? Why can’t I have Paula? I need Paula!” Jeff shook his head at him, “What a little bitch.”

Paula and Jen began to squabble about their “partnership” as well, each trying to argue over the other. “I don’t wanna work with this cunt!” “Fuck you!” “Fuck your mother!” It seemed as though things were going to come to blows had it not been for the single gunshot that startled everyone, shutting them all up at once. Frank had stood without anyone noticing and fired a shot into the ceiling.

“If we’re all done bickering, I’d like to get this over with. I would have thought we could be a more...adult about it, but seems I may have been wrong.” Jen and Paula looked down at their hands. Kiev wiped his eyes. Jeff still stared down his nose at Kiev. Frank sat back down. His grin returned. “Now, everyone load one round into your gun and spin.”

As the rest of the group loaded their one round, Frank unloaded his revolver. He tossed the spent shell onto the floor. The hollow brass tinkling resonated throughout the dimly lit room. He then set it back onto the table and then reached back into the other side of his sport coat. Paula and Jeff were the first to finish with their revolvers, so they patiently watched, expecting Frank to pull another round, only to watch him brandish another .38 revolver. He set it on the table and reached back into his inner pocket, pulling two rounds this time. He placed the bullets gently on the table, standing them on their primers. He then picked up his first gun and reloaded it with one of the bullets.

He put the round back into his .38 Special and spun the chamber, slamming it into place after a couple seconds. He did the same for his second gun. Both then laid nose-to-nose on the table. Kiev had just finished shakily loading his. “Now. Are we ready?” Frank looked around the table. The group was mostly steel-eyed. Kiev’s eyes were glossy and sad.

They were ready.

Frank as ready to get the proceedings moving forward. He instucted Kiev and Jeff to bring their chairs closer together. They would put a gun to each other’s head and wait.

He instructed Paula and Jen to stay where they were and point their firearms at his head. With a grin, he donned his two .38’s and trained them back at each woman. “I know this is a bit unconventional, but admit it, it’s thrillling, isn’t it?” Frank spat as each of the members shakily trained their guns.

“One.”

Kiev sniffled.

“Two.”

Jeff cracked his neck.

“Three.”

Paula giggled nervously.

“Pull.”

Three of the six guns exploded in unison. Jeff’s was the loudest. Blood, brain and hair sprayed around the room. Jeff, Kiev and Paula each fell to the floor at almost the exact same time. The expressions on their faces differed greatly.

Kiev held a sad, surprised look on what was left of his face. Jeff, though now dead, looked as angry as ever. Paula stiffened as she fell, as if she’d experienced the feeling she’d hoped for -- that final erotic release as she died.

As the bodies simultaneously slammed into the floor, Frank and Jen still had their respective guns pressed to each other’s head. Jen’s hand shook violently. Frank stayed trained on her, still calm. He lay the spent revolver on the table. “We’re the only ones left now. How do you feel?” He grinned.

“I--I…” Jen tried to reply, but the words clotted in her throat. Her once steel resolve had in that instant, flashed away with the report of the primer, the drop of the corpses. Suddenly, she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted anymore. Perhaps this wasn't the way she wanted to go. But she was in too deep now, there was no turning back.

Both she and Frank finally lowered their weapons at the same time.

“I know what you’re thinking…” he stared directly into her eyes, “I was there once, too.  I was scared and wasn't sure what to expect. Wasn't sure what I wanted. I was afraid this wasn't the way I wanted to die, like I was due for something different. Then something changed.”

Jen’s shakiness began to calm, “What was it?” Frank reached into his coat pocket and once again produced a single bullet. Holding the single round in the light, he began to twist it between his fingers, as if he were examining it, “I thought about all those who’d lost the game, or won, depending on how you look at it. I thought about all those who’d laid at my feet oozing with blood and gore. Jen, what changed was I was the last one. I was the sole survivor of that game and then it hit me: what if this really was it?  What if at this point, there wasn't anything else? Could you live with that if it were true?”

“That’s why you continue on?” Her voice was a combination of fear and intrigue with a touch of pity. “Yes,” Frank replied, “I do this because a part of me, a strong part of me, doesn't want to stop until it’s over. Do you understand?”

Jen nodded. She then slowly reached for a round from the table. Frank still seemed entranced by the bullet at his fingertips. “Are you ready for the final dance?”

