2 One

(TW: Violence, Rape (not described, but suggested heavily.) )

For Miss Cater, the first teacher who encouraged me to truly pursue the idea of writing a book. Sorry it isn't what you expected.

"You shoulda just left mine alone Jordan."

My hands and feet were bound tightly with some form of rope as I desperately tried to roll over to look at our captor. I'd been tossed aside, a kid in the middle of the grown-ups, hitting the floor harshly. It left me facing the damp walls of the shed we'd holed up in for the night, condensation running at the speed I wish I could right now. I huffed a few more times, finally managing to inch my way over so that my body could sit comfortably and my eyes could scour the scene. As they adjusted to the dark, I tried to pin on to what I could make sense of: There was my mother, also tied up, but kept in a kneeling position with her head down just outside. The door was left open, allowing me a clear view. The crest lines of trees at which they sprang at us from still seemed to ominously sway, a warning of what was to come. My bother was just by my side, only a few months younger than me. I wanted to check him, but he'd been smacked across the side of the head with a gun barrel, and clearly was unconscious.

They didn't even bother gagging him. Unlike me.

It was tight, but I could still breathe easily. And finally, there was my father, being dragged to his knees alongside my mother, staring at the man in front of him. The moonlight was weak before harsh winters, so I could only just make out his clothes, which had nothing of note except for an drab looking cross with three 'X' like symbols crossing the middle of it, each one slightly lower than the other. It wasn't enough. I honed in, trying desperately to both move the gag, my restrains, and my eyes, begging for something else. Two things came true: my gag loosened slightly, and my eyes caught an incredibly long scar that stretched from his left eye all the way down to the start of his left lip. It looked slightly jagged, but rather surgical. It was as if someone had cut it purposely, rather than it being a wound. Finding my voice, I cried out:

"STOP! HEY! PLEASE! LEAVE THEM ALONE!"

I continued, crying into the night at both the man and anyone who may pass by. These days anyone leaving for anything but supplies was a miracle, but I was hoping for any good fortune at this point. I'd point out the other things I screamed in desperation, but I don't like to think about this part.

It hurts too much.

"We gave you plenty of chances." The man spoke again, a southern accent, drawling with both a slow certainty and a hurried pace. "We even gave you enough food to last the week. Yet you came back. You snuck into our territory. You stole our food. And you expected us not to find out?" His eyes seemed to suddenly gleam before returning into their own sockets, human emotion controlling once again. "If you were smart, you steal from others, weaker ones. But you ain't. And now? You gotta pay the price."

My eyes widened and watered as I thrashed about like a caged animal trying to break the rope or do something, anything to stop them.

"WAIT! WAIT!!" I practically screamed, trying to draw attention to myself. The man's gaze temporarily broke from my father before looking at me squarely, sizing up the boy he'd seemingly just noticed. He threw a hand my way, clearly gesturing to someone else to head in. I was picked up and practically thrown at his feet, stumbling into a kneeling position just like my mother and father. He didn't look too pleased to see I was still alive.

"You should've kept your mouth shut Josh..." My father mumbled, eyes boring into the dirt instead of facing what stood firmly in front of him.

"And the other one." The man gestured back into the shed, pulling my brother out and throwing him like a sack of potatoes onto the side of my mother, his body flopping like a corpse.

"So, this is 'The Millers?' All of you?" He questioned after a moment of silence. My head didn't move, but my fathers nodded. My mother was stone still, the gag tightening around her mouth as she attempted to breathe. Tears began running down her eyes, she shook alongside them.

"Why'd you steal from me Jordan? We coulda made a deal." Another question, accompanied by a hand on his shoulder, shook my father into existence. He looked around for emphasis before speaking:

"What do I have to offer you? Look at us! I'm just trying to feed my family. I'm sorry it came from you, I-I'll pay you back. I promise. Somehow I-I'll find a way, I swear." He bumbled out, words practically tripping over each other. The hardened gaze broke into laughter from both our captor and then his goons, their harsh hyena-like sounds scraping against our ears.

"I could think of a few ways. The Butchers are looking for some new meat..." he jokingly swept a finger across my chest. His finger felt cold and inhuman, causing me to recoil.

"Oh, do I scare you little guy?" He put his face inches away from mine, revealing a pock-marked, sagging, aged mask of a face that seemed to be crudely animated. "Am I scary to you?"

