The Great and Terrible: No Monsters Like Hers
The Great and Terrible: Chapter 8

My legs shook from exertion, and my feet throbbed. With shackles around my wrists, four trappers on horseback paraded me and two other captives they’d picked up along the way through their camp. A clearing surrounded by towering trees, with a patchwork quilt of grass and sand. Men, women, and children dressed in clean but plain linens poured from well-made tents. The growing crowd cheered with delight. Murmurs of “banquet” arose, and many interested gazes landed on me.

I ground my teeth, combatting a surge of bile as I scanned the faces of the onlookers, noting the plumpness of their cheeks. They ate well, and they ate often.

Monstrous animals roamed the site, blasting aggression. They were some kind of wolf-hyena-humanoid hybrids. The so-called rabdogs? They were wiry and might have been as tall as the trappers if they’d stood to full height. Except, they prowled on all fours. Though the legs up front appeared to be claw-tipped arms. They possessed mid-size snouts, huge teeth, and abnormally arched spines.

Had this pack killed Jasher?

Reminded of the executioner’s fate, I bit my tongue to stop a whimper and tasted blood. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be.

Distracted, I missed seeing the rock in my path. When my bare toe slammed into it, I winced, doing my best to stay silent, keep walking, and remain upright. I’d stealthily kicked off my boots a few miles back, when we’d come upon a briar patch, eager to leave a blood trail for easy tracking. Just in case. Although, Jasher’s survival wouldn’t change the words he’d spoken to me. On your own.

Was I really?

Hopelessness bombarded me. I’d once considered Jasher merciless, but no longer. My captors were ten thousand times worse. They sat proud on those beautiful, multicolored ponies, thrilling over the bruised, battered condition of their meals. Obviously, they preferred their steaks tenderized.

The scent of roasting meat reached my nostrils. At first, I savored the pleasant odor, my mouth watering. Then I spotted what, exactly, I inhaled. Roasting humans. Their severed limbs and torsos hung over open firepits, turning and charring on spits. Severed heads topped short, spinning poles, allowing sitting villagers to scoop out the brains lazy Susan style. Fresher bodies were stretched out over wooden tables, their organs being fished out. The butchering station.

Bile singed my throat. I hunched over and vomited. The trappers continued onward, unconcerned. My length of chain pulled taut, yanking me to my knees, then my face, dragging me through the mess.

Tapping into a deep reservoir of strength I hadn’t known I possessed, I lumbered to my feet. Guess the curse of a violent death was true.

“Let me go!” the robust man next to me screamed. He jerked at his bounds, but he was no match for his handler. With a hard pull, the trapper ensured he fell and ate a mouthful of dirt.

My chest squeezed. I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t even help myself.

Nearby, a handful of pups played with children who kicked a flesh-colored ball around, unaffected by the sight of the prisoners.

Soon, we reached our destination. The riders stopped and dismounted near a makeshift corral. A group of teens rushed over to take possession of the mares. The trappers didn’t trust the new meat-on-feet with anyone else, however. Three of them strode over to claim a captive for further transport.

“You’re with me, girlie,” Tommy said, grinning. “The tastiest snacks go in here.” With the end of my chain locked in his grip, he led me toward a mud hut with two guards posted at the entrance. His keys jingled from the hook at his waist. The other trappers took the men in the opposite direction, to an open tent with at least twenty others restrained by ground stakes. Awaiting selection?

Perspiration dampened my palms. “I don’t want to eat you, but I wouldn’t mind spilling your guts,” I snarled at my captor.

He laughed outright. “Many have tried, none have succeeded.”

Did he take me straight to the butcher or did he hope to make use of me first?

I dug in my heels, resisting forward momentum. He pulled me through the door without much effort on his part. My new surroundings gave me pause. A fire crackled inside a pit, smoke curling up, up to escape through a hole in the roof. Thankfully, no one roasted in the flames and there wasn’t a ready spit.

