Chapter 9

Nestled deep into the pine forest of East Texas, a diminutive trailer moved on its axles under the shifting weight of the occupants inside. Muted voices carried through the night air and up into the starry sky. Ethereal clouds danced low across the tops of the trees. Inside, a man grunted as he forced the other occupant into submission.

Two Rottweiler dogs chained outside began barking viciously. A four-wheel-drive pickup had clambered up the deeply rutted dirt road leading to the trailer and pulled to a stop just out of reach of them.

A thin man stepped out of the pickup and took off his glasses to wipe the lenses clean. He approached the door of the trailer, being careful to keep well out of reach of the chained, snapping maws of the dogs eager to take a chunk of meat out of him. He knocked impatiently upon the door without taking his eyes from the dogs. They were powerful enough to break the chains and drag his body all over the junk strewn yard before devouring him if given the persuasion.

A series of curses and vulgar phrases emanated from within the trailer as the man inside cut short from completing his task. Lorraine put up a quick hand to cover his mouth and nose. The yard reeked of garbage and used motor oil, but it could not compare to the odor he knew he must face subsequently.

Light washed out into the yard as Wickes threw open the door to the trailer, revealing the various forms of rusting automotive art he had accumulated throughout the years. The stench from his unwashed body almost sent Lorraine reeling backward.

"Why don’t you take a freaking bath?" Lorraine choked back vomit. "You smell like crap rolled in puke!"

"Watch it you little worm. I will break you over the hood of your truck and feed you to the dogs." Wickes grinned with the remainder of his nine front teeth.

Lorraine chanced a peek through the door. A young girl with her knees drawn up in terror sat on a bed covered in brown sheets that might have once been white. Her torn clothes lay in a pile on the floor amid the trash. Only beginning to blossom, she could not have been more than twelve. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared at him with terrified eyes, pleading silently for him to rescue her.

"I notice you kept another one for yourself.” Lorraine snorted in disgust. “Morgan will be pissed off."

“I’ll bring her back with me.”

“She is useless to us now! You have already spoiled her!” Lorraine turned away from the doorway and put some distance between himself and the other man. "Morgan requires your presence."

"I don't think he'll miss one of them." Wickes glanced back at the young girl. "Don't you go nowhere, pretty. My dogs would sure love to make a meal of you."

"You know that Morgan requires the girls to remain virgins until after the sacrifice!" Lorraine hissed. "He will have your head if he finds out that you have been holding back on him."

Wickes grunted as he slammed the door on the trailer and kicked around some of his yard art. "He allows those queer people to use the boys," he argued. "What harm is there in a girl now and then?"

"Have you forgotten about Charles Smith?" Lorraine approached the cab of his pickup. "You remember what happened when he got possessive of one of the girls who belonged to Morgan."

"Listen here, dwarf man!" Wickes caught Lorraine about the collar and lifted him off the ground. "I could crush you with my bare hands and feed you to my dogs."

Lorraine stood unshaken. His eyes narrowed behind his small round spectacles. "Then you would have Morgan and his unique creations to deal with personally. I am his right-hand man and unbelievably valuable to him." He grinned. "Your death would be slow and gruesome.”

Wickes skimmed over the diminutive man's words with slow, deliberating rumination. As the reality of what might happen to him sank in, his face grew pale. He had been so angered about the interrupted fun with the girl he had forgotten who he dealt with. Gently he lowered Lorraine back to the ground and produced an exaggerated effort to straighten the man's clothes.

Lorraine pushed the massive hands away. "Let us go! Get in the back of the pickup. You stink too much to ride inside."

Wickes climbed into the back of the pickup while Lorraine climbed into the cab. The stench of the other man still made him gag. He rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioner. He tore out of the yard, deliberately kicking up gravel at the dogs. They yelped and howled as their master shouted obscenities. The pickup rumbled over the roughshod path cutting through the forest. Lorraine took each bump with glee, delighting that his passenger bounced around.

Forty-five minutes after leaving the trailer, Lorraine pulled into the clearing. There were hundreds of different cars parked around a small clearing and into the forest. The clearing, overshadowed by trees in the day and less than 50 feet in diameter, was difficult to spot from the air.

Several men in camouflage fatigues patrolled the area with their rifles armed and ready to shoot any intruders. They did not stop Lorraine, for they already knew him. He got out of the pickup and started pacing the trail leading up a low hill.