Jen loaded the bullet into her revolver. “Yes.” Her eyes were focused on Frank. Her inner strength found its way to the surface once again. Frank loaded his round into his own revolver. His eyes met Jen’s. Almost as if rehearsed, they spun their respective chambers at the same moment and slowly brought their guns to each other’s head.

“One,” Frank spoke.

“Two.” A bead of sweat rolled down Jen’s temple to her chin.

“Three.” They both pulled the trigger.

Disclaimer: Suicide is not a joke and this story is not meant to glorify it in any way. If you or someone you know suffers from depression and has shown signs of suicidal tendencies, please have them call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline @ 1 800 273 8255

Bandit

The plastic bottle clacked against the floor letting out a hollow, echoing yell. The final drops of liquid splashed out onto the concrete floor of the empty and abandoned corner mart. Raul still had his full  canteen, so he wasn't worried about the lost container. He needed to save space for more important provisions.

Looking out the large, broken plate glass window, he could see the sun was beginning to set. He had only about an hour and a half of daylight left to search for more supplies. He had been running low on food more than anything and needed to restock badly. The store he had come across looked as though it had been picked clean a while ago. Trash and empty containers littered the floor along with dried, sticky silhouettes of past spills, dirt and a pile of refuse he decided not to get any closer to than he had to.

He hadn't seen anyone around for days and decided it wasn't a necessity to practice stealth. After imbibing another of the few remaining drink products in the store, he noisily began to work his way through the store aisles, looking for anything else that he might be able to stuff into his bag. A couple dirty chocolate bars, an old bag of corn chips and some spearmint chewing gum were all he could find. It wasn't much, but it was much better than nothing. The diffused rays of the sun moved through the broken hanging glass and further up the floor to the golden swathed walls of the back of the store. He estimated there may be another forty minutes of light left.

Raul took his time sifting through his possessions. He mentally cataloged the scrounged foodstuffs as well as his canteen of water, a small bottle of scotch, some rope, a knife and a revolver. There were only three bullets remaining in the revolver. He knew it would take some time before he could find more ammo, so he'd need to use his cunning more than ever.

As the last of the daylight began to drain away, Raul made one last sweep of the corner store. He found a package of bandages and painkillers under a rack and some jerky that had been tossed away and hidden under a pile of emptied boxes. His mouth salivated at the peppered strips of dried meat, but he knew with the sun going down, he needed to find a spot for the night. Even without much human contact, there were still dangers to deal with: wild animals, exposure, sharp rocks, etc. He rarely traveled at night unless it was necessary.

Raul figured he could hole up in the back of the store for the night since it had been so quiet recently. He pulled a few racks in front of the broken window just to provide a little extra security. You could never be too careful these days. The double doors were already locked and covered.

As the last of the sun's rays disappeared over the horizon, Raul made his way to the back of the store. The office was in shambles; more looters had picked it clean. No money, nothing useful. Just old dried out pens, faded receipts and a rolling chair, toppled over some time ago and coated with dust and dirt. As Raul was clearing himself a spot on the floor to lay down, he noticed another door just outside the office, hidden behind piles of boxes and racks.

Yeah, ain't nothing gettin' in here without me knowin' about it, he thought to himself. There were no windows in the back and the door to the office had been broken off its hinges a long time ago. Laying his travel sack on the floor, he sat beside it, back to the wall. His stomach rumbled painfully. He knew better than to gobble up the food he had available so he took out a lone piece of jerky, about the size of the palm of his hand. The cured meat tasted so delicious. More so than the stale water from his canteen, but he knew he needed to do what he had to to survive. Soon he lay his head down on the travel bag and covered himself with his duster for warmth. It was uncomfortable, but he still hoped to get a few hours of sleep before the morning came.

Within a few minutes, Raul had nodded off.

It was a few hours later that the he was awoken suddenly by the sound of a muffled shuffling. Though it was pitch black, he was still able to quietly reach into his pack and retrieve his gun. He knew the knife would probably be more adequate, given the lack of expendable ammo, but he wanted to be sure that whatever was in there wasn't moving when he was finished with it. He crept out of the pitch black office room, peering around the corner of the door, hoping that there was enough moonlight to see. There was barely enough to make out a lone silhouette rummaging through the scattered boxes and refuse he had been through just hours before. As he watched, he could make out minor details about the body looting the store: he moved with a limp, he was slow--he limped through a direct ray of moonlight--, and he was old. Easy picking.

