A faded red 1957 Ford pickup rattled to a stop. As Daddy and Cullen approached, a young man with a shaved head, climbed out of the driver’s seat. His sideburns melded with his beard and mustache. The back of his tank top was soaked with sweat where he had leaned against the seat. Several grocery sacks sat on the floorboard of the cab.
The young man broke into a big grin as Daddy and Cullen stepped up to him.
“Wow! Great looking boar, Daddy,” Johnny said grabbing two of the grocery sacks.
“We’ll be eating good this winter with the vegetables from the garden. We won’t have to worry too much about…” Daddy’s sentence trailed off. “Cullen?”
Cullen was staring at the cabin. “I distinctly remember closing the front door when I left this morning.”
Daddy and Johnny followed his gaze to the cabin where the door stood open. In a quick move, Daddy reached inside the cab and grabbed two rifles off the gun rack in the back window. He handed them to Johnny and Cullen, and chambered a round into his. Johnny snatched boxes of ammo from under the seat.
Cullen loaded his rifle while Daddy crept toward the front of the cabin, his rifle at the ready. He and Johnny followed, taking care to step where Daddy had to keep their approach as quiet as possible, ducking underneath the window as they passed. Daddy stopped just outside the door, listening for any sound inside. He spun around, jumping into the opening and pointing the rifle into the room.
Cullen followed suit and then Johnny. Cullen gasped when he saw the mess in the kitchen. Daddy turned and surveyed the damage.
Seeing no one, Daddy approached the bedroom door, slightly ajar. He pushed it open with the muzzle of his rifle.
* * * *
George enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep but a soft noise interrupted his slumber. He woke up, lying on his stomach, cheek pressed against a pillow. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and how he got there. He rose up on his elbows and glanced over his shoulder.
A huge, hairy man, larger than he had ever seen, stood over him with a rifle pointed at his head. Before he could react, the man brought the stock down sharply.
It smashed against his skull behind his ear. Lightning flashed before his eyes and he lost consciousness.
* * * *
George came to with a sharp pain in his head and a loud ringing in his ears. Slowly his eyes focused on his surroundings. The light coming through the small window showed it was close to sunset. The large man, who’d hit him, stood menacingly close with two others next to him.
George tried to move but found he was tied to a chair, his hands behind him and his ankles shackled to its wooden legs. His eyes flew open wide and he sucked in a breath when he realized his underwear had been removed.
“Who are you?” The large man spoke. His voice wasn’t loud but it seemed to shake the entire room.
“My name is George Lattimer. I’m—”
“What are you doing here?” he growled.
George stared up at him. The man wore no shirt and appeared to have muscle upon muscle, all covered in hair.
None of their friends and neighbors had this level of musculature. When George’s parents hosted pool parties, everyone hung out in bathing suits, all pasty white, scrawny and clean-shaven.
George couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s chest. The other two men in the room were also muscular, tan and hairy but not to the extent as the first.
“What are you doing here?” the man repeated, bellowing.
George jumped at the outburst. “I’m just hitchhiking cross-country,” he said weakly.
“In the middle of nowhere? Miles from the nearest highway?”
“I got lost,” he protested.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Why would I lie?”
“I can think of a lot of reasons.”
George was stymied. Why was this guy so paranoid? What was so special about this dilapidated hideaway?
“First of all,” the man continued when George didn’t answer. “You don’t have any identification. Where’s your billfold? You don’t travel with money?” He pointed to George’s clothes which were hanging over the back of another chair.
“I lost it when I ran away from…” He caught himself. “When I ran into the woods.”
A slight smile crept into the man’s face. “Why did you run into the woods? Who were you running from?”
George’s face heated up as if a fire had been built under his chin.
“I seem to have touched a nerve, George.” The man sneered when he spoke the name.