Wickes fell out of the bed trying to get out. He followed the other man, swearing as he did. The ride had not been easy on him. To him, the trail seemed steep, and he wondered why he even had to go. He only drove the bus, parked up the trail out of sight, to transport the children from the warehouse in New Orleans to the Cult's secret lair.

Lorraine walked quickly up the trail, unburdened with the weight Wickes encumbered. It annoyed him to have to wait on the fat man, a loathsome bulk of flesh that smelled as if half-rotted already. He stopped on several occasions and threw an exasperated glance down at Wickes. The heavier man wheezed only thirty yards from the clearing. Lorraine felt sure Wickes would die of a heart attack before he ever reached the opening in the ground only about fifty more yards away.

When they reached the opening, two guards stepped in front to bar access to the mouth of the cave. They both held high-powered automatic rifles tipped with silencers. Lorraine motioned with a simple gesture and the two guards stepped aside without a word. Lorraine and Wickes entered the realm of silence.

The opening was part of a vast, previously undiscovered cave. Lorraine likened it to an underground Grand Canyon. The cavern they had entered existed at the end of an elongated man-made tunnel. For almost a quarter mile, they descended an incline lined in places with moss. A damp chill rose to greet them as they followed the tunnel down into the cave toward a faint glow in front of them. Noise coming from behind them told them of other latecomers.

Lorraine was not late. He had been in the inner cult already. When he had discovered that one of the girls was missing from the new group of children, he knew there would be a need for an explanation. He was disappointed to discover that Morgan had already begun the ceremony. He hoped there would be enough girls for the sacrifice. Otherwise, it would be another three months of pure hell.

When they reached the end of the tunnel, the glow had grown much brighter. Wickes gasped softly. Employed by the cult for only a brief time, he had only attended two previous gatherings. He still got excited when they emerged from the tunnel into the massive underground cavern. The sight of the Cult in action struck him with awe, even more than the immense size of the cavern’s natural formation.

Lorraine gave Wickes a reluctant nudge to break him from his gaping at the scene below them. They stood upon a ledge cut out of the stone. It appeared as if they had stepped into an ancient medieval palace of a depraved king.

Lorraine left Wickes behind, their duties leading them to separate locations within the cavern. Near the altar, he noted with regret one boy waited without a matching girl. For Wickes' sake, he hoped a final child sacrifice proved unnecessary.

The people in the lower part of the cavern gathered in a massive circular mass of sweating, grunting flesh. Opposite the opening from the tunnel, Morgan sat upon his throne. The throne stood as a massive piece of furniture adorned with hand-worked gold and embedded with jewels of various hues. Lorraine knew the value of that throne. He secretly wanted it in his collection of treasures. In front of the throne were the Altars of the Sacrifice, covered with the cut blossoms of hundreds of deep scarlet roses.

On the left-hand side stood a dozen or so frightened boys, stripped of their freedom and dignity. Not one of the children for the sacrifice appeared over the age of twelve. Some of them had been completely broken already, their poor eyes bearing the haunted, vacant stare of disbelief and pain.

Morgan personally selected the priests charged with preparing the boys for the ritual sacrifice. They were barbarous in all manner of torture to the boys during the preparation. Lorraine had attended an initiation once, something he found unpleasable but necessary.

An almost equal number of girls stood to the right of the throne with their priestess in attendance. They were dressed in white gowns that reached down to their ankles. Unlike the boys, the girls received the utmost kindness, pampered by the priestess who tended to their every need. They stared about the room in shock, for they had not been prepared for what they saw.

Lorraine glared at Wickes as he moved down the ledge into the midst of the people. Unexcited by anything he saw, he felt a serene calm fall over him despite the fact he approached Morgan. Silence fell over the people as they realized the High Priest strode through their midst. They silently began to find their way to their places, quickly forming a circle around the altar. A low pedestal stood before the altar where Lorraine took his position.

Wickes stared down at the ceremony in fascination. A movement to his left caught his eye. He glanced around nervously. He held no fear of man or animal except for the creatures waiting in the shadows around the Cult of the Blood Rose. He never saw them in full light, so he only knew vaguely their form and size. They sauntered about with hunched backs, impatiently waiting for the coming gifts thrown to them. They were Morgan's secret experiment with genetic mutations. Their occasional low guttural mewling sent shivers through him, for he knew what they ate.

