Breadcrumbs For The Nasties (Book 1): Megan (19 page)

“Calm down, princess! Calm down!” 

At first I didn’t recognize the voice, hard to discern among the men. The noises mashed together in such a way that this one was without distinctiveness. Everything was one. One made no sense.

A hand covered my mouth, clamped tight, and pulled my head back. I felt his lips near my ear, inches away, acid breath on my neck. “I told you I was going to hurt you, Megan; told you it couldn’t be helped.”

Bloodboots
. He found us.

His face touched mine, cheek-to-cheek, scratchy stubble against my skin. The sea of cackling men parted and I spotted
Blueeyes.
He was twenty feet away, on his knees in the dirt. Two men held him firmly, stretching his arms in opposite directions while another choked him from behind. A boot kicked his stomach. A fist punched his face so hard bloody teeth hit dirt. 

It was instinct alone that caused me to bite
Bloodboots’
palm. I dug my teeth deep through sweat and flesh until I tasted blood. When his hand moved away I screamed. “
Nonononono!
Stop! Please stop!”

Instead of stopping, they hit
Blueeyes
harder. The group swarmed, hands punching, legs kicking: a wall of all consuming violence. In the group I recognized Scarface, grinning as he hammered my friend, face contorted in such a way he hardly looked human. 

The voice of
Bloodboots
stabbed my ear. “You want them to stop, princess?” 

I nodded, overcome with emotions and unable to speak, choked with tears. 

“You want me to tell them to leave him alone? They’ll listen to me. Those are my men, my
monsters.
If I tell them to stop, they’ll stop.”

It was awful, the sound of flesh on flesh, blood-wet, cracking knuckles. It wouldn’t stop. I would have done anything to make it stop. 

Bloodboots
was unrelenting. “Ask me. Ask me to tell them to leave him alone.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, and couldn’t look away. When I closed my eyes, I still heard it. They were killing him.
Blueeyes
was dying. He was dying and there was nothing I could do to help him. They were going to make me watch.   

What emerged from my mouth was incomprehensible, a gurgle and a scream, something without definition.
“S-s-stop top-stop-op!”

Bloodboots
snickered. “Come on, you can do better than that. Ask me nice. Say, please.”

“Ple-pea-se-leasplease!” 

It wasn’t a word, just sounds and nothing more, desperate pleading from someone with nothing left. It was all I had to offer. 

Bloodboots
snickered. His mouth moved from my ear. “You heard the little princess, you sons of bitches! Step away from the man!”

I’m not sure how I managed to lift my head, not sure how I even moved. Everything was limp, rubbery. My head weighed a thousand pounds, neck useless. Whatever fight I had left in me was gone. Through teary eyes I watched as the mass of flesh parted, slowly, one-by-one, laughing between labored breaths. When they were gone, there was only
Blueeyes.
His head hung loosely on his neck, chin resting on his chest. He remained upright because it’s what the men holding his arms wanted. If they’d let him go he would have crumpled. Every part of him was puffy, blue and purple, ripped to pieces and drenched in blood. 

When I tried to talk,
Bloodboots
covered my mouth. “Shhh.” I didn’t bite him, didn’t even try. I just cried.
Blueeyes
looked at me lazily through blood-clumped hair, his face a mess of mauled flesh. I cried even more.

Bloodboots
chuckled. “You’re one
tough
motherfucker, aren’t you?” He was talking to
Blueeyes
now, watching as my friend struggled to meet his gaze, body racked with pain. “Help him out, Darrell. I want him to look at me when I’m talking to him.”

Scarface
moved behind
Blueeyes,
snagged a handful of his hair, and pulled his head back. I could almost
feel Bloodboots
smile. I didn’t need to see his face to confirm it. 

Maintaining his grip on my waist, he moved us closer to my fallen friend. “You’re the one who let the
howlers
loose, aren’t you? Just to rescues this bitch?” His arms tightened, fingers digging roughly into my flesh. “What are you, her
daddy?
Is this your daddy, sweetie? Are we hurting your
daddy?
” 

When I didn’t answer, he squeezed tighter, mashed his chin against the hole in my shoulder. I yelped, kicked, and wiggled, which accomplished nothing. Even in his beaten haze,
Blueeyes
heard me screaming. When he reacted, the beating began again.

