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From: Al Steiner
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Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Aftermath by Al Steiner-Chapter 2 (Mf) 2/4
Date: Wed, 25 Oct 2000 12:10:12 -0400
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AFTERMATH 2 2/4
Send comments to steiner_al@hotmail.com
One by one the men were led over to the gas station building under
heavy guard. Once inside the former convenience store portion of the
station, they were laid down on their stomachs and directed to place
their hands behind their backs and their feet against their butts. A
zip-tie was then used to bind all four extremities together, making it
impossible for the person to move. It took about ten minutes before
all eleven were safely hobbled and stored.
Once this was accomplished, the group of bikers gathered before the
women and children. They held a quiet discussion among themselves as
they looked their captives over, gesturing and pointing a lot, laughing
to themselves, but talking too softly for the women to hear.
Eventually an accord was reached among them. Stu, Mark, and two others
stepped forward and began pointing at various members of the group.
"All those that we just pointed out," Stu said, "I want you to stand
up. Leave your children if you've got them with the other women."
There was hesitation until Stu fired a shot over their heads. "I mean
fucking NOW!" he screamed menacingly.
Slowly the chosen females stood. There were eleven of them in all and
the reason for their selection was glaring obvious. They were the
youngest and most attractive of the group. They began to shudder in
fear as they realized what was in store for them.
"Harley, Zipper," Stu ordered, "get 'em in the church. Have 'em sit
down and keep 'em under guard. Hands off of them for now."
"Right," Harley grinned, looking lewdly at the raid's bounty, his cock
already erect in anticipation of what was soon to come. "You heard the
man," he yelled at the women. "Get your asses moving. Into the
church, right now."
Slowly, miserably they marched off to the doorway, the guards flanking
them. Several children began to wail as they saw their mothers taken
away.
"Shut those fuckin' kids up!" Stu barked at the remaining women.
They did their best to comply with this command but it was futile. One
of the great truths of life is that children will cry when upset and
there's not a thing that can be done about it. Stu, realizing this,
did not repeat the order. Instead, he ordered his men to start moving
the remaining women and the children over to the gas station to be with
the men. "Secure 'em the same way," he said.
"The kids too?" someone asked.
"The kids too," he confirmed.
It took the better part of a half an hour to accomplish. Not all of
the women went as docilely as the men had, particularly when they felt
the children were being mishandled. One of them, an early-thirties
babe that had missed the cut of those led into the church by virtue of
the fact that she looked like a truck-driver, slapped Mark across the
face when he grabbed her four year old son roughly by the arm.
"You don't need to be so rough!" she said defiantly, standing her
ground. "They're just kids!"
That was the last thing she ever said. Stu stepped forward a moment
later and bashed her squarely in the face with the butt of his rifle.
She fell, choking and gagging on her own blood, to the ground. Two
more strikes to the forehead quieted her. There was no more rebellion
after that.
Once they were all securely tied and bound inside the church, Stu, who
was smoking a cigarette that Harley had brought out to him, turned to
Mark. "You know what to do now."
Mark looked at his leader doubtfully. He was looking forward to the
night's festivities as much as anyone but he was not at all
enthusiastic about his next task. "Are you sure we hafta do it that
way?" he asked. "Why can't we just shoot them?"
"We don't have enough fuckin' ammo to be wastin' it like that," Stu
replied, giving his underling a seething glare. "Do you have a problem
doin' it the way I told you?"
Mark cowered under Stu's gaze. "No Stu," he said. "No problem at
all. It's just a pain in the ass to find the supplies."
"It's a tough job Markie," Stu said, continuing to glare. "That's why
I picked you for it. Now get it done. While you're doing that, I'm
gonna take a look around and figure out where to post some guards. If
the supplies are as good as you say then we'll stay here for a little
while and rest up. And once the job's done, it's party-time."
"Right," Mark said, taking a glance at the gas station building.
"Party time."
