As the bed's movements grew more intense, the expressions of those hiding beneath it took on a look of surreal discomfort. The damn cannibals had started having sex right above them. The situation was so absurd that Ethan didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Carly, whose mouth was still covered by Ethan's hand, struggled to breathe. His body pressed hers against the floor, while the boards creaked against his back.
She twisted, trying to make him release her, but his hand remained firmly in place. It felt like a silent form of torture. After several violent jolts, the frantic rocking finally began to subside.
After an unbearable half hour, the movement above Ethan's head stopped. A few minutes later, snoring filled the room. He waited another ten minutes, until the sleepers' breathing settled into a steady rhythm, then gestured to the others that he was about to crawl out. However, Carly still clung tightly to him, her eyes closed.
With little room to move, he straightened his back, making her let out a sharp breath and open her eyes. Ethan indicated that he needed to get out. Her ears flushed, and she quickly released him. He carefully crawled free, signaling for the others to stay where they were.
Ethan moved on his hands and knees toward the head of the bed, then silently rose. The three people above them were sound asleep. Bighead lay in the center, a burly man with well-defined muscles, dark skin, and long, tangled hair. A blonde woman rested against each of his outstretched arms, both wearing satisfied expressions.
Ethan slowly entered the kitchen. On the counter lay the machete Bighead had used to butcher Carly's friends. A strip of cloth was wrapped around the handle, and traces of blood still coated the sharp blade.
He gripped the machete, picked up a nearby rag, and calmly wiped the blood from the blade. Then he approached the bed with silent steps, his cold gaze fixed on the three sleeping figures.
Perhaps his isolated life in the mountains had sharpened his instincts, because Bighead suddenly opened his eyes and looked straight at Ethan. But it was already too late. The gleaming blade descended toward his neck.
Whoosh!
The brief, muffled sound echoed through the room, and everyone beneath the bed flinched. The quilt, which had been clean, turned red in an instant. Jesse's pupils contracted as she realized what Ethan was doing.
She gritted her teeth, feeling no fear—only an overwhelming sense of relief.
Ethan's powerful blow drove the machete through Bighead's neck and several inches into the bed board beneath him. The impact jolted both women awake, their eyes widening in shock.
Ethan had already pulled the blade free. Before either woman could cry out, he struck them with the same ease someone might chop vegetables. Blood soaked the sheets and began dripping slowly from the bed.
—Come out —he said quietly.
Ethan drew back the machete and flicked it, sending a thin streak of blood onto the floor. At the sound of his voice, the others quickly crawled out.
—Your backpack.
Scott handed it to Ethan, then turned toward the bed.
Seeing the three bodies with their heads severed, he covered his mouth and fought a wave of nausea.
Daria grabbed his shirt, pulled him toward her, and whispered:
—If you feel like throwing up, think about what happened to your two friends. Now isn't the time.
Scott's face went pale. He swallowed several times before giving a heavy nod. Jesse and Carly gritted their teeth and backed away. Worried that something might happen, Ethan handed the machete to Daria.
A quiet cry came from the bathroom doorway. Jesse and Carly had stopped there, staring at Francine and Evan's bodies on the floor, their abdominal cavities cut open. Without a word, Ethan put his arms around the two girls and guided them away.
Even someone who hadn't known the victims would have struggled to bear such a sight. For their friends, it was almost impossible.
Carly burst into tears and reached for the doorframe, wanting to go inside and take her friends with her, but her arms fell limply to her sides.
Once Ethan brought them back into the main room, Jesse's determination to survive forced her to steady herself. She wiped her tears with trembling hands, took several deep breaths, and looked at him.
—What do we do now?
Ethan glanced at the clothes beside the bed.
—First, let's find something we can use.
—They must have keys to a car we can take.
Jesse immediately began searching the bloodstained clothing, fighting her revulsion. She lifted the garments and checked them for a while, then sighed helplessly.
When nothing turned up, the others had little choice but to search the house for anything their captors might have left behind.
Ethan pursed his lips and looked around. He quickly moved to the foot of the bed, where an old double-barreled shotgun stood with duct tape wrapped around its grip.
