His pulse quickened; his breath became shallow.
Twigs continued to snap, getting closer to the edge of the clearing that Ben focused on through a pair of tree trunks. He could see right across the clearing to where the tree line started again.
A figure stepped out.
Ben, although expecting it, still found it startling in his heightened state and pulled the trigger too quickly, sending his shot firing high above the figure’s head. The person ducked and rolled. At the end of the roll, the person rose to a knee and held out a gun, sighting across the tree line, tracing where the shot had come from.
What is he doing? Ben thought as the figure seemed to sniff the air and then smile before rising to his feet.
“It’s just me, Igor. That you out there, our little croatoan friends? Firing on your allies now? I’m not sure Augustus would be so happy with that.”
The man spun around, his weapon by his side. “Come on then, show yourself. I’ll get you back to the farm.”
The farm! Igor… Ben pulled his pistol away and took his finger off the trigger. He remembered Denver and Charlie talking about an Igor, along with a Marek, Alex, and of course Gregor. All the people who worked on the farm.
Grabbing his pack, Ben vaulted the trunk and ran out to the tree line, making sure he kept the pistol in hand but pointing down to the ground. He didn’t want to accidentally threaten Igor and get shot himself for the effort.
Excitement and relief built within him as he rushed forward into the clearing, holding his free hand up. “Igor? Please, can you help me?” He didn’t really know how else to start.
Igor, with his shaved head, droopy moustache, and deep scowl, aimed his pistol with both arms out in front of him. “Stop where you are and drop that damned weapon,” he said. “Who the fuck are you? And more importantly, what the hell are you doing shooting at me?”
Making a wet thudding noise, the alien pistol struck the loamy soil as Ben did as he was told. He held both arms up, having seen people do it in Western films. “I’m Ben. I’m from the ship… vI mean harvester. I escaped from Charlie. I was trying to find my way back.”
“Oh really?” Igor said, cocking his head to one side. He looked over Ben, watching the edge of the forest, probably suspecting some kind of trap. “And is he chasing you?”
Ben shook his head. “No, I slipped away in the night. No one knows I’m here. He killed the rest of my crew shortly after he damaged the harvester. Please, you’ve got to help me. I can’t stay out here.”
“Why’d you fire on me?” Igor asked, stalking closer, his pistol solid and unwavering, the barrel pointing right at Ben’s head.
“I was just scared. I thought Charlie and his psycho son were stalking me. I panicked. I’m not used to it out here. I’ve only ever known my ship, my cabin, but all that’s gone now, and my crew…” Ben dropped his head to really sell the ruse. Although not exactly experienced in body language, he gathered this Igor wasn’t the prize wrench in the toolbox.
“Stand up,” Igor said, “and turn around.”
For a moment, Ben hesitated, thinking he was going to be executed. But Igor’s bark made him jump and follow the orders. Then the man’s hands were on his arms, pulling them behind his back. Something plastic locked his wrists in place. Igor’s breath was on his neck as he threatened him.
“You’re coming back to the farm with me, Ben, but if you so much as move or breathe out of place, I’ll put you down like a pig and feed you to the cattle. You understand?”
Ben nodded furiously, wondering what the hell he had got himself into, and if Denver and Charlie had set him up and all the nonsense about the plan was just a way of getting rid of him, to get him killed by these other people.
Not that he could do anything about it now. He thought of showing Igor the bead that he kept in his shirt pocket beneath his zipped jacket but didn’t want to waste his best gambit. He decided to wait until he met this Gregor character.
Still, while Igor placed the alien pistol into the pack and hauled the latter onto his back, Ben said, “I’ve got information about Charlie and Denver. I know things; I can trade.”
Igor kicked him in the lower back, forcing him toward the edge of the clearing. They were moving back from where Igor had come. “I don’t doubt that, son, but you’re mistaking me for someone more generous if you think I’m going to trade anything with you. I’ll get that information in my own special way; don’t you worry about that. Now get moving, and don’t make as much as a squeak unless I tell you; otherwise, I’ll put a bullet in your head. Is that clear enough for you?”
Ben was about to speak but chose not to. Instead, he nodded.
“Good, little pig. Good.”
Ben stifled a scream as the gaffer tape, as Igor called it, was ripped suddenly away from his mouth, the adhesive tearing away small patches of skin on his lips and cheeks. His eyes filled with tears. Igor placed his clammy hand over Ben’s face. Leaning in, he whispered, “Make a noise, little pig, and you’ll join those.”
The former gangster pointed to a rack of meat hooks upon which hung half a dozen men and women, their hands and feet pointing downwards, their chins resting on their chests, the hook embedded deep into their backs.
Below them, flowing in a channel to somewhere further off in the slaughterhouse, was a tiny river of blood. It dripped from a series of cuts among the people’s bodies, now stained dark brown with dried blood, forming external arteries like dried rivers.
The smell made Ben gag: a heady mix of coppery blood and lung-scorching bleach. Every breath brought with it a stinging sensation, making his guts turn. He fought to keep the bile down as it rose into his throat.
Igor backed away. Beneath the bright white glare of the overhead strip-light, a piece of dark leather material wrapped around Igor’s waist, presumably for protection, shone glossily. Red stains covered the white, ankle-length jacket he wore beneath.
Trying to move, Ben realized his wrists and ankles were shackled to the legs of a steel chair bolted to the floor. A steel desk stood in front of him. Pieces of meat that were once limbs filled a series of containers.
A yellow glow surrounded the edge of a door beyond the hanging bodies.
“No-no,” Igor said, standing in front of him, blocking his view. “There’s no way out unless I say there is. Now, let’s get this party started, shall we? I’m on a schedule.”
Before Ben could say anything, Igor placed his left hand over Ben’s mouth, and with his right brought out a small blade from a front pocket. The blade glinted beneath the strip-light as Igor brought it close to Ben’s face. His eyes hurt as they tried to focus close up, but the image just blurred as he screamed and thrashed against the chair.
Aggravating the wound on his face caused by a twig, Igor’s blade dug deeper into the flesh, widening the wound. The blade scraped across his cheekbone, making him yell out, but Igor’s hand was too tightly clasped over his mouth for it to escape the slaughterhouse and raise an alarm.
Ben sobbed with the agony as Igor cut him three times more on the cheek and once across his forehead. The blood dripped down into his eyes, making him blink as the world became dark and blurred.
“Now we’ve got the introduction out of the way,” Igor said, “I trust you’ll do as I suggest. Nod if you understand me.”
Of course Ben nodded, unable to do anything else as his face felt alive with pain, burning and unyielding.
Through his darkened vision, he saw Igor’s face come closer. He wore a sick smile. Ben realized then that he’d done this kind of work many times before. Just what the hell had Denver and Charlie got him into?