CHAPTER 1
THE BUTCHERBIRD
Twenty years ago, age sixteen
My nails dig into the soil as voices enter through my ears. Shakily, I pull myself backwards, pulling my knees beneath me. The rough ground creating impressions into my knee caps. A couple of stilted seconds pass, before I open my eyes.
My screams have long since died down, my throat aching so much I can’t make another sound.
Instead, it is replaced by a guttural rasp that tastes of iron and salt as I struggle to draw breath from the searing pain.
The metallic taste of blood lingers on my tongue as blood drips to my lips mixed with the dirt from the ground.
My screams for help would be lost in a sea of deafening noises anyway.
I reach up into my hair, my locks a thick, matted mess, dark strands glued together by congealed blood sticking to my face.
I can feel my right eye is swollen shut, bruised and discoloured, and as I suck in a sharp breath, panic takes over.
I force my eyes open, looking through the prison-like metal bars unable to think about anything else other than my broken body.
My body is covered in a patchwork of blue and purple blooming bruises, a visual reminder of the violence that had recently occurred.
Muffled shouting and screaming surrounds me, and a pair of hands is grabbing at me, hauling me to my feet. I’m outside, that much I can tell, but I’m trapped in a cage.
‘Get up,’ he mutters. My chest heaves as I take in my blurred surroundings, my eyes wide and pale as I slowly stand up to meet the gaze of a man on the other side pissing in my face.
‘Eso es carino, abre la boca,’ he drawls.
My eyebrows scrunch as my body aches. I can barely stand, and I have no idea where I am. I step forward as the man flicks the last dribble from the end of his cock, then he hunches forward popping his member back in through his zipper.
As he walks away I take in my surroundings, clinging onto the metal bars that contain me. I register any significant details; the type of trees, mountains, any flat, open areas, and most importantly what this fucker looks like.
‘Where am I?’ I ask through dry, chapped lips.
‘It doesn’t matter where, it only matters why,’ a voice nearby answers.
The urge to cry from the pain deepens as I look around at other captives. It feels as if a boa constrictor is tightening around my throat as I force out a question.
‘Then why am I here?’
A boy’s smile curls at one side. ‘You look a little older than the others, but someone must have wanted you real bad.’
‘Older? You’re older than me. How old are you? Eighteen? Twenty? Not that that matters! We have to get out of here,’ I state.
‘Keep your voice down,’ he scolds as he walks closer towards me, his towering physique standing in front of me. I gasp as I feel his hot breath on my face.
‘Do I scare you?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I answer blandly.
‘Good,’ he hisses. ‘Now, look at me.’ His hand reaches for me. His deep, black eyes are wide as they watch his fingers tuck a stray hair behind my ear. I wince as the cold touch of his skin brushes past my cheek.
‘My mum had hair just like yours, like the colour of cinnamon. When I was a young boy, I would twirl it between my fingers, and she would say her hair wrapped me in warmth,’ he sighs. ‘I miss her.’
His eyes flicker to mine, then to the bridge of my nose, and I note how dark his hands are - so ingrained with dirt.
Anxiety holds me in a chokehold as his index finger traces the line of my nose then drops onto my lower lip. He shakes his head, his touch becoming firmer.
‘I’ve never seen something so fucking beautiful in all my life.
’ His finger pushes inside my mouth. ‘There’s so much blood on your face, yet I see no wounds, apart from this one on your leg,’ he murmurs as his finger withdraws, and his hand twists my jaw side-to-side with his thumb smearing the encrusted blood away from my mouth.
‘The blood on my face… it’s not mine.’ I grimace as a sharp pain pulses through the top of my thigh, rivulets of crimson streaming through a gash.
‘That’ll leave a scar,’ he murmurs, tracing his fingers over the lightning bolt-shaped wound.
‘I must have snagged it on a rock when…’ I pause.
He looks at me, silently urging me to continue.
‘When they took me,’ I sigh.
‘ Callate! ’ a cold, gravelly voice shouts. The boy’s eyes clash with mine. I bring my finger to my lips. ‘Shush.’
His coarse fingers clutch online mine pulling them away from my lips.
Where the Hell am I?