Despite multiple beds with wooden frames and hay-filled mattresses, this wasn’t a love shack, as I’d feared. Only one other prisoner was present. An older man laid upon a bed, wearing a loin cloth. He wasn’t chained. But then, both of his legs and an arm had been amputated. He watched me with sad, sunken eyes, his skin sallow and bruised.

Horror stole my breath and clogged my throat. This was the fate in store for me? Eaten piece by piece?

My struggles started up again.

“You must be cleaned and seasoned. But first, utensils must be prepared,” Tommy said, hauling me onto the bed next to the old man. After removing my shackles, he hooked the cuffs together, then snapped the metal around my neck and hooked the end of the chain to a stake hidden beneath a pile of blankets. I had enough slack to sit up but little else. “Carmine!”

A weathered woman with frizzy salt and pepper hair raced in with a canteen she placed beside me. Then off she went, exiting the hut as quickly as she’d entered.

“It’s not drugged. We wouldn’t poison ourselves in such a way. It’s milk. Drink it or not. Strengthen or not. It’s up to you.” All said with his smirking grin. Because he knew I would drink it. Anything to build up my strength.

He reached out as if to pinch my chin.

On instinct, I kicked him in the chest. “Don’t touch me.”

Scowling now, he caught my ankle and held on tight in a punishing grip. His eyes glittered. “I’ll let you watch when I take my first sampling of you. I think I’ll start right here.” He tapped the center of my calf.

“The only thing you’re going to eat is crow,” I snarled at him.

He laughed as he released me. Saying nothing else, he strode out with those stupid jingling keys. Suddenly I was (semi) alone with the old man. I highly doubted the guards posted just outside the door had wandered off.

The choir babes, Patch and even Jasher had tried to tell me I’d be better off with the Wests. I should have listened. But how could I have guessed I would ever come to miss the land of crimen, substitutes, and storms?

Doing my best to control my breathing, I scanned the hut for details I’d missed, a little too afraid of what I’d see to face my companion. Off in a far corner, a rabdog with wild eyes nursed a litter of squiggling pups. I swallowed a manic laugh. Did Momma serve as sentry in case the unchained man tried to drag himself away?

A quiet growl drew my focus to the edge of my bed, and I scrambled as far as the fetter allowed. A pup! It curled up there, its head lifted, its teeth bared and eyes flashing with red. It looked much smaller than the other babies. Still! How sharp were those fangs?

It watched me with an accusing glare, but it didn’t lunge at me. When I failed to lash out, it lowered its head, as if all its vigor had drained. Was it hurt? Why wasn’t it eating with its siblings?

Did I dare pick it up to set it on the floor?

“The little nugget won’t hurt you,” my companion rasped, his voice hoarse. Probably from screaming, “He’s not strong enough. Mom rejected him, so the others rejected him, too. Without food or affection, he’s only growing weaker.”

Not a sob story for the baby!

Finally I gathered the courage to face the poor, abused man at my side. The sight of him did exactly what I’d anticipated, and I cringed. Something inside me broke.

“What’s your name?” I asked. “How long have you been here?”

He offered a desolate smile. “I’m Earl Smith. Came from Oklahoma City a few months ago. Woke up from a tornado already bound in chains. Lost a leg to the cannibals only a few days later. Since I’m an otherworlder, I’m saved for special occasions.” Bitterness tinged his voice.

The same fate awaiting me. Breathe. “I’m Moriah Shaker from Kansas.”

Tears of joy welled as if I’d granted his fondest wish. “Well, Kansas. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t think I’d see a fellow American ever again.”

“Me, either. And the pleasure is mine, Oklahoma.”

He gave me another smile, this one pure happiness.

With every fiber of my being, I longed to reach out and pat him, to share the comfort of contact. But the metal links wouldn’t allow it. Then he did the reaching, and I followed suit, stretching as far as possible. The tips of our fingers brushed. A mewl escaped each of us. How much he reminded me of my father.

