MEAT : The Definitive Uncut Edition Read online

  U N C U T

  Michael Bray

  Copyright © Michael Bray 2014

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  Red Shark Publishing © 2014

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  “But if you're gonna dine with them cannibals,

  Sooner or later, darling, you're gonna get eaten.”

  ― Nick Cave

  Delivery

  Luke Jones had been homeless for seven years. Neglect as a child had caused him to rebel, which in turn had led to him being kicked out of home by his abusive drunk of a father on his seventeenth birthday. Too old for foster care, and considered damaged goods by those who were supposed to be friends and family, he had drifted from place to place. First begging friends to let him sleep on their floors or sofas, then as each welcome was worn out, took to sleeping rough. Soon enough, the favours dried up, and sleeping on the streets had become the norm. Part of his routine.

  He had watched the new supermarket take shape over the last couple of weeks and still, couldn’t understand why any company with any sense would open a store in such a shitty area. The other businesses around it were either closed or barely keeping their heads above water, struggling to make ends meet ever since the new mega-mall opened its doors and catered for everything a person might need, all under one roof. For whatever reason, whoever owned this new place seemed to have bucked the trend and the bright lights of the mall in favour of a shitty, run down part of town like this. Luke stood across the street, hands in pockets, hood pulled up over his face. Grueber’s World of Food, proclaimed the illuminated sign above the automatic doors. As confused as he was about why anyone would open a place in the area, he didn’t really care. His stomach growled at him and reminded him why he had come here. Supermarkets meant food. And food was something he was desperate for. He approached the store casually, giving it a cursory glance as he walked straight past the entrance. He had learned the hard way that shoplifting was only asking for trouble, especially when he knew he looked like shit. He knew all too well that the staff would give him the thousand yard stare as soon as he walked through the door, especially at night when security guards tended to be on the lookout for people like him. Instead of entering the store, he walked to the alleyway next to it, keeping close to the wall as he walked into the shadow draped depths. It was a cool night, and the breeze was doing a fine job of pushing the unique stench of food waste around with sickening efficiency. He caught a whiff of rotten meat and wrinkled his nose. It was nothing new to him, of course. He had long since grown used to living with the extreme smells that came with living rough. Some of the places where he had stayed were barely fit for animals, let alone people. Thinking about it for too long could only lead to doubt, which in the end made the difference between death or survival. And he was a survivor. A stubborn one at that. He did what he had to in order to live, in order to keep seeing the sun rise. He wasn’t proud of some of the lengths he had gone to in the past, but in his situation, there was no room for pride anyway. All that mattered, was getting something to eat. He could see the supermarket’s loading door, a corrugated steel shutter which rattled when the wind touched it. He passed it, barely giving it a glance. His interest was in the dumpster beside it. Luke walked to it and opened the lid, holding his breath against the smell and hoping to find something good. He knew supermarkets tended to throw away their foods once they reached their best before dates, but he also knew well enough the food was good for up to another two weeks after that date. Whilst his fellow homeless folk scrambled around the soup kitchen, Luke had a ready-made supply of unopened, good-to-eat food from most of the supermarkets across town. He still had to be cautious, though, as getting caught would be an end to his little adventure. Even though the food had been thrown away, most of the supermarkets had taken an aversion to people going through their rubbish in search of food, and many had installed padlocks to keep people like Luke away. He pushed his way through the black plastic bags, pulling a few open in search of the good stuff when his world became illuminated with the unmistakable glare of headlights.

  Reacting on instinct, he slammed the dumpster lid and hid against the wall, watching as the crimson truck reversed down the alleyway. It was emblazoned with the Grueber’s logo in white on its side and came to a halt level with the raised loading area. Luke watched as the steel shutter he had walked past just a few moments ago clicked to life with an electronic whine and began to roll open. A stocky man walked onto the loading area. Luke watched as the delivery driver climbed out of the cab, strode up the ramp and handed over a clipboard. The man from the store looked over it and signed it before handing it back to the driver.

  Delivery time.

  Luke thought this might be a good chance to snag some fresh goods, maybe even some booze. All he would have to do is wait until the worker was loading stock in and the van was unguarded, and he would be able to make his move. Adrenaline surged through him, and he couldn’t help but grin at the thought of what he was about to do. He watched as the delivery driver unlocked the truck, and swung open the back doors. When he saw what was inside, Luke forgot all about stealing food, being cold and tired and even about his hunger. All he could do was stare.

  It was filled with people.