I hazard a guess I’m still in Spain. I recognise the rugged and jagged mountain tops of Spain’s untamed wilderness.
It’s not unlike my grandfather’s estate where majestic deer would stalk the woods like phantoms in the mist. I look around, the familiar ground strewn with sharp stones, gnarled tree roots snaking across the ground.
In the distance, I see an old ruin, its stone structure crumbling under the dense canopy of nature.
My chest tightens as the old man comes into view, and my stomach churns. ‘Those…those are human limbs!’ I point. The sound of guttural grunts and snorts echoing towards us like wails of lost souls.
A cacophony of frantic squeals with ravenous cries sends shivers down my spine, as my vision clears and the animals come into view.
Dark bristly pigs jostle each other in their frenzy, each one vying for the best piece of food, their snouts plunging into the pile of flesh and bone with unbridled eagerness, slurping and chomping down onto meat and bone with ferocity.
Chewing and grunting fills the air, their ears twitching with excitement, tails wagging frantically as they compete for the best morsels.
Occasionally, a dominant larger pig lifts its head, snout smeared with crimson as it charges at a lower-ranked animal, causing it to flee with panicked squeals.
It is a gruesome scene, but the pigs show no hesitation or shame as they indulge with unabashed gusto, and I can’t take my eyes off them.
‘Last piece,’ the farmer standing beside the pen chuckles, giving us a menacing grin as his calloused hands fling a severed arm into the pig’s pen.
The pigs’ jaws open wide, revealing four large tusks that stab at the flesh with ferocious hunger.
Another pig grabs at the other end of the arm, tearing it apart in a matter of seconds.
The creatures’ beady eyes are round and content as they devour the last remaining evidence of this gruesome crime.
I’m quickly informed everyone knows him as The Pig Farmer, a grizzly old man with deep lines etched into his face, weathered from years working under the unforgiving sun.
As we watch him move, I reach for the hand of the boy standing beside me.
‘Turn around,’ the boy demands. ‘Don’t look. Look at me, little lamb. Whatever happens from this point onwards know none of it was your fault. You were brought here, like everyone else. Like helpless lambs to the slaughter.’
I slowly process his words.
This can’t be happening.
This isn’t real.
But when I meet his dark eyes, I realise the severity of our situation, and I’m absolutely petrified of what’s to come.
The farmer advances towards us.
‘Proxima! ’ he announces loudly as he unlocks the cage door. His dark eyes scan us all expectantly, but all I manage to do is stare as the boy firmly squeezes my hand .
The man sees a girl cowering in the corner, ‘Tu! Out.’
‘No! please!’ she pleads as he drags her out by the hem of her trousers. ‘And don’t you lot say a fucking word, or you’ll be next!’ he orders.
The boy’s thick palm grasps the back of my neck, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he stands behind me.
‘Be careful, little lamb.’
My instincts to fight kick in, and I whip around to face him. ‘Get off me,’ I hiss in an attempt to dislodge his hand.
‘Do you think this is the worst of it?’ he seethes, baring his teeth.
‘I’ve seen what happens here. That girl, she got taken because of her smart mouth.
She’s been taunting him for days, and when she grated her teeth along his cock he snapped.
So, if you want any chance of making this easier on yourself, then you keep your mouth shut. Understand?
These people will do everything unimaginable to you, and you sure as fuck don’t mess with them. Please tell me you understand what I’m saying?’
A tear leaks from my eyes as he releases me, and I nod.
‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ I choke out.
‘Eh, Angel, ’ the farmer calls out glaring at the boy.
‘Is that your name? Angel? That’s a Spanish name,’ I say with disbelief as the boy’s accent is as British as mine. The farmer chuckles as I feel the burn of his stare.
‘ Tienes mucha cara. ’ The farmer laughs harshly, slapping his cheek.
‘Oh, shut up,’ I snap.
‘Ignore him,’ the boy states. ‘It’s just what he calls me.’
Stay quiet. Don’t provoke him, even if it would bring me great pleasure to smash the farmer’s crooked, toothy grin against these iron bars.
‘So, Angel ?’ I swallow. ‘How are you so calm?’
The boy twirls my hair between his fingers. ‘I’ve been here longer than I care to remember. Then I saw you, and in that moment, it felt like I’m finally going home.’