Click. Raul cocked and raised the gun. "Don't move." He could still see enough to know he had the gun trained on the invader, center mass. There was no escape.

"Don't shoot! I'm just hungry. I'm looking for food for my wife and kids." The old man's voice was rough, but full of life.

"Why the hell'd you pick this place?" Raul inquired.

"Why'd you? Why'd anyone else? Look, can we get past the stupid questions and just part ways here?"

Raul was growing impatient, "What's your name, old man?"

"Loomis." His answer was short and to the point.

"Well, Loomis, today ain't exactly your lucky day. I want you to turn around slowly and face away from my voice." He did as commanded, but with a heavy sigh. "Good dog. Now put your hands on your head and interlace your fingers." Raul was invoking a police program he had caught while looting another store a year or so ago. He had never had a chance to use it as most interactions involved either himself or the other parting running for their lives early on. Loomis complied with Raul's command slowly, but without hesitation. "Good, now start backing up this way. No funny business." Just as Raul spoke, Loomis broke into a slightly hobbled run toward the far end of the store lobby. The remaining standing racks blocked Raul's aim. Raul chased after the looter through the darkness, able and willing to kill if needed. He caught up to Loomis quickly before he was able to tear down any of the racks covering the windows.

Grabbing Loomis by the shoulder, Raul spun him around and clocked him in the jaw with the butt of his gun. The old man spilled to the ground, blood and spittle landed in a small patch of moonlight, a tooth clattered on the floor. "Unf!" was all Loomis could make out before his world became completely black.

When he came to, the sun was already shining through the stacked racks in the window. Loomis opened his eyes to see Raul kneeling over him, nibbling a piece of jerky. "How'd you get in here, anyway? The doors were blocked and the only windows are still covered." Raul stared at the old man. His face was just as rough as his voice; dirty with a stubbly, graying 5 o' clock shadow.

"You forgot the bathrooms," Loomis replied. "There's a busted window in the men's."

Raul could kick himself. He'd forgot to check the bathrooms in his haste to find sustenance. "Shit. But anyway, why're you here? This place is taken."

"You think I would've come in if I knew I was gonna get pistol whipped by some smelly bandit? I told you before, I'm just looking for food for my family back at the Hole." He tried to get up, then realizing his hands were tied up behind his back. The swelling in his face began to throb as he spoke, "Now, if you'd untie me, I'll be on my way. Already got a damn bum knee."

"What's 'the Hole'"

"My home. Why do you care? Gonna rob it? Nothin' there you'd want." Loomis spat.

"We'll see. Get up." Raul hooked an arm under Loomis's and pulled him up by his shoulder.

Raul drug the racks from the broken plate glass window and with an air of mockery gestured "after you" to Loomis. The old man complied and snaked his way through a clean spot on the window frame, falling out the other side and landing on his shoulder. Raul quickly followed.

"Which way, old man?" Loomis at first refused to comply. The pistol was quickly drawn and placed to his head. "This way," he reluctantly informed. "Just don't shoot. I just wanna see my family again, 'kay?"

"Fair enough. Do as I say and you'll be fine and they won't starve."

"Certainly." Raul couldn't tell if the old scavenger was being facetious or genuine. He didn't really care, though. All that mattered was finding a guaranteed shelter and making it his own.

They spent half a day traveling due east. Over hills and through some woods. The entire time, Loomis's hands were bound behind his back. The entire time, Raul's gun was trained on the old man. The entire time, they were both starving. Raul's stomach rumbled. "Look, we're getting closer to the Hole, but we need to stop and eat first or we won't make it."

Raul by this point was irritable and short with Loomis, "If you need food so bad, why the fuck'd you come all this way out from your home and family?? You think I wanna share what little I have with the likes of you?" He pressed the gun deep into his back, letting him know he meant business.

Loomis jumped forward a little, "Look, you share with me and I'll share with you, Hoss. Just slow down with that gun play there, 'kay?"

"Share what?" Raul was intrigued by the old man's statement.