  They were naked and bound together by the feet and hands. Luke watched in horror as the frightened cargo shuffled off the truck and into the loading bay. He counted twenty in all, aged between twenty and fifty as best he could guess. The stocky man ushered them through the loading bay doors, counting them off as they passed. Some were crying, others impassive and silent as they did as they were instructed. They were all shepherded into the store, and the stocky man and the delivery driver exchanged small talk. Luke stared and wondered what to do. He hated dealing with the police, but he knew this wasn’t an ordinary situation, and he would have to tell somebody what was going on here. He shifted position, trying to get a look into the store, but the instant he moved, both the stocky man and the delivery driver stopped talking, and looked right in his direction.

  He froze, and held his breath as he ducked out of sight behind the dumpster. He realized then it was a dead end. There was no way out other than the way he had come. He strained his ears, but could hear nothing but the drone of distant traffic. He waited. Time seemed to stretch out to infinity, and when he built up the courage to peek around the edge of the dumpster, he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or even more afraid.

  Both the stocky man and the delivery driver were gone. The loading bay was still open, and the engine of the truck was still running, but the alleyway was empty. Luke cast his eyes over the shadowy recess of the alley, places where a person might be able to hide if they were so inclined. The years spent living on the streets had sharpened his instincts, and they screamed at him now to run. He greedily eyed the street thirty feet away. He could make it. He knew it. As was his way, he didn’t pause to think and lurched off into a run. He darted towards the delivery truck, knowing he would feel safer when h
e was past it and out into the open air. He focused on the street at the end of the alleyway and ran, focusing on nothing else but his freedom.

  It happened as he passed the open loading bay door. He saw a flicker of movement, a shadow against the light spilling out into the alleyway, but by then it was too late. The short life of Luke Jones was over before he felt his throat being torn open, and before his body was catapulted into the side of the truck, his arms and legs flailing like a rag doll as he crumbled to the ground. His dead eyes stared at the floor as the stocky man strode over, and with little effort or care, picked up the body, hoisted it over his shoulder and walked towards the loading bay door. He tossed the corpse over the threshold, paused to look up and down the alleyway, and then activated the controls to close the shutter, plunging the alleyway back into shadow draped silence.

  STAKEOUT

  The pale green sedan was parked across the street from the store. Its two occupants watched as people entered sporadically. The driver, a wiry African American, licked his lips and scratched at his beard as he peered at the store.

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t think I like this.”

  The man beside him was taller, and unlike his nervous partner seemed both less afraid and more determined. He pulled his long hair into a ponytail and secured it, then checked his watch.

  “It’ll be fine, pal,” he said, his accent thick Irish. “It’s now or never.”

  “You sure about this? If we do this you know there’s no going back.”

  “You know as well as I do this is the only choice we have.”

  “Whatever you say. Just be careful.”

  “Will do. No need to panic yet. I wanna go in there and take a look around first. If I don’t like it, we can call it off. You just wait here till I come back.”

  “You got it, buddy,” the driver said as the long-haired man got out of the car and crossed the road, pausing to let a blue Passat pull into one of the spaces out front of the store. He took one last look over his shoulder then went inside.

  II

  The man in the blue Passat got out of the car and was about to head into the store when his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his jeans and looked at the display. His wife’s name flashed in blue as the phone vibrated in its demand to be answered. But he didn’t want to get into another argument, not when the one they had just finished had been so volatile. He loved her, of that, there was no doubt, but such was their similarity to each other when they argued, their respective stubbornness made them both fight to get the last word. He leaned on his car, and couldn’t believe the almighty argument had started because he had used up the last of the milk without replacing it. Of course, he had to allow for the pregnancy, and the fact her hormones were all askew, but he didn’t like to lose, and had argued his case, which quickly descended into a bout of throwing personal insults at each other. He had stormed out of the house, telling her he might be better off with someone who wasn’t such a bitch. Now he had calmed, he, of course, regretted it, but at the time, felt an exhilarating sense of victory when he saw the pained look in her eyes when he closed the door on his way out. He was sure he had gone too far, and even though he wanted to take the call and apologise, he wasn’t sure it was sufficiently diffused enough for that to happen. He looked at the handset, the vibrating ‘Stacey’ on screen demanding his attention. He hovered briefly over the answer key, and then changed his mind and rejected the call. He still needed to cool off himself a little bit yet and thought it would be better they talk in person, once he had replaced the milk. He also really wanted a nice steak or something for dinner. He stuffed the phone into his pocket, then walked towards the store.

  III

  On the opposite side of the street, the wiry African American realized what it was that had been bothering him since they had arrived. Although they had been watching the place for almost an hour and had seen a lot of people go into the store, not a single one had come out again. Something about that made his stomach vault, and he eyed the place nervously as if seeing it through fresh eyes. The building made him incredibly uncomfortable, and yet he could see no reason for it. He had been telling himself it was just a building, a supermarket just like any other, but with each rationalization, he asked himself another question. Why were there no windows? Why had nobody come out? Why had nobody known this place was being built here? More to the point, why build it here in the middle of nowhere, unless there was a reason to be anonymous?