I spat in his face, causing him to step back and laugh, wiping it away. "A feisty one I see! Well, a shame. A damn shame you had him wasted here James. We could have had him as-"

"If you think I'd sell my son to you you're just as sick as everyone thinks you are." My mother's voice, suddenly bold and free, cut through the tension, severing nerves and causing a jump in all of us. Somehow she'd gotten past the gag that bound her and stabilised, holding a gaze similar to the one of our captor. Her blue eyes shone through the mist of fear, catching him clearly off guard. His face feigned one of confusion before solidifying into a sickening grin.

"You think that's sick?" He knelt down, brushing her cheek tenderly, sending both fire and a feeling of disgust through my body. She hissed and moved away, but he caught her by her jaw, forcing their faces close.

"I'll show you sickening, lady." He turned to my father, a vice-like grip still on my mother's face. "What's her name?"

He didn't look up or speak. His free hand made a fist as one of the masked goons stepped in front of him and kicked his chest hard enough to knock the wind and the balance out of him. He hit the dirt, puffing a cloud of it up and coughing enough to continue to stir the particles. He winced as he brought his legs into his chest, protecting himself. It just meant he hit his head, busting my fathers' bottom lip open and causing a spout of blood to dribble down from his now bent nose. My mother screamed for him to stop before following with: "IT'S JESSIE! IT'S JESSIE!"

He allowed one more kick before raising his hand in an open palm gesture. Almost robotically, the goon stopped and headed back to his post, boots tracing small satchels of blood. My fathers groans were low but noticeable, showing he'd truly been hurt by the attack.

"Jessie huh? A pretty name for a pretty lady I see..." he turned her head both sides, examining her the same way someone checks bread for mould after leaving it out. "Pure too... I like it." He let go, stood up, and continued:

"Boys, take the lady in there. This is a talk the men should have. And whilst you're in there... tighten the gag and have some fun with her, eh? Might as well, someone oughta get some use out of something as pretty as that." My mothers eyes practically bled with tears as her arms were forced behind her tightly by two strong and intimidating goons, with her gag going back onto her mouth with gusto and her body being dragged in. I simply froze with shock as the shed door slammed shut, her screams seemingly trapped in there with her.

'This is not happening. You need out. You need to help her. Get out. Come on. COME ON!'

Try as I might, the rope wasn't fucking budging. The man waited a whole minute, listening to the suppressed sounds of pure evil and the silence that followed. My rage pulsated through my body, desperately trying to break free and tear this bastard into pieces. In my fragmented vision I could make out my father, who looked like a truly broken man.

'Why doesn't he feel like me?'

"You see James, you take from me, I'll take everything from you. Piece by piece, brick by brick. I'll take what you thought was yours. I'll take your people. I'll make them mine. And if I can't take it, or I think it's useless?" He gestured to my brother, who was pulled over in a way so his hands were outstretched either side, allowing his head to slump down to his neck, the jaw almost cutting into his chest.

"I'll break it." The captor took his jaw in one hand, produced a knife in the other, and before I could even shout defiance, he brought the knifepoint to the base of his throat, tearing through vertically until it emerged the other side, gushing out blood and life into the already hungry dirt. His eyes snapped open for a second as he was dropped, the sign of a child feeling excruciatingly crazy pain for the first time in its life. He moved jerkingly at first, attempting to scream before realising its voice box was practically useless and full of blood. He gargled and moved around, uncoordinated and confused before trying to wrench the knife from his neck. I had tried to throw myself at him, but was held down by both the boot of a goon on my back and the barrel of a gun touching my neck.

"Do it, give me a reason. Please." I heard a goon murmur behind me. All I could do was watch through a red gaze as my brother attempted to save his life and failed, hands finally flopping to their sides and laying there. His eyes remained open, unblinking and glasslike. The captor had watched the whole thing happen with a type of neutral observation, the way a dog owner would watch an alley cat fight.

"Now the world feels truly silent..." He finalised as he tried to remove the knife, stepping on my brothers face to gain more leverage. My eyes screamed bloody murder as I pushed against the boot, causing the barrel to stuff my spinal cord as a final warning. My breathing became rapid as he approached my father, wiping the blood professionally off on a handkerchief produced from a pocket. My father simply seemed stunned, unable to take his eyes off of my brother, the still child so full of life only a few hours ago.

"You see? You see what this goddamned Dead Zone has turned us into? We're all animals now James. There is no king of the jungle. There is no lion. We're all dogs now. And we've stopped chasing our tails."

"You... You just... you just... you-you-you..." My father, seemingly in the throes of instant grief and shock couldn't put the pieces together before slumping down and crying out, adding to the sounds of pure evil that enclosed all of us. I heard a few feet shift, showing uncomfortable soldiers, and the goon's leg loosen off of me.