He found a five-gallon bucket near the outside of the church. It's
sparkling cleanliness in a world in which everything was now covered
with mud told Mark that it was what the townspeople had been using to
collect their drinking water in. He picked it up and began looking for
the next item he would need. Less than a minute of searching led him
to a twenty-five foot garden hose that was still attached to the
useless faucet outside the church. Using his folding knife, he cut off
a six-foot length of it and slung it over his shoulder.
Just outside the gas station itself was a Chevy pick-up truck mired to
the axles in mud. It would probably still be there when archeologists
uncovered this town ten thousand years or so in the future. Mark pried
open its gas cap with his knife and then inserted the hose down into
the tank. With a few sucks on the other end of the hose, amber gas
began to flow. He let it pour into the bucket until it was about three-
quarters full.
After taking a few deep breaths and bracing himself for what he had to
do next, he picked up the bucket, carrying it carefully to avoid
spilling any, and carried it inside the gas station store. Lying on
the floor, most of them crying or yelling or praying, were 69 men,
women, and children, all hog-tied with plastic straps. When he began
to pour the gasoline on them, their cries turned to screams of panic.
They begged him not to do what he was about to do. They pleaded with
him. They cursed at him. Many of them began to vomit uncontrollably.
One of them, a child, began to convulse. He tried his best to ignore
them.
He made sure every person was liberally soaked with the fluid and then
he spread the remaining gas over the counters and on the floor. With
their deafening cries echoing in his ears, he walked back outside and
threw the bucket to the ground. He stood against the wall next to the
outside of the door and took a box of waterproof matches from his
pocket. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him more than ten
tries before he was able to get one of the wooden sticks to light up.
When it did, he closed his eyes and, without stopping to consider his
actions any further, threw it through the doorway.
There was a soft, almost gentle WHUMP and a blast of heat and fire
immediately exploded outward from the building. Mark ran away as quick
as he could, escaping any burns from the rapidly spreading flames. He
could not outrun the screams of those inside however. They were the
shrill, high-pitched wails of nearly seventy people dying in sheer
agony. They went on for the longest time, for much longer than he
would have thought possible.
Less than an hour later, while the gas station was still sputtering
flames in a few places, the party inside the church was in full swing.
Except for those unlucky souls that had been stuck with guard duty,
everyone was drunk on the liquor supply that had been found. The women
had been stripped of their clothing and handcuffed to the pews. Stu
and the others were taking turns raping them in a variety of fashions.
Some were forcing the women to blow them, others were forcing
themselves into anal openings, others still were performing their acts
in the conventional method. All of the women had been beaten to
varying degrees, some simply with fists, others with steel-toed boots
or gun butts depending upon their level of resistance. Since there
were more men then women, most were being raped by several people at
the same time. Two of the younger ones had had their handcuffs removed
and were being forced to lick each other. All of them had begged to be
killed at some point but that was simply not in the cards for the time
being. That would be like purposely breaking a favorite toy.
Mark simply sat there, chain smoking cigarettes and sipping from a
bottle of Wild Turkey that someone had handed him. He didn't feel like
partaking in the pleasures of the conquest. He could not get the
screams of those dying men, women, and children out of his mind.
But after a while, as he drank more and more, his brain began to
rationalize what had been done. True, it had been a rather grisly way
to go but, in the long run, he had actually been doing those poor
bastards a favor, hadn't he? Obviously they were not equipped with
what it took to survive in this new reality. Wasn't it better that
they be removed relatively quickly instead of suffering through the
eventual starvation that they would have faced? Wasn't it the
responsibility of the strong to remove the weak?
The more he thought about this, the more sense it made. Soon, when
about a third of the whiskey bottle was coursing through his veins, he
began to get a boner as he watched Turbo and Zipper taking turns
fucking one of the younger women up the ass while Stu was forcing her
to suck his dick. A smile formed on his face and he stood up, passing
his bottle off to a new recipient as he walked over.
"Get the fuck outta there Turbo," he said, grabbing the younger man by
the arm and pulling him to the side. "It's my turn." Turbo grumbled a
bit but offered no physical protest.
