CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Steve stirs, but he is unable to see, his eyes are caked with dry blood. The crusty red mess gluing his eyelids and eyelashes together. His naked body is shaking from the cool morning air, his skin a mass of goose flesh. He tries to clamp his mouth tightly together to stop his teeth from chattering, but winces at the pain.
His whole body feels like he has been run over by a Mack truck and left at the side of the road. No more than common road kill. But he knows that he is miles away from any roads.
But where is he?
His hands are fastened behind his back and he is laying on his side. The side that is touching the ground feels warm and itchy. He can feel ants, fleas and other little insects crawling all over his body, their little bites no more than an annoyance to him compared to the pain of his face and head.
He rolls onto his back, his bound hands uncomfortably underneath him. He feels the ground with his fingers. It feels hairy, furry, sort of like an animal rug, but rougher and not as soft. He pushes himself up and sits.
If only I could reach my eyes and give them a wipe, I�d be able to see where I am. He snorts and blows a chunk of congealed blood out of each nostril. He gags. The smell hits him immediately, the same putrid stench that they had smelt in the rainforest yesterday. Or at least he thinks it was yesterday.
I wonder how long I was out for?
It might have even been a couple of days ago that he had smelt that disgusting odour. But right here, now it was a lot stronger, the smell of decay, death.
He could hear the drone of blowflies buzzing around his aching head. Occasionally they would land on his weeping face and have an undisturbed feast, as he was unable to swat them away.
�Ah, wake is he.� A raspy male voice from behind him breaks the silence.
The voice startles Steve, he spins his head to the direction of it. If only he could see. Then he thinks, maybe it�s better that I can�t see, that stink smells awfully like rotting flesh. Similar to the smell of a dead kangaroo laying on the road side, sweltering away in the midday sun, its body bloated and crawling with maggots.
�Where the hell am I?� Demands Steve.
�At the gates to hell, but don�t you go worrying, you won�t be here long.� An evil laugh echoing throughout.
Steve hears footsteps walking on wooden floorboards, walking away from him, getting further away, fainter and fainter then they stop. He hears the jangle of metal, just like someone digging and searching in a cutlery draw in a kitchen. The footsteps return, getting closer and closer. Then they disappear, but he can feel the guy close to him. A breeze brushes Steve�s naked body as he walks by him. He must be walking on the furs.
The guy places a hand on Steve�s shoulder, his skin crawls with the touch. His large hand feel strong and rough, its fingers digging into his collar bone. Steve tries to scurry forward but the guy strengthens his grip, any tighter and his collar bone would collapse under the immense pressure.
Steve feels something cold and pointy pressing under his right shoulder blade. The skin gives way as the guy jambs a meat hook in, then another under his left shoulder blade. A trickle of blood runs down his back from each of the holes. Steve yells out with pain, his tears moisten the arid blood that covers his eyes. Softening the crusty surface. Miraculously his eyes spring open.
The guy standing behind Steve picks him up by the metal hooks, his feet dangling eight inches off the ground.
�Boy you�re a heavy little sucker.� Says the guy as he struggles to lift Steve�s weight. �I bet you�re real tasty though.�
Steve�s legs and feet flailing and kicking in the air. He hoists Steve up to a rail on the wall of the cabin, the metal s-shape meat hooks hooking over the rail, suspending Steve a foot off of the ground.
The cabin is dark, glowing embers from a fireplace not emitting much light. Sunlight penetrating through tiny holes in the rusty corrugated iron roof, a strip of light entering through a square hole in the far wall. A window, but with no glass. It gives just enough light for Steve to make out the image of the guy.
He�s big, probably close on seven feet tall, a human giant. Hairy and muscular. His face hidden amongst a scruffy brown and grey beard and moustache, fringed by mussed grotty dark hair. His skin wrinkled and tanned, smudged with dirt. He is wearing a pair of trouser fashioned out of animal hides and a jacket of fur which is laced together at the front by a leather thong. His extremely large feet are bare and black with dirt. A real wild man.
The pain from the meat hooks in Steve�s back subsides, the punctures becoming numb. Steve sees the wild man leave the cabin, the open door lets in more light. Steve surveys the cabin.
It appears to be only one room, its roof and walls covered in rusty corrugated iron sheets. A window on the far side and a door next to it. Against one wall is a fireplace, Steve can�t see any furniture, only a couple of wooden boxes piled up in one corner. The wooden floor is scattered with dozens of animal hides. The source of the stench still remains a mystery to Steve. No sign of anything rotting in here, it must be outside.
Steve hears the weathered wooden floorboards of the porch creak under the weight of the wild man as he enters the cabin brandishing an axe in one hand and a couple of sticks in the other. He walks over to the wooden boxes in the corner and searches through them, he finds what he is looking for.
The wild man walks to Steve, axe and sticks in his right hand, a couple of short lengths of rope and a hunting knife in the other. The knife looked menacing, a carved bone handle and a shiny stainless steel blade, eight inches of shiny cold death. The guy crouches in front of Steve and places the knife, axe, sticks and rope on the floor.
Steve kicks his right leg forward with all the might that he could muster, its bare foot whooshing through the air. The wild man lifts his head just as its toes make contact underneath his chin. His head jerks backwards, he tumbles onto his back. The guy sits back up and shakes his head, raises his right hand to his jaw and gives it a rub. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times to check that everything was still functioning okay.
�You shouldn�t have done that.� The wild man said through his bloody grin. Red teeth showing and a dribble of crimson running from the corner of his mouth. � I�ll make you suffer for that.�
The wild man grabs Steve�s right leg and wraps a rope around it just above the knee, he slides the stick in under the rope. The guy tightens and knots the rope. He does the same to his left leg. Then he turns the stick, the rope tightens and tightens. Steve feels the blood stop flowing to his foot, it become tingly with pins and needles, and it feel like it is burning. Then it becomes numb.
�Watch what you are doing, you�re cutting off my circulation.� Steve whinges.
�I know. Don�t want you bleeding every where.� The wild man says as he reaches for the axe.
Steve�s face contorts with fear, the guy lines up his kneecap with the head of the axe. Steve�s watery eyes reflect the glint of silver as the shiny axe head is drawn back. Steve yells. �NO!� as the axe is swung forward at a tremendous speed. He hears a solid thud on the wooden floor below him before his brain registers the pain and he passes out.