Message-ID: <27030asstr$972490212@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Al Steiner X-Original-Message-ID: <8t5lu5$ei4$1@nnrp1.deja.com> X-Article-Creation-Date: Wed Oct 25 04:01:11 2000 GMT Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Aftermath by Al Steiner-Chapter 2 (Mf) 2/4 Date: Wed, 25 Oct 2000 12:10:12 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, IceAltar, RuiJorge, Vulpine 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. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+