He picked it up, broke it open, and loaded two shells into the chambers. After snapping it shut, he searched the small cabinet beside him but found no additional ammunition.
He glanced at the others, reached behind his back with his free hand, and drew his Colt M1911. An extra magazine was tucked into his pocket in case he needed it.
From now on, he would have to conserve his limited ammunition. More than ten enemies remained, and the number of wooden houses suggested there might be many more than they had first seen.
—Shit. That'll make things easier.
Scott approached with a table knife, his eyes fixed on the shotgun. When Ethan drew the Colt, his expression brightened further. Their chances of surviving had just improved.
He put down the knife and rubbed his hands eagerly.
—Can you give me one?
—No —Ethan replied firmly, a slight smile on his lips as he met Scott's anxious gaze.
—Why? —Scott asked hastily—. Don't worry. I've used guns before.
Ethan shook his head.
—You don't believe me? —Scott asked, growing anxious at his continued refusal.
Hearing the exchange, the three women approached.
Daria spoke first.
—It's not that he doesn't trust you. Ethan just trusts himself more than anyone else.
Carly, holding a table knife, looked at her curiously.
—What do you mean?
Jesse looked equally curious, while Scott remained unconvinced.
Daria moved the machete from side to side and answered calmly:
—He's a police officer. He's practically a hero back in our town. You can trust him.
Their surprised gazes shifted to Ethan. He lifted his head and shrugged at Scott.
—Any more questions?
—No. Just get us out of here, please.
Scott quickly shook his head and let out a relieved breath. He wasn't usually fond of people in blue uniforms, but right now, he wished there were as many of them around as possible.
Learning that the friendly man beside them was a police officer surprised Jesse and Carly, but it also reassured them. Ethan, however, didn't share their optimism. There had been fourteen people in total, including the gas station owner. He had killed three, leaving eleven.
During the meal, the leader had mentioned people keeping watch outside. Ethan had no way of knowing how many more there might be. After considering this, he spoke in a low voice:
—You heard what the old man from the gas station said. There's nothing but forest around here. If we follow the road on foot, we'll be easy targets for these mountain people. We have two options. First, we head into the woods, but if we get lost, we could end up in an even worse position. Second, we take a vehicle and get out along the road. We might escape quickly, but if they catch us, it'll be just as dangerous.
Finding a shotgun in this house meant others could be armed too, which made keeping everyone safe even harder.
Having explained his thoughts, Ethan tucked the shotgun under his arm.
—I'm going to try to take the truck they came in.
Scott swallowed, preparing to object, but the three women nodded. Afraid of being left behind, he quickly agreed too. Ethan understood that, by speaking first, he had given the others a course to follow. In a situation like this, people tended to go along with the group.
Daria would follow his instructions without hesitation. With a gun in his hand, Ethan felt more determined.
These people had lived in the mountains for years. Even if they weren't professional hunters, they could easily hunt the group down in the woods. The arrow protruding from Francine's eye had shown him that their hunting skills were more than adequate.
Once everyone agreed, he took the machete from Daria and handed her the double-barreled shotgun.
—I'll look for the vehicle keys in the house next door. I'll be back within ten minutes. Wait here. It's safe for now.
—Okay. I'll be here —Daria replied, gripping the shotgun firmly.
Under the others' worried gazes, Ethan eased the door open and looked outside. Then he turned, gestured for them to remain quiet, and slipped out. Jesse quickly closed the door behind him, leaving the others waiting tensely inside.
Outside, the afternoon sun shone brightly. Ethan crouched and moved quickly through the debris surrounding the house. After a short distance, he reached the side of another building. Hearing noises within, he leaned toward a grimy window and peered inside.
The room was a mess. A large bed stood against the wall, with several shotguns beside it. Watching the people on the bed, Ethan tightened his grip on the machete. Men and women, young and old, lay tangled together, their distorted faces filling him with revulsion.
He remembered stories Brock had told him during patrols about isolated communities that barely interacted with the outside world. They lived in their own closed societies, where generations of incest and inbreeding had resulted in deformities. According to Brock, these people had hideous faces and twisted minds. They survived mainly by hunting, though the nature of their prey wasn't always clear. Some even ate human flesh.
