Sick Bastards (12 page)

PART TWELVE

Now

Lost

As I walked back through the woods in the direction I thought the family home was in, I couldn’t help but think back to how my family had been and the changes they (we) had been experiencing on a mental level. It didn’t make sense when I was living the moment but now (looking back) it made perfect sense knowing what I know about the radiation poisoning we were all suffering.

I suddenly stopped and looked around. Damn these woods. Everything looks the same. I had spent so much time, lost in my own little thoughts, that I realised I had no idea whether I was heading in the right direction or not. Some of the trees and sights looked familiar and others not so much. Was I headed in the right direction? A large bush in front of me. I remembered, to get to where I did yesterday, I pushed through a large holly bush. Is this the same one?

I pushed through, scratching my skin again, and found myself in a small clearing face to face with a deer. It was just looking at me with large, soulful eyes.

We could be out there, you and I, hunting for food...

As we were both standing there, looking each other in the eye, everything seemed to be right again. I forgot about the troubles in the world. How could there be trouble when there are such things of beauty still alive and blissfully living their life in ignorance to the dangers surrounding them? I smiled. Not because of the deer but because of me. I smiled because I found the deer to be beautiful. With everything going on in the world, I found beauty. I hadn’t lost my humanity. I hadn’t lost my soul. More importantly - I hadn’t lost my hope.

Suddenly, without any warning, the deer darted through another bush and out of sight. I felt my heart sink a little as our shared moment of peace was gone and replaced with the feeling of worry that plagued me through the night that I might be too late for my sister.

I pushed forward and crawled through another holly bush. This definitely isn’t the right way. Yesterday I hadn’t pushed through two bushes so close together. I’d have remembered. All I can hope is that I stumble across the same path sooner or later. After all, I felt positive I was at least heading in the right direction.

A few hours later and I was still walking in what I thought to be the right direction. It was safe to say I was less confident now, though. Nothing looked familiar and it was beginning to dawn on me that I was lost. As was my hope. After all, the longer I delayed in getting back to the house, the more chance there was of Mother and Father becoming one of those things and tearing Sister apart. Or maybe she’d have upped the amount of flesh she feasted upon and was on the verge of turning now too?

I’m not sure what I’d prefer for her to go through. Would I rather she was killed by a ravenous mother and father or would I prefer her soul was lost forever and she became something truly evil? Neither would be particularly pleasant.

Despite my hunger and thirst (having finished the bottle of water I had taken with me) I started to jog. I didn’t care anymore whether I’d run into any of those things. I saw them so infrequently that I knew the chances of stumbling into their path was slim. Besides, so what if I did? I feel as though I may as well be dead anyway. What the man and woman did, back in that home, seemed like the right thing to do. Perhaps I should have just taken a leaf from their book and used the same knife on my own throat last night?

I shook the thought from my mind.

That’s not me talking. It’s the radiation poisoning.

I can survive this.

I
will
survive this.

* * * * *

Before

Every day I woke up thinking it was going to be my last day on the face of the planet.  If I wasn’t thinking it then I was
wishing
it. This wasn’t living. Father was becoming stricter with what we could and couldn’t do (such as having to go to bed at a certain time and having to be up at a certain time) and Mother was becoming more needy to the amount of time I spent pleasuring her with the same excuse of telling my father every time I tried to turn her down.

By now, Sister knew what was happening between mother and me. It didn’t stop her from wanting me for herself, though, when the mood took but that didn’t mean she liked it. I tried to tell her that it wasn’t my idea and that if I didn’t ‘help her’ she’d tell Father but I knew she didn’t really believe me (although it was the truth).

Father kept talking about our survival (usually over a meal which tended to give me the shits - especially the older the meat was) but if this was all that was on offer then I wasn’t interested.