He cups my hand within his. ‘We really need to get out of here. I’ll protect you.’
My heart races in my chest at his promise. Each beat a reminder of my own fragility. He smiles gently adding, ‘You may look like a delicate flower with your dirty cinnamon hair and big blue eyes, but you’ve got the heart of a dragon, haven’t you? What’s your name?’
‘Tarran,’ I reply, feeling a sense of safety wash over me as he grasps my hand tighter.
‘Well, Tarran,’ he says confidently, ‘I don’t know where the fuck we are, but whatever happens, you will survive. We will survive. I’ve been watching him, the farmer , for a while. Now is our chance,’ he whispers urgently.
‘But I’m scared,’ I protest, my voice trembling.
‘I know,’ he replies, ‘but if we want to make it out alive instead of emerging out of that pig’s arsehole, we have to leave now!’
‘What about everyone else?’ I ask, gesturing to the men, women and children who line the metal bars of our cage, whimpering and crying in various states of consciousness.
‘They’re too weak to move,’ he counters.
‘Then I’ll come back for them,’ I promise as my eyes scan the other captives.
‘But right now we have to save ourselves. Grab my hand and do as I say,’ he demands.
When The Pig Farmer returns, we stand at opposite ends of the cage.
As he unlocks the door, his head swings back and forth, uncertain of which one of us to take first. Suddenly, when he looks left towards the boy, I see an opening chance, my opportunity to charge forward, and bolt from my confines.
With all my strength, I push the farmer towards the bars and quickly grab the boy’s hand beneath the farmer’s flailing arms. We dart out of the cage just as The Pig Farmer stumbles forward trying to grab onto something for balance.
The forest floor is cold and damp underfoot as we run blindly from camp.
The vast and untamed wilderness stretching out before us unfurling like an endless canvas of rugged beauty.
Jagged mountains pierce the sky like watchful sentinels as their peaks are hidden in a cloak of lush pine and olive trees.
With each stride, sharp rocks cut deep into my bare feet as the stony ground shifts and crumbles, threatening to twist my ankle as I run for freedom.
I quicken my pace, each step seeming louder than the last, yet no matter how fast I run I can’t escape the feeling of being hunted, of being an unknowing participant in a game – a game I am all too familiar with.
My heart pounds as we race through the trees, their gnarled branches snagging at my clothing like skeletal hands.
‘We’re almost there,’ I pant. ‘Just keep running.’ But then, in an instant, my hand slips from his. I stop and turn, but he’s gone.
No! Oh no, no, no. I panic.
‘RUN!’ he shouts in raspy breaths behind me somewhere deep in the shadows.
‘COME ON!’ I yell back. ‘IT’S NOT FAR, YOU CAN DO IT.’
‘Just go, Tarran. Live! For both of us.’
As the sun begins to set and darkness envelopes me, I wait for the boy to catch up. But after five minutes, there is still no sign of him. I become the frightened lamb he called me, and our pursuer, the relentless wolf, is prowling ever closer, savouring the thrill of the chase.
Maybe the boy is hiding? Maybe he passed me while I was waiting for him? Maybe he’s waiting for me?
But before I can think any further, a hard smack to my face brings me back to reality.
The sharp sting of a wire fence tells me I have already reached the perimeter of the land, and the boy is nowhere to be seen.
With frantic desperation, I drop to my knees and claw at the earth, digging underneath the wire fence.
Finally breaking through, I emerge on the other side and take one last look at the black and white signs that read : “Coto Privado” – a hunting reserve.
Grandfather had taught me most hunting cotos are typically nestled in more remote and rural areas, but often on private properties.
Dread hangs in the pit of my stomach, because if this is a hunting reserve, then I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere and even God himself won’t hear my screams.
My chest heaves with each desperate gasp, the air burning my lungs as I struggle to draw breath. Fear grips me so tightly, it’s like a vice around my throat, hugging my ribcage and squeezing the very life out of me.
My vision starts to blur as I try to stay conscious, the terror behind me leaves me on the brink of collapse. However, summoning every last ounce of energy, I stumble onto the road and run as fast as I can away from this place, hoping to never see it again.