"Yeah Markie!" Stu yelled, giving him a drunken thumbs-up. "Bag this
bitch! Show her how we do it downtown!"
Mark grinned at Stu as he unbuckled his pants and let them drop. By
the time he forced himself into her back door the thoughts of what he
had done earlier were nearly forgotten.
+++++
"Did you and Chrissie have a fight?" Jason asked as they sat on a
fallen log after eating their lunch of cold vegetable beef soup. They
were in a small clearing in the middle of a thick stand of old growth
pine trees. The rain had a hard time falling directly upon them but it
had a rather easy time of dripping from the branches above in thick,
heavy drops. Their log was located in the zone of least moisture, a
zone that they had become intimately familiar with and had learned to
expertly locate in any surroundings. Chrissie, the object of this new
discussion, was off in the trees relieving her bladder.
"A fight?" Brett asked blankly, looking at the fourteen-year-old before
him.
"Well, yeah," he said. "You haven't talked to each other all day and I
saw her crying a few times while we were walking. You haven't been
talking a lot either. You're usually teaching us things while we're
moving but you haven't done any of that today. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," Brett replied. "Or at least as fine as they can
be. Things will be back to what passes for normal here pretty soon."
"So you're gonna make up with her?"
"Make up with her?"
"Yeah," he said enthusiastically. "You're like the coolest boyfriend
she's ever had. The rest of those guys were all a bunch of dweebs
tryin' to impress her. But you're like the real thing, you know?"
"Uh... thanks," Brett said carefully. "But I'm not really Chrissie's
boyfriend."
Jason looked confused. "But you guys were... you know... doing it."
Brett fought to keep his expression neutral. It was a battle that he
won, just barely. "Doing it?"
Jason blushed a little. "Last night," he said, embarrassed.
"You uh... heard us?"
"You guys woke me up," he said. "Chrissie's elbow bashed me in the
head like five times. You sounded like you were tryin' to be quiet but
you weren't doin' a very good job of it. Especially not towards...
uh... the end. It kinda grossed me out a little thinkin' that was my
sister doing that right next to me, but I got used to it."
"Jesus," Brett muttered, about as embarrassed as he'd ever been in his
life. Had they really thought that Jason had slept through the whole
thing? They really had.
'It's cool though," Jason told him, giving a fairly passable man of the
world look. "I mean, what else can you do, right?"
He sighed, having to struggle just to meet Jason's eyes. "Look," he
said. "What happened last night was... was wrong. I did something
that I really shouldn't have done and that I regret now. You don't
have to worry. It won't happen again."
The reaction that this proclamation produced was not at all what Brett
expected. Jason looked downright alarmed by it. "It's okay," he said
quickly. "I wasn't complainin' or nothin'. You don't have to worry
about me. If you want, I'll get out of the lean-to at night until
you're done."
"What?"
"Or I'll build my own. I don't want to get in the way of you guys.
I'll give you all the privacy you want. Really."
"We won't need any privacy," Brett said. "What happened last night
won't happen again. I'd just assume everyone forget about it. You
won't have to build your own lean-to or go out into the rain."
Jason, if anything, seemed to become even more alarmed. He chewed on
his lip for a moment, seeming almost on the verge of tears. Finally,
he blurted: "Are you going to leave us then?"
"Leave you?"
He nodded. "Go off on your own," he said. "Since you and Chrissie
aren't... you know?"
So that was what was on his mind, Brett realized. Jason thought that
if he and Chrissie were not going to sleep together and be boyfriend
and girlfriend, that there would be no reason for him to stick around.
"Look Jason," he said seriously. "No matter what happened or happens
between Chrissie and I, I'm not going to leave you guys to fend for
yourselves. I promised your mother and I'll promise you, I will take
care of you as long as I'm able to and as long as you need someone to
take care of you. I'm not going to leave you."
"Okay," he said softly, but he didn't seem entirely convinced. "But if
you and Chrissie ever want to... you know... do it again, you go ahead
and do it. Don't worry about me."
