Stranded Ch. 13

Welcome to my dark little corner of the universe! DISCLAIMER: like nearly everything I write, this story consists of many dark, fucked-up, non-consensual themes, some DV, some violence/abuse, imprisonment, kidnapping, and occasionally even a little bit of torture. If any of this or terrible grammar offends you, then stop now, this story isn't for you!

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I awoke to what felt like a hot metal spike being rammed into my skull. I closed my eyes and groaned, hoping that if I didn't move, the pain would cease. It usually worked when I got headaches from staying up too late studying, or when I ran out of coffee but was feeling too lazy to go out and buy more. Caffeine withdrawal is the worst. But this was no ordinary headache, my fingertips brushed the soft buzzed area, feeling the tightened skin, the bumpy thread that had been knotted several times. I could hear small children running up and down the hall, some of the smaller ones squealing with laughter, a few stopping by the open door to greet their father good morning. When the door slammed shut, I sat up, pressing myself into the corner, eyes wide in alert. I turned to find Dale in nothing but his birthday suit as he shuffled through the dresser for another pair of drawers, no shame, no modesty. I covered my eyes as he proceeded to get dressed, ignoring my existence. And maybe, for him, I didn't exist. Another knock at the door brought a thermos of coffee for him and two more white pills for me. After tossing me a pink dress, Dale was even nice enough to let me take a sip of his coffee to wash the pills down. He held out a hand, pulling me to my feet and motioned for me to follow. I combed enough of my hair over to hide the small patch that was missing, the ribbon long forgotten. I managed to push back the tears as I reminded myself it was just hair, it would grow back. Could have been worse, he could have taken it all. When we entered the kitchen, most of Dale's wives were already up and starting the day.

"Mary, you're in charge of the girl. She'll be sleeping in my room until Sammy gets back." He didn't wait for a response, he kissed each of his wives, slapping Abigail on the rear on his way out. He opened the door, bringing in a draft of the chilly morning air. A glimpse outside showed me a faint fog covering the ground and I knew unequivocally; fall had officially arrived. I shivered and hugged myself, taking a step closer to the stove, soaking in some of the heat. Mary didn't speak, and I didn't blame her. I had been vindictive the day before, I wouldn't speak to me either. She handed me a spatula and pointed to the giant bowl of pancake batter then dismissed me with a wave of her hand. Luckily for me, pancakes were one of the few things in my repertoire of recipes. I made them until the batter ran out, the multiple towers of hotcakes seemed excessive to me. But when the breakfast bell rang, the children and young men started piling into the dining room, and I worried briefly that it wouldn't be enough.

I sat in the same spot as I had the day before, but even as we clasped hands and began to pray, Ezekiel still hadn't gotten up. I stared at his empty chair for a while, the night before replaying in my mind. I was silent as I was dished a plate, although I was pretty sure cutting my food up was just another way of making me feel like a child. I thanked Mary through pursed lips and ate my food in silence. It was interesting to look down at the table and see so many variations of Dale's genetics on display. A couple of his older boys even had a wife of their own, the one with several tattoos peeking out, was breastfeeding, but nobody paid it any attention. My gaze must have lingered too long, because Dale took notice.

"You want to hold one for practice?" Dale offered. The tattooed mother froze, eyes opened wide and I nearly choked on my food as I tried to figure out a response.

"No, no thank you, I am afraid I am not feeling very well." Babies were cute, there was no denying that; but babies are much cuter when they keep their distance. I got to hold my baby cousin once just a few days after she was born. She had been so small I had feared accidently crushing her.

The moment she'd been dropped into my arms she had opened her eyes, took one look at me and began wailing. Nothing I did soothed her and after a few minutes of utter panic I handed her back and swore never to hold another one. My mind still hadn't changed.

"Emily, does she show signs of being sick?"

"No, although she may be experiencing some fatigue."

"I don't want to drop the baby." I added, silently thanking Emily. Dale grunted; his narrowed eyes danced between us before returning to his breakfast. One of the older boys, the one I assumed to be the tattooed girl's husband, cleared his throat before standing, tapping his glass with his fork.