  Whatever it was, he was glad he was on the outside and hoped his friend would get the hell out of there soon so they could be on their way. Across the street, someone else walked into Grueber’s, and still, nobody came out.

  The Foot

  It was a foot. A human foot. Garrett wasn’t sure quite how to react and looked up and down the length of the supermarket walkway before turning his attention back to the appendage in the freezer. At first, he thought it was a prank – perhaps the next great TV show idea designed to fool the unwitting public- and yet he knew it wasn’t. The foot in the freezer didn’t look like a prop. It wasn’t made of rubber. There were too many details. Ghostly veins were visible just under the skin, and the underside of the toes was cracked and well worn. The full magnitude of the situation hit home, and as if to prove to himself it wasn’t a case of his imagination getting out of hand, he deliberately looked away, focusing his attention on his shoes, allowing his mind to empty and see clearly. He knew how perception could easily fool the brain into seeing things which weren’t real, and he was sure this was exactly that. He turned his gaze back to the freezer, his stomach plummeting to his shoes as he saw how his initial reaction seemed to have been- as impossible as it seemed – correct. The foot was nestled between the vast array of chickens and chunky cuts of beef and housed in a plastic tray on a bed of lettuce. The entire shrink-wrapped appendage had been cut off below the ankle, and the fleshy underside seasoned with pepper. The sandwich he had eaten for lunch quivered a little in his stomach when he realized the foot—as unfathomable as it seemed—was quite real. He leaned closer to examine the label on the front of the package.

  Grueber’s Free Range human foot!

  White male left foot,

  Pre-washed and ready to cook.

  Delicious, hot or cold!

  Garrett saw with dismay that the freezer was filled with severed feet of all races, all sizes, and priced according to weight. It wasn’t just feet. The more he actually looked, the more he saw. Hands sold individually or in pairs. Racks of human ribs which still had the skin on one side for ‘easy roast crackling’. He felt a dizzy giggle dance up to his throat and had to force himself to swallow it back down.

  All thoughts of replenishing the milk were gone, and he discreetly looked around trying to put some kind of rational context to the situation which might enable his mind to cope. He expected to see more horrors, things which would look more at home in the kitchen of Jeffrey Dahmer rather than plain old Ray Garrett, and yet the rest of the supermarket looked perfectly normal and as unremarkable as expected. It followed the same tried and tested design model as countless other markets all over the world with its polished floors and wide, well-stocked shelves that had all the temptations discreetly placed at eye level. It was all so... ordinary. In numb disbelief, he glanced up and down the length of the aisle to see if anybody else but him had noticed what was happening. There was an old couple at the furthest end of the store, the man pushing the trolley whilst the woman carefully checked off the goods on their list. Garrett couldn’t see anything unusual in the inventory they had gathered so far, and certainly no body parts. Either way, they didn’t appear to be at all concerned that the new local supermarket seemed to be trading in human flesh. He desperately wanted to move, to do anything not to draw attention to his horror, but his own feet—perhaps in protest at the treatment of its fellow appendages—refused to co-operate. He glanced at his reflection in the glass-fronted freezer doors and saw a pale faced, open-mouthed parody of himself looking back.
>
  “Hey, man, take it easy.”

  The voice in his ear almost made him scream outright, and did nothing for his already fraying nerves. Garrett spun on his heel and was face to face with the man who almost scared him half to death.

  He was one of those indie rocker types with sandy hair down to his collar and over his ears that was styled to look messy but somehow came across as incredibly stylish. He was effortlessly pulling off the ‘too-cool-to-care’ look. His girlfriend—a thin and naturally attractive blonde with nervous eyes— hung on his arm and kept her head low. Garrett tried to look the indie rocker in the eye but was met with his own funhouse mirror reflection in his aviator glasses.

  “What do you mean?” Garrett muttered, still trying to gather his thoughts together and rationalize the situation as aviator leaned closer.

  “I said, take it easy, or you’ll give us all up.” Aviator tried to smile, but it came off as a nervous twitch of the cheek.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Aviator fidgeted from one foot to the other, and Garrett realized the kid was scared. He nodded to towards the freezer. No words were necessary.

  “It’s a joke, surely, right?” Garrett whispered.

  “I wish it was, man. I truly do.”

  “I don’t understand. I…” Garrett began and then couldn’t think of anything else to say. Instead, he looked at the kid in the aviator glasses, who now wore a nervous grin and was absently scratching at his cheek, leaving an angry red mark as he stared at the freezer full of human meat.

  “You see it, though, don’t you?” Aviator asked. “I mean, you know what those are, right?”