Sister had turned hostile to me now. Whereas before, when we lay together, it was softer and more tender - now it was aggressive as though the act was nothing more than a means to an end (orgasm). It was hard to complain when I was enjoying it as much as she was though. Throwing her around the room, trying to keep the noise down so Father didn’t twig, whilst taking all of my frustration and aggression out on Sister was good for keeping my rage to a minimum. If we weren’t
fucking
(as she called it) then she was barely talking to me.

I don’t know. It could all be in my head but it felt as though my family were somehow ashamed of me on some level. Perhaps because I didn’t think what we were doing was the right thing? Like I said, I don’t know.

Each day I prayed the military (or whatever survivalist group is out there now) would find us so we could try and get back to what I perceived as ‘normal’ and each day I was let down. Of course I wanted to tell Father it was a bad idea to stay in the house again but I never did say anything. Not directly to him anyway. Not after the last time.

Sister was sitting on top of me grinding down as hard as she could onto my erection. I had already ejaculated and it was starting to get painful but she didn’t care. It was my fault for not stopping her when I was close like I usually did. If I said something she’d usually slow the rhythm down long enough for me to become a little less sensitive to the situation before picking the pace up again. Better yet - I’d be the one in control and I’d dictate when I needed to slow or switch techniques for a while longer until she was close to having an orgasm.

The days were gone where I’d be permitted one and she’d be happy to wait until later in the day, or to have one the following day instead. Mother’s fault. If Mother had an orgasm then Sister wanted one. Fair was fair.

Sister’s breathing had become more rapid. She was on the verge of an orgasm. The way her face was flushing, I could tell it was going to be a good one for her. Thank God. She increased the speed with which she rocked backwards and forwards. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on something else other than the soreness I was feeling. Something else. Anything else. Come on....

Suddenly the bedroom door flew open and a man dashed into the room. He jumped when he saw us (and we jumped when we saw him). Sister jumped off of me and covered herself up with her hands whereas I jumped up from the mattress and just stood there stark naked with a shocked look upon my face. The man didn’t bat an eyelid. He turned towards the window and yelled when he saw it was (mostly) blocked up. Quick as a flash he hurried over to it and started to pull at the items barricading it.

Seconds later, Father burst into the room with the axe in his hand. The head of it was bloody and he had a splatter pattern across his clothes and face as though he had only recently dug it into someone.

“Come here!” he yelled, ignoring Sister and me.

The man turned and screamed when he saw Father standing there. It took Father less than two steps to cross the room to where the man was and when he did, he smashed him directly in the top of the skull with the head of the axe. The man crumpled to the floor like a sack of spuds, completely out cold.

Father hit him in the head again with the axe handle (just to be sure). Slowly he turned to me.

“Don’t just stand there!” he said. “Give me a hand.” He then noticed Sister standing there - her hands still covering her nudity as best as they could. For the first time in as long as I could remember, Father smiled. “Nice.”

Setting the Table

Once I had thrown some clothes on (quickly) I helped Father down the stairs with the unconscious man. It was a simple technique dictated to me by Father which involved dragging the man to the top of the stairs and then simply pushing him down them. He tumbled all the way to the bottom and landed with an almighty crack. Looking down at him, it was clear to see that the crack had come from his leg as it was bent in the wrong direction. Father laughed.

“What was all that about?” I asked Father.

He turned to me, from where he was looking down at the man, and simply turned the question back on me, “What was all
that
about?” he asked.

Of course he was talking about the scene he had run into. With Sister and I both naked (and my erection) I knew it was a rhetorical question posed by Father. He didn’t need an answer. Not when it was so obviously standing to attention, glistening with the cream of my sister upon the softening shaft.

Father winked, “Naughty boy.”

Not the reaction I was expecting.

He didn’t wait for me to say anything; he simply bounded down the stairs to where the man was groaning. He scooped him up, from under his arms, and dragged him towards the dining room. I guess dinner is about to be served.