When Ethan had expressed his doubts, Brock had shrugged and replied matter-of-factly:
—It's a fucked-up world. How do you know something that messed up couldn't happen?
Brock had called them mountain cannibals, and what Ethan was seeing now seemed to confirm those stories. He watched a powerful man holding an elderly woman while gripping a steel bar, then looked away. He continued searching for a suitable target.
Soon, he stopped beside a quiet house and looked inside. A thin man lay asleep on a bed, scratching his chest. Ethan approached the door and pressed his palm against it. None of these people seemed to bother latching their doors, so he gently pushed it open and entered.
He searched the clothes scattered on the floor but found nothing useful. Then he pressed the machete against the man's neck. The cold blade touched his skin, and he abruptly woke.
Fighting his disgust, Ethan leaned over the bed and covered the man's mouth with the dirty clothes in his hand.
—Can you understand me? —he asked, pressing the blade slightly harder until blood trickled down the man's chest.
The startled man blinked. Knowing his own survival might depend on the man understanding him, Ethan asked quietly:
—Where are the keys to the truck you just brought in?
The man stared at him in confusion, then blinked again. Ethan slowly removed the clothes from his mouth, keeping the machete firmly against his neck, ready to act if necessary.
—Under the pillow —the man replied, pointing.
Ethan watched him closely as he reached beneath the pillow. After searching for a moment, his fingers closed around cold metal. He pulled out a set of car keys and recognized the logo: they belonged to Francine's mother's Range Rover.
Seeing Ethan's expression, the man stammered:
—Please. I don't want to die.
Ethan nodded.
—Neither did the people you murdered and ate. Go to hell.
He pressed the blade down and drew it across the man's neck. Blood sprayed into the air as the vessels opened. Ethan stepped back, concluding that the man must have had high blood pressure.
Suddenly, a noise broke the silence. A wooden door opened, and a naked woman with a grotesque face appeared. Her mouth opened wider than seemed possible for a normal person.
Before she could make a sound, Ethan hurled the machete with all his strength. The blade flashed through the air and struck her in the chest. She fell dead instantly.
He moved to a simple wooden shelf against the wall in a dark corner, crowded with strange objects. Inside a rusty cookie tin, he found a box of shotgun shells meant for deer hunting. He was about to leave the house, now thick with the smell of death, when something caught his attention.
His gaze settled on a yellow stone on the shelf. He picked it up and hefted it in his hand. It was surprisingly heavy. The roughly cylindrical piece weighed three or four kilograms. Suppressing his excitement, he carried it into better light.
It was a natural gold nugget, with barely any visible impurities on its surface. It gleamed in the sunlight. Despite all the violence and danger, Ethan had unexpectedly found a genuine treasure. Beside it sat a small cloth bag. When he opened it, he discovered that it was full of gold dust.
Without hesitating, he placed both in his dimensional storage. With the keys secured, Ethan approached the dead woman, his expression cold. He planted a foot against her chest and pulled out the machete, its blade trembling as it came free.
Bang!
A muffled gunshot rang out from the house where Scott and the women were waiting. Ethan snapped his head toward the sound. Abandoning any thought of searching for more weapons, he drew the Colt from his waistband and ran outside. Screams erupted from several nearby houses. The shot had alerted the mountain cannibals, who were rushing from their homes.
Ethan stopped trying to hide and ran straight toward Daria and the others.
Five or six wild-looking cannibals emerged from a nearby house, armed with machetes, shotguns, bows, and arrows.
One spotted Ethan, raised a double-barreled shotgun, and pulled the trigger.
The blast struck an abandoned car beside Ethan, peppering its body with holes.
Ethan stopped briefly, turned, and raised the Colt.
Its silver barrel gleamed in the sunlight.
Bang!
The shot cracked through the air. The bullet struck its target, and the shooter's head burst like a watermelon, spraying red and white fragments over those nearby.
None of them had expected Ethan to be armed, much less such an accurate shot. In panic, the cannibals scattered and dropped to the ground. His mastery of firearms was at its highest level. At close range, he was like a god of death.
Ethan wasted no time reaching the nearby house. Instead of going inside, he took cover behind an abandoned car.
Once in position, he shouted urgently toward the house:
—Get out! I'll cover you!