'I'm gonna kill you. All of you. With my bare fucking hands. I promise you.'

"I did. And I could do it again. And again. And again. And feel absolutely nothing. Do you know why?" He taunted. My father still didn't look up, so the captor raised his voice and put both a hand and the knife to his chest:

"DO. YOU. KNOW. WHY?!"

"NO!" He shouted back, voice cracking and causing short sniggers around the demons holding us. Pieces of my brain were still trying to complete a way to get out of this scenario, but anger told me killing was right. The only right. The only way. The only acceptable way.

"Because we are different. While you steal and crawl around like rats, I am the dog specialised in hunting you." He dropped his hand and moved back, allowing space to breathe. "Now, I could leave you like this... broken... lost... alone... but you're not alone, are you? You have a woman to tell you it'll be okay. To hold you. To love you-"

"That doesn't exist." One of the goons piped up, laughing after saying it. It froze our captor mid-speech, causing his expression to harden. He automatically locked onto him, before unholstering a pistol and shooting him three times, each one resulting in a noise of pain and a wet 'thwack' sound.

'That's no normal weapon.'

Gravity pulled him to the ground, a loud thudding sound following soon after, only then accompanied by the gentle whistling of the trees.

"Anyway..." The captor focused once again, holstering his gun. "You aren't truly alone until you lose what you love. Lucky for you, that's what-"

"Leave us alone." My father mumbled through his tears.

"Please."

The captor punched his jaw, recoiling it into itself and sending him tumbling again, the sounds similar to a dying animal emerging from him.

"Gag the boy, and hold him down, he'll struggle more than this one. He's made 'a tougher stuff. Reminds me of myself..." he snorted for a second, something flashing through his eyes before returning to reality. Another two goons appeared from nowhere, handing over two red coloured squares with something inside. As I watched, they seemed to splash this stuff all over the shed, covering it with what looked like water.

'What the hell are they doing?'

The thing was drenched by the time they were done. Suddenly, my father had now found his feet and stood up, suddenly charging the captor. He moved fast, kneeing my father in the gut and forcing him back to kneeling by grabbing the scruff of his neck and holding him.

"You won't want to miss this part." He moved his attention to the shed. "HURRY UP OR WE'LL START WITHOUT YOU! AND TIE THE WOMAN TO A SUPPORT! Like the dog she is..." he directed to my father, who still didn't fight.

'He truly is broken... I've lost my father today, even if we all live...'

Two goons, looking quite rushed in dressing, emerged, leaving the door open. I couldn't make out much of my mother other than her clothes had been ripped and damaged enough to reveal all of her skin. Her body was already bleeding and early bruises had appeared. Her tears were black streak stains covering her face, hands broken in an attempt to stop her fighting back.

"I got what I needed. And so did he." They both stood in front of him, handing him an extremely small square with a metal top.

'I... I've seen that before. I swear I have. Where... What is that?'

"Good. Return to the line. Head back and say we have succeeded to the boys. They all died horribly. Raise morale, eh?" Both were patted on the back and sent through the trees, swallowed up by the darkness that lingered. My soul began to give way as faith suddenly left me, and I realised how useless it would be fighting.

'More men would come. I can't kill them all. I can't. I... I truly am nothing.'

"Do you know what happens when someone gets so angry they could burst into flames?" He comically gestured to the girl in the shed, her body barely able to stand or sit, still profusely bleeding.

'It wasn't a knife. Or a bullet. Too small to be a gun. Too see through to be any form of weapon. What. Could. It. Be?'

"She's angry enough to burst into fire. Ain't that right sweetheart?!" He shouted into the darkness of the shed. No response came back. He shrugged "Ah, she'll forgive me eventually I'm sure. Now, James, I am willing to offer your wife freedom."

My fathers head raised, his eyes furiously gazing over hun to check for signs of lying. None were prevalent, so truth was assumed.

"Please. Let them-"

"We'll talk about the boy later. Here's what you'll need." He handed him the small box. I didn't get a better look at it. He simply looked at it, then him, then back at it.

"It's got a blade that'll extract in five seconds. Throw it to your girl, she'll untie herself and you'll go. I woulda given you a blade, but desperate men..." He didn't even think twice: he struck the top, threw it in and watched it as it hit the ground, dinking along the wood floor as it slid towards her.

