by Jessy Cruise
Paula leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "You'll be all right," she said stoically. "I just know you will."
"So anyway," Skip said, changing the subject in order to keep his mind off of his leg, "how're things back in town? I assume you finished clearing the battle area?"
"Yes," Mick said, nodding and grimacing a little. "That was actually worse than the battle I think. It really bothered a lot of the troops."
"Not so much the bodies," Paula put in. "Although that was pretty bad, but the... you know... the wounded."
"How many were there?" Skip asked.
"Well, you saw that they hauled five of them out when they withdrew, right?" Mick asked.
"Right," Skip said. They had taken two from the battle area itself and three from the staging area behind the lines, carrying them out on crude litters made out of sleeping bags and limbs from trees. That was in addition to the five or so that seemed able to propel themselves. In all, thirty-eight men made their way back to the highway to start their long trip home - thirty-eight out of four hundred that had started the journey. That was more than ninety percent casualties or desertions.
"There were about thirty of them that were still alive in some way out there," Mick said. "A lot of them were unconscious and pretty much beyond salvation anyway, but a few... a few could've been saved maybe. We shot all of them in the head with pistols."
"It was the only way," Skip said. "There's no way we could afford to waste the fuel to transport them here or the resources of the doctor here treating the enemy. No way."
"I know," Mick said. "I explained that to everyone and they all understood it. But still, it's not easy shooting an unarmed, wounded man in the head. Especially when they're begging for help or crying for their mothers. I shot several of them myself. I know."
"There's going to be quite a few people who are going to have trouble sleeping tonight," Paula said, her eyes saying that she was going to be one of them.
"I wish I could tell everyone that it was the right thing to do," Skip said. "I really do. But I can't. It was wrong to shoot wounded prisoners. It goes against everything that we've been taught and raised with. But unfortunately, that morality is something else we can't afford anymore. Did anyone refuse to do it?"
"No," Mick said. "Not everyone did it of course, but no one who was faced with it actually refused."
"I hope we never have to do anything like that again," Paula said.
"There's always hope," Skip said. "Never promises though. How about weapons? Did we recover all of them?"
"More than a hundred and fifty rifles," Mick confirmed. "That includes twelve fully automatic M-16s and AK-47s and nearly sixty semi-autos of various type and caliber. We hauled them all back to the community center and we'll get a crew together to clean them up when we have the time. We also got nearly seventy pistols from the dead bodies. Rifle ammo wasn't as good as we'd hoped though."
"No?"
"No," he confirmed. "They probably smuggled most of what they had left out with them. All that we found was what was in the weapons themselves and even that wasn't too terribly much. Maybe three hundred rounds total for the assault weapons and about the same for the rifles."
"Not nearly enough to replace what we shot up at them," Skip said, although that was pretty much what he had expected.
"No, but I don't think we'll have to worry about that bunch anymore for a while. Hopefully there are no other Placer County Militia type groups on their way to us. If there is, we might have problems. We'll need to keep a real close eye on the surrounding area from now on. We got lucky by having advanced warning of this attack. The next time we might not."
"That's true," Skip said. "And remember, there's only so much life left in that helicopter. We need to find another one as quick as we can and from there we need to find spare parts, more fuel, and more ammo. All stuff to work on when I get out of here. How far did the militia make it out of town anyway?"
"They made it just past the border sign the last time we checked on them," said Paula, who had been adopted as the new observer for the time being. "We dropped them three hundred cans of chicken noodle about a mile to the west, just before the first mudfall on our side. They should reach it just about sunset if they keep moving."
"Tell Jack to make at least one flight before sunset, just to make sure they're still where they're supposed to be."
"We will," Paula promised.
"And what about our bodies?" Skip asked next.
Another sad look passed between the two of them. "All recovered," Paula said. "That wasn't a lot of fun either."
"No, I don't imagine it was."