"While we are on that subject, we have an announcement. Dahlia and I have been blessed with a second child." Dahlia turned bright red as he pulled her to her feet, steadying her so that she didn't have to break the baby's latch. There was a chorus of congratulations, some of the younger children immediately leapt into an argument over whether it would be a boy or girl. And it all felt so...normal. For a moment, I forgot where I was, and who I was surrounded by; I was swept up in the momentum and excitement for her. It went on for a few minutes before Dale cleared his throat and everyone finally settled down.

"Byron, I couldn't be prouder of you son. Let us give thanks to the Lord and his many blessings." Byron beamed as he took his seat, leaning to kiss his wife on the cheek. I looked around at their loving faces and imagined what Sam must have felt. Sitting at this giant table surrounded by people who claimed to be family but treated him like an outsider. Even now they hardly accepted him, always testing his faith, his commitment to the family. I finished my breakfast, but the rest of my meal quickly lost flavor. Ezekiel never showed and I was tasked with dishes. I took my time scrubbing, knowing if I ran out of things to clean, they'd just assign me to something else. My headache returned with the lunch bell, Emily slipped me two more pills along with a cup of tea, Special tea, she had emphasized the special. I thanked her and helped Bethany set the table. Zeke ended up not showing for lunch either. I looked around, hoping someone would mention it, someone would tell me if he was okay, but besides discussing chores and a few deliveries Dale needed the upcoming week, everyone focused on their meal. It was when we were picking up dishes that Dale motioned for me to set them down and follow him. The fact that none of the other wives would look at me only made my anxiety worse. I had been good, surely, I wasn't going to be punished.

"Where are we going?" I inquired softly, as my mind raced with a million possibilities.

"Everyone here puts in work, all the way down to the little ones. You are no exception to these rules when you are sleeping beneath my roof. Especially now that I have to split my attention to keep an eye on you."

"Is..is Ezekiel okay? Was he hurt?" I blurted, no longer able to hold back. He stopped and for a moment I feared being reprimanded, but he only ran his hand through his hair and gave me one of his long-tired sighs.

"He's ashamed and embarrassed of his behavior, it may very well be awhile before he leaves that room. He really is a good boy; he just has a short temper. Ephraim isn't right...there's something broken inside that boy, just can't seem to figure out what...he shouldn't have...he had no right to do what he did. Ezekiel blames himself. You were under his protection and he failed to protect you, not only from Ephraim, but from himself." My face immediately burned, and I focused my gaze on his feet as he continued walking.

"You failed to mention that last night, why?" I shrugged. How could I explain? I didn't want him to be in trouble, even though what he did to me had been awful. I didn't want Arioch to find out. Zeke was one of the few people he trusted in his family, I didn't want to be the one to take that away from him. I didn't think the poor behavior deserved what punishment awaited Ezekiel at the hands of his little brother once he found out. But I couldn't tell any of that to Dale, not without revealing what I knew about his sons.

"I didn't want him punished." Which was the truth; mostly.

"Problem is, Ezekiel never lies. He will be punished, but I would never whip the boy. He's one of God's Gifted." We stopped at a shed near the barn, he pulled out a few different keys to the multiple locks on the door. Once unlocked, Dale stepped inside, pulling out a drawer, grabbing two knives and held one out to me. I looked at it for the longest time, was this a test? If I accepted it would I be punished? When I didn't move, he sighed, shoving the handle into my hand, exasperated as he grabbed a giant metal pot next and a stack of buckets.

"I don't have time to waste, there's a lot of greasing that must be done to keep the cogs moving on this farm. I know you're not gonna stab me."

"You sound rather confident." I replied evenly, it made me want to stab him even more. But could I follow through? My anger made me feel and say things I didn't always mean after the heat of the moment.

"Use your brain, girl. I am the only thing standing between you and my boys. Some of 'em wanna rape you, a few of 'em want to kill yah and one of them wants to do both; in no particular order." That was Dale's tactic, terror; and it was working. I was confident the one who wanted to do both was Noah, I hadn't seen him since the incident in the barn, but I hadn't forgotten about him either. I felt myself nearly shaking but Dale kept walking, not even glancing behind him. I took long strides to keep up and when we stopped in front of the hen pen, my stomach sank. It was a giant, enclosed area with a large hen house and screen mesh encasing it.

"You couldn't possibly expect me to..."

"Pitch in? Help prep for tomorrow's meal!?" He gave me a patient blank stare, informing me that yes, he expected me to do exactly that.