I didn’t want to help Father. In fact I wanted no part in what was about to unfold but I knew now was not the time to be arguing with him - what with the fact he still had the axe and the fact he had seen Sister and me in a position which most fathers would baulk at. I made my way down the stairs and took a hold of the man’s legs so that there wasn’t a part of him dragging on the floor. With the two of us carrying him, we made it through to the dining room in no time.

To my surprise there was already someone else in there, other than Mother who was busy pulling a chair out from underneath the table for Father to drop the man’s body onto. On the table was the body of another man. Looking at the one being carried by Father and me (and the one on the table), they could have been brothers. Unlike the man being carried in my own arms, the one on the table was very much dead. His head was perfectly split down the middle and it was entirely possible to see where the axe had cleaved the brain in half.

“You two missed all the fun!” Father said as we propped the second man up on the chair Mother had prepared for us. He turned to Mother, “Have we got anything we can tie him with?”

“His leg is broken!” I pointed out. “He isn’t going anywhere.”

Father looked down at the man’s leg and saw the obvious crack. He smiled. “Hold out his other leg!” he quickly instructed me. I didn’t ask why. I knew there was no point. Just do as Father says. That’s the rule. That’s always been the rule.

I picked the man’s (good) leg up and held it outright so it was stretched perfectly straight in front of where he was sitting. The man groaned.

“Got it nice and tight?” Father asked.

I nodded, unsure of what his next move was going to be. Father grinned again and then - all of a sudden - he jumped into the air. He landed, both feet together, on the man’s knee. There was a god-awful crack as the leg literally snapped to a ninety-degree angle. The man suddenly screamed himself conscious before falling unconscious again. Father landed on the floor in a crumpled heap, laughing. I fell over too, due to the kick of the man’s leg sending me to my arse.

From the floor I started to retch. The sound was bad, yes, but I felt it. I felt the bone splinter into pieces. I felt it.

I gagged.

Even Mother had a complexion more pale than usual.

“I think it’s fair to say he won’t be running away from us!” Father pulled himself up. The look on his face disgusted me. He looked as though he was having more fun than he’d ever had before.

“Why don’t you just kill him?” I asked, trying to hide my disgust.

“Because his friend is already dead. That had to happen. If we can keep him alive, for as long as possible, then we’ll have something to eat when we finish this one,” Father pointed out. “You need to think of the bigger picture.”

* * * * *

During the course of the afternoon Father explained to us that he had seen the two men from the upstairs window. They were loitering around by the tree-line, watching the property, and he could tell they were looters (or intent on taking the house for themselves). I didn’t ask how he could tell. I just sat there and listened to him.

Sister was more excited about his story than me. She said that she was grateful Father had spotted them. Thankful that he’d had the insight to do what needed to be done. Two of them, against us, could have caused trouble for us. Yes, we would have won but they could have hurt one of us in the process. If it wasn’t for Father, one of us would have been hurt.

I wanted to slap her but refrained from raising my hand.

Father continued with his story. He had run down the stairs and removed the barricade from the front door. He had unlocked it too, knowing the two men outside would try the handle before resorting to smashing a window.

Just as he surmised, the door handle turned and the two men stepped into the property.

Father had already told Mother to get Sister and me to stay as quiet as possible. Mother had simply chosen to hide herself away in one of the upstairs rooms without interrupting us. No doubt she could hear us, through the door, and knew we wouldn’t be in a hurry to come down the stairs and ruin Father’s plan.

With the two men in the property, Father slammed the door behind them. They both jumped and turned to see him standing there with the axe high in the air. The first man died instantly as the axe split his head open as though it were nothing more than a grape. The second man screamed and darted up the stairs. We knew what happened from there.

I guess his plan was to jump from one of the windows. Why he deemed that a good idea, when he could have just run to the back door, I’ll never know. I guess he just panicked. God only knows what he thought when he burst in on Sister and me.

At least he didn’t know we were siblings.

“This is why we’re going to survive,” Father said. “By staying one step ahead of trouble!”