Skydark Spawn

by James Axler

  “It occurs to me that things might go better for us once we’re inside if we know where Ryan, Krysty and Mildred are being held,” Doc commented. “Otherwise, we could be looking for them for a long, long time.”

  J.B. nodded. “We’re too far away for that now. We’ll still have to do another recce when we get in closer, mebbe even one inside the fence.”

  “But what about the electricity?” Dean asked.

  Yes, J.B. thought, what about that?

  Off to the left stood a big wooden barn that was probably used for storage of either food or equipment, or both. Smaller sheds stood to the north side of the barn, and it was possible that the farm’s arms and munitions were kept there. But connected to the shed were several thick cables that were strung over the fence and continued toward the west, before turning south toward the falls.

  “Electricity might not be as big a problem as we thought,” J.B. stated.

  “MAKE YOURSELF comfortable,” Baron Fox said, a bit of a feral smile on his face. He had changed out of his boots and into his slippers, but as always he was still wearing his brightly colored silk bathrobe.

  Krysty was glad to sit down on the couch in the baron’s office, having gotten little rest before being taken from the hotel in the middle of the night.

  “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

  Krysty thought of the fruits that had made them all sleepy and careless. She could only imagine what might happen to her if she got drowsy now. “No, thank you,” she said.

  In addition to the baron, several men were inside the room. Most noticeable was a man standing just inside the door like a piece of furniture. He said nothing, hadn’t even moved, and Krysty thought there was something dangerous about how quiet he was. He looked to be thinking all the time, and what was going on in the room at that moment didn’t require all that much thought. There were several sec men, too, but they all seemed giddy as prepubescent teens. They were dangerous, too, but in a way that was different from the man with the book under his arm. The sec men would chill you at any moment; the other would chill only when the time was right.

  “You’re rather beautiful,” the baron said. “Did you know that?”

  “I’ve been told once or twice.”

  “Unzip your jumpsuit.”

  Krysty shook her head. “No.”

  The baron smiled. “All the breeders who come to Fox Farm are like you at first. They resist, or they have crazy notions about love, but I assure you I can be very persuasive.”

  “I’m sure you can be.”

  “You see, your options right now are very limited. You can make it easy on yourself and rut with me willingly, or I’ll have you chained to a wall and force you to breed.”

  Krysty said nothing.

  The baron walked over to the door and knocked on it three times. A moment later the door opened and the man with the ledger under his arm reappeared, followed this time by three sec men. The sec men surrounded her and leveled their blasters at her head.

  “Now,” the baron said and smiled. “Unzip your jumpsuit to your waist.”

  Krysty slowly complied, taking her time to give herself the chance to think.

  Mildred had once told her about a predark defense tactic for women in this situation suggesting a woman should cooperate with the man until she found a safe way out of her predicament. And if she never found a way out, then she should keep cooperating because that way at least the man might not chill her, which was something he was sure to do if you resisted. It seemed like triple-stupe advice, but Krysty wasn’t sure what else she could do at the moment.

  Of course, she could always call on the power of Gaia, the Earth Mother, if she needed to. Although it would leave her weak and vulnerable afterward, it wouldn’t be so bad if she was able to chill the baron and a few of his sec men along the way. She decided she’d keep Gaia as a last resort, calling upon her if and when Mildred’s predark strategy didn’t work out.

  “Excellent,” the baron said as she finished. “Now, take it off.”

  Krysty hesitated for a second, but then did as she was told, slipping her arms out of the jumpsuit so that the top part of it fell around her waist and left her upper body exposed. It was possible that the man didn’t want to do anything other than look.

  “All of it!” he said. “And the undergarments.”

  When she finally stripped, she could hear a few approving words being muttered by the sec men in the room. At another time she might be flattered, but right now she was feeling sick to her stomach.

  “A natural redhead, I see,” the baron observed. “You are now my prize breeder. Your offspring will bring top jack for years to come. Congratulations.”

  Krysty was about to tell the baron to go fuck himself, but decided it might be wiser to hold her tongue for just a little while longer.

  “Sit down,” he instructed.

  Krysty sat again, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest.

  The baron opened his bathrobe to expose himself as if he were drawing back curtains. He was hard, but his cock was small for a man of his height.

  “Spread your legs!”

  She uncrossed her legs and slowly spread them apart, wondering if the predark instructions Mildred had told her about had been made up by men like this baron. She didn’t seem to be any closer to finding a way out of this situation.

  She readied herself to call upon the power of Gaia.

  The baron was now standing directly in front of her, his small erection just a few inches from her face.

  “Take it!” he said.

  The sec men in the room chuckled at that.

  “I said take it,” the baron repeated.

  This was where it ended, Krysty thought. She reached out with her right hand and gently caressed the baron’s scrotum, feeling his testicles sliding around inside his sack. With her left hand she took hold of his cock, her fingers able to reach all the way around the thin shaft, and then some.

  “Ahh,” the baron sighed. “That’s good.”

  Krysty, ready to invoke the name of Gaia, prepared to squeeze as hard as she could with her right hand. She also tensed her left hand, ready to give his scrotum a hard twist.

