Plasmoid

By Remson Tau

Caution: EXTREME HORROR.
Desolate highways have always been scary places, but now they’re a whole lot more dangerous.
Otis and Jenks are a couple of good friends with a taste for murder, mayhem...and meat. Human meat, that is. The two of them had a good thing going for a while, using Otis’s childhood home as a murder palace, but eventually the law closed in and forced them to take the hunt out on the road.
These two are not the types to let anything get in the way of their fun, or their dietary preferences, and they embark on a road trip full of carnage and adventure. Along the way they pick up Ciara, a travel weary prostitute who joins their wanderings and ends up partnering with Jenks. While the two star struck lovers explore their feelings for one another, Otis forms a partnership of his own after eating a rancid piece of meat.
What Otis comes down with is not your ordinary case of food poisoning. An invader has gotten inside of him and slowly takes over, changing him in unimaginable ways, and leaving a swath of carnage in its wake.
Brace yourself for a timeless extreme horror tale of love, sex, drugs, and fine cannibalistic cuisine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Remson Tau
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215196168

Remson Tau

Remson S. Tau lives on an island just off America's east coast. A graduate of the prestigious School of Hard Knocks and The University of Trial by Fire, he is somewhat bruised and a little scorched but manages to get by. The father of one daughter, when he isn't writing he paints big houses for folks with lots more money than him.It's a life.

Book preview

Author’s Note:

This is a very nasty book. I will not make any excuses for it except to say you were warned. If you are in any way sensitive to EXTREME subjects (think cartel- execution –video style), then PLEASE do not continue reading.

Seriously. Some things cannot be unseen.

Or unread.

Part 1

Campfire Confessionals

1

The smell of cooking food roused Jenks from his stupor. It drifted in the night air and came through the opened windows of the car. He was there in the front seat of the old station wagon, behind the wheel, with Otis snoring away on the passenger side in a haze of body odor and buzzing flies. Lately Jenks hated waking up, because in his dreams he was always in some alternate world where he was young and handsome, banging the most beautiful women; it was a world where he had a home and money was no problem. Then he’d wake to this world, where he lived in a beat up old station wagon with his new best friend. Otis, that new best friend, was a fellow drifter he’d met down in Florida. Otis knew how to survive and had just sort of tagged along with Jenks, the two of them robbing and killing as they meandered across the country.

Jenks surmised that his hatred of waking up was not due solely to the disparity between his dreams and his reality; the real hatred came from a feeling that that dream world was something that really could have been. Maybe even was, somewhere or somewhen other than here and now.

But right now he came awake with his stomach growling. It had been a while since he and Otis had eaten and the smell of cooking meat was maddening, even if his nose determined that it was from an animal source and not their favored one. Otis was up now too, sniffing the air like a feral dog, his wide eyes pools of glistening starlight. You smell dat, Jenkie? Otis asked excitedly.

I do, Jenks answered. He was thinking of that last Jenna cutlet (he thought that had been her name) they’d cooked up on the portable stove two days ago. That meal had been at a rest stop just outside of Dayton, Ohio. Breaded and spiced to perfection, it had been heavenly. There had been no one to rob or butcher since then, and whatever money they had from their last take went to gas and beer, which were absolute necessities. Nutrition ranked a distant third in their fiscal budget, as they tended to acquire that from the fruits of their own labors.

They were hunters, you see.

And the smell of that cooking meat, although it triggered their bodies’ instinct to eat, triggered another instinct as well. Cooking meat meant people.

People meant fun.

2

Jenks opened the car door and stepped out into the night. It was a pleasantly warm June evening, the sky free of clouds and dusted with glittering stars. He stood up, his back vertebrae cracking in succession from his ass to his neck. Between all the driving and sleeping, he’d been sitting in one position for a while. He stretched first one leg and then another until things felt stable.

Otis emerged on the other side of the car. He was short and stocky, his head barely looking over the roof. Gimme a minute. I gotta shed some extra weight. Everytime I get excited I gotta take a shit, you know? He ambled over a few feet from the car. His belt jangled as he undid it. He dropped his pants and squatted down.

Jenks sighed in frustration. You should go a little farther away from the car, don’t you think? One of us is going to end up stepping in it.

Well then Merry Fucking Christmas! Otis bawled, chest rattling with mucous as he laughed.

Jenks went to the back of the station wagon and opened the tail door. It swung out to allow access to the storage area making up the final six feet of the vehicle. All the two of them owned was back there, including their tools.

A short distance away, Otis’s asshole let out a horrendous squeak, like a duck being strangled, and then began to hiss as if it were a punctured tire. It was like an invitation for Jenks to look over, and once he did he could not look away, even though the nativity scene was all in silhouette. A snakelike shadow emerged from Otis’s ass, spiraling slowly as it touched ground, a fecal umbilical connecting his bowels to the dirt. He pinched off and stood up, pulling his pants back up and re-doing his belt. He ambled over with that swaying walk of his to join Jenks at the back of the station wagon.