"I haven't been completely forthright. I'm sure you understand, right? Anyway, I wouldn't have gone so far if we were completely out of everything. There's still some food and supplies back home. I'd be willing to share whatever you need if you just let up on the hostage action. You get more flies with honey than vinegar, right?"

His words caught Raul off guard. You get more flies with honey than vinegar, right? He hadn't even thought of that. In all his time running and gunning, it had never occurred to him to try to work with someone else to make things easier. Perhaps the old man had something going. But then again, when your main goal is survival, the only thing that matters is saving your own ass.

Raul pulled the gun back some, "Fine. We'll see what you've got then go from there," He reached into his pack and pulled out the pack of jerky then tossed it on the ground in front of Loomis, "There. Have a piece or two. Whatever gets you movin' again." Loomis stood there for a moment then cleared  his throat. "Oh yeah..." Raul undid the rope binding Loomis's hands.

The old man dove down to the ground almost immediately and greedily tore into the bag. He was obviously starving. Raul began to feel a little bit bad for the guy. After a few pieces, Raul took the bag back. There wasn't much jerky left. He handed Loomis the canteen of water after taking a sip himself. The hungry scavenger guzzled much of the water almost as fast as he'd eaten the meat.

"Alright! That's enough!" Raul became worried about the provisions they had left.

"Sorry, it's been a few days you see," Loomis handed back the jerky and canteen. "If you're ready, though, we can get a move on. We'll be there soon." He stood up from the dirty ground.

"Soon, huh? Fine, I'll wait to eat. Let's just keep moving." Raul's stomach growled again. He wondered if that was a good idea, but the thought of more food and shelter gave him the strength to keep moving.

It wasn't too long before they came to a bluff overlooking a valley with a wooded area covering the base of a mountain. Overhead dark clouds began forming.

"There's a storm coming. I can feel it in my bones," Loomis began rubbing his hands. "That area down there is where my home is. We don't have a lot of time to make it, but we should be able to within the next few hours or so." Raul could smell the earth in the air. Loomis was definitely correct about the storm.

Raul was amazed at how little the old scavenger needed to stop and rest, but then again, he was the only one who had eaten recently. "We'll make our way down in just a minute, I need some water."

"Better make it quick. I'm sure this'll be a bad one. It's a good thing I came across ya or I'd be stuck back at that shop for a while, away from my family."

"Yeah..." Raul took a swig from the canteen."

They followed the bluff downward toward its base for about an hour. They weren't able to climb directly down for fear of falling.

Soon towards the end of the steep hill, they were able to begin climbing down the dirt and rocks without worry of slipping and falling to their deaths. It wasn't the easiest to navigate, but hopefully, it would shave some time off their trip. As they approached the bottom, they were greeted with the sound of gunfire. They had been followed!

The two ducked behind a pile of rocks. Raul peeked over the top to see a lone gunman descending the same rocky path they had. He carried a rifle, still trained on their location. "GIVE ME YOUR PROVISIONS AND I'LL LET YOU LIVE!!" The bandit shouted at them. Raul cocked his gun and in one motion, took quick aim and squeezed off a shot at the raider. "Aaagghh!!" He screamed as the bullet pierced his shoulder and blew through to the other side. The man went down.

Raul handed Loomis his knife, "I only have a couple more shots. If he gets close, use this." Loomis gripped the knife expertly. Raul snuck around the rock pile in an attempt to flank the shooter. He was already getting back on his feet and about to start aiming again. Raul fired another shot, this time missing. He looked back toward Loomis, but the old man had disappeared. That old bastard musta ran on me, he thought. Suddenly the sensation of hot fire exploded through his leg as the loud crack of a rifle shot pierced the air. He had been hit! In severe pain, he went down. His head was already swimming from the rapid blood loss, but he could still hear the crunch of the marauder's boots on the dirt and gravel as he himself lurched toward Raul. Fuck, I'm not gonna die here! was all Raul could think to himself at this point. He only had one shot left and he was gonna make it count. In his dizziness, he tried to sit up and train the gun on the bandit's location. It was hard to see. He was bleeding badly.