  “Enough!” the baron said, pushing Krysty back in her chair.

  She released her hold on the baron’s genitals.

  “I don’t want to scar you, my pretty one,” the baron said, doing up his bathrobe. “I know an East Coast breeder who is partial to redheads, and I doubt he’d pay much jack for, uh, damaged goods.”

  Krysty began getting dressed.

  “But first you have to give me an offspring.”

  “Who do you wish her to rut with?” the man with the book asked.

  “I imagine there will be many who’ll want her,” the baron said. “But only the strongest man on the farm would be worthy of her, so we’ll have a gladitorial-type contest for her. Men, battling each other to the death for the privilege of rutting with this vision of beauty.” The baron looked out the window at his orchards. “Yes, men brutally chilling each other, spilling blood, guts and gore, all for the right to mate and make new life with this woman.”

  Krysty wanted no part of the baron’s mad plan, but as long as she played along with it, she’d be safe and able to try to get in touch with Ryan and Mildred so they could begin to figure out an escape plan.

  The baron turned to two of the sec men in the room. “Take her to one of the private lounges and make sure she’s comfortable. I want her to look good for the combatants.”

  The sec men nodded and led Krysty to the door.

  The baron turned to the man with the book, and took his riding crop from the pocket of his bathrobe. “Send me a breeder,” he said, whipping the crop against his hand. “And make her red-haired if we have one.”

  “Yes, baron,” Norman Bauer replied. “Right away.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doc had been right about the muties.

  When the four friends were do
ne making their recce of the area from the observation level of the tower, they found the fruit gone from the stairs, and the three muties fast asleep on one of the landings.

  “So you see, John Barrymore,” Doc said, as they carefully stepped over the sleeping muties. “It wasn’t your fault that you fell asleep on watch. The fruit had a similar effect on all of us.”

  J.B. nodded, feeling a little better, but only a little. So there was a reason why he’d fallen asleep on his watch. It still wasn’t anything but an excuse.

  They made it down from the tower without further incident and began the journey northwest toward the farm. When they reached the outer edges of the ville, where the ruins of the old city ended and the ruins of the old farms began, they decided to take a short break to eat what little supplies they had with them. Doc was still carrying the bag of fruit, but none in the group was hungry enough to eat any. Instead, they made do with a few pieces of jerked beef J.B. had with him, and a bag of nuts Jak had squirreled away in one of the pockets of his jacket.

  “Any more peanuts in the bag?” Dean asked Jak.

  “Ate them.”

  A sound erupted behind them just then, like the snap of a twig or the fall of a rock. All four of the friends had their blasters drawn a second later and were searching the nearby tangles of weeds for a sign of what was there.

  They could see nothing unusual.

  “By the three Kennedys!” Doc exclaimed, rubbing a knot that was rising up from his head.

  “What was it?” J.B. asked.

  “If I’m not mistaken, it was a stone.” Doc searched the ground around him and found a small round rock by his feet. “As I suspected,” he said, holding up the offending rock.

  Other rocks hit the ground around them, then stopped.

  J.B. looked in the direction the rocks had come from. There was no movement in the weeds now, and whoever had thrown the rock had likely moved on.

  “Jak, Dean,” J.B. whispered. “Find out what’s out there.”

  Jak nodded and hurried off toward the weeds while Dean made a wide circle to the right.

  “Are you hurt?” J.B. asked Doc.

  Doc rubbed his head. There was probably a sizeable lump there, but the skin wasn’t broken. “Only my pride.”

  J.B. smiled.

  “I would like to know why it is that I am the one who was first to come across such misfortunes on this trip?”

  “Lucky, I guess,” J.B. said.

  JAK MOVED THROUGH the weeds as quietly as a cat and as quick as a snake. His lean, muscular build and acrobatic athleticism were well-suited for this sort of hunt. If there was anything out there, he would either catch it or chill it long before it ever saw him.

  He pushed aside the tangle of weeds in front of him with the six-inch barrel of his .357 Magnum Colt Python and peered into the undergrowth. He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean much. After all, whoever was out here couldn’t see him, either.

  Jak crouched and moved deftly to his left, careful not to disturb any weeds or otherwise alert his prey to his presence. With his acute sense of hearing, Jak detected Dean making his way toward him from about twenty-five paces away. With one of his friends so close, Jak holstered the Colt Python and fished inside his jacket for a pair of leaf-bladed throwing knives. Even if he could positively identify an enemy through the weedy underbrush, the man-stopping power of the Colt could easily punch through a body and still chill Dean, even if he was standing dozens of yards away.

  And then he saw it—the flick of a weed and the flash of color distinct from the pale green and sickly yellow of the weeds.

  Jak moved in for the kill. If he was lucky, it would be a coon or squirrel and they’d soon be eating something better than jerky and nuts for breakfast.

  Jak positioned a knife in his right hand for throwing and parted the weeds in front of him for a better view.

  He reared back with his right arm…and saw Dean looking back at him, the boy’s Browning Hi-Power leveled at Jak’s head.

  The albino teen relaxed his arm; Dean lowered his blaster.