"They're all in the storage room for now, in sleeping bags," Mick told him. "We're going to get some people out digging graves tomorrow in the park near where Dale and the others are buried. Steve's already working on making some crosses with their names and dates on them. Paul suggested having a ceremony of some sort after we bury them, just to honor them you know. Of course we don't have a priest or anything to give a proper funeral, but all the same, I think they deserve something other than just being tossed in the holes and covered up."
"I think that's a very good idea too," Skip said. "I want to be there when you do it. I want to say a few words."
"How long are you going to have to stay in here?" Mick asked.
"I'm coming home the day after she fixes my leg," he said. "Whether she likes it or not."
At 10:30 the next morning, in Auburn, Jessica finally stirred and raised her head from her pillow in the bedroom of the high school administration building. This was her typical awakening time these days, particularly when she had been drinking heavily the night before, as she had been the previous night - as she did almost every night. Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot and her head pounded sickeningly. Worst of all was her stomach, which was rumbling like a volcano about to erupt. Experience told her that it soon would.
"Oh God," she mumbled, refusing to open her eyes completely. She fumbled her hand across the nightstand next to the bed until she encountered the walkie-talkie that she carried with her at all hours. She picked it up and put it next to her mouth. "Alice?" she groaned into the mouthpiece after keying up. "Are you there?"
The reply was almost instant. "I'm here, Ma'am," she said. "Good morning."
"Right," Jessica said sourly. "Bring me up a bloody Mary and some Tylenol, will you? I'm feeling a little under the weather."
"Right away," Alice replied. "Would you like breakfast brought in to you?"
"Not for another hour or so," she said, the thought of food making her stomach turn over a few more times. "And make that bloody Mary a pale one, if you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean. I'll have it in to you in five minutes."
Jessica put the radio back down, not bothering to thank her assistant. She covered her eyes with her hand, trying to lie as still as possible to fight off the nausea and the headache. It was a losing battle at best. Christ, how many drinks had she had last night? Ten? Twelve maybe? She wasn't entirely clear on exactly what had happened after 11:00 PM or so. She and ten of her closest acquaintances had been having themselves a little party - as they did every Wednesday and Saturday evening. There had been food, music, booze of course, and one of the men that had been captured with the town had been brought in for entertainment. They had been... well... what had they done with him? She remembered having him lick everyone's ass - that had been rather early in the festivities. And then there had been the inevitable reaming of his ass with the huge dildo that was such a favorite at parties. There had been a lot of drinks consumed during this portion of the party and things were a little hazy after that. She had the sense that things had gone a little bit too far - it had happened before - but she was not at all sure just how.
While she was still sifting through the opaque haze of memories her stomach insisted that it was not going to hold its contents down any longer. With another groan, she rolled out of bed, landing on her hands and kn
ees on the floor. Moving quickly she crawled to the private bathroom and put her head in the toilet, arriving just in time to disgorge a small amount of stomach acid and watery liquid that smelled strongly of vodka and orange juice. She retched a few more times, mostly dry heaves, and then finally her stomach settled the tiniest bit, allowing her to pull her head out of the bowl and stagger to her feet.
She panted weakly for a few moments, trying to get her equilibrium. She was still dressed in the pantsuit and blouse that she'd worn the night before (she would never wear anything as common as blue jeans and a flannel shirt now that she was in charge) although there were several nasty looking stains on them now. When she felt she could do it without falling, she turned herself around, lowered the toilet seat, and then unbuttoned her pants, pushing them down to her ankles along with her silk panties. She sat herself down on the toilet and began to urinate, relieving her drink-swollen bladder of its burden. As she peed she looked down at the crotch of her panties, hoping to see the telltale stain of menses there, instead seeing nothing but a few urine stains.
"Damn," she cursed, shaking her head a little in frustration. When she finished peeing she pulled some toilet paper from the roll and wiped carefully, pushing the wad well inside of her vagina. She looked at it. A little moisture but no blood. Not a single drop. Her period still hadn't started. What was wrong? It was almost four weeks late now, a little bit longer than could be blamed on simple stress. Surely she was too young for menopause. Her mother hadn't gone through the change of life until she was 54 years old. So logically, shouldn't she be about the same? She had never even heard of anyone going through it at 34.