"I'll keep it in mind," Brett said, letting his head fall into his
hands.
Chrissie came back a moment later, entering the clearing through a gap
in two trees. She did not look at either one of them. She simply
unshouldered her rifle and sat back down on a different log. The rest
of the lunch break passed in silence.
+++++
An hour later, at the summit of a steep ridge, Brett, on the point like
always, spotted something. He saw a small patch of something orange
between the trees about fifty yards in front of them, a color that was
very out of place in the green and brown environment of the forest. At
this first hint of something unusual he held up his left hand, silently
indicating to his two companions to halt in place and keep a sharp eye
out. It was probably nothing to worry about but you didn't stay alive
in a hostile world by assuming that. Chrissie and Brett, seeing the
signal, obeyed it instantly, as he had taught them to do.
He dropped to one knee, training his rifle towards the area. He gave
two more hand signals to Chrissie and Jason: "Spread out to the sides
and cover my flanks". They both trotted about twenty yards in opposite
directions, both of them finding fallen trees to use as cover. Had
they been under fire, Brett would have covered this move with bursts
from his rifle, but since they were not, he simply kept his eyes open
and his finger upon the trigger. Nothing jumped out at or attacked
them during the move. Once the two kids were in place, Brett took a
moment to check their positioning. He was pleased with what he saw.
Both of them had placed themselves so well that he had a difficult time
even spotting them. Both had their rifles trained outward at forty-
five degree angles, covering the sides and allowing him to cover the
front. They now had an overlapping field of fire that would allow them
to shoot at anything in a 180 degree arc without having to shift
position. They really were quick learners.
He watched the mysterious orange blot in the trees for nearly two
minutes, waiting to see if it would move or not. It did not. Neither
did anything else. He raised himself back to his feet and gave a brief
whistle, getting the attention of the kids. They looked over at him
and he pointed to himself and then forward, giving them the signal that
he was going to move up and check things out and that they were to stay
back and cover his advance. They both nodded their understanding to
him and he began to pick his way forward, moving tree to tree.
He made it about twenty yards before the smell hit him. It was the
thick, sickly sweet odor of decay, an odor that he had smelled a
thousand times during his days as a patrol cop. It was the distinctive
stink of a dead human body. Not even the rotting corpses of the large
animals that they had passed smelled quite like that.
He continued to move forward until he had a clear view of the orange
that he'd seen. He was now able to identify it as one of those bright
orange hunting caps that some hunters liked to wear to keep from being
mistaken for a deer. It was lying next to the body of a man in blue
jeans and a T-shirt. He was sprawled on his back under a tree, his
arms and legs splayed out to the sides. He was barefoot. About ten
feet away was a smaller human corpse, that of a young teenage boy.
Thanks to the constant rain there were no flies about them and there
were no ants covering them. But larger animals - rats, raccoons,
coyotes, maybe even a bear - had certainly taken their fill. Their
faces had been almost completely chewed away, as had large chunks of
their arms and legs. Though Brett had seen more than one dead body in
his time, these were particularly grisly looking to him.
He examined the area around him for a few moments, searching for
anything else that did not belong. Seeing nothing, he waved Jason and
Chrissie up, giving them the all-clear signal. They came trotting up
quickly, their rifles clanking as they moved.
"Oh my god," Chrissie cried when they got close. "What is that smell?"
"Gross," Jason agreed.
They came around the last set of trees and stopped in their tracks as
they saw what was on the ground. Both moaned a little in disgust but
neither backed away.
"Hunters," Brett said, stepping a little closer to the bodies and
breathing through his mouth. "Looks like a father and son. They were
ambushed by someone."
"Ambushed?" Chrissie asked. "How do you know? Maybe they just died."
He pointed to the tree right in front of where the father lie. "Brain
and blood splatter," he said, pointing out some grayish specks that
marred the bark. "This man was shot from behind as he walked up the
hill and then he fell backwards onto his back. It looks like the boy
was shot almost at the same instant since he didn't try to run away.