Lorraine looked up to William Morgan, who appeared to be nothing more than a middle-aged man of average build. Long black hair descended broad shoulders and shimmered in the low light. Power emanated from the way Morgan presented to his followers, a power Lorraine coveted.

When everyone had found their position in the grand Circle and the movement ended, Lorraine lifted his arms high into the air. Morgan nodded slowly. Lorraine lowered his right arm. Morgan rose from his throne and slowly descended the steps to the separate altars.

The first boy selected for the sacrifice cried desperately. He had been one of the broken-spirited children. The child whimpered as the hand led him to Lorraine. The priest beside the boy bore a sheath that hid a knife with a wickedly sharp blade.

Lorraine took the boy's hands and forced him forward over a smaller altar. The priest shoved a huge mass of rose petals into the boy’s mouth to stifle his screams. No emotion played across his face.

Lorraine could feel the tremble of fear through the boy's hands, but he did nothing to calm the child. Morgan fed on their fear and their pain. Lorraine gripped the boy's hands tightly, so the child would not pull away. The priest worked with the knife with precision and speed to minimize the mess.

A priestess brought a girl to the opposing altar. The little girl, a red-haired, green-eyed, and freckled doll, observed what happened to the boy. She threw up every type of protest she could muster. The priestess caught the child's shoulders with hands like iron claws, which caused an immediate shriek from the girl. A quick stunning backhand settled the little girl quickly and silenced the other children.

They lifted the little girl onto the bed of roses upon the altar. Her priestess in attendance pushed down upon her shoulders, so she could not get back up. In the commotion, the girl caused, some the people enticed by watching the girl, forgot what happened to the boy. When the girl tried to scream in protest, they also forced rose petals into her mouth.

Morgan waited between the victims patiently, growing more excited with each cry of agony. The pain of being flayed alive, normally too intense for a child to withstand, was abated with a certain drug that kept him conscious during the procedure. With a final slice down the boy's back to the base of his spine, the priest greedily began to pull the skin apart.

Lorraine did not flinch. The child entered shock already. Morgan shook with ecstasy as he fed off the boy's pain. The boy's screams were high and shrill, a pain suffered so intense that even Lorraine briefly sensed it.

With the prized skin quickly put on ice, preserved for later use, the rest of the boy, who looked like a bright red doll, was no longer needed, and allowed to go free. As he escaped away from the men, his eyes bulged out of their sockets as millions of exposed nerve endings burned his soul with unfathomable torment.

Morgan continued to feed off the child’s soul even as death would soon claim the young victim. People ushered the mass of weakening muscle and fatty tissue, once a beautiful child, out of the Cult and into the far reaches of the darkened cavern. There, hunch-backed creatures, Morgan’s hideous genetic mutations, lurked within the shadows to catch and consume him, effectively disposing of any incriminating evidence.

Morgan climbed up on the altar, energy charging through him again. Lorraine gave him the knife still dripping with the boy’s blood. He raised the knife high above his head. He grinned above the girl. She cried out in agony as the knife plunged deep into her chest, charging the air with a mysterious power. Lorraine stiffened his body as the power began to circulate throughout the cavern. It was not a feeling he could clearly explain, and his fingers began to tingle. The children seemed to have a special life force about them adults did not possess.

With each sacrifice of a child, Morgan grew more violent. By the fifth sacrifice of boy and girl, their remains carted off to feed the creatures lurking in the shadows, the power had begun to swirl about the Circle with definite force. The intoxicating power tugged at Lorraine and pushed against him. It filled him with such an ecstasy that nothing natural could ever match.

Then the time came, which Lorraine dreaded. There had been six boys and only five girls. Morgan looked around for the girl as they placed another boy upon the altar. He glared down at Lorraine.

“I know that my eyes are bad. Is the girl somewhere just out of my range of sight,” Morgan grunted?

“No, my lord,” Lorraine spoke through clenched teeth.

"Why were there only five girls for the sacrifice tonight?" Morgan addressed the question directly at Lorraine, "Where is the sixth girl?" He grunted again as he shoved the priest back from his appointed duty.

Lorraine sensed the rising tide of anger welling up in Morgan. He produced a humbling bow of his head. "My lord, the girl was retained by one of your servants for his personal use."

Wickes gave an inaudible gasp and immediately searched for an exit. He had no desire to remain in the cavern to see what would happen next. A thundering voice of rage echoed throughout the cavern, and he messed himself as his bowels loosened.

"Who did this?" Morgan bellowed again.

