Endurance - Jack Kilborn [67]
The Sheriff nodded. “As you wish, Ma. And remind me before I go I got somethin’ for you in the car.”
Eleanor beamed. “Is it the Reagan/Bush ‘88 banner I’ve been asking for?”
“It sure is. Found one on Craigslist. Practically brand new.”
She touched the Sheriff’s red cheek. “Y’all are such a dear boy. When you get off work tonight, come knock on Momma’s door. She’ll show you how grateful she is.”
Eleanor ran her liver-colored tongue over her lower lip.
Felix winced. I didn’t think this could get any more repugnant, and it just did.
The Sheriff set his cowboy hat on a cabinet, opened a drawer, and took out a mining hat. He perched that on his head, turned on the light.
“Move it, boy. Lest I horse whip you myself.”
He prodded Felix out the front door, walking him into the woods. After being inside the house, the forest seemed even darker. Felix eyed the treeline, wondering how far he’d get if he made a run for it.
Best case scenario, I escape, return, and save Maria and Cam.
Worst case, I get shot. Which sounds preferable to being eaten by Ronald, whoever that is.
Then Felix felt the Sheriff grab the chain linking his wrists. Escape was no longer an option.
“Straight ahead. Keep a’moving.”
He marched Felix through the trees. They walked for several minutes, not following any particular path Felix could make out. The Sheriff’s head lamp constantly scanned the foliage in all directions. Like he was afraid of something sneaking up on him. And maybe he was.
They eventually reached an open clearing. The Sheriff’s light focused on…
A cave. With a metal pole sticking into the ground in front of the entrance.
And scattered around the pole…
“Jesus Christ,” Felix said.
There were bones. Human bones. Dozens and dozens of them, littered about like the aftermath of a plane crash. Skulls and rib cages and pelvises. Femurs and spines. Some dark with age. Some still with strips of bloody flesh clinging to them.
“Shh,” the Sheriff whispered. “If Ronald is sleeping, you don’t wanna to wake him up.”
The Sheriff tapped Felix on the back of the head with his gun, trying to get him to move forward. Felix didn’t budge.
“Move it, boy.”
“No fucking way.”
Then Felix felt the Sheriff’s hand on his, grabbing three of his mangled fingers.
Oh, please no…
Felix heard the bones break before he felt them.
Snap snap snap.
Then the pain hit, making everything Felix had experienced that night pale by comparison.
He opened his mouth to scream, and just as it was leaving his throat the Sheriff forced something into his mouth.
A ball gag.
“That’s what you did to my brother, John,” the Sheriff said. “How’s it feel, boy? How’s it feel to break a man’s fingers when he can’t fight back?”
He grabbed Felix’s right hand and repeated the process.
Christ, no…
Snap snap snap.
Felix’s stomach was empty, but he dry-heaved anyway, bile coming up through his nose.
Using Felix’s fingers like a steering wheel, the Sheriff guided Felix to the metal pole. He quickly uncuffed his left hand, made Felix hug the pole, and cuffed him again.
“Have fun with Ronald, you sonofabitch.”
The Sheriff reared back and punched Felix in the gut. Felix dropped to his knees, sobbing, watching as the Sheriff scurried off, leaving him alone in the darkness.
Then Felix manuevered around to face the cave. Though the full moon was shining through the break in the canopy, Felix’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark, and he couldn’t see anything. But he could smell it. A rank, foul odor. Spoiled meat and blood and feces and musk.
The smell of a predator.
The handcuff keys were still in Felix’s pocket. And with his hands now cuffed in front of him, they were within his reach.
Felix brought his right hand in front of his face. He didn’t want to look at it, but he had to assess the damage. Felix squinted in the darkness, saw his ring finger, middle finger, and index finger, all bent backwards at forty-five degree angles. The bloody bandages he’d put on earlier had begin