When the syringe reached Cochraine it was empty and there was no heroin left. Cochraine threw the plate across the room where it shattered against a wall. He then drained the last of his booze and dropped his pants laying a steaming pile of dark brown shit on the cigarette-stained carpet in between his legs. He lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter, then put it out in his own shit. "Motherfucker" Antonio sneered then darted to his feet smashing a beer bottle over Cochraine’s head then grinding the bottle into his face. Cochraine screamed and slugged Antonio in the gut. Antonio grimaced then reached down, grabbed some of Cochraine’s shit and smeared it in the bloody face of the rogue shitter. Wade and Cox got up and left laughing, to the refrigerator where they got their own beers, Milwaukee’s Beast Ice, and began swilling them down one after another. "Feel like venison tonight? I’m getting hungry and I stole a case of barbeque sauce from the dock of a grocery store last week, it’s over there in the corner," Cox said, dribbling beer down his face. "Let’s go hunting, first we stop at the gas station for a couple bottles of Wild Irish Rose." They walked to the gas station, buying a pack of smokes each and two bottles of Wild Irish Rose, wild fruit and strawberry. Returning to the house they loaded up a rifle and walked into the woods behind the house, taking intermittent swigs and smoking, passing abominations, artworks and sculpture, profane icons made out of steel, wood, garbage, aluminum. They sat creaking and swinging, dripping water and rusting in the gray autumn evening sky over tan-white grass that would ripple in the wind with a soft drizzle. They’d fire potshots at passing cars on the expressway nearby, sometimes shattering a window or causing a swerve, or firing at deer nearby, but they were to drunk to really hit anything but trees. They walked along, oblivious until they came upon a small shack, rotting and in disrepair. "What the hell?” "Let’s check it out.” They approached the shack and walked in. On the table was a half-empty whiskey bottle, and next to it on a cot lay, in a stench, the dead body of an old man. His mouth was craned in an awful zero and his teeth were yellow and browning, his skin also yellow. His eyes were sunken in but his hair and finger and toenails had continued to grow since his death. He was mid sized, plenty of meat on the old man’s bones. The two took the bottle off the table and took turns sipping it until it was empty, then they both pissed in it and set it back on the table. "Here, help me.” "What are we doing?” "Hey, follow my lead, I’ve got a plan.” They wrapped the body in sheets, then carried it out the door and back towards the house, occasionally stumbling. When they reached the house they took the body into the basement and began cutting it apart, throwing flesh into pots and cutting off toes and fingers, tossing them in the garbage. When they were finished they had a large quantity of meat, ready to prepare. They shoved it into the hot stove, walked into the living room where everyone was sitting again like nothing had happened, chainsmoking, dabbing wounds, drinking Milwaukee’s Beast and Brookside whiskey on water. Antonio occasionally lit up his crack pipe, and a hashpipe was circulating around the room. Harold was tripping on acid again, languidly jerking off his partially-erect cock as they all sat around listening to basketball on their small radio. Not much conversation livened up the room, and some of them occasionally got up to toss a log into the barrel or to get another beer. An hour later the timer went off and the old man was cooked. Cox and Wade went out and took the pots out of the oven, setting them on the counter. The meat smelled good, and the barbeque sauce boiled at the bottom of the pot. They made six plates and began handing them out to everyone, they were all warmly received, and the recipients began to devour the steaming meat by the mouthfuls. Finally Cox and Wade entered the room with their own plates and a couple more fifths of Brookside, and sat down, half drunk. "This is great," Jerry intoned, "but what kind of meat is it?" "It’s flesh from a dead body we found out in the woods."