All of their supplies, their guns, even their shoes are gone. Trust me
on this. It was an ambush. Somebody killed them for their supplies."
All three of them silently contemplated that for a moment.
"Brett?" Chrissie asked softly. "Could that happen to us? I mean,
we're probably carrying more than these two were."
He looked at her, instinctively wanting to lie to her but knowing that
she wouldn't believe him. "That is probably the most likely thing TO
happen to us," he said. "These guns we're carrying will keep away the
casual robber but these packs we're carrying are a magnet for the kind
of people who would do this."
"Is there anything we can do to stop it?" Jason asked, looking
nervously at the forest around them, probably envisioning armed bandits
just over the next rise.
"We can try to spot them before they spot us," he said. "We can keep
alert for danger. People who ambush will usually stalk for a while
before they make a move. Other than that," he shook his head sadly,
"nothing."
They mulled that over for a moment while they stared down at the chewed
corpses. Finally Brett said: "Let's get moving out of here. The
people who did this are probably long gone, but you never know. They
might be nearby."
They began to walk again, continuing through the muddy forest. Soon
the sight and the smell of the two hunters were behind them.
"By the way," Brett said once they were clear, "that was excellent
execution by both of you back there when I waved you to the flanks.
You both did exactly what you were supposed to do exactly when and how
you were supposed to do it. Your cover was so good that even I had a
hard time seeing you and I knew exactly where you were."
"Really?" Jason asked, beaming at the praise. Chrissie, though she
seemed pleased by it, said nothing.
"Really," he confirmed. "I don't give false compliments, especially
not in this world. You two did good, even if it was a false alarm.
You keep that kind of thing up and we stand a decent chance of
surviving under fire. Always remember that it's usually the people
that can keep their heads and respond correctly that survive a combat
situation. Panic kills. You two didn't panic, you just did what I
told you. I'm proud of both of you."
"Thanks Brett," Jason said, looking between him and Chrissie. "Wasn't
that a nice thing to say sis?"
"Yeah," she mumbled, not saying further.
Jason let it drop and so did Brett. They marched onward.
+++++
That night, after the lean-to was built, after the surrounding area was
checked for stalkers, and after their simple though satisfying dinner
of canned spaghetti, Jason made a big show of yawning and stretching
and proclaiming his fatigue. When Brett suggested that maybe he should
hit the sack, he immediately took him up on the offer and stripped
down. Ten minutes later he was snoring away.
Brett reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out the last two cans of
Bud. He held one out to Chrissie. "Care to join me?" he asked her.
She had been scraping the worst of the mud out of her boots with a
stick. She looked up long enough to say, "no thanks" and then went
back to what she was doing.
Brett put the can he had offered her back where it had been without
comment. He considered trying to talk to her but could not think of a
thing to say. Chrissie would just have to work it out on her own.
He sipped at his beer as he watched the coming of night. Before it was
even half gone, Chrissie announced she was going to bed and asked him
to keep his eyes forward while she undressed. "Can't have you seeing
me naked now, right?" she asked sarcastically.
"Right," he answered softly, with a sigh. He kept his eyes forward and
listened to the maddening sound of her shucking her wet clothes. Her
smell, that wet, feral odor of musk and sweat, was even stronger than
it had been the previous night. It assaulted his nostrils, kicking his
libido into overdrive. The knowledge that she would welcome him
turning around to look, that she would welcome his touch upon her, did
not help. He began to wonder just how long he would be able to keep up
his vow not to touch her. He wondered if it was worthwhile to even try.
NO, he told himself firmly, feeling that he was on the verge of
resuming their relationship. You have to be strong. Sleeping with
Chrissie was WRONG.
He did not turn around. When she was done undressing she climbed into
her sleeping bag and covered up. When night finally wiped out the last
of the light he made another one of his trips out into the rain to
relieve the aching pressure that had built up. It didn't do much
good. As he lay next to Chrissie later, listening to her breathing,
remembering how good she had felt in his arms, he stiffened up once
again. He did his best to ignore it and finally, after more than an
hour, sleep was able to take him.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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