Page 58 of Taunting Tarran
‘Help me, Grandpa.’
Trust the land.
The whisper of a plan beginsto form – create a noise, a distraction. Fear can have its say, but it doesn’t get to decide. I do.
Hold on, Gabriel. I’m coming.
I crouch beneath a grimy window, the glass smeared with dirt and grease. I can barely see inside, but I see Gabriel hanging against a wall; his arms strung up and chained high above his head. His body is limp, but he’s alive, despite his pale face under the light of a single, flickering bulb.
Nearby, a battered table groans as the three figures hunch over it. The largest of them leaning into a large pot, gripping a ladle, sloshing thick, steaming spoonfuls into each of their bowls. The other two grunt as he pours the wet, sloppy sounds of stew splattering onto the wooden surface. It spills over the edges of their bowls, pooling into grimy puddles that trickle down and drip onto the stained floorboards.
The sound alone churns my stomach – the wet squelch of stew dribbling from their mouths as they tear into their meals with animal-like grunts. I’ve seen pigs eat with more manners. My throat tightens, bile rising as the rank, meaty scent hits my nostrils. It lingers in the air, seeping into my skin, impossible to ignore.
Their slurps and smack of their lips scrape at my nerves,pulling me towards the edge of nausea, but I watch. The smaller one rocks back and forth in his chair, his hips swinging in a rhythmic motion, and he’s slapped by the larger of the three, who is clearly irritated, growling at him to stop and eat. His chair creaks as the rocking stops, and the room falls back into its unsettling symphony of slurps and low murmurs. But then, with a sudden, careless motion, the object of his affection slips from his lap. It hits the floor with a thud, rolling slightly before coming to a stop.
A girl’s head.
Its lifeless eyes stare at me, blankly, its mouth frozen mid-scream. They barely react, and he nudges the head with his foot, muttering something unintelligible, before standing up to reach for it.
His penis is hanging out of his zipper!
My jaw wrenches open, a gasp clawing its way out before I can stop it. I slap my hand over my mouth, muffling the sound as I turn, staggering back against the wall. My stomach twists violently, bile surging up my throat with a burning, acidic sting.
I double over, my body convulsing as I retch the meagre contents of my stomach, splattering onto the ground. The smell hits me, its sharp and sour, mingling with the scent of decay. My knees threaten to buckle, but I wipe my mouth with the back of my trembling hand and stand up straight. The taste lingers, vile and unshakeable. I want to shrink away, run, far, far away, but I’m not that girl I once was. I don’t want to die, and I’ll be damned if I loseAngelagain. This is my second chance. This ismy reckoning, my second shot at redemption, the chance to right the scars of my past. I run back to the sanctuary of the trees, their shadows my ally, and then I release a scream so raw, so untamed, it feels as though it can shatter the very fabric of the world. It’s my war cry, carved from the depths of my soul. It’s the perfect lure for hunters seeking prey. Muffled voices rise in alarm, their shadowy figures hurriedly shifting behind grimy windows. I work quickly, my fingers fumbling in the faint glow of the moon as I grab an old rusty, Coca Cola can. With a jagged rock, I pierce through its side, threading a piece of string through the makeshift hole. I tug it tight and tie the other end to a low-hanging branch. The trap is crude but it’ll do. The can will dangle there, ready to rattle noisily at the slightest disturbance – either a warning or a lure that might just buy me a few precious seconds. A baited snare, designed to hopefully draw them in the opposite direction to where I’ll be headed.
The front door creaks open as I finish tying the knot, and the three figures emerge, their weapons glinting in their hands. As they head towards where I had screamed, I slip around the side of the shack. Inside, I see jars filled with murky liquid, unidentified content lining the shelves, and the walls are adorned with crude, macabre trophies – bones, skulls, piles of mobile phones, and scraps of fabric.
‘Oh, god, Gabriel,’ I rush out, sprinting to his side.
He’s alive.
I seize a pair of rusted secateurs, their jagged edges biting into my palm as I force them shut. With a harsh snap, the chainsgive way, clattering to the ground. Blood pumps hot in my hands, but I ignore it as I hoist Gabriel up onto my shoulder. His weight nearly topples me, but I grit my teeth and hold steady.
‘Can you walk?’ I ask, my voice low and urgent.
‘Tarran...you need to get out of here.’
‘Shut up. Can you walk?’
‘I- I think so,’ he mutters with shaky words.
Stepping outside, the night air feels heavy. The sound of guttural grunting cuts through the stillness, distant but unmistakable – it’s coming from the direction where I’d placed the can. I glance around. ‘We don’t have much time to get out of here. Who are these sick fucks?’
‘The Trinity,’ he whispers. ‘We need to find Sal. I dropped the headset when they ambushed me, it should still be there.’
‘Then we better get a move on, because the woods are our only ally now.’
CHAPTER 28
THE PUNISHER
The eerie laughter of The Trinity fades into the distance as we descend to the hollowed-out tree trunk where I had left the headset hidden and untouched, its static still crackling like a faint heartbeat.
‘Sal?’ I whisper into it, but nothing. ‘We have to find another player,’ I tell Tarran.
‘We’re NOT going back there,’ she interjects with eyes blazing with defiance.
‘No, not them,’ I counter. ‘They’re not part of the game. Not players anyway. I don’t know what they are.’
