This is the End 3: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (8 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  “Like I got hit by a truck,” I croaked, realizing how dry my mouth and throat were.

  Rachel disappeared for a second then she was back with a red plastic cup. “Water.” She said, and slipped an arm under my shoulders to help me raise up enough to drink.

  The pain was something from another world, but I pushed it down and sipped from the cup. I could feel the coolness of the water all the way down my throat and tried to drink more, but Rachel took the cup away and lowered me back down.

  “Not too much too soon. You don’t want to get sick.” She said and set the cup on a table out of my reach.

  “Are you OK?” I asked her.

  She looked down at me, smiled and shook her head like women do when a man is being a moron.

  “Am I OK? Seriously? Are you OK? That’s the question. Do you remember what happened?”

  I thought for a moment before answering, “I remember finding you, finding the house. There was a firefight. And I remember a guy with a big butcher knife in his back. Was that you?”

  Rachel smiled and laid her hand on my arm. “Yes, that was me. Thought I’d help after you started shooting the place up. You killed eleven men saving me, and you got yourself shot in the process. You’re lucky I’ve had some emergency medical training.

  “Do you remember saving me a second time? Shooting two infected females on the dock after I got you to the boat?”

  I thought about it but couldn’t remember anything after checking the rec room and making sure all of Rachel’s abductors were dead. That’s fairly normal when someone is severely wounded, but it’s still rather disconcerting. Actually, it downright sucks. But, on the other hand, it’s probably not a bad thing to not remember the pain.

  “Nothing. What happened? And by the way, how long have I been out?”

  Rachel helped me raise up for another drink of water then settled back into a chair, bare feet up on the edge of my bed. Dog sat next to the bed, chin resting on the edge staring at me. He was starting to make me feel a little self-conscious.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it? You don’t need to rest?” Rachel asked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I’m OK for now. Just tell me.”

  “OK, but you just relax. You’ve been out for four days and you still have a lot of healing to do.”

  “Four days!” I started to rise up but the pain reminded me to lay still. “Where are we? Are we safe?”

  “We’re in the middle of the lake, anchored in 120 feet of water. We’re not showing any lights after dark and Dog and I are sleeping up on deck in case I need to repel boarders.” Rachel patted my rifle which was leaned up against a bulkhead next to her.

  “Now, if you’re done with questions I’ll tell you a bedtime story so you can get back to sleep.” Rachel looked at me with her eyebrows raised in a quizzical expression.

  “I’m all ears,” I said.

  “About two hours after you swam away that night I got tired of sitting on deck waiting for you and went into the salon to get something to eat. I had rummaged around and found a trashy novel in one of the cabins and thought I’d stretch out and read while you were off playing Rambo.”

  29

  Rachel finished her portion of the meal that she had prepared before John went charging off to rescue Dog. Some plastic wrap from the galley covered up his plate for later and she settled down onto a settee to read some trashy romance fantasy novel she’d found while digging through one of the boat’s cabins. The book had been in a nightstand drawer that also held a box of condoms and an oversized vibrator. She’d tried the vibrator and the batteries were still good, but put it back with a shake of her head. Self-pleasuring was the last thing she needed to be thinking about right now.

  The novel was predictably corny, full of heaving bosoms and tanned, shirtless men, but despite herself she started getting into the story. She had been reading for about half an hour when a change in the gentle motion of the boat distracted her. It felt like something had bumped the boat, but when it didn’t repeat and she didn’t hear anything she went back to the book.

  Rachel let out an involuntary scream when a few minutes later a shape appeared in the door from the deck. Her first thought was that John had returned, then she realized it was a stranger standing there staring at her.

  “Well, what are you doing out here all by yourself?” The voice was deep and heavy with the type of Georgia accent that you didn’t hear in metropolitan Atlanta, rather in the isolated little towns in the north Georgia hills.

  Rachel leapt up and tried to reach the pistol in the galley, but she had no chance. The man took two giant strides and back handed her across her face hard enough to send her spinning to the floor of the salon.

