Michael Bray - Feed

Stop it.

The voice in his head was one of reason and served its purpose in derailing his morbid train of thought. Either way, he knew he couldn’t stand to look at Nash anymore. He retreated to the semi-inflated raft and cupped a double handful of water. It was running low and would soon be gone. Tyler leaned on the rock and closed his eyes, wishing he knew what to do for the best.

Later

Darkness had started to shroud their little slice of hell. Since leaving Tyler, Liam had been at the rear of the island in the alcove. The medical kit was in front of him, the scalpel clutched in a grubby hand. He stared at it, fascinated as it bent the light from the falling sun. He liked the way it warped and twisted, thinking it was similar to how he felt inside. He turned his senses inward, listening to his body and trying to decipher what it was trying to say to him. There was confusion in there. And fear. That, he had learned was the worst. It had eaten away at him, hour by hour, day by day until now it ruled him. He had come to understand that fear made people do things they wouldn’t normally do, and mad them behave in irrational ways. He thought of his father, a man with whom he hadn’t always seen eye to eye, and a relationship that was at times distant and filled with frustration. Even so, Liam had always loved him. He wondered why he didn’t feel anything now he was dead. There was sadness, true. But it was a different kind of sadness, similar to the kind when you see a celebrity death flash up on the news. There was surprise, a little shock, but no outpouring of grief. No agonising sorrow.

There was just the hunger.

That was ever present, and something which now ruled his entire existence. Feeding the hunger, satisfying that gnawing in his gut as his withered body screamed for sustenance.

It’s what he would have wanted. He’d want you to survive.

The voice in his head didn’t really even sound like him anymore. It had taken on its own personality, its own life. His medication usually stopped him from hearing it. It was designed that way to block out those dark things that spoke to him. Now, though, with that particular block lifted, it was free to converse as much as it wanted. The scalpel, it told him, was the answer. The answer to all his problems.

‘What if I can’t do it? Cut him… eat him… he will be raw,’ he whispered to himself.

You can do it. You’ll force yourself to keep it down because that’s what you need to do to survive.

‘He’s my father.’

No. he was your father. Now he’s just meat. A juicy steak or a nice piece of bacon .

Liam started to cry, silent sobs that were masked by the waves crashing against the rocks.

He knew the voice was right. He knew he had to act and ensure he didn’t die. Even if it meant doing something that was truly appalling. He started to inch his way back around the island to where his father was.

And what about Tyler? the devious inner voice asked.

‘What about him?’

What if he tries to stop you?

It was a good question. He didn’t think it would happen. He would be repulsed, that much was obvious, but he didn’t think he would interfere.

And if he does?

Liam stopped, letting the water rush over his feet. ‘If he does, I’ll kill him.’

The voice said nothing, but Liam knew it was smiling wherever in his subconscious it lived.

When he got back to their camp, it was almost total dark. He could see Tyler snoozing by the yellow inflatable, head on his chest. Liam was pleased. It would be easier with him asleep and not aware of what was going on. He moved silently towards where his father’s body still lay. In the glow of the moon, he looked like a shell, the shadows making him appear as a ghoul with black wells where his eyes should have been. Liam touched his father’s head, the rough scar tissue cold to the touch.

‘I hope you understand why I’m doing this,’ he whispered as he brought the knife out. His hands were shaking and he had to focus to steady them. ‘We have to live, we have to survive.’

With his free hand, he grabbed his father’s cold wrist and straightened it, touching the point of the scalpel blade to the meaty part of the forearm. ‘Forgive me.’ Liam said, then he cut.

The blood looked black in the moonlight. Liam cut a strip of flesh from the forearm, the tears streaming freely down his face. His mind was filled with static, the horror of his actions too much to bear, too much for him to handle. He had slipped into autopilot as he cut the lump of flesh loose. He held it in his palm, lip trembling.

‘What’s going on, what are you doing?’ Tyler said, sitting upright.

‘Just stay back, this is nothing to do with you,’ Liam said, the sobs getting heavier. He looked at the lump of flesh in his hand and knew what he had to do. His stomach churned and growled, then, in an event that repulsed him more than he ever anticipated, he started to drool. Thick strands of saliva hung from his chin as he looked at the grisly lump of flesh.

‘Don’t do it; you’ll regret it if you do,’ Tyler said, standing but not approaching. He had seen the scalpel shimmering in the moonlight and wondered dimly in the back of his mind where it had come from.

‘This is my business. I’m so hungry,’ Liam whined as the drool fell to the bloody rocks in front of him. ‘You keep out of it.’

Tyler watched, too stunned to do anything else. Liam lifted the lump of flesh to his mouth, caught between desire and disgust, hunger and repulsion. He was balanced there on a knife edge, when that little voice so silent and sly, whispered in his mind and encouraged him to do it.

Knowing he could delay no longer for fear he would change his mind, he put it in his mouth and started to chew.

Pork gristle sprang to mind, chewy and tough, resistant to his efforts to eat it. He could taste blood, and feel the fine hairs on what was his father’s arm tickling the inside of his mouth as he chewed on the cold, fleshy lump. He badly wanted to spit it out onto the rocks, but he couldn’t do it. The voice in his head wouldn’t let him. He chewed, trying to break up the fleshy lump as tears streamed down his beard-scruffed cheeks. He gagged, thought he was going to vomit, then gagged again but somehow kept control. The voice inside spoke up. Told him to keep chewing, to resist the urge to spit it out. Liam was breathing through his nose, rapid snorts as he came to terms with the decision he’d made. Somehow he managed to swallow, almost bringing it straight back up. He needed water, something to wash the vile taste from his mouth, and so he stood and stumbled towards Tyler, scalpel forgotten and still clutched in one bloody hand.

Misreading Liam’s approach for water as some kind of attack with the scalpel, self-preservation took over and Tyler met the perceived attack. They grappled, Tyler holding the wrist of the hand holding the knife whilst at the same time trying to wrestle Liam to the ground, but the younger man was physically stronger, and with adrenaline surging as a result of what he had just done, was difficult to subdue. Liam, thinking Tyler had attacked without provocation, fought back, the voice in his mind telling him this was now a battle over food, and that Tyler wanted to take it from him. He unleashed a scream of rage and drove Tyler back, the older man losing his footing on the smooth rocks. Knowing he couldn’t risk letting go of Liam and his knife arm, he clung on, both of them crashing to the ground. Tyler hit the edge of the inflatable, flipping it over and spilling the precious remaining water onto the rocks.

‘The water, we lost the water,’ Tyler said, trying to reason with Liam, but there was no way to make him listen. His eyes were wild, feral. He had stopped being a human and had taken on the traits of some kind of monster. Tyler realised how weak he was, and that the physical toll of their struggle was making him tire.