Reaper's Run - Plague Wars Series Book 1
Page 7
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If she hadn’t been so exhausted, and lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the rolling wheels, she’d never have been caught unawares. It was only the feel of cold metal against her cheek that finally woke her.
Looking up, she saw the business end of her own assault rifle wavering in front of her face. Jerking, she backed up against the door, staring wide-eyed at the truck driver, whose name she did not even know, holding it one-handed with his finger on the trigger and the safety off. His other hand loosened his belt.
Glancing around, she realized he’d pulled the truck over on a side road in the middle of nowhere. No lights but the moon and stars were visible, and the trees closed in as if conspiring to hide the commission of sins.
“Now darlin’, let’s just do this nice and easy. I’ll have me my fun and then you kin go, and nobody gets hurt.”
Jill was about to threaten to report him when she realized that was about the stupidest thing she could do. The whole country was falling apart and a man who would rape might also murder.
“Hey, you could have just asked nicely,” she said with a show of equanimity.
“Naw, you don’t understand. I like it rough. I’m gonna like it when you squeal. Just shrug them pants off, then turn around. Don’t even look at me. Better for both of us.” He smiled, showing oddly even teeth through his beard.
Her mind racing, Jill reached down and rapped her prostheses. “Hard to get my pants over these things. You’ll have to help.” She unbuckled her belt, then pulled the utility trousers down to her knees, extending her booted false feet toward him, past the assault rifle that still pointed at her.
“Oh, hell,” said the man disgustedly. “Forgot all about those.” He looked confused for a moment, then mumbled, “I guess no cripple ain’t gonna give me too much trouble.” Leaning the rifle against the driver-side door, well away from her, he reached for her legs.
Instead of cooperating, she popped the door lock on her side and tumbled out of the truck cab, landing in a wet ditch. Her athleticism saved her this time, and she rolled on her hands and arms, and then scrambled crawling into the woods.
The trucker hollered with rage, and then jumped out of the cab with the rifle in his hand, but she snaked on her elbows and bare knees down a draw, then rolled upright behind a tree. While he blundered around looking for her, she yanked the trousers back up, buckled the belt, and then worked her way away from him as quietly as she could.
Cursing inside, Jill realized she had now lost her weapon – a Marine’s cardinal sin. She should have looped the sling around her wrist and leaned on it as she slept. What’s more, the bastard had her ruck full of supplies. She racked her brains trying to remember if she left anything that could identify her, but did not believe so. At least she still had her neck wallet, an MRE in her cargo pocket, and her prepaid phone.
After a couple of minutes blundering in the woods, the man gave up. Probably smart enough to realize he can’t leave his truck unattended, in case I circle back around and turn the tables. That was very tempting, but she swallowed her anger and desire for vengeance and stayed put, watching from a distance until he drove away. Then she found a dry spot in the cool Tennessee night, and dozed until morning.