  “Now, is that any way to treat company come visiting?” he asked, wrapping her hair up in his grimy hand and yanking her to her feet.

  Rachel didn’t resist, moving with him and lashing out with her fist. Her target was his testicles, and if she had landed the blow he’d likely have lost one if not both of them, but he saw what she was doing and turned to the side and absorbed the blow on his hip.

  “Goddamn it, girl. You’ve got one hell of a punch.” He said, hitting her in the face with a closed fist this time.

  Rachel had always heard the expression ‘seeing stars’, but had never experienced it until now. She was on the edge of consciousness, little pin pricks of light flashing in front of her eyes and her body refusing to answer her brain’s commands to keep fighting. Helplessly, she felt herself pushed to the floor. Her arms were roughly yanked behind her as he bound her wrists with rope, then her ankles were tied together.

  The man left her lying there while he searched the cabin and she got her first good look at him. He was big and heavy, almost as large as John, but instead of heavy muscles he had heavy fat. He hadn’t shaved for days, and didn’t smell like he’d showered recently either. The cloying smell of body odor mixed with tobacco and beer in a rather unpleasant result.

  He wore heavy leather boots, stained and fraying jeans and a once white T shirt that was stretched tight over his bulging stomach. A greasy Atlanta Braves cap covered his head full of equally greasy hair. His hands were large, thick and heavily callused. A hunting knife was strapped to his right boot and he wore two pistols like an old west gun fighter.

  He finished searching the salon and moved on to check the rest of the boat. He made a lot of noise, apparently feeling it necessary to ransack as he searched. A few minutes later he returned and squatted down in front of where Rachel lay on the salon floor.

  “Where’s the guy, sweet thing?” He asked, reaching out and grabbing Rachel’s hair.

  “He’s dead,” Were the first words that popped into her head and she said them. All she could do was hope John would show up and save her, but she didn’t want him knowing there was someone coming back.

  “Dead. Hmmm. Lot of that going around lately,” He muttered. “So it’s just you out here all on your own?”

  Had she made a mistake? Should she have told him about John and that he was due back soon? Deciding she had to continue the story she’d started, Rachel answered, “Yes. He was killed earlier today at the marina where I stole this boat. He died so I could get away.”

  “Well, ain’t that fucking noble as all hell,” He said. “Dumb bastard if you ask me. But he did me a favor. I get me a nice big boat and a good looking woman to go with it. Remind me to say a prayer for him.” He said the last with a laugh, released Rachel’s hair and stood up. “Stay put, sweetie. We’re going for a little ride.”

  He left the salon and a few minutes later the big boat’s engine rumbled to life. The electric winch for the anchor whined as it retracted, then the note of the engine changed as the boat started to move. Rachel was disoriented after the two blows to the head, but she was pretty sure they were moving away from the marina, deeper into the lake.

  She didn’t know for sure how big the lake was or how John would find her, but she did know th
at he would try to find her. Rachel had not led a sheltered life and she could read men like a book. John was not one that would leave her behind, any more than he’d been willing to sail away and leave Dog to die in the abandoned truck. He would be coming for her.

  That thought provided some comfort as they motored farther away from John and Dog. Rachel tested the bonds on her arms and ankles, but she was tied up tight. Too tight. Both her hands and feet were numb from lack of blood circulation. She managed to wriggle around and get into a sitting position so she could look for anything she could use to cut free, but there was nothing in sight.

  They kept going for what seemed like hours, but according to the clock in the salon was only slightly more than 30 minutes. Rachel’s first indication that they were nearing their destination was when the big boat throttled back to idle. Moments later it thumped against what she assumed was a dock and there were several rough male voices shouting back and forth. Eventually the man came back into the salon and squatted down in front of where Rachel was sitting.