“Have you learned of a way home?” Earl croaked.

“I’m told there’s a portal in the City of Lux, and it’s able to transport us back to our world.”

Hope brightened his features. “I miss my Brenda something fierce. Would do anything to see her again.” His lids slid shut for a beat, and the corners of his mouth lifted. Imagining their reunion? “The canteen really is filled with milk, by the way. It’s from a goat. Well, this world’s version of a goat. It’ll give you energy but will also sweeten your meat. A catch twenty-two.”

The puppy reared up again, giving a fiercer growl as I shifted the bulk of my weight to the blankets. His eyes flashed a brighter red. The ferocity in his expression said, I will shred you! But again, the fuzzball didn’t lash out. Either he lacked the fortitude or the defenses, but either way, he heaped coals of fires on a sense of loneliness. Without my father, I had no one, and it sucked. How it must suck for this dude as well. Even a hideous rabdog deserved a little compassion.

Trembling but determined to show him a moment of friendliness, I stretched an arm toward him. His growls increased in volume, and his entire body tensed. The second I made contact, he jumped, as if preparing to attack. I didn’t pull away. No, I stroked the ridges of his spine. Gentle, so gentle. His fur was softer than I’d anticipated.

The longer I petted him, the more my hand heated. The warmth didn’t come from him but inside me; it wasn’t unpleasant and didn’t strike me as a warning. Rather, it thawed my coldest recesses. Soon the little guy’s growls faded, as did the red in his eyes, and he just kind of slumped onto the blankets, too exhausted to put up a fight. And maybe too content to care?

He needed affection as much as nourishment, I realized. But nourishment first. Right now, I had (almost) goat’s milk. That would have to do.

I uncorked the top of the canteen, cupped a hand, and poured some of the thick, white liquid into the bowl of my palm. When I offered the beverage to the little guy, he sniffed, perked up, then stuck out his tongue. With a tail wag, he popped to his feet and lapped the liquid as fast as possible. I poured more, and he drank. More still. He consumed every drop. He gave another growl as soon as I ceased serving.

“No, sir,” I said. “I don’t want rabdog barf in this bed with us. Let’s make sure you can handle what you’ve had.”

As though he understood my words, he heaved a dramatic sigh and plopped on the blankets, then looked at me with something akin to gratitude.

Yeah, okay, I kind of melted.

“You need a name,” I told him. “I refuse to call you Toto, though.”

He didn’t appear impressed.

“I’ll call you Nugget for now. If you think of something better, you tell me.”

Earl chuckled, the sound of his merriment warming me further. But he sobered quickly, the gravity of our situation keeping us both grounded in the moment. “I hate that you’re here, but I’m also glad.” He cringed. “That’s an awful thing to say. I’m sorry. It’s just, you’ve been much needed medicine for me.”

I totally understood. “I’m so glad you’re here, too. We have to escape, Earl,” I whispered. Maybe I could get to water and summon Iris. A little extra help wouldn’t be amiss. You couldn’t collect favors from dead girls. And if not the water maiden, maybe I could sneak out, rig a gurney, and drag Earl through the forest. Or coax a couple rabdogs to pull it. “I refuse to spend my final moments in the digestive tract of someone like Tommy.”

“An experience I don’t recommend. One star,” Earl quipped with enough dry humor to draw an unexpected bark of laughter from me.

Embarrassment heated my cheeks. “My humblest apologies. I shouldn’t make light of your misery.”

“There’s no need for apologies. Better we joke than sob.” Determination etched the old man’s features. “These cannibals are a superstitious folk. They perform certain rituals for each stage of the, uh, baking process. Soon, Tommy will return for you. To prepare you, as he claimed. But I don’t want you to worry none, Moriah. I’ve had a ton of time here and nothing to do but think. I’ve come up with a surefire plan for escape. All I’ve needed is a pair of hands. Yours, to be exact. You do what I say, and we can get home.”