"I can't." I protested. Bile rose in my throat; I didn't want to do this. I may have assisted Arioch with disposing his cousin's bodies, but I wasn't a murderer. I may have envisioned killing Sam a dozen times over, but I had yet to really try.

"You can and you will, because we need a dozen of 'em. C'mon, I'll show ya how it's done. More hands make light work." He led me several feet away to what I assumed was the slaughtering area.

There was a small fire pit with a large metal grill built over the cement bowl, stands on either side for what I assumed was spit roasting. A table and a couple stools sat nearby, he handed me the pot and motioned me towards a nearby spigot. I left the knife on the table as I filled it near the top, grunting with the effort of carrying it back. He had dug out all the ashes and filled it with fresh kindling, lighting it with some matches he pulled from his back pocket. Next, he pulled a ball of twine out from his other pocket and began tying a few around a nearby tree branch, leaving small nooses dangling at the other end. Beneath the long tree branch was rich, dark earth, and next to the tree a giant stack of hay. He spread out a couple handfuls beneath the tree branch. When I asked what it was for, he smiled, pleased to share his knowledge.

"Nothing goes to waste out here, it collects the blood and we use it to line our gardens. Makes the harvest more bountiful. Go on and fetch a couple hens while I get the fire going."

"But-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses, girl. Go on!" he shouted. I clenched my fists and stomped away. I had no idea how to catch a chicken, I had never needed to before. Would they peck at me? Would they claw my eyes out? I entered the pen, the screen door slamming shut behind me. The hen house was built to replicate the barn, dozens of chickens strutted in and out, more gathered across the lawn. I shuffled closer, but every time I got near, they scattered like cockroaches. When I finally managed to corner one, I scooped it up, feeling a moment of triumph before it flapped its wings, feathers hitting me in the face, and I dropped it. I must have taken too long, because Dale suddenly entered, picking up a hen with ease.

"You're supposed to hold their wings down when you pick 'em up. That husband of yours teach you anything?" He tucked it under his arm, and it sat there perfectly docile. He held it out to me, and I copied him. We carried one under each arm, stopping once we reached their destination. He flipped the two birds in his arms upside down, holding them by their feet, securing them in the little noose's he made earlier. Their wings flapped a few times, but they eventually calmed down and dangled there like Christmas ornaments.

"Get closer so I can show you how to do this properly. There is no need for them to suffer, so pay attention" He gripped the hen beneath its chin, stretching its neck. He gripped the blade, holding it just across the front at an angle.

"Drag your blade fast and hard, you want them to bleed out quickly so aim right here." He stepped away and motioned me forward. The knife was light in my hand, the blade long and thin but it was sharp. I gripped beneath the beak as I had seen Dale do, my hands shaking. I felt lightheaded and nauseous, debating whether I wanted to beg him not to make me. I glanced back; his arms crossed over his chest as he tapped his foot impatiently. I swallowed, closed my eyes and did it. The blade sliced through the birds flesh easily, a lot easier than I thought and I nearly cut my fingers in the process. Its body began convulsing, wings flapping, and I screamed, letting it go, dropping the knife.

"That's just the blood leaving the body, it's normal. Now, keep goin'! We got a lot more left to do."

"Why can't you do it?"

"I have tolerated quite enough of your lip up to this point; it is not your place to question me. Finish what you started. When the blood flow slows down, you need to cut off the head, toss it into that bucket over there. When we've slaughtered them all, we're going to boil them for a lil bit to soften the feathers before we pluck them." I bit back a few sobs as I picked up the crimson stained blade and moved to the next bird. By the time I made it to the fourth one my vision was blurry. They were poor defenseless creatures and I hated that he was making me kill them. When I hesitated to slice the fourth hen's throat, it moved at the last second, causing the blade to knick the artery, and the creature went wild, clucking loudly while the blood sprayed the front of my dress. Dale stepped forward, snapping its neck in his bare hands and it immediately went limp. He pulled his knife from his back pocket and finished the job.

"This is not a mistake that will be repeated, am I clear? There is no need for them to die inhumanely." I nodded. He turned back to the tree, pulling the little knots that held the birds in place. He tossed them onto the cement beside the small fire pit.