A new layer was added to Otis’s usual fragrance- a strand of fresh shit. You’re dragging a tail around with you, dude. You need to get in there and wipe, Jenks scolded him. They had toilet paper; Jenks used it most of the time, unless they were pressed for time.

I’m only gonna shit again, why waste the resources? Otis asked. Anyway, it was a clean cut.

They’re gonna smell us before we get there.

Otis snorted. Good. Excitement spices the meat.

Jenks switched on his penlight. The lens had a red filter. Red light was stealthy and almost impossible to see from a distance, even in the dark. But it lit up the compartment at the back of the station wagon. Jenks opened up a toolbox containing various knives and cutting implements. He picked out a serrated kitchen knife, a jagged edged spine of gleaming metal.

Otis was hefting a carpenter’s framing hammer in one hand. In the other hand was a meat hook, a crescent shaped strand of metal with a pointed end, attached to a wooden handle.

You good? Jenks asked.

Sure. You got Euthanizer? We don’t know how many there are.

Of course, Jenks said, patting the lump protruding from the waistband of his pants. A .38 pistol they’d picked up in their journeys. Named Euthanizer for obvious reasons, despite them preferring messier and much more painful ways of dispatch.

Jenks closed the tailgate and locked the station wagon.

No telling what kind of scumbags were wandering around the woods at night.

3

They could actually see the campfire through the woods, a distant orange splotch wiggling like a coked out belly dancer. Jenks had turned off the interstate highway here, in a bum-fucked part of Ohio a few miles outside of Cleveland, because there was a lot of tree filled space where the station wagon could spend time without being noticed. They had followed a fire trail through the forest to this very spot.

The fire was about a quarter mile down the same fire trail. On the ride over here, Jenks and Otis passed over that area because of the evidence of frequent visitors. There was a small creek there and large patches of sand, with a tangled web of foot trails winding off in all directions from the area.

The fire trail at this end had fallen into disuse, another reason Jenks and Otis chose to park down here. The forest had reclaimed most of it except for two parallel lines of sand, separated by low lying weeds and shrubbery, glowing a faint yellow in the starlight. Jenks and Otis followed them in the direction of the orange flickering.

Hope there’s some pussy there, Otis said dreamily. I’m in the mood for eating some tonight. He meant it in several ways.

There’s pussy everywhere, Jenks told him. We need to get us some money is what we need.

Well you da idiot that wants to drive around in that eight cylinder gas guzzler. We had the chance to get us plenty of nice new rides. We’re blowing a lot of beer money on feeding that beast.

"We don’t need no stolen ride, Otis. My car is all good and it’s insured. Any curious cops get behind us and run the plates, it’ll all come back clean as a whistle. That won’t be the case if we take someone else’s."

Otis let out a disgruntled fart.

Sounded wet, Jenks noted.

I’m in control. Just reaching deep.

Hard to tell if that was true, by the way he smelled. Otis could have shit his pants and it would not make much difference. Jenks fancied himself a lot more hygienic; at least bathing in a river now and then, or sneaking whore’s baths at restrooms, wetting his pits and crotch with soapy water. An impartial observer would notice only a degree of difference between the friends’ aromas; one slightly funkier than the other. In Jenks’s eyes, Otis was the stinky one…because people are accustomed to their own brand.

The creek was ahead, a ribbon of glistening silver that crossed the firetrail, passing under it through a wide cement culvert. Jenks and Otis walked over, and on the other side the fire trail almost instantly went from two strips of sand to a wide patch of it. The creek appeared to be some kind of boundary that most people did not cross. Possibly because there was nothing but dense forest beyond it. Whatever, they came here and went no further.

People are like fish, they like structure, Jenks thought. The creek offered that. A good hunter must know the habits of his prey.

The fire was much closer, down an incline to the right. A group of people were visible around it, toasting marshmallows and drinking beer, the orange circles of their faces filled with joy. Hip-hop music was audible over the creek’s trickling dialect.

Jenks felt a tinge of jealousy. Such gatherings were in his past experience, from the time before everything went haywire. He could relate to them, wished he could be there having a carefree beer. Well, not here having a beer, because this is going to end badly. Partying in general is what I mean.

With that was the understanding that had he still been in a life where such gatherings took place, he would not be stalking through the woods with someone like Otis. He would not have veered so far from the light that there was no turning back.

And Otis? There was no correlation in his past with festive gatherings. To him they were merely opportunities to feed.

4

They crept as close to the gathering as possible. There were eight people around the fire, four men and four women, mid twenty somethings. They were dressed in summer gear, the guys in shorts, some shirtless; the women with shorts or bikini bottoms, shirts or bikini tops. There was a large dome tent set up in the background, flaps open and a battery powered lantern emitting shifting colors inside, from red to blue to green to yellow, and back again. Firelight reflected off the chrome shadow forms of several vehicles parked nearby.

