Misfits
Part Eight
The garage was a good ten years out from being used for anything expect a place for rats to breed. The place was close enough to the city grid for them to do a little power jacking using extension cords. Online marketplaces and the kindness of strangers got them the rest. A propane stove, a large, standalone freezer that knocks like a Mormon missionary. A couple of hide away beds. The rest was all road side finds and the strenuous efforts of shoplifting. Father’s tool kit was on an old work bench near the freezer. There was a big steal wash basin. A pair of those office water coolers with a few extra jugs that got refilled by a city spigot out near the sidewalk, always in the dead of night. They both used an old shed in the back for a restroom, eventually the one ditch Wendy dug would have to be covered and a second one started.
The garage wasn’t as nice as the house but it wasn’t as easy to notice. It was nicer than the warehouse though. As homes went it wasn’t the Ritz but they had learned to make do. Even with what was said and with tensions running high they knew the routine and their places. Shiloh jumped out and got the gate and closed it once the van was in the yard. Next came the big rolling door and after one long, last look around to make sure the already deserted industrial neighborhood was well and truly deserted they closed the van up inside and dared to turn on a couple of lights.
Shiloh got the corpse out of the van and up onto the wooden platform next to the work bench. Dressing and butchering would take hours. So, would cleaning out the van and carefully washing or throwing out every article of clothing and artifact used in the hunt. They both had jobs and they got to them. Shiloh kept the severed arm out and to the side and took the occasional bite during breaks in the work. Wendy made do with frying up something from their last kill. The one that went really badly. The one that got Shiloh started down the dead-end path of trying to convince Wendy that she didn’t need to be involved in the killing anymore.
Dawn would come and the sun would begin to rise over the boarded-up windows at what used to be the office of the place before either of them found their way to bed. There was still disposal of what couldn’t be used. A large plastic bin was busy bubbling up caustic sewage and sludge, dumping the awful slurry into the yard out back and kicking dirt over it would as close to a burial as the man would ever get.