“Someone hold this brat for me!”

Two men pried me from
Bloodboots’
arms and stretched me horizontally, cackling through unkempt whiskers. The man holding my upper half brought me to his face, licked my cheek, then licked his lips and smiled so
goddamn
ugly. The moment
Bloodboots
took a step toward
Blueeyes,
the crowd stopped punching, parted, and let him through.  

The leader of the mob dropped to one knee, reached forward, and lifted the beaten face of my friend. His voice went cold, changed into something deadly serious, every word punctuated by anger. “My friends died when you did that, lots of them. My little brother died when you did that. But you didn’t think about that, did you? You didn’t care about my little brother. You didn’t give a shit.” He moved his head closer, eyes narrowing. “All for this stupid little girl. My brother died for a worthless little bitch.”

Blueeyes’
head jerked and his jittery lips parted, his unsteady gaze settling on the man kneeling before him. His voice was nearly a whisper. It was all he could muster, all he needed. “Touch the girl and I’ll kill you.”

“Excuse me?”

Blood poured from a gash on his head and over his nose, mouth and chin. When he spoke, he spit, scarlet venom. “You heard me.”

Bloodboots
shook his head, then grinned. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Your face is a fucking mess, you’re missing half your hand, you’ve got three, maybe four bullets in you, and you’re threatening me?” He laughed out loud. “You don’t win, stupid. You aren’t walking away from this.”

He moved even closer to
Blueeyes’
face, barely an inch between them. “Don’t worry though, I’m not going to
touch
the girl. Not really my thing.” With a hand, he motioned to the group. “
They’re
going to hurt her though. By the time these
sickos
are done with her she’ll beg me to put her out of her misery, and I’ll give her what she wants. Don’t worry, we won’t make her dinner. She won’t be touching my lips. She’s not worth it. You know what I will do, though? No? No ideas? You’re going to love this. The moment she turns into a
gimp,
or a
biter,
or whatever the hell she’s going to be, I’m going to kill her again. This one’s going to die twice and I’m going to enjoy every…
fucking
…minute.”

Blueeyes’
hands turned to fists. His face went black. When he screamed, he snarled. His hand shot forward, fingers snapping at
Bloodboots’
neck, teeth chomping, eyes wide. 

“Kill yo—” The butt of a rifle put an end to his attack, cracked his skull, and planted him face-first in the mud. When that didn’t knock him out, it cracked again. On cue the crowd swarmed, vicious, attacking with disturbing glee. They beat him for a solid minute, smacking him with steel, stomping on his head, and stabbing his back. When the knives weren’t enough to hold him down, they began to put bullets his back. They were mauling him. At some point I closed my eyes. If my hands hadn’t been pinned to my sides I would have covered my ears. If I’d had a knife of my own I would have cut my ears off.

The abuse didn’t stop until
Bloodboots
ordered it to stop. “Alright, alright, alright! That’s just about enough, gentlemen. Back off! Give the man some room!” He looked at me and grinned. He was in charge. He was in control. He wanted me to know that.

The huffing crowd retreated, forming a semi-circle around their plaything, clothes spattered crimson, breathing ragged and ready. At the center of the group was what remained of my friend, painted red, sticky, and puffy. He wasn’t a man anymore. He was a broken
thing,
a lump of meat with a heart. A section of flesh covering his skull had peeled away and folded over, an awful wet slab flapping in the breeze. Somehow, despite everything they’d done to him,
Blueeyes
moved. His back creaked, lurched, and bent into a shape vaguely resembling straight. I’m not sure if he even knew I was there, if he could hear me crying, begging him to stay down. He wouldn’t have listened anyway.

Bloodboots
sighed, scratched his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and mumbled under his breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He watched as
Blueeyes
continued to stir, limbs bent and broken, open wounds breathing the diseased air of a world gone mad. Head bobbing loosely on his neck, he tried to speak and failed, choking on blood. When he finished spitting out his insides, he tried again.