As the stranger closed in, he spoke to Raul, "I don' know where your friend went, but you gonna die, boy! I told you to drop your shit and I woulda let you live." His voice sounded underwater. Raul could now see his face closer through the blur that was the world around him. He could make out a scraggly beard with a stare that pierced through the haze. His gun still pointed at the stranger. The stranger took aim with his rifle as he closed in, "Yeah, that pea shooter ain't gonna help you." His shoulder still poured with blood, soaking his shirt down to the chest. His grip tightened around the stock of the gun, his eye right down the center of the sight. The stranger took aim right between Raul's eyes. Raul's hand shook and swayed under the weight of his gun, but he still squeezed one last shot. He missed again.

Just as the stranger began to squeeze the trigger, old Loomis suddenly appeared behind him, grabbing his forehead and pulling hard. The razor sharp knife slid across his throat like the first fresh cut into a rare steak. The stranger gagged and coughed on his own blood. The rifle let out another loud crack, this time missing Raul by just an inch or two. The stranger dropped the rifle and clutched his neck in a futile effort to hold in that precious life fluid. Just before blacking out, Raul could have sworn in the background Loomis was licking the blade clean.



Raul woke with a startle. From the blackness, he sprang forward, still in the mindset that he was fighting for his life. Just then, he remembered the stranger had gone down in a spray of blood. His head was still swimming, but the throbbing in his leg was bringing him back to earth. He looked down to see he had been bandaged and cleaned up. Loomis was sitting nearby as if on watch. He was holding the stranger's rifle. Raul began searching his person for his gun.

"Don't worry, it's in your sack. That was some decent shooting back there; hitting him like that. I wouldn't have been able to sneak up on him proper if you hadn't." Raul shook his head trying to clear out the rest of the cobwebs. "Here, take a sip of this. You've been out about an hour and we gotta get going. Won't make it before the storm, but we can at least beat the worst of it," the old man handed him the scotch that had been in the bag, "I hope you don't mind I took a few swigs, myself."

Raul grabbed the decanter and took a huge gulp. Almost immediately, he could feel the pain from the wound lessen.

"Luckily, he missed anything truly vital. The bleeding was bad, but you should be able to walk just fine, just with some pain." Loomis stood as if he was about to leave Raul behind. The sun was beginning to go down again. Raul decided to try to stand. It wasn't nearly as tough as he'd expected. Loomis shouldered the rifle and gave Raul a hand. "Here, take this," He handed Raul an energy bar he'd taken off the stranger, "You're gonna need it." Raul opened the snack food and took it down in under a minute. He was still starving, but he would at least get a little energy from it.

"Where is he?" Raul asked. He wanted to see the body.

"He fell down the rest of the bluff. All I could get offa the body was that bar and the gun he dropped. Wasn't much ammo, but it should be enough if anything else comes around. Decent firearm it is." The old man replied. "Everything else was just a bloody mess."

"My knife?"

"In your pack, too. I cleaned it off in the grass over there before I put it back for you," he pointed just past where Raul was laying and sure enough there were swathes of blood in the grass as if a knife had been rubbed clean on it.

"Fair enough." He didn't bring up the knife licking. He figured he was just seeing things since he'd lost so much blood at once. "Ready to go?"

"Been ready." Loomis began walking the rest of the way down the hill. Raul stuffed the bottle back into the bag and forced himself up from the ground.

The walk through the valley was essentially uneventful. Aside from some minor wildlife, nothing else living stirred in the area. Each step Raul took shot a certain amount of sharp pain up his leg, so he made sure to favor that appendage as they moved. It wasn't too long before they reached the wooded area they had seen from atop the bluff. At this point, the sky resembled a giant tuft of dirty cotton; dark grey and and soaked with old muddy water. In the short distance, they could hear the thunder getting closer. It wasn't long until a deluge of rain came pouring through the treetops.

"It's just up here." Loomis informed Raul. In the small distance, he could see what looked like a cave in the mountainside. As they got closer, he could see a tarp had been stretched over the opening to help keep water and wildlife out. "There's a couple of openings, but this is the main one we use. The rest are...let's just say you don't want to take any chances."

