Camp Driftwood

Chapter 28 - Needs Of The Many

Chapter 28 - Needs Of The Many

The machete was slick with gore, and his heart beat steadily in his chest. A fight would have been an inaccurate word to describe what had happened in the cabin. He turned back, looking over all that he had done. Dismembered bodies, throats torn out, broken furniture and nine still, fresh corpses. This wasn't a fight. This was a massacre. He turned back to the broken doorway, splintered in the conflict as he flicked the machete of some of the blood that coated it. He briefly considered searching for some replacements in the cabin, but then remembered the odour that surrounded creature like Ghouls, and their dens, and thought better of it. He could make do with a little blood.

Even as he thought it, his lip curled at the thought of Ghoul's blood. It tasted as bad as they smelled, but it had given him a much-needed kick back into gear. The sooner he could find something better to wash the taste out of his mouth, the better.

He wiped the blade of the machete on the torn jacket on one of the corpses, before turning his attention to the woods. He could hear the pounding heartbeat of the one survivor of his bloody work. The last Ghoul was twenty feet away, behind one of the thick trees on the edge of the forest. The rasping sounds of his breath were painfully obvious to Henry's acute ears, even as he tried to bring it under control.

Henry let out a low snarl, before turning his back to the tree and setting to work on the motorcycles parked outside of the ramshackle cabin. His fingers tightened around the tyres of the bikes, which quickly burst as his fingernails turned into claws. A few quick slashes from the machete sped things up, and soon all ten bikes were completely out of commission. Keeping tabs on the location of the final Ghoul, he turned back through the door of the cabin.

The one he'd left alive was the same one he'd been glaring at since he'd arrived. By getting under his skin, Henry had preparing to influence the next decision the Ghoul would make in this moment. If he thought that he just escaped from Ulises Beltrán, then he would waste no time in hightailing it to wherever he felt safe. Given the isolation of this location, that was wherever Hale was keeping the Kaylee. Then, Henry could simply track him to wherever he ran off to.

As he walked back through what once might have been a living room, he heard a rustle of movement from outside. Heavy footsteps, trying desperately to be stealthy, as they ran off deep into the woods. As his boots marked the gore on the floor, Henry smiled. Not long now. Soon, he would have Kaylee again. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and the smile instantly faded. He saw the hollow stare in his eyes, the sunken eyes, the white skin and clothes splashed with gore. If Kaylee saw him like this, she'd be terrified.

A hand absentmindedly reached up and began to wipe some of the gore away, only serving to spread more onto his hands. He would deal with the consequences when they presented themselves, and he would explain everything to Kaylee. She'd been kept in the dark for too long, even if it was for her own safety.

As he walked, Henry caught sight of a hatch in the floor, half-covered by an old rug that had been moved during the conflict. He moved towards it, kicking it aside and grabbing the rusted metal handle with his free hand. It was all but rusted shut, and a firm yank was all it took to pull completely off the hinges. He discarded it, and peered down into the cellar. His eyes, already permanently attuned to the dark, made out the grisly scene below.

Bones scattered the floor, all splintered and drained of marrow. There were hundreds, all thrown into the dark, discarded like trash when the pack had finished with them. A considerable pile had built up on the centre of the space, the bones at the bottom yellow and brown with decay. If Henry had to guess, he'd say that at least a hundred and fifty people had been hunted and consumed over the pack's decade in these woods.