  “Alright, sweet cheeks. We’re getting off the boat and going up the dock to the house. You got two choices, and only two. You can walk or I can drag your cute ass.” He looked at her, seemingly expecting a rebellious answer, but Rachel disappointed him.

  “I’ll walk,” She said, voice tight with anger.

  He grinned, revealing a mouthful of teeth that had probably never seen a dentist. “Well, look at you now. Good choice. Maybe I won’t have to get as rough with you as I thought.”

  He drew the knife that was strapped to his boot. It was a wicked looking chromed blade made to resemble the famous Bowie knife. It took some sawing with the knife to cut the ropes around her ankles, but they finally fell free and Rachel caught her breath as the blood rushed back into her feet with a storm of pins and needles. Not wanting to show weakness she forced the pain aside and stood, waiting for the man to tell her where to go.

  He walked her out of the salon onto the back deck and she came to a full stop when she saw the small crowd of men waiting for them on the dock. Several of the men started to whistle and shout when they saw her and Rachel’s stomach flip flopped. Nothing good was going to happen here, she thought as she was shoved from behind.

  Stumbling forward, Rachel regained her balance and stepped off the boat onto the dock. Hands were immediately on her, squeezing her ass and breasts, some pinching hard, some just squeezing. Rachel stood perfectly still, not responding. The man from the boat stepped onto the dock and started batting hands away before shoving her in the back again.

  Rachel was ready this time and didn’t stumble as she moved forward with the shove. She considered kicking out and running, but there were men on all sides of her. She wouldn’t get two steps. Jumping into the lake ran through her head, but with her hands bound behind her back she couldn’t swim and they’d just fish her out and probably punish her for her efforts. Rachel had never been one to give up without a fight, but she was smart enough to know when to fight and when to comply, so she walked docilely with the group to the end of the dock and up a well-tended lawn.

  At the top of the slope was a massive house, lit up like there was a party going on. The house was two stories and painted a gleaming white, an oversized porch running the length of the back of the house, a balcony for the second floor rooms also ran the length of the house and provided a roof over the first floor porch. Rachel was herded up onto the porch and through a set of French doors into a giant kitchen that would have looked right at home in a five-star restaurant.

  She was pushed and the whole group wound up in an adjacent room that had several sofas scattered around the walls and an oversized pool table. They all came to a stop and Rachel did a quick head count. Twelve of them surrounded her in a loose circle. They were all cut from the same mold as the man who had attacked her on the boat. Some smaller and scrawny, some as large as him. None of them looked to place personal hygiene very high on their list of priorities.

  The room stank of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The detritus of an ongoing party was scattered everywhere. Cigarette butts and burns marred the carpeting and most of the upholstery. Not a pleasant party Rachel had walked into.

  The man from the boat stepped in front of her with the knife in his hand. Rachel didn’t shrink back. She wasn’t worried about being killed. That wasn’t what they wanted her for. He reached out with one big hand and grabbed her right arm, lifting her wrists so he could saw through the ropes binding her.

  Moments later the pins and needles pain came and Rachel couldn’t stop herself from rubbing her hands together to ease the discomfort. Knife man tossed the cut ropes behind him and raised the knife until the tip came to rest against the soft skin underneath Rachel’s jaw.

  “Take ‘em off,” He said, his eyes locked on hers, watching for any sign of defiance.

  Rachel held his stare for a few moments before sighing and stepping back from the knife. In one fluid motion she grasped the hem of her T shirt and pulled it over her head. She hadn’t had a bra since going to work the night before the world ended, so her breasts were bare when the shirt came off. She could hear several of the men catch their breath and others mutter curses of admiration as they got a good look at her breasts in the brightly lit room.

  A woman who hadn’t worked as a stripper for a living might have been self-conscious to the point of trying to cover her breasts with her hands, but Rachel understood enough about men like these to know that would just get her hit and she’d still have to stand there with her tits hanging out. She looked across the faces in front of her while they all stared at her chest, hoping to find a sympathetic face, but failing. There was one man that was staring at her face, not her breasts, with an intensity that turned her blood cold. Rachel tagged him as the one to watch out for.