A man lay on the porch with a bleeding hole in his chest. More people poured out of the surrounding houses, shrieking and carrying weapons. There were far more of them than Ethan had initially seen.
Hearing his shout, Daria ran outside with the double-barreled shotgun. The others followed, desperately rushing toward him.
Scott clutched his abdomen, his shirt soaked with blood.
Knowing Ethan's group was armed, the cannibals fired wildly without coming closer. Spurred by the gunfire, some of the group hurried toward Ethan.
—What happened? —he asked.
Before anyone could answer, an arrow struck the hood in front of him, its feathers quivering.
About twenty meters away, a powerful woman held a longbow aimed at their position. She pulled another arrow from behind her, nocked it, and drew the string with her muscular arm. Ethan swung his pistol toward her and fired first.
Before she could release the arrow, the shot shattered her head. The cannibals pursuing them immediately stopped.
—I thought he was a kid —Scott said, sweating as he leaned against the car.
—He was a dwarf —Daria replied, lifting the shotgun and scanning the area, unsure where to aim—. They're all cannibals here. It doesn't matter if they're old, weak, sick, or disabled. Shoot first. Our lives are at stake.
Ethan pulled out the keys and tossed them to Jesse.
—Get a vehicle and drive. Take the others out of here. I'll draw their attention and get them to follow me. Once you have a signal, call the nearest FBI office. Don't trust the local police.
Startled, Jesse caught the keys. With Carly's help, she supported Scott and hurried toward the vehicles parked behind them.
Seeing the cannibals preparing another attack, Ethan took the shotgun from Daria.
—Come on, you bastards!
A tall, muscular man with a wild appearance burst from behind a wooden house, roaring. He raised a gun and fired repeatedly at Ethan.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He turned the shotgun and fired, dropping the man with a devastating wound to the chest. Tossing the shotgun aside, he grabbed Daria and ran toward a motorhome.
At that moment, Jesse shouted furiously:
—Shit!
She slammed the vehicle door and yelled toward Ethan:
—The bastards took out the steering wheels!
Ethan ran to the truck and looked through the window. The steering wheel was missing. He quickly checked the other vehicles and found that their steering wheels had been twisted out of shape or ripped out entirely.
Hearing the outsiders' cries, the cannibals laughed mockingly. Frustrated, Ethan kicked a vehicle door, leaving a large dent. The others looked at him desperately, unsure what to do.
He looked toward the nearby mountain, covered in dense forest, then at the cannibals slowly advancing.
—Head up the mountain! —he ordered—. If we move, we have a chance. If we stay here, we're waiting to die.
—I'll draw their attention. You run.
Once he was sure they understood, he moved to the other side of the truck.
He held his breath and quickly stepped out from cover.
The Colt barked again, dropping a man armed with a shotgun. At the sound of the shot, Daria and the others started running toward the nearby slope.
A tall man with matted hair spotted them and roared furiously, trying to stop their escape. The cannibals quickened their pace, ignoring the threat Ethan posed.
Ethan fired again, killing the leader with a shot to the head. But the cannibals' savagery had taken hold. Their eyes bloodshot, they charged like beasts toward Ethan, while others chased Scott as he ran at full speed.
He had to survive. His dream of becoming a great interior designer drove him onward. Then he glanced back and saw a dark shape flying toward him. Instinctively, he moved to shield Jesse.
From the hillside, Ethan saw Scott fall. An arrow had struck him in the heart.
His body rolled down the slope.
—Scott! —Jesse screamed, trying to run back to him.
Carly and Daria reacted quickly, dragging her into the woods as she struggled desperately to reach him.
Ethan gritted his teeth and fired the last two rounds in his magazine. Two men holding bows fell dead, one after the other. With every shot, another head burst apart.
Though the cannibals weren't particularly intelligent, they were still terrified. They dropped to the ground in panic, giving Ethan a chance to run up the hill. He moved quickly and soon reached the forest's edge. Once beneath the trees, he stopped briefly and looked back. An angry man with a long whip was lashing those who had fallen. More than twenty cannibals, men and women, still remained.
