Flesh and Blood

Title: Flesh and Blood
Fandom: Wrong Turn
Genre: Horror
Warnings: Male/male consensual and nonconsensual sex, situations of incest, disturbing imagery, male pregnancy
Rated: R – NC-17 for graphic sexual situations, disturbing images, and intense violence and gore
Summary: One survivor stands at Bear Mountain. Will his life be made easy through his natural ability to endure, or difficult through solitude and loss?


Disclaimer: Please don't sue. Characters and fandom not mine. I have no monies.

1
The blue and red lights told the figure standing vigil all he needed to know: piggies. All he could see was one, but he still proceeded with caution. The night had already been challenging enough without the trouble of men in pretty flashing cars. Brandishing the axe which was once lodged in his chest, the black figure loped soundlessly past the vehicle and approached his prize, waiting for some sort of sign the crouching man had sensed his presence. He wanted to see the piggy’s beady little eyes look into his before he did the deed.
Sure enough, after sifting through wreckage of the cinder of a house, the officer slowly turned and looked at the crooked silhouette which greeted him. Grinning like a jack-o-lantern, the distorted creature standing before him howled like a tortured dog and brought the axe down only once.
Killing piggies only took one strike after all… and the piggy went down without so much as a squeal. Prodding the dead officer for a moment, Three Finger grunted in mocking of the fresh meat and scampered off into the shack to alert his pack mates of the new food.
Sniffing past the stink of burnt wood and broiled flesh, he poked through the debris. The first body he discovered was the piggy from the last morning, the one that Saw Tooth felled. Giving a gapped smirk, Three Finger shoved the singed cadaver aside and followed his nose, ignoring his urge to partake in some meat for himself. He knew he had to find the others first. One Eye was often eager to take as much as he could, almost as though convinced he would never get enough. However, Saw Tooth always ate first, being the biggest, the oldest, and the highest of the three.
Chattering in the language of the pack, he giggled when he saw the familiar jagged hand of his leader. Now Three Finger strained to remove the rubble and splintering black wood, snorting and snickering as he progressed. He finally came to an uproarious laugh as he completely unearthed the big hairy beast of a man, feeling as though he had won in a game. Saw Tooth seemed to be playing games as well, for why else would he stay still so perfectly?
He hit his calloused palms against the heavy body, pushing against the leader’s immobile form, and the skinny man spoke again, an ancient, primal, almost forgotten language emitting from his cracked lips. “Wake up,” he told Saw Tooth, “everyone is gone and food is here.”
Saw Tooth did not wake up.
Three Finger was many things and stupid was not one of them. But in his warped, malnourished brain, he had trouble comprehending the logic of his leader not having the sense to move. It worried the smaller pack mate and he defied any thought of tragedy by ramming and hitting the body harder. Why would he not move?? Placing a hand against the bigger man’s cloven, tanned face, Three Finger wanted to ask what was wrong, desperate to fix whatever ailed his patriarch. Nothing seemed to be wrong, so why did he not get up??
Then he saw it. Peering closer in the dim light of the house, illuminated by the officer’s car, Three Finger worked hard to remove the fragment from the back of Saw Tooth’s skull. The arrow stuck in his head had been driven through his brain from the impact of the explosion. The tip of the arrowhead could just barely be seen peeking from the surface of the face. But he had to be alright! He had to!
Finally the thin rod came lose, along with some pieces of soft tissue from Saw Tooth’s head. Red water coated Three Finger’s hands and he absently licked and sucked the liquid away, watching closely for some sign that his patriarch was now better. But all that answered the skinny man was a pair of eyes that did not look like Saw Tooth’s anymore. He would not look at his pack mate, even when Three Finger despairingly put himself right in front of his gaze. The eyes looked at him, but Saw Tooth did not.
The last thing he expected to come to mind was that One Eye could somehow help, but Three Finger was getting desperate. Rushing over to the battered car which had caused the explosion, he once again threw articles of wreckage aside to awake his pack brother. Now whimpering, he struck the other man in the face to wake him. A shaky breath escaped him as the prostrate figure opened his solitary eye. Grunting in discomfort, confusion, and probably fear, he reached for a helping hand. Smiling, Three Finger helped lift him.
Suddenly One Eye stiffened. Giving a final look of frightened, childish puzzlement, he fell backward. Two of his ribs, broken cleanly away from his skeleton, had punctured his lungs and heart like thick spears. Three Finger had no inkling of this and now hit his true brother forcefully, desperate to wake him.
Nothing happened.
Slowly, Three Finger stood, staring, oblivious to the flashing lights of the outside car. He knew of death, of how prey disappeared as blades went through them and blood escaped. He even knew of death in his family. The mother had disappeared thirty summers ago after spilling One Eye from her gash. But to be alive in the house after the death of his remaining pack mates, he suddenly felt lost, as though he were thousands of miles from the very shack he stood within, unable to find his way home. Three Finger was alone now, and the realization hit him like a bullet, hard and unfeeling.
Running from the remains of the cabin, the skinny man grabbed the dead piggy, as well as the axe next to it, and dragged his new meat into the woods. In no time, he had a fire going, and he paced back and forth among the trees, gnawing on a dismembered arm. In the morning, everything had to be alright, he just knew it.