Free The Wilds by Kit Tinsley

was the moment that the true horror of the situation hit him. He was kneeling on a dead woman. The tacky substance was drying blood, and the lumps he had found were her breasts. He had just squeezed the tits of a corpse. He let out a little yelp, he wanted to scream but managed to restrain that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, he did not want to see it, but at the same time he had to. He struck the wheel, lighting up the area around him, and plunging everything else back into total blackness.
    The woman, he now saw, was not a woman at all; she was just a girl, no older than eighteen at most. Her clothing was torn to shreds, deep scratches gouged into the flesh beneath. Her right arm was missing at the shoulder; all that remained was a stub of bone and tattered flesh and sinew. Her eyes, her dead eyes, were open and gazed directly at Jerry. He could contain the scream no longer. As he opened his mouth to expel his fear vocally it was silenced by a sudden flow of vomit.
    He stood up and became suddenly aware that he had dropped the gun when he fell. He bent down to pick it up and then heard breathing behind him. He dropped the lighter, and it went out. The darkness was merciful, for at least as the pain began, he was unable to see the thing that was clawing his chest as it bit out his windpipe. Death came swiftly for Jerry.
     
     
    Sue Sampson was standing looking out of the kitchen window, nervously chopping carrots, waiting for her husband’s return. She hated it whenever he took that bloody gun out, always terrified that he was going to accidentally shoot himself. The thought of having the gun in the house when their children were still so young filled her with a constant dread. What if one day Jerry forgot to lock the gun cabinet? Or somehow the children got hold of the key? The potential answers to either question didn’t bear thinking about. Jerry had always tried to tell her how careful he was with the gun and the cabinet, but this didn’t stop her worrying.
    She looked away from the window to glance at the clock across the room. It had been at least ten minutes since she had watched him enter the shed. What the hell was he playing at?
    She set down the knife she was using to chop the carrots and headed towards the back door. She stopped in her tracks and then went back for the knife. She had no idea why she wanted to take it with her, except that something here felt very wrong.
    She scurried across the courtyard, listening for any sound emanating from the shed Jerry had entered. There was none. In fact the whole farm seemed eerily quiet.
    ‘Jerry?’ she whispered loudly when she reached the shed door.
    She stood there, her ear pressed to cool, rusting metal, and waited. There was no reply.
    ‘Jerry?’ she called out louder. The time spent working with heavy farm machinery had left her husband more than a little hard of hearing, so it was plausible he just hadn’t heard her the first time.
    She waited, but still Jerry didn’t respond.
    ‘Jerry?’ she shouted. ‘I’m coming in, so put that bloody gun down!’
    Sue entered the shed and scanned the room for any sign of movement. This was impossible due to the way everything was stacked floor to ceiling. She had given up trying to persuade Jerry to sort this shit out, as he always had something better to do.
    She wandered slowly through the narrow passages in between the stacked up junk. Every sound was amplified in her mind, even her own shallow breaths. She heard movement, off to her right. It was the sound of something, like a sack of damp potatoes, being dragged across the concrete floor.
    ‘Jerry?’ she called out. ‘What are you doing back there?’
    When her husband failed to reply she followed the passage that led in that direction. A stillness fell on the room as the shuffling sound stopped. As she arrived at the spot from which she was sure the sound had been coming, there was nothing there. The area was lighter than other