The priest and priestess had cringed at Morgan's anger and moved carefully out of the blind man's path, but Lorraine stood his ground, unafraid of the wrath of his master. Morgan threw the boy aside in frustration.

"It was him!" Lorraine pointed up to the shivering Wickes with a malicious grin. "Wickes kept her for his personal use."

Wickes knew then to either flee or die, and he turned to the tunnel. He ran as fast as he could when he heard Morgan's command for the creatures to follow him. He did not wish a capture by those creatures. He paid no mind to his body except to concentrate on forcing his fat legs to work faster. The tunnel was long, and he expected he would not make it before the creatures caught him. He lifted a desperate prayer for salvation. He did not want to die.

A mewling noise, the warning growl of Morgan's genetically twisted army, sounded in the tunnel behind Wickes. That drove his legs faster than he had ever imagined possible. The beasts were close enough he could hear the strange scraping noise which accompanied their movement. He should not trip. That would be the end of him.

Stars floated into view from the sky over the opening to the tunnel. Fresh energy welled in Wickes as he realized the rest of the passage would be downhill once he gained the entrance. As he neared the opening, two huge forms moved in on both sides. He could not see their faces, but he could see the weapons. One readied to attack with his rifle held menacingly in front of him.

Wickes knew that his only chance stood with the guards. He would not fight off the beings chasing him. He hoped he would have enough of an element of surprise. As he drew closer, the guard advanced toward him, waving the tip of the weapon with a hateful leer. Fear flowed through Wickes's veins with a strange power. He caught the tip of the rifle and forced it downward. The guard tried to wrench the rifle free for another chance, but Wickes threw his weight into the middle of the guard’s legs, breaking them both out from under him. With a loud cry, the guard went sprawling down into the advancing horde. Wickes gripped the rifle and took dead aim for the other guard's gut. The man gave a startled shout as the bullets ripped through to his spine.

Wickes did not bother to look back at the horde advancing toward him. He picked his way over the crumpling guard and emerged out into the cool night air. The creatures mewled and hissed, and as they grew close enough, he could smell their hides. He lumbered downhill the rest of the way to the truck, no longer at a disadvantage. At best, the beings could only keep sight of him. Surely, they were not that quick.

With a shout of triumph, Wickes reached the pickup, but he had miscalculated their speed. He watched their red eyes advancing from the forest beyond the clearing as he jumped inside and started the pickup.

One of the creatures leaped up onto the hood, and he threw the gearshift into reverse, driving out away from the clearing. The animal-human-entity on the hood with its glaring red eyes and horrifying ragged teeth howled in rage. Wickes felt so worried about the demon on the hood he paid no mind to where he drove. The back of the pickup slammed into a Mercedes, setting off its alarm system. That gave Wickes a glimmer of hope.

The human-like monster clung to the front of the truck with one clawed appendage digging into the metal of the hood and tried to climb back up. Wickes slammed the gear lever forward and aimed straight for the bus parked nearby. The demon shouted in fury. It struggled to climb back up on the hood. Wickes sneered viciously as he forced the gas pedal as far down as it would go. The motor roared like a demon itself as the whole pickup raced for the bus. The being could not get out of the way in time.

Wickes hit the bus with such force that it rolled over on its side. He had not buckled in. His whole body shifted forward. The steering wheel embedded deep in his massive gut as his head struck the top of the windshield. Glass splintered in a thousand directions. He fell back to the seat and tried to catch his breath. He cursed his stupidity at using his escape vehicle in such a manner, sure it could drive no longer. He prayed again as he pulled the lever back into reverse.

Steam jetted out from an unknown location below the hood line. Wickes smiled with grim satisfaction. The demon which was on his truck still howled furiously at him, but it could no longer pursue him. It was plastered on the bus where the pickup had hit, its entrails forming the glue necessary to keep it in place. As he backed up, he drove over another creature. Without looking back, he drove away at a high rate of speed. He needed desperately to get out of there. Perhaps even out of the state.

Wickes drove away through the forest, grateful that his life escaped with his life. He found it in himself to offer a snigger of defiance at the creatures despite the pain in his gut as they fell back out of the pursuit. He became aware of how dangerously close to a heart attack he was. He drew in a breath in roaring gasps as his heart hammered seemingly out of control. He clutched at his chest and told himself to calm down. He did not need to die of a heart attack after working so hard to escape.