  Jak jerked his head to the left.

  Dean nodded, moving away from Jak so he could circle whatever it was his friend was hunting in the brush.

  Jak moved left and saw that the growth of weeds ended a little farther on. That meant that whoever or whatever was moving in that direction would either have to double back soon or make a run for it over open ground.

  Either way, Jak would have them.

  As the two youths neared the edge of the tangle of weeds, Jak caught sight of some color low to the ground. The color was pale, like the white of his own skin, which meant there was a good chance it was one of the spiderlike muties.

  Jak readied the throwing knife again and prepared to move aside the final few weeds separating himself and the unsuspecting mutie. When he had a clear view of the creature, he’d throw the knife at its neck. The blade would penetrate a few inches, chilling it in a matter of seconds—quick, precise and almost painless.

  Jak prepared to pounce.

  He moved his left hand across his body, ready to push the weeds aside, almost as if he were about to open a sliding door.

  One…two…three…

  The weeds were suddenly gone, and he had a clear view of his prey. He reached back to throw the knife and realized it wasn’t a mutie at all, but a young woman.

  And a pretty young woman at that.

  “Hi there,” she said with a smile and a wave.

  Jak slowly lowered his throwing arm. “Hi.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Who are you planning on rutting with tonight?” a hard-muscled, blond-haired man asked Mildred.

  “Excuse me?” she replied.

  “Tonight,” he said. “Who are you rutting with?”

  “I don’t rut,” Mildred said, doing her best to ignore the man.

  “But everyone ruts at night. It’s our reward.”

  “Well,” Mildred said, continuing to pick peaches and place them in the basket slung around her hips. “I’m not everyone, and I don’t rut. Understand?”

  Another young man, this one tow-headed, came up to the base of the tree Mildred was working at and said, “Is she rutting with you tonight, or is she free?”

  “I saw her first,” the blonde said.

  “But mebbe she wants me instead.”

  Mildred stopped what she was doing and watched the two men fight over her. The scene seemed quite unreal, but although she thought it a pathetic display of machismo, she still found the attention quite flattering.

  “I saw her first. So if she’s going to rut with anyone tonight, it’ll be me,” the blonde stated, jabbing himself in the chest with an outstretched thumb. “Unless you want to do something about it.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  The blonde stepped away from the tree. He was naked from the waist up, all of his muscles well-defined from days working in the orchards. He had on a pair of short pants that were ragged and torn, revealing equally sculpted thighs and calves.

  The dark-haired one was no slouch, either. What he didn’t have in muscle tone, he made up for in mass, outweighing the other by thirty pounds, at least. As a result, they were a good match for each other, and Mildred was curious to see who might walk away the victor.

  Everyone else seemed curious, as well, as most of the slaves had stopped picking by now and had become interested in the men’s squabble. It even sounded as if there were bets being placed, with the blonde being the early favorite.

  The dark-haired man didn’t make a move for several seconds and, thinking there would be no fight, the blonde waved him off and turned back toward Mildred. That’s when the other took the chance to throw a punch that struck the blonde square on the back of the head at the base of the skull. The fair-haired one’s head snapped forward, and he fell to the ground.

  As the dark-haired one carefully stepped over the other to catch Mildred’s attention, the blonde on the ground kicked the other’s fee
t out from under him and in seconds the two men were rolling around on the ground, punching wildly.

  The sec men seemed to be enjoying the contest. Their weapons were lowered and they were cheering on their favorite.

  After several minutes the combatants seemed to tire. They were roughed up, with a few scrapes and bruises, but neither of the men was bloody. Finally the dark-haired one slapped his right arm onto the ground three times and the blonde released him. The two men got onto their feet and the dark-haired one walked away to resume his work.

  The workers got back to work.

  The sec men began exchanging jack.

  The blonde walked over toward Mildred, a bit of a proud grin on his face. “So,” he said, “you’ll be rutting with me tonight, then?” It was as much a statement as a question.

  Mildred had no intention of having sex with this man, even though it seemed to be the natural way of things on this farm. Still, she had the feeling that simply saying no to the man would probably cause problems. She had to think of something else to tell him, and fast.

  “Well, then?”

  “I’d like to, honey, but it’s, uh, my time of the month.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “But I do,” she said.

  There was no anger or disappointment on the man’s face. He simply nodded in acceptance of this fact of life. “Tomorrow, then. Or when you’re first able.”

  He was persistent, Mildred thought. “It might take a while,” she said.

  “I’ll rut with others in the meantime,” the blonde said. “But when you’re ready, I’ll have you first.”

  Mildred couldn’t imagine she’d still be here picking fruit in a few days’ time, but if she promised this man, maybe the word would get around and the others might not be inclined to proposition her. “Sure,” she said. “When I’m ready, I’ll let you know.”

  The blonde smiled. “My name’s Eric. I’m one of the best rutters on the farm.”

  “I’m Mildred,” she said, admiring his physique. “And I bet you are at that.”

  Eric left her then, returning to work.

  The women working the nearby trees eyed her warily. “Maybe the men won’t be the only ones I’ll have to worry about here,” she muttered under her breath.