Page 49 of Property of Hayride
I snort. He won’t stop us from doing anything, but I guess it makes him feel better to say it.
Scythe smirks. “Brother, we’ll fucking shit up, and you know it.”
Boomer just sighs. “Let’s go.”
It’s me, Scythe, Mountain, Phantom, Voodoo, and Scarecrow from the club. We’re all heavily armed and expect trouble, especially if Clay or any of the others are here.
We move silently across the road as we approach the gate with a metal sign reading ‘Private Property’. It’s old and rusted.
Boomer uses bolt cutters to snap the chain latching the gate closed. He tosses them to the ground, and I’m guessing he’ll pick them up later on the way out. We might be here an hour or all fucking day. Depends on what we find. Or who.
The long drive leading up to the house is gravel. Nothing is paved. A dirt path veers left, then heads slightly uphill to reach the barn. I see the big red structure with peeling paint and broken hinges, allowing the door to sit at an awkward angle.
Scythe gestures to the house. “Mountain, Scarecrow, you’re with me. Hayride, Voodoo, and Phantom, take the barn.”
We nod as we split up.
I note that Boomer isn’t entering either of the buildings but exploring the animal pens outside the barn and the other piles of junk scattered around the property. There’s a tiny shed full of firewood. A tarp-covered vehicle. Even a few pigs and chickens are roaming loose.
Everything is old and in poor condition. Clay hasn’t used the money he borrowed for repairs. I glance at the house and see the roof peeling up. It probably leaks.
Phantom walks beside me while Voodoo is slower, staying sharp as he watches for trouble. We don’t speak. Nothing to draw attention to our arrival before I yank open the crooked barn door and we enter.
There are so many broken boards and holes in the walls that natural light permeates the dark interior. I’m not prepared for what we find. Huge slabs of meat hang from the rafters above and dangle. Blood is still dripping into buckets below from several. It’s the shape that’s weird.
At first, I think it’s venison. It’s not.
The stench is foul. I pull my bandana up over my nose because I want to puke. That’s when I see a human leg attached to the long row of rib bones. The flesh is human.
Voodoo curses before he walks outside, and I hear him gag before he retches. I don’t blame him for puking. These arepeople. Cut up. Being prepared for a fucking meal.
Clay is a fucking cannibal.
Fuck.
My stomach churns, but I have to know what else is inside this barn. I need to see the carnage and brutality, so I won’t hesitate to act when the time comes.
I walk further into the barn and around the hanging body parts, finding what appears to be a slaughtering area. There’s arterial spray on the wooden walls. Huge puddles of dark red blood cover the whole floor and mix with bits of hay.
To the right, I see a ladder and decide to climb it. I don’t pay attention to the stains on the rungs. When I reach the top, I see more body parts. But there are also ropes everywhere.
Just looped and tied, ready to use. Dozens of them.
This is so fucked. I don’t know what to do.
“Hayride!”
I move back to the ladder and look down, seeing Phantom. He’s in some sort of hold between living and dead, a ghostly image of the brother I know.
It’s the shock. Has to be. It’s fucking with him.
“Hey! Go outside. I’ll be right there.”
I watch as he walks across the ground, but doesn’t leave any boot prints. He’s not corporeal enough to have weight.
By now, we know there’s no one here. The property isn’t abandoned, but there’s no sign of Clay or the others. They’re gone, and that makes me anxious. We don’t know who they’replanning to torture and kill next. We just don’t have enough information, despite Virus working hard to find it.
But something tells me that Clay, Rashell Allen, Earl, and Big Tom don’t have much of an online presence. I doubt they’re on social media bragging about kills and cannibalism.
