Free Web NovelChapter 190: Chapter 190 - Meat is Meat
All their guns came up at once, aimed straight at him.
Aljun froze for a second, then glanced back at the table and returned his gaze to them, eyes widening slightly as if he had just realized what they were seeing.
"Okay," he said, letting out a short chuckle as he raised both hands. "I know that looked bad."
He tilted his head toward the table. "This is one of the two who tried crossing."
Lance turned away fast and staggered to the corner. He bent over and vomited, one hand braced against the wall, the other gripping his stomach as his body shook.
Iyisha stood still. Her mouth pressed tight, jaw locked as she forced herself to breathe through it.
Malcolm didn’t move.
"I’m going to kill you," he said, voice low and steady.
"Wait," Aljun said, rolling his eyes slightly, hands still raised. "Don’t be such a hypocrite."
He gestured loosely around them. "Everyone’s eaten this."
"Definitely not," Lance muttered from the corner, voice rough. "God." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned his head against the wall. "I knew I shouldn’t have eaten breakfast."
Iyisha’s gaze flicked to him, then back to the table.
"You mean to say... these are corpses?" she asked, her voice tight.
Aljun nodded once. "Meat is meat," he said with a shrug.
Iyisha’s stomach turned. Her eyes tried to move away but didn’t fully leave the table.
"Oh, come on," Aljun said, dropping one hand slightly. "Drop your guns or get out. I won’t take this kind of disrespect."
"You deserve it," Marybeth muttered, her aim steady.
Aljun sighed and stepped closer to the table, grabbing a sheet and pulling it over what was left of the body, covering it in one motion.
"Happy?" he said, like he was dealing with children.
Then his expression shifted, voice flattening. "Now get out."
He pointed to the door.
The room held for a second.
Iyisha looked at Malcolm.
He didn’t lower his gun right away. His eyes stayed on Aljun, reading him, weighing something.
Then slowly, he lowered it.
Marybeth followed.
Lance straightened from the wall, wiping his mouth again before lowering his weapon last.
"I’m sorry," Iyisha said, forcing the words out. Her eyes stayed pulled toward the table before she dragged them away.
Aljun sighed. "If Mark didn’t send you, I would’ve kicked you out already." He jerked his head toward the door. "Come on. Follow me."
They moved after him.
He led them up a short set of stairs and out onto a balcony overlooking the river. The place had been a café once. Tables still stood in place, chairs mismatched, railings rusted. The smell lingered, stuck in the walls, in the wood, in the air.
Iyisha swallowed hard and focused on the river instead.
They took their seats.
Aljun sat across from them, leaning back slightly, one arm resting on the table like he owned the space.
"I would’ve offered refreshments," he said, glancing between them, "but I only do that for people I like."
Marybeth crossed her legs, her expression flat. "We’re good. Wouldn’t want to taste your special dish."
Aljun rolled his eyes. "As I said, meat is meat."
"You could’ve raised rabbits," Iyisha cut in.
He lifted a brow. "And where would I get those?"
He looked out toward the river.
"The river provides."
"Yeah," Lance said, still pale, voice low. "It can provide fish."
Aljun’s hand slammed hard against the table.
The sound cracked through the space making everyone froze.
He leaned forward, eyes sharp, voice dropping. "We eat dead people. That’s what we do."
They looked at each other.
"Now tell me what you want," he said, slower, controlled, "or get the fuck away from here."
He’s pissed off. That was not good.
Malcolm cleared his throat, steady. "We want to get to Manhattan."
Iyisha sighed with relief for Malcolm stepping in.
Aljun looked at him, then tilted his head slightly toward the water. "Then cross the river."
"But you just said people died crossing it," Lance said.
Iyisha pressed her lips together.
Aljun’s expression didn’t shift. The anger stayed there, quiet, contained, like their reaction was the problem, not what he had shown them.
"Wait," Iyisha said.
She drew in a breath, steadying herself, then shot a sharp look at Marybeth and Lance.
Enough.
No more talking.
Then she turned back to Aljun, her gaze steady now, forcing control back into her voice.
"Mark said you can help us cross the river," Iyisha said, her voice steadying as she forced it out. "We’re sorry for reacting that way. You can’t punish us for that."
Aljun stayed quiet for a moment. Then he sighed.
"Say it first," he said. "Out loud. Meat is meat. Human meat is the same as any other animal."
Iyisha’s jaw tightened. She glanced at the others, then back at him. The words sat heavy in her throat.
"Meat is meat," she said slowly. "And human meat is the same as any other animal."
Aljun smiled.
"Good," he said, standing.
He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a plastic bag. Iyisha’s stomach dropped the moment she saw what was inside. Dried strips. Dark. Uneven.
He brought it back and set it on the table.
Marybeth shifted her gaze away immediately. Lance did the same.
"Eat one," Aljun said as he sat back down.
Iyisha stared at it.
It was skewered. The meat wrapped around something hard underneath. Bone. The shape was wrong. Too narrow. Too defined.
Her fingers curled against her palm.
Aljun reached in and pulled one out, placing it closer to her.
His face stayed serious.
No humor now.
No way out.
If they tried to cross on their own, they would die.
"I..." she started, her hand lifting, fingers shaking as she reached for it.
A hand moved first.
Malcolm.
He took it from the table.
Iyisha exhaled sharply as relief hit her chest, but her stomach twisted harder as she turned her head away.
He didn’t hesitate.
He bit into it.
The sound of it made her throat tighten. Teeth against meat. Then bone.
She pressed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth, forcing everything down as her stomach pushed back.
The smell coated the back of her throat, thick and sweet, and she tasted it even without eating.
"It’s good," Malcolm said.
"Right?" Aljun’s face lit up, sudden and bright. "I smoked that for five days."
Iyisha didn’t look at the skewer in Malcolm’s hand. She kept her eyes on the table, on anything else.
"So," Aljun said, settling back, satisfied. "What do you want from me?"
Iyisha let out a slow breath.
Malcolm sat straighter. "We need to get to Manhattan."
Aljun looked at them, expression flattening again. "Like I said. The bridge is blocked. The river will kill you."
Iyisha met his gaze. "Mark said you smuggle drugs for them."
Aljun tilted his head slightly. "I do it on my own." His eyes moved across Iyisha, Marybeth, and Lance. "Not with three hypocrites."
Then he looked at Malcolm. "You’d be better off alone."
Malcolm reached into his bag and pulled out a pistol, setting it on the table.
"Tell us what you know."
Aljun laughed, short and sharp. "One gun?" He shook his head. "No way."
Malcolm added another pistol. Then a small stack of ammunition.
"As a thank you," he said.
Aljun leaned forward and picked one up, checking the weight, the grip, the condition. His thumb ran along the slide.
He glanced back at them.
"Even if I help you," he said, voice quieter now, "you’ll be dead before you reach Manhattan."
He looked out at the river, eyes settling on the fast current.
"Crossing the river can kill you," he said. "But it’s not just the water. It’s a suicide run. Zero success rate."
Iyisha straightened. "You’re alive," she said.
Aljun glanced at her, then stood and walked a few steps toward the railing. He stayed there for a moment before coming back, pulling a chair and sitting down again.
"I am," he said. "Because I don’t go to Manhattan."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.
"I go to Brooklyn," he continued. "Scavenge what’s left."
His gaze shifted past them, toward the skyline.
"Manhattan..." He let out a slow breath. "That place will kill anyone who forces their way inside."