Ethan ejected the empty magazine from his Colt and quickly inserted the spare from his pocket. He made sure it was seated, scratched his neck, tucked the pistol into his waistband, and entered the forest along the route the women had taken.
The afternoon sun was bright, but the forest remained shadowed. In the cool gloom, the group ran with sweat soaking their foreheads.
They climbed the dirt slope and struggled between the rocks. A long time passed before they finally stopped. Ethan stood beside a rock and looked back. Their pursuers had disappeared from sight. Along the way, he had used his superior endurance to ambush them twice, slowing them down before quickly catching up with Daria and the others.
After two hours of traveling through the mountains, everyone except Ethan was exhausted. They had no choice but to rest. Jesse and Carly leaned against a rock, panting and dazed. Looking at them with concern, Daria tugged at Ethan's trousers.
He turned and jumped down from the rock.
He didn't know how to comfort them. The journey had been brutal, and three of their companions had died unexpectedly. Jesse and Carly had shown considerable mental strength, but exhaustion was beginning to overwhelm them.
Ethan sighed, removed his backpack, and took out a bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and passed it to Carly.
—To Francine, Evan, and Scott. May they find peace.
Carly took the bottle, closed her eyes, and swallowed a long mouthful.
—To Francine, Evan, and Scott —she repeated.
The bottle passed around the group, and little by little, some life returned to their faces. Ethan took out the food he had stored in his backpack and distributed it.
After they had eaten and rested for a while, he checked his watch.
—It's getting late. We need to keep moving.
Carly murmured:
—Are we ever going to get anywhere?
Tall trees surrounded them, and the forest seemed endless.
—We need to work out where we are —Ethan said, looking up at the sky.
Jesse stood, helped Carly to her feet, and gritted her teeth.
—We have to reach the top. From there, we might see a road or a town. Once we know which way to go, we can escape. And get justice for Scott and the others.
Carly nodded with renewed determination.
—We have to get out. Those bastards are going to pay.
—They will —Daria added, standing and embracing them both.
—Then what are we waiting for? Let's go —Jesse said, looking at Ethan, who stood nearby.
Along the way, Ethan collected dry branches and carved them into makeshift walking sticks. With their help, the group made better progress. As the sky began to darken, Ethan abruptly stopped at the front of the group. Distracted, Daria bumped into his back.
Carly caught her from behind before she could fall.
—What is it? —Jesse asked quietly.
Ethan raised his walking stick and pointed ahead.
Above the treetops stood a tall wooden lookout tower, with a platform and a small cabin at the top.
Relief swept through the group, and they hurried toward it with renewed energy.
When they reached it, Daria stopped and looked at the wooden steps, tangled with vines.
—I don't think anyone's up there —she said in disappointment—. It looks like nobody's been here in a long time.
—It doesn't matter —Ethan replied, stepping forward—. There might be a radio or supplies. Maybe we'll even get a signal on our phones.
He shook the ladder hard, but it held firm. It seemed solid.
Ethan nodded, gripped the rungs, and began climbing.
The tower stood six or seven stories high, roughly twenty meters. The mountain breeze made it sway slightly. Though the ladder felt stable, Ethan grew a little dizzy. He tightened his grip and looked down. Daria, Carly, and Jesse were climbing behind him, one after another.
From above, he could see down the tight shirts his companions wore. It was an unusual view.
—Keep climbing. I'll show you later —Daria said, nervous about the height.
Carly laughed and pushed her chest forward.
Ethan smiled sheepishly and continued upward.
At the platform, he found a narrow wooden walkway and a sliding door.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
The cabin was small. Wind blew through a broken window, stirring papers on a nearby table. A radio sat there, with an axe embedded in it. Ethan pulled the axe free and saw that the radio had been split in two.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Jesse appeared at his side.
—I'll bet you a hundred bucks that thing doesn't work —she said, looking at the broken radio.
Ethan shrugged, handed her the axe, and walked to the window, where Carly and Daria were studying the horizon.
Daria leaned against his shoulder.
Carly quietly wrapped her arms around his arm and whispered:
—We're all going to die.
Beyond the window stretched an endless expanse of mountains and forest, without a sign of human habitation. Then, below them, they spotted a small group of heavily armed men in tactical uniforms slowly advancing toward the tower.