When they arrived, Loomis pulled the tarp aside so Raul could enter. The cave stunk of sweat and rotted meat, but underlying was a hint of something...cooking? Loomis pulled the tarp back into position, effectively darkening the entrance back the way it was. Luckily, it wasn't too dark. A torch burned in the distance, but just close enough to keep the entire area partially visible. "HONEY, I'M HOME!!" Loomis screamed down into the cave. His voice boomed and echoed off walls and crags. The two made their way into the cave, Raul followed Loomis so as not to get lost or left behind.Within a few minutes, they came across what had been outfitted into a room filled with burning candles. A woman, two teenage boys and two small girls sat around a large table. On it was a couple handmade bowls filled with fruits from the trees and berries from the bushes. "Loomy? What took you so long?" His wife, a gorgeous, slim blonde wearing a gown that showed a little too much cleavage, was up and almost running at him. Her breasts bounced with each step.

"Sorry, baby. I, uh, got a little held up. Kids, go wash up. It smells like dinner's about to be finished, right, honey?" She nodded, smiled, then kissed Loomis on the cheek. Raul felt a bit sickened. Or perhaps jealous. He wondered how such an old man could have gotten himself such a woman. The thought quickly left his mind as fast as it had entered when he realized he didn't exactly know where it was that they were. There were so many twists and turns in the cave on the way to Loomis's family that he had lost track of the way.

When Loomis's wife left the room Raul noticed that all of the children were staring at him. A deep soul-wrenching, almost murderous stare. None smiled. They just stared. Raul shivered a little. "Okay, so about those supplies, eh?" He decided to break the silence, albeit shakily. At that moment, the children began to march to the door, almost in unison, all the while still staring.

"Yeah, they're just around the corner. But let's talk first", Loomis made himself comfortable at the large table. He then pulled out a chair for Raul. "Dinner will be done shortly, you should stay." Raul was becoming frustrated.

"That's not the deal we made, old man. You'd be dead right now if I didn't give you my word. Now you need to keep your end of the bargain, don't you think?"

Loomis let out a long sigh, "It's been a long trip. Rest a bit then we'll talk shop," his eyes glistened in the light of the candles, his dirty, stubbly face seemed more ghoulish within the confines of the room wrapped in dancing shadows. Raul did feel exhausted and he knew he didn't have a good chance to find his way out of there without a guide. He felt like Hansel when he and his sister were left in the woods and their bread crumb trail had been eaten up by the birds and wildlife.

"Fine." He pulled the chair out that Loomis had readied for him and sat backwards in it. He crossed his arms over the top and rested his head sweaty head on them. His pack lay on the floor right behind the chair. "What's there to talk about, hmm?"

"How're you feeling, first of all?" Raul looked confused. Loomis motioned to the bandage, "Your leg. How is it?"

"It's fine."

"Good. Good. Just wanted to make sure I bandaged you up good. Didn't want you catching gangrene or anything," he let out a slight chuckle that seemed just a bit too sincere. "We gotta change those bandages, too, before dinner. Don't want you bleeding anymore than you need to, right?" Raul didn't quite understand what he meant, but he shrugged his shoulders nonetheless.

"Let me ask you something, 'Loomy'," there was a hint of mockery in Raul's voice, "Why here? Of all the places out there just ripe for the picking, why some dirty, dank cave?"

Loomis put his left elbow on his knee and leaned toward Raul, grinning, "Sometimes the best places are hidden in plain sight. We rarely get visitors, but when we do, it's always a treat." A faint cold draft writhed its way through the room making the candles flicker. Some went out. Even with the tarp covering the entrance, this place was not immune to air circulation. With the draft came the scent of food cooking. Raul's stomach growled. "Dinner'll be done soon. You'll stay, right?" Loomis's grin grew a bit wider.

Raul lifted his head from his arms and sat back a little in the chair. "I never said I'd stay. As a matter of fact, I never even said I wanted to talk in the first place. So how's about we just get this business over with that we got going and I can be on my way. Storms be damned, I can't stay another minute in the hell hole. How do you stand that smell, anyway?"

"What, potatoes?" Loomis leaned back in the chair. His elbow now rested over the back. "I thought everybody loved potatoes. They make a stew hardy" He balled up his right hand into a fist and beat his chest once. "Make a man of ya."

"You callin' me something else??" Raul stood from the chair, ready to pounce on the elder gentleman. He'd had enough of his tomfoolery and was more than ready to leave.

"Don't get your undies in a bunch there, stranger. I'm just sayin' a good stew makes for a stronger body. You sure you don't want to join us?"