'Oh no, no NO NO... NO NO NO NO NO-'

"MMMMFFFMMMFFF!" Was all I managed as she reached for it, hope appearing in her slowly dying body. A chance for freedom. To run. To come back with a group and save us from these awful, disgusting savages-

A great plume of flame burst from the lighter, engulfing both my mother and the shed, causing it to immediately catch light at the speed of sound, coasting the flames to the very corners of the shed. My mother's screams were shrill enough to pierce the gag as the skin she had began to harden and burn like leather. Her hands continued to try and brush off the fire that slowly claimed her as parts of the shed fell in. Her skin began to bubble and blister as she slumped against the floor of the shed, arms free from their roped restraints. Her eyes burst and her mouth leaked blood from the new pores large enough to see through her.

"Such a waste of a good woman..." The captor commented, gazing sadly at her for a moment. "It's no way to lose a wife. Or a bother. Or anyone. It's horrible ain't it? Disgusting..." he crouched down to my fathers face, now a concrete mess of anger and sadness and confusion and stress and murder and fear and every other emotion one can stomach in stressful times.

"Kill me." A beggars voice, pittance lacing it.

"Excuse me?"

"Please. I'm begging you. Kill me."

My father didn't sound like my father anymore. Nor did he look like him. He simply seemed to be a hollow shell, a cocoon of a man he once was. He had no fight left in him. No force. No reason to live. He'd truly given up.

"You're begging?"

"Please."

The captor smirked. "Louder."

"Please!"

"Louder. And with emphasis."

"PLEASE! PLEASE KILL ME! I AM BEGGING YOU! LET ME REST IN PIECE WITH MY FUCKING FAM-"

A single shot rang out, causing the sleeping birds in the tree to scatter. Another pistol had appeared, and fired a single shot into my fathers face, almost instantly cutting his brain in half and killing him physically. The smoke gently flowed from the barrel as the captor held his position for a short moment, seeming to revel in the almost idealistic pose it put him in.

"Cant stand swearing."

He slotted the pistol away, finally turning his gaze to the final one left: Me.

"You know, your old man said he wanted to be with his family when he died. So I should kill you. I really should. You ate the stolen food, you partook in the thievery. It's unfair to leave you." His eyes seemed to linger in mine, showing me a thousand evil deeds and a thousand more I couldn't begin to describe.

"I should kill you. I truly should. But... But I won't." He stood again, rounding up the goons and cutting my restraints. My brothers body was thrown into the fire along with my fathers as I stood powerless to stop anything from happening.

"How old are you son?" He asked.

"Sixteen." I gritted my teeth as I spoke, trying to find something to give me the urge to swing at least. Nothing. Not a thing. No anger. No fury. The adrenaline burned it's way through. All that was left was defeat.

"Now you're alone son. Alone at sixteen. I don't need to kill you. The winter will do it for me. You'll join your parents soon, I guarantee it. You could try, I wouldn't recommend it. No one has any sympathy anymore. You wanna know why?"

I didn't reply, I just continued to search for fury. My eyes wandered to my fathers, lost and confused.

"Because people like me made them lose it. You are now on your own now kid, start acting like it. However, I'm not entirely cruel, and for some reason I like you, so here." My eyes snapped to his, embracing death. Instead, he opened his palm, showing me a small survival knife: A wooden grip with a metallic blade. With a shaking hand I loosely grasped it, examining it in my hands.

'What are you doing? KILL HIM!!'

"If things get too hard? Slice your wrists vertically. It'll kill you faster than starving. Plus if you hang your wrists, the person will find you with blood freezing off of your arms. It'll make you look like an angel." He patted my shoulder, something too father-like, before turning, following his goons into the trees, their boots grinding into the floor as they walked. I stared into the knife, feeling a small ember of fire ignite in me.

'You can't let him get away with this. Do something.'

"Hey." I cried weakly into the darkness. Almost in union, they all turned to face me, all cold eyes taking in the broken boy who wouldn't survive another week.

"I promise you, I promise you here and now, I will kill you." I mumbled, just loud enough for them to hear it. The captor to my family simply grinned, with the words "I'll be waiting for you." following soon after. The trees parted to let them through before solidifying and becoming the wall of darkness they were before. The threat gone, I turned back round to look at the last remains of what I had: Our shed in fiery ruins, the bodies of my family beginning to burst and smell like cooked meat, and myself. A young kid with a knife.

'It's time to move. The fire is going to attract all sorts of people looking for scraps after a fight. These people will tear me apart.'

I took a last glance, too weak to speak, before beginning to walk along the tree line, the first flakes of snow beginning to crest the ground, a new page waiting to be written in the history of time.

(A/N: you want disgust? I'll give you disgust.)