Tim Meyer - Less Than Human

“Come on!” Josh called to the park ranger, who continued firing into the crowd. “Let’s go now!”

Ranger Steve ignored him. He pumped his weapon and squeezed the trigger, claiming another kill.

“Let’s—” Josh shut his mouth when one of the biters rushed the park ranger’s blindside, grabbed him around his broad shoulders, snapping at his neck. Scarlet marks appeared on his jugular, red rivulets soon followed. Immediately, Josh knew the ranger was done for. He yelled in agony as two newcomers latched onto his waist, tangling his feet and sending him to the deck. In a matter of seconds, the horde descended on him, taking advantage of his heroic folly. Josh could only bear a second of the slaughter. The grown man’s blood-curdling screams stretched his eardrums. A vibrantly-red pool crawled out from under the pile of gluttonous creatures.

Josh turned, hoping to see the passenger’s side door open, inviting him to safety. Instead, he was met with an open mouth. Fresh blood ran down the zombie’s chin. It had fed on the old lady, now ready for dessert. Josh pushed the corpse aside like a heavy bag at the gym. The zombie didn’t resist, falling to the side like an inflatable clown. Josh rushed past him, jumping into the passenger’s seat.

He didn’t need to tell Ben to go, the car took off as soon as Josh slammed the door shut.

Zombies latched onto the hood, but Ben was able to shake them off easily. Josh glanced at the side-view mirror, watching them tumble into the distance.

Ben’s Sonata sped down a path only wide enough for one vehicle to travel.

“Ya’ll hear something?” Otis said. “Sounded like it came from downstairs.”

The three of them sat in silence. Moments passed. Then Floyd went back to fucking around with his video camera. “You hur things, Otis. I swears.”

“Naw. I swears I heard somethin’. From the basement. I reckon I heard screaming.”

“Maybe dem’ fuckers are fightin’ again,” Cooter said. “Whose turn is it to check the tapes?”

“Momma’s down der. Ain’t she?” Floyd asked.

“It’s almost sun up, dick-fo-brains. Momma sleeping.”

“Sheet,” Otis said. “Well, Floyd. I’d say it’s your turn.”

“Me? Shee-it.” Floyd slammed the camera down on the table in front of him. “I’ll be right back. Ya’ll better have that sheet fixed by the time I get back. We got ourselves a hunt goddammit.”

Cooter and Otis agreed silently.

Once Floyd left the room, Otis turned to Cooter.

“You ready fo’ tonight, brother?” Otis asked.

“Sheet. Ready as I’ll ever be.” Cooter pointed the camera at his brother. He slid the screen out from the side. In the small screen, he saw Otis perfectly. The red light in the corner blinked at him. He pressed record. “Say something. Pre-hunt speech.”

“Brother,” Otis said, staring into the camera. “This is going to be the best damn hunt we ever held.”

“Sheet. Couldn’t said it better myself.”

Floyd ran into the room. “Ya’ll!”

“Sheet, what is it, Floyd?” Otis rose from his seat. “Just about scared the piss outta me.”

“It’s Bobbi-Jo.”

“What about her?”

“She goan got herself in some sheet.”

“Sheet,” Otis said, scratching his scraggly, dirty hair. “With the contestants I reckon?”

Floyd nodded.

Otis nodded.

Cooter looked worried. “Sheet, Otis. What we goan do?”

“Boys,” Otis said. “Looks like we goan have ourselves game.” He smiled, grabbing the shotgun resting against the wall. “Right fucking now.”

“Open it,” Ben commanded. She didn’t twitch. Ben squeezed her jaw harder. She groaned. “I said, fucking open it. The next time I have to ask, I’m going to do it myself. And that means there will be no need to keep you alive.”

“Um, Ben?” Josh said.

“Not now.”

“Um, yes now. Whatever suicidal thought that’s going through your head, you better hurry it up.” Ben looked at Josh. He was pointing to the far corner of the basement. “You’re on candid camera, buddy.”

Ben noticed what he was pointing out; a small red dot gleamed at them from a small, makeshift window in the concrete.

“Shit,” Ben muttered.

“What are you waiting for?” Ross said. “Break the bitch’s neck and get us the hell out of here.”

“Are you crazy?” Tabby asked him. “There’s no way we’re getting out of here, even if Ben gets us out of these cages. They have guns. We’re unarmed. We don’t stand a chance.”

Ross shook his head. “They can’t shoot all of us.”

“Yes they can!” Tabby yelled at him.

“Well it’s better than dying in here!”

“Stop arguing!” Ben shouted.

Silence fell over them, until the highly anticipated, highly dreaded footsteps broke it.

Otis entered the basement first, his shotgun drawn, aimed directly at Ben’s head.

“You might want to let go of her,” Otis told him.

“And if I don’t?” Ben asked.

“Then I have to kill my own sister to get to you. And that won’t make me too happy, I reckon.”

Bobbi-Jo stiffened in his arms.

Ben knew it was his only option. They might kill him for attempting to escape, they might not. It didn’t really matter at this point. If he didn’t surrender, they’d kill him for sure. Giving up was the only game in town, and Ben didn’t have any other choice but to play it.

He gradually let go. Upon realizing that Ben had loosened his grip, Bobbi-Jo broke free. She immediately turned, kicking Ben in the balls as hard as she possibly could. The blow caused Ben’s knees to buckle. He writhed on the floor, letting an emasculating whine escape his lips. Bobbi-Jo kicked him again, this time in the ribs, which had been feeling okay until then. Pain shot through him like a bullet. He cried out again, feeling wetness sprinkle his face. A long string of saliva hung from Bobbi-Jo’s mouth. “Motherfucker,” she muttered. “And to think I was going to pity-fuck you before the hunt! You motherfucker!” she screamed, kicking him again.

Ben crawled into a ball. He tried to regain his breath, ignoring the debilitating pain that sabotaged the lower half of his body.

Bobbi-Jo reared her leg back to give him one last kick, but Otis stopped her.

“Now, now. There’s no use ruining Mr. Ben here. He ain’t goan be much use crippled.”

“I say we feed him to that fucker over there, right now!” she snapped, pointing to John Vander, who was still trying to reach his way through the chain-link fence.

“Damn, Bobbi-Jo!” Cooter yelled. “I ain’t seen you this worked up since you got your first period!”

The Three Little Pigs chuckled. Bobbi-Jo continued snarling at Ben, who remained in the fetal position.

“Bobbi-Jo, why don’t you head upstairs and wake Momma,” Otis said. She pretended she didn’t hear him. “Now, Bobbi-Jo! Go on!”

She turned to him. “Wake Momma?” she asked, seething.

“That’s right,” Otis replied. A smiled formed somewhere beneath his bushy, dirty beard. “We got ourselves a game to play.”

They had been huddled inside a large barn. While they were glad to be out of the dank and unforgiving basement, the barn didn’t offer better scenery. The day’s first light peaked through naked windows. The air was tainted by horseshit. It was so strong they could almost taste it. Otis and the rest of the Barker family stood before them, red, cross-bucked doors at their back.

Tabby sobbed heavily, holding her mute son while he looked with fear. He had no idea what was happening.