Jenks and Otis were crouched behind a fat red oak, each peering around opposite sides of the knobby trunk. There were in the shadow zone just beyond the reach of the firelight. I could use a beer, Jenks said.

Me too, Otis said. And I wanna fuck that one with the pink hair.

Nice, Jenks said in appraisal. The pink haired woman was sitting on the lap of a buff guy with no shirt. We’ll make him watch.

Yeah, Otis said excitedly.

They always made neat little plans such as this, nothing set in stone because one could never tell how things would go. As they say, plans are useless in the face of the enemy. They would have to watch for a while and get insights on how to proceed.

Watch they did. After twenty minutes under Jenks and Otis’s scrutiny, one of the women seated by the fire said something to her companion. Amid much wisecracking by the others (you don’t have to take a piss, Jenna, you two wanna FUCK!), the couple excused themselves to walk in the direction of the creek, down a path that disappeared in the darkness. The others cheered and hollered in their wake.

Jenks and Otis crept away from the tree and made a diagonal move towards the departed couple. There was little underbrush here under the leaf canopy, and their footsteps were muffled by the spongy earth. Otis moved with surprising stealth, considering his bulky and normally clumsy form. He usually waddled and wheezed like a dying refrigerator, but when the time came he forgot all of that and became efficient and predatory. The transformation never failed to amaze Jenks.

The twilight beyond the fire’s glow appeared pitch black to those seated by the flames. To Jenks and Otis, who had been in it the whole time, it was a place of greyness streaked by the dark black of tree trunks. A bit dim but navigable. They moved fast and their quarry came into view, a pair of human shaped shadows walking hand in hand towards a sandy patch of creek shore. They paused there and the two shadows merged into one as they embraced and kissed.

Only ten feet away from the lusty couple, Jenks and Otis watched from behind a tree.

Ah, lookie here, Jenks said, nudging Otis with an elbow. It was like pressing into a clump of dough.

The woman really did have to pee. After a brief session of hot and heavy petting, the couple separated. The guy stretched himself out on his back. The woman peeled off her shorts, and squatted over the guy’s face. He opened his mouth wide and she released a scintillating line of liquid from between her legs that splashed into his opened lips. He moaned in pleasure and swallowed it down, and then she lowered herself onto his face as if to smother him with her box. The guy reached up with his arms to hook them around her waist and pull her down further, lapping at her with a sound like a puppy drinking from a bowl of water.

Eat that pussy, the woman growled. An answer came from the head buried in her crotch; a yes that came out as a bubbly snort.

Otis glanced back at Jenks with his eyes wide and glistening in the starlight. I like when they take charge. That’s my kinda bitch, he whispered.

The woman got up rapidly to shift orientation. She was still sitting on the guy’s face, but she was facing his feet now and manipulating his stiff rod in her hands. She lowered her head and took it in her mouth, head bobbing like a piston as she returned the oral favor with gusto and much slurping. The guy had a decent sized pipe and she made short work of it, swallowing it right down to the balls.

Jenks watched with another tinge of jealousy. He remembered sixty nine-ing his cheerleader ex-wife with her cute little slit, the pubic hair shaved into a neat heart shape. Because I love you, she would moan as she lathered his face with the viscous and pungent fluid of her girl cum. Unfortunately she’d loved someone else too… and anger at that quickly erased the envy, as always, and filled him with a need for revenge. The shadow woman straddling the guy in the sand was now a Bettina analogue. His hands clenched the knife that he wanted to sink into her throat.

The couple on the sand were going at it so furiously that Jenks could hear the moist slurps from the vantage point of the tree. Another fapping noise was much closer and more immediate. Otis had his back to Jenks; it shook as one of his arms moved rhythmically.

You rubbing one out right here? Jenks enquired.

Otis moaned, his back quivered, the arm stopped moving. He zipped up before answering. I don’t wanna cum too quick with her. I wanna enjoy it.

Don’t forget the people back at the fire, Jenks reminded him. His partner in crime sometimes got so involved in the heat of the moment that he forgot the important existential realities, such as witnesses.

Oh yeah, Otis said numbly, realizing he’d have to forego any extended romantic episodes until they had the situation under control. She’ll have to be a quickie.

The couple on the sand separated. If either of them had cum, they were young enough that it did not signal the end of festivities. As they moved into position to begin having some doggy style intercourse, Otis said, Let’s go. I don’t wanna get sloppy seconds.

He and Jenks slipped from behind the tree like phantoms of liquid shadow, silent and full of bad intent.

5

When you’re going at it hot and heavy like the couple on the sand, your attention is usually on what you’re doing and feeling. They were no different. The guy, whose name was Mark, was staring down at the shadowy heart shape of his partner Jenna’s bent over buttocks and anticipating that first warm tightness as he sunk into her waiting peach. He pressed forward, his erect cock bridging the distance, and just as he was about to go in-

***

Jenks came up from behind, put a hand over Mark’s mouth, and thrust the knife into the guy’s back. Ribs crunched as the tip of the serrated blade broke through