The Rottweiler dogs barked worriedly as Wickes pulled into the junk strewn yard. They could smell the blood of the creature splashed across the front of the pickup. He had trouble getting out of the cab. The girl's face appeared briefly in the back window. Her eyes widened with terror at the sight of him. He looked down at himself and understood what an impression he must have made, with the blood on his clothes and a rifle in his hands.

The little girl shrieked at the sight of her tormentor as he stepped into the narrow confines of the trailer. The girth of his hips touched the cabinets and stove on one side and scraped across the table on the other. Wickes picked up a towel from the floor and wet it in the sink. He kept his eyes on the girl as he washed clean. She drew up the smelly sheets around her, for she knew what he wanted. With the smell of his waste removed somewhat from his flesh, he discarded the towel on the floor and approached the girl with only one thing on his mind.

Sam and Pete began to wail at the sound of the little girl's cries. They did not care about the child. Like the bell for Pavlov's dog, the quiet, soft noises caused their mouths to salivate. At any time of silence, Sam stood up and watched the door, licking his chops expectantly. Pete's stomach grumbled, but he waited patiently. Sam was only there long enough to observe two offerings thrown out of the trailer by the Master. Pete, much older, had been around the Master for much longer. He knew that other events would happen before the Master gave them the tender meat. Nevertheless, he whined with anticipation. It would be the morning before the meal came Something stirring in the underbrush caught Pete's attention. He stood up abruptly and let out a low grumble to alert his companion. With a whine, Sam turned his attention away from the master's door. He strolled up to where Pete stood alert watching the undergrowth of the forest. He caught sight of something moving low to the ground. He matched Sam's low growl. Pete sensed danger before he scented the creatures approaching his territory. Time to let the master know.

Wickes grunted in frustration. The dogs' sudden barking had broken his concentration. He stepped away from the girl and cussed the dogs for their timing. He had trained the dogs not to bark at anything insignificant. The only time he ever heard them bark, the genuine danger posed a threat. He hoped that Lorraine had not returned.

Wickes threw open the door, half-expecting to see the little twerp in the drive. However, the drive appeared empty with only the pickup present, which clicked and popped as it continued to let off heat. He tried to reassure himself it was nothing more than a hungry coyote foraging for food. He checked out into the forest. The dogs stood with the chains pulled taut. He followed the direction of their gaze, but he could see nothing. He waddled down the steps cautiously, wondering if he should get the rifle from inside.

"What is it, Sam?" Wickes approached the enormous dog with its massive head and dangerous jaws.

Sam whined in response to his master. Saliva dripped from his jaws as he gnashed his teeth and snarled. That reassured Wickes more than anything else could have. The dog acted as if he could take whatever was in the forest beyond view and rip it to shreds. Wickes reached to unsnap the hook of the collar. The dog was strong and pulled against the hook, making it difficult to release. Wickes finally got the chain free and Sam bolted into the forest. He immediately grabbed Pete's collar and worked to release him. He patted the dog's flank as he turned it loose.

Both dogs soon found their prey. The forest resonated with the fierce howling and thundering bark. It sounded like they were tearing up all the forest in their attack. Wickes did not wish to face a wounded, wild animal. He started back up the steps into the trailer.

"What... What is out there?" The little girl whimpered.

"Nothing you should worry yourself about." Wickes reached into the refrigerator and withdrew a long neck brew. "Besides, we ain't through." He ambled up to the dismayed girl.

At once, the trailer tilted to one side as a strange dent sculpted into the wall. Wickes, thrown off balance, fell to the floor. The little girl gave off an ear-piercing scream as the trailer set back down violently. Dishes and groceries spilled out of the cabinets and showered down on Wickes. A second impact shattered through the window next to the bed. An enormous mass of raw flesh landed on the mattress. Wickes let out a scream of his own as he observed the huge canines sticking out of gums closed over coarse black and tan fur. Sam looked as if he had been turned inside out. His intestines puddled outward from his rib cage.

All at once, the trailer began to shake violently. Too frightened to be alone, the young girl sought refuge near the man that had tormented her all night long. Outside, the mewling of Morgan's creatures began to grow louder as they sensed the terror of their prey and grew excited about it. Several black cat-like creatures crawled out of the forest surrounding the trailer. When they tore the structure from its moorings, the inhabitants cried even louder. Clawed hands began to tear through the thin metal skin and the creatures were about to feast. A few muffled reports barked out from the automatic rifle, but the human screams were silenced with an abrupt snarl.