Page 68 of Long Pig
The property stretched before him as he looked in every direction. Nothing moved.
He stepped further outside. The smell of dust and juniper filled his lungs. There were no tracks in the dirt. No figure walking up the long road. Only the fading echo of Max’s howl.
Max lifted his nose and sniffed the air, walking to the east before he returned. Dale’s chest tightened until it hurt. Hope drained from him, leaving a hollow place in his chest.
The horizon shimmered faintly in the heat. Beside him, Max gave a low, uncertain whine. Dale swallowed hard and ran a hand over his face. He turned his eyes to the empty stretch of land again. For the first time since Willow disappeared, he felt hopeless.
Chapter Forty-Five
Steak, Roast, and Thigh Meat
Willow
“I’m processing today,” Butch said after she told him her bombshell. “It’s noisy, but I have no place to hold you while I do it.”
“You’re going to cut up the deputy’s body?” she asked, doing everything she could to hide her revulsion.
“Yes, it must be done today.”
“I’ll watch.”
He didn’t express shock over her statement, but she’d noticed he showed very little emotion. He was nearly impossible to read. The way he studied her constantly gave her pause. Did he believe anything she said? He would check what she told him, and that’s why she said it. So far, he hadn’t shown any sexual desire for her. His feelings, such as they were, kept her on edge.
She would not be his next meal.
“The smell down there soaks into my clothes,” she said shyly. “After you do what you need to do, could I shower and change?”
He smiled. “That can be arranged. Would you be up to fixing dinner tonight?”
Even if she didn’t want to, she would. It was the only way she could be sure she wasn’t eating human meat.
“I’d like that,” she replied, but didn’t smile. She wanted him to think of her as dark and gloomy; a killer like him.
“I’ll let you decide what to make. The sun will be up soon. Do you want oatmeal for breakfast?”
“That would be perfect.”
“Relax, and I’ll get started,” he said without asking her to make it.
He turned on the coffee maker while he worked. Willow allowed her eyes to follow and study him so he knew what she watched. Everything she did and said was a calculated risk.
She would have one chance to escape. If she didn’t make it out, he would kill her for trying. Her oatmeal was warm and delicious. She ate slow, not savoring the taste, but delaying the inevitable. The deputy’s body waited, and Willow dreaded what was about to happen. Could she pull it off?
???
After donning a thick rubber coat, Butch went to work while she sat on the camp bed. He hadn’t cuffed her.
He moved with practiced precision. His hands worked the knife like an extension of his body. The blade caught the dim light each time it rose, flashing silver before sinking again with a soft, wet sound.
She thought the smell was bad before. Now, a raw, foul taste clung to the air, all the way to the back of her throat. It took everything she had to keep her eyes open and her stomach contents in place. She couldn’t allow him to see the revulsioncrawling through her. Her instincts told her to turn away, but her face remained impassive. This was his game, and right now she was playing by his rules.
The deputy’s body swayed slightly as Butch worked. With each motion of the knife, dark matter pattered softly onto the floor.
“Have you ever seen this done before?” Butch asked casually.
She shook her head, too afraid to answer because her voice might break.
“My father taught me,” he said. “He owned a butcher shop.”