"4 down, 8 to go." he announced as he began tying new loops to the tree branch while sending me to fetch more hens. I went into autopilot, moving the knife faster and deeper the second round, feeling numb as their bodies wriggled, as they bled out onto the hay covered ground. When I finished the last four, he instructed me to take them down. It felt strange to be outside, free from the chains and shackles, yet still imprisoned.

I had set down the final bird when Dale grabbed a rag from his back pocket, dipped it in boiling water and wiped the table down, seemingly unphased by the temperature. Grabbing the rope still tied around their feet, he lifted one of the birds as it leaked tiny droplets of blood, and he dunked it into the boiling water, using the feet to swirl the bird around. After about a couple minutes he lifted it up and pulled on a couple feathers, smiling when they came out with ease. He slapped it down on the table, and instructed me to begin, motioning for the feathers to be collected in one of the other buckets. Being wet, the feathers clung to my fingers, forcing me to shake them clean after every few pulls but the boiling water had done the trick and they came out easily. By the time I finished Dale had hooked up a small hose and sprayed the carcass clean, leaving it on the other end of the table before slapping down another hen, starting the process all over.

"Think it's enough?" I asked as I finished the final hen.

"Actually, I believe we're gonna need 2 more." He jerked his head towards the hens in a wordless command. I gritted my teeth and obeyed. That's what I get for opening my mouth. My fingers were starting to prune, my arms ached, and I was covered in sweat, blood and the occasional feather. He watched me, hard eyes following my every movement. When they were all finally done, he stood.

"Now begins the real work," he announced. He motioned me closer, wiping off my knife before handing it back to me. He took a few deep drinks from his thermos and dangled a lit cigarette in his mouth.

"Follow what I do," he instructed as he set a bird before me and one before him. First, he bent the chicken's feet back, exposing the soft area just between the bones. He sawed gently between them, tossing the feet into a small metal bowl on the ground. Once I had that task completed, he cut open the skin around the neck, pulling it free, then, using his knife; he carefully cut away the skin from the trachea and esophagus, reaching inside the cavity to cut them as far down as he was able.

"We got a dozen more to go, quit stalling." I took a couple deep breathes. One step at a time. I could do this. I tossed their organs into the bucket with the heads, it was going to be fed to the pigs he informed me. He flipped his bird over, he showed me the tiny bulging sac just beneath its tail. Carefully he cut through the spine, then slid the knife down both sides of it slowly.

"This is where you have to be gentle, if you pop that or accidently cut the intestines, you'll contaminate the meat." He pointed out the intestine as he gently cut off the skin around it, leaving it dangling from the cavity. He watched carefully over my shoulder as I repeated the steps, nodding in approval when mine resembled his. We flipped the bird over once again, opening the cavity wider. In one swift movement he reached in and yanked everything inside out, slapping it on to the table. I went to do the same, and the moment my fingers reached inside the dead Hen I almost threw up. I leaned on my other hand as I tried to pull back out, but Dale grabbed my wrist from behind. His hand slid up the back of mine, the warm blood coating our skin causing him to glide in with ease. His breath was on the back of my neck, wreaking of coffee and nicotine. He was close; too close. I choked back a sob, not again, please, not again, I couldn't handle any more attacks. But he stayed pressed against me and leaned forward to speak.

"Don't waste any more time." he scolded. The inside was still warm from the life we had just extinguished, everything felt slimy, and squishy. The entrails slid between my fingers like reheated spaghetti; only instead of long noodles they were different shaped organs. I felt lightheaded but I pushed through it, refusing to let the memories take place. His large hand guided mine as we emptied the bird. Once it was empty, he pulled away, took a step back and I could finally breathe again.

"I gotta hand it to yah; you didn't cry nearly as much as I thought you would." He showed me how to cut off the neck next and after another quick rinse they were set into one of a few giant buckets. It was a long process. I had never thought about the amount of work that went into preparing the meat I bought in stores. I resented Dale for forcing me to kill them, but I didn't feel any guilt over it. They had died a mostly painless death, they were big hens, so I had to assume they had been fed well and taken care of. When I finished the final bird, he ordered me to carry two of the buckets back to the kitchen while he tore the rest of the stuff down. I ended up only carrying one at a time, they were too heavy for me to lift and keep my balance. Plus, every time I strained it made my head pulse and my vision swim. The pain was refreshing, helped me focus. I was almost to the front door when I heard it. He was sitting on a wicker couch on the porch, he was leaning forward on his knees, body stiff.