Barbecuing was one of the few domestic tasks Levi had taken an affinity to in married life. It gave him an excuse to listen to old-school rap, sip one too many cold beers and steal a hit of weed from the fake metal cigarette he kept tucked away in the bowels of the propane grill Penny got him for his 34th birthday.
He'd insisted on cooking out every Sunday from May through September. Rain or shine. And he always cooked steak, despite the fact that Penny was something of a non-committal vegetarian. Before Kate, Levi would cook up a veggie burger or roast some vegetables he'd skewered and brushed with olive oil to appease his wife's more sophisticated sensibilities. After the baby was old enough to eat people food Levi had gotten away with cooking only steak on Sundays. He had convinced Penny that the protein was good for the baby. He got some semblance of satisfaction when he discovered that there was some validity to this claim after reading it somewhere in one of the countless "how to" motherhood volumes she had purchased and discarded since giving birth to Kate.
How he missed both of them. Of course, only the bugs remained. And they were legion.
The smoke stung at his eyes, but Levi was glad for it despite the hot, dry tears it caused; it provided him with a brief respite from the incessant buzzing and biting of countless tiny vampires.
Levi pushed aside the dry, grabbing tendrils of myriad malnourished evergreens and fixed his senses back on the smoke. As he closed in on the source of the acrid, black fumes, he realized it wasn't steak he was smelling - it was pork. "Fuckin' A," he thought, "didn't know there were any boar left in these parts."
Levi remained under cover when he arrived at the periphery of the crude campsite. A partially strung acoustic guitar lay across the opening of a makeshift lean-to with a rudimentary deerskin covering.
Levi surveyed the campsite. Various pots, and pans, a rain catch and some manner of water purification equipment were strewn haphazardly about the campsite. A blanched wooden hilt poked out from beneath one of many partially filled aluminum frame backpacks. "Probably just a .22. Could be a hunting rifle though. Might even be a shotgun," Levi thought to himself.
Gentle laughter sprung from the open hearth. Levi's thoughts strayed from the gun. He snuck through the thick underbrush to get a glimpse of the camp's residents.
A scrawny man with a grayish beard and long, matted salt-and-pepper hair sat cross legged in front of the hearth, poking at red-hot embers. His clothes were dirty and tattered. His long fingers clutched at a bone that was sparsely covered in stringy, pale meat. Several of his teeth were missing or cracked to ragged stumps. Specks of gristle flecked his whiskers, lending his beard a greasy shimmer. The man chewed with an open mouth as he liberally pulled strips of flesh from the bone. Miniscule, moist globules of meat flung into the air as he spoke.
Levi couldn't understand what the man was saying, but he guessed he was speaking in Russian. Russians weren't unknown in these parts. There were nearly as many of them as there were Yanks, at least by Levi's estimation.
Across from the man sat a woman. Broad but soft cheekbones framed large, dark eyes. Her hair was knotted and filthy. An oversized sweater draped over her emaciated frame; sleeves rolled up past bony elbows. She covered her mouth when she chewed with the unanounced shame of an anorexic on a dinner date.
Gentle laughter sprung from the open hearth. Levi's thoughts strayed from the gun. He snuck through the thick underbrush to get a glimpse of the camp's residents.
A scrawny man with a grayish beard and long, matted salt-and-pepper hair sat cross legged in front of the hearth, poking at red-hot embers. His clothes were dirty and tattered. His long fingers clutched at a bone that was sparsely covered in stringy, pale meat. Several of his teeth were missing or cracked to ragged stumps. Specks of gristle flecked his whiskers, lending his beard a greasy shimmer. The man chewed with an open mouth as he liberally pulled strips of flesh from the bone. Miniscule, moist globules of meat flung into the air as he spoke.
Levi couldn't understand what the man was saying, but he guessed he was speaking in Russian. Russians weren't unknown in these parts. There were nearly as many of them as there were Yanks, at least by Levi's estimation.
Across from the man sat a woman. Broad but soft cheekbones framed large, dark eyes. Her hair was knotted and filthy. An oversized sweater draped over her emaciated frame; sleeves rolled up past bony elbows. She covered her mouth when she chewed with the unanounced shame of an anorexic on a dinner date.
Another woman who must have been in her seventies was seated next to the younger woman. She looked positively ancient. Knobby fingers quietly plucked strips of whitish meat from a morsel she held in her lap. One of her eyes was missing.
Both women chuckled as the scrawny man gestured at them intermittently between mouthfuls of scrappy meat. The familiar sights, smells and sounds of a family dining together were almost enough for Levi to let his guard down. He very much wanted to announce his presence to this merry company of Slavic strangers so he could partake in their supper.
Both women chuckled as the scrawny man gestured at them intermittently between mouthfuls of scrappy meat. The familiar sights, smells and sounds of a family dining together were almost enough for Levi to let his guard down. He very much wanted to announce his presence to this merry company of Slavic strangers so he could partake in their supper.
Then he saw the pig.
It wasn't a pig at all.
A blackened human form hung from a stake. Tongues of flame lapped hungrily at its trunk. Limbs plucked from sockets. Belly bloated and crisp. Scalp barren of hair that had long burned off.
It wasn't a pig at all.
A blackened human form hung from a stake. Tongues of flame lapped hungrily at its trunk. Limbs plucked from sockets. Belly bloated and crisp. Scalp barren of hair that had long burned off.
The corpse had been a child.
Levi took in three deep, measured breaths. He pulled the WWII era Zippo he inherited from his Gramps from one of his pants pockets. He pulled a small, standard issue juvie firecracker from another pocket, lit it and tossed it over the campers' heads. He quietly unsheathed his machete.
Levi took in three deep, measured breaths. He pulled the WWII era Zippo he inherited from his Gramps from one of his pants pockets. He pulled a small, standard issue juvie firecracker from another pocket, lit it and tossed it over the campers' heads. He quietly unsheathed his machete.
The cannibals turned their heads away from Levi when the firecracker went off. He rushed toward the man first and dispatched him with a quick chop to the base of his skull. Levi was able to exact a similar blow to the base of the base of the younger woman's skull, but not before the elder woman's good eye met his gaze. Before she had the chance to plead for her life, Levi raised his machete and decapitated her with a single, thunderous blow.
Levi Pickering tossed the corpses of the Russian cannibals into the fire, secured the hunting rifle and 6 boxes of ammo, pulled out a stale, half-eaten powerbar from his pack, bit into it and went to sleep under a darkened moonless sky.
Levi Pickering tossed the corpses of the Russian cannibals into the fire, secured the hunting rifle and 6 boxes of ammo, pulled out a stale, half-eaten powerbar from his pack, bit into it and went to sleep under a darkened moonless sky.