His eyes moved lazily to
Bloodboots
and remained there, impossibly steady. “G-go-gonna ki-il-kill you la-last.”

“Motherfuck…”
Bloodboots
had enough and reached for the gun hanging on his hip. He retrieved it from the holster and aimed. I heard it click, heard the round slide into the chamber. 

I’ll never forget that sound.

In the moment before
Bloodboots
fired,
Blueeyes
looked to me. He wasn’t sad or angry; he wasn’t fighting back. He knew it was coming and there was nothing he could do. What little remained of his voice cracked. “Cl-close your ey-eyes.” I could swear I saw him grin.

I did as he asked.

I heard the shots, two of them, probably aimed at his head.
Bloodboots
laughed. The rest joined in. Someone cheered. There were more shots after that, insult added to injury. I stopped counting. It was a party, the highlight of the day, the joyous signaling of more to come. They enjoyed every minute of it. 

And just like that, my friend was gone.  

17.

I’m not entirely sure when I passed out. At some point I just went to sleep. Unconsciousness rolled in, enveloped me, and carried me away. When
Blueeyes
died everything went fuzzy and distant, the reflected memories of someone else. I didn’t care anymore.
Blueeyes
was gone, along with Mother and Father. The only people I’d ever loved, all of them were gone.  I remember being tied, legs bound, arms behind my back. I remember the smiles, the cackling, dry lips and rotted teeth, faces caked in filth. I remember seeing
Pointycrunch,
watching him as they carried me away, losing another friend. There was a truck; they tossed me in the back, stuffed between slimy bags packed with unknown meat, an unbearable stench. There were flies crawling on my face, swarming the bags—so many flies.

“Too late to head back. We’ll hole up for the night at that place you noticed on the way up.” It was
Bloodboots.
“No one touches the kid until I have a talk with her, understand?”

I wasn’t looking forward to that.

The drive felt short. I remember wishing it was longer. I knew what was coming, knew what awaited me when we came to a stop. I wanted to drive forever. 

The door of the truck swung open. A massive hand smacked my face. “Wake up.” When I didn’t respond it smacked me again. 

Scarface
pulled me from between the bags of meat and tossed me over his shoulder. A soft drizzle tickled my face. Lightning cracked. The clouds lit up. A storm was growing, the sky angry. The clouds devoured what remained of the falling sun. All that was left was a glimmer, obscured by the silhouette of unfamiliar buildings. The air smelled like sulfur, burning things I couldn’t quite place. Things I wanted nothing to do with.
Scarface
lugged me through a doorway and into a dimly lit room with high ceilings and concrete floors. There were small fires scattered around the interior, emptied bags and cooking meat. The area was constructed in a hurry. Nothing seemed finished; everything was unorganized. The smell was awful. As we moved further inside the men watched, toothless grins cast in dancing shadows. Their eyes followed intently, unblinking. I watched them swallow, lick their lips, and grin in a way that sent shivers along my spine. 

At the end of the room we moved through another doorway into something smaller and tucked away, a fresh fire snapping in the corner.
Scarface
dropped me to the floor and mumbled something under his breath. When he left he slammed the door so hard it rattled the walls and knocked a lamp from a nearby desk. A lock clicked, then clicked again. I was back where I started: different place, same exact situation. After everything I’d seen, everywhere I’d gone, and everything I’d done, nothing had changed. I was with the same people, the people who stole my father. There was nothing I could do about it. I laid there for some time, face to the floor, cold against my cheek. Outside the storm picked up. I could hear the rain beating against steel, lightning popped, thunder roared. Unlike before, I didn’t cry, struggle or squirm. It didn’t matter. Wouldn’t have made a difference. Struggling accomplished nothing. Father struggled for years to keep us alive, moving, searching for a place that didn’t exist. Mother struggled to keep us together and sane.
Blueeyes
struggled until the very end, until they beat him, and shot him, and took him from me. Struggling was pointless. I was done struggling. Whatever Bloodboots was going to do to me, I wanted him to do. I wanted to be done with it all. It was the only way out. 

When
Bloodboots
entered the room he shook his head, slid onto the desk beside me, and sighed. “Back where we started, huh, princess?”