"Alright, I'm done here. I shoulda killed you when I had the--" Raul began to dig into his bag, but found only his empty revolver remained. His knife was missing, along with the scotch. "The hell?! Where's my gear, old man!?"

"Don't worry, you won't need it anymore." The tone in Loomis's voice had taken a dark turn. Suddenly, Raul didn't feel quite so safe in that cave anymore. A sharp, burning pain in his non-bandaged leg drew his attention.

"AAaaggghh!!" His own knife stuck out from the calf muscle of his leg. Blood streamed down in a crimson tide. One of Loomis's younger children had snuck back into the room while the two spoke and hid under the large table. She had almost finished pilfering all of Raul's belongings from the bag before the bandit had lost his temper.

Raul dropped to the dirty floor, flopping like a fish out of water until he was able to pull the knife free. The slick coating of blood lubricated the handle too much for him to keep a good grip and the weapon flew from his hand, landing with a loud tink-tink! No longer worried about his belongings, he scrambled to his feet and hobbled from the room as Loomis guffawed from his comfortable chair. "Don't go too far, boy! We're still waiting for dinner to be ready, ya know! HAHAHAHA!!!"

Loomis's voice boomed and echoed through the walls of the cavern as Raul hobbled his way from the room into the darkness, from torch to torch, hoping to find the right way out. Within the twisting caverns, he had no idea which way to go. He had been more worried about getting supplies from Loomis than which way was up and out. He turned a corner to find Loomis's youngest daughter, the one from the room, holding his knife. Licking and slurping the blood from the blade and her fingers. Staring. Staring straight into Raul's eyes. Grinning, just as her father was before. The sound sickened Raul something fierce. He stared in total disgust and horror, realizing all the while they had planned to HAVE him for dinner. He wouldn't have let that old shit live a second longer if he'd known this was their plan all along. You get more flies with honey than vinegar, right? The words meant something completely different to him now. He turned and ran from the child. He was afraid of a goddamned child, a little monster who was lapping up his life's blood like it was honey. He didn't want to take his chances with any of these people, these monsters!

Turning the corner, he ran for what felt like eons because of his legs. The rich, dank odor of the cave seemed to become more aromatic as he went. Soon he was in another room, with a large boiling pot. A kitchen, it seemed. What he noticed next stopped him in his tracks. Near the boiling pot, Loomis's wife was cutting into a large chunk of meat with a large kitchen knife. Her hands smeared with blood and sinew. As she looked up, he saw more blood smeared across her forehead, as if she'd wiped sweat from her brow in the midst of preparing their "dinner". Various bits of skin and bone lay about the room in a macabre medley of filth. He immediately began to backtrack through the cavern he'd just been through in hopes of distancing himself from the gruesome display. Before he could get far, the children, Loomis's youngest offspring were now both brandishing weapons: Raul's knife and another, larger knife. Just behind them, the teenagers had shown up with machetes, ready for the kill. He felt trapped. On one end, there was that horrid, horrible room, on the other, murderous children ready to kill at a moment's notice. He was stuck in the middle, not knowing what to do. That is, until he noticed a faint gleam of light off to the side.

A small alcove to the side led to another tunnel with an opening at the end. He'd found an escape route! With renewed vigor, he pulled himself together and hurled his bloodied body into the small room and subsequently into the tunnel. He could still hear the roar of the storm outside. He was closer than he'd ever thought he'd be. He was going to make it to freedom. Ignoring the pain of the stab wound, the aching of the gunshot wound, he pumped his legs harder and harder. Nothing was going to stop him from freeing himself of this nightmare! Every few seconds, he could see the flash of the lightning, hear the boom of the thunder. Every few seconds, he was that much closer to freedom.

Raul never felt the ground disappear from underneath him. He was still running when the dirty tarp covering the hole filled with makeshift spears and blades gave way under his weight and dropped him in. He barely had a moment to let out an almost immediately stifled scream when the spears and blades pierced his flesh. His own momentum worked against him, pushing him further down until he was completely impaled, face-down, staring at the blood-soaked dirt floor below him. He never saw the family of cannibals surrounding the hole. He never saw them hugging each other and rooting for their next month of meals. All that went through his head was "You get more flies with honey than vinegar, right?". And then everything went black.