  “Keep going, girl.” Knife man grumbled, waving a meaty finger at the baggy sweat shorts Rachel had found on the boat when she cleaned up.

  Without comment she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the shorts and peeled them down to her feet in one fluid motion, stepping out of them and leaving them laying on the floor. Rachel hadn’t been wearing shoes and was now as naked as the day she was born. Knife man stepped close and started caressing a breast, then squeezed her nipple hard enough to send a jolt of pain all the way to her toes. Somehow she restrained herself from punching him in the throat, standing there and taking the abuse without showing any pain.

  After a few more seconds of twisting and pinching her nipple he made a humphing sound deep in his chest and reached for her. With his big hand firmly wrapped around her slender wrist he led Rachel out of the room, across the kitchen and down a short hall to a small bedroom. Closing the door behind them he sheathed the knife at his boot and reached for his belt buckle with a smile on his face.

  30

  “Stop,” I said. “I don’t need to hear this unless you need to talk about it.”

  Rachel had been sitting very still with a detached look on her face as she spoke, very much like she was telling a story about someone else. In a way, I guess she was. My voice had interrupted her and she reached up to wipe her eyes which had grown watery.

  “It’s OK,” she said. “I gave him what he wanted, freely rather than fighting a losing battle. It would have happened one way or another. At the end of the day it was just sex with someone that I would rather forget.”

  I looked into her eyes and saw the pain that she was dealing with. There was nothing I could do, and I’ve finally gotten old enough to know when to leave things alone.

  “Besides,” she continued. “I took care of him. Remember the guy with the butcher knife in his back?”

  I raised my eyebrows and waited for her to nod. After a minute she smiled weakly and nodded. Sniffing and wiping her eyes one more time Rachel stood and picked up my rifle.

  “Time to check the area,” She said. “The sun will be going down soon and I want one last scan of the shoreline before it gets too dark.”

  Rachel
left the salon, Dog close on her heels. I could see her through the glass door, standing at the rail with the binoculars to her eyes. Nothing she told me had surprised me. When I saw the group that was holding her and how they were treating her I had expected this, but a small part of me had hoped that I had gotten there in time to prevent it. Another voice in my head reminded me that if I hadn’t forgotten Dog in the first place I would have been on the boat and Rachel never would have been taken. I tried to silence that thought but it stayed in the back of my head as I drifted back off to sleep.

  I woke up sometime the next day, bright morning sunshine flooding the salon. The boat had swung on its anchor and the stern was pointing directly into the rising sun. There was a rustle of sheets next to me and I looked over to see Rachel sprawled out in bed with me. The bruising on her face was starting to fade, but she could still go out on Halloween without a mask and scare the hell out of the neighborhood kids.

  I carefully tested my pain level and though it felt like the fires of hell ripping through my chest, I managed to swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up without waking Rachel. I was only wearing a ratty pair of boxer shorts that I’d never seen before so I could only assume that after patching me up Rachel had cleaned me up and found the underwear that she dressed me in somewhere on the boat.

  Taking a tentative step, I shambled to the bathroom, head I suppose I should call it on a boat, pulled myself out of the boxers and peed a bright red stream of urine into the toilet. I flushed and waited for the sound to subside before opening the door so as not to disturb Rachel. She had probably been on deck all night keeping watch.

  I looked at myself in the polished metal mirror mounted over the small sink and was shocked at how bad I really looked. Two thick bandages were taped around my left upper arm, and on my body were two more bandages held in place with white medical tape. The first one was a couple of inches directly below my left nipple and that wound seemed to be the source of the majority of my pain. The second one was on my left side, a little lower along the rib cage. So I’d taken four of the shotgun pellets. If that shotgun had been loaded with 00 buck shot I wouldn’t be standing here looking at the damage. Must have been bird shot, I mused. I was one lucky son of a bitch.