She stood up and pulled her pants back up, staggering a little as she did so. As she fumbled through the snapping and zipping process she wondered if maybe that asshole Stinson or some of his cronies had... well... done something to her when they had raped her all of those times. Could they have done some damage to her reproductive system that would have broken her cycle in some way? Was that possible?
Even as that thought came into her mind another thought, this one much darker, tried to push its way forward. The thought was of Linda, one of the other "wives" that had shared the hell of living with Stinson with her. She was now nearly five months pregnant with Stinson's baby, just now starting to show. Was it possible that she, Jessica, could be... ?
She groaned as if in pain, pushing that thought away and burying it before it could be fully formed. She did not want to even think about the possibility of that being a possibility. She was having a physical problem, or maybe a stress problem - leadership was challenging, wasn't it? That was what was wrong, not... well anything else. Certainly not!
She heard the door to the main room open a moment later, just as she was finishing up with the flushing process. She walked out of the bathroom and beheld Alice, who was dressed in blue jeans and a sweater and had a pistol strapped to her waist. Alice's eyes were bright and alert, her expression non-committal as she took in her boss. She had seen Jessica under much worse conditions than this. She had a large glass that contained maybe five ounces of vodka and six of tomato juice. It was so pale that it was almost pink in color.
"Give it to me," Jessica said, walking quickly across the room and nearly snatching it out of her hand. She downed almost half of it at a single gulp, feeling the burning of the booze as it poured down her throat and into her abused stomach. It almost made her retch again for a moment but this was an effect she was familiar with. After a few moments the opposite occurred and her stomach settled as the booze took hold.
"Here's your Tylenol," Alice said, handing her four of the red and white pills.
Jessica popped them into her mouth and then washed them down with about half of the remaining drink. That would take care of the headache in about twenty minutes. In an hour, after two more bloody Marys and a little breakfast, she would feel almost normal again. She wondered if maybe she was drinking a little too much lately and then dismissed that thought as quickly as she'd dismissed her earlier one.
"Is there anything else?" Alice asked her, still standing there obediently.
"Another bloody Mary in about five minutes," she said, taking one more sip of her drink and then setting the glass down on the nightstand. She began unbuttoning her blouse. "And get someone in here to clean this place up. The bathroom needs a real going over."
"Right away," Alice replied. "Will you be taking your bath soon?"
"Yes," she said. "As soon as I get changed into my robe. Have them start running it now and then you can have breakfast up in the office for me when I get back."
An hour later Madeline entered the main admin building, walking past the two guards out front with hardly a word. She was one of less than ten women in town who had unlimited access to the main building with its heat and power, who could get in to see Jessica without an appointment. She was the only one who could do this that didn't consider herself to be a friend of Jessica, who didn't regularly attend the barbarous gatherings that she referred to as parties. In fact, the relationship between the two of them was becoming increasingly antagonistic as Jessica's reign as Auburn leader rolled onward. So far they had avoided any really nasty confrontations with each other but Madeline knew that that was about to come to an end. Jessica was getting too strange, too unstable lately. She was prone to irrational outbursts that bordered on outright paranoia at times. And after what had happened last night, the time had finally come for some plain talk.
"Hi, Alice," Madeline said with a sigh as she entered the outer reception for Jessica's office. "Is Jessica in?"
"She's in," Alice said with a sigh. "She's just finishing up her breakfast."
"Is she sober?" she asked next. She was really hoping to catch her before she too many morning drinks - something that was an exercise in timing.
Alice seesawed her hand back and forth in the air. "She's working on the fourth bloody Mary right now," she said. "The last two haven't been as strong though. It's about another hour before she starts on the screwdrivers."
"Well," Madeline said, "I guess that's about as good as it's going to get. Will you tell her that I need to have a word with her?"
"Sure," she said, picking up the walkie-talkie. She keyed it up. "Ma'am?" she said into it. "Madeline is out here to see you. She says she needs to talk to you."
"Tell her to come back later," Jessica's voice replied a little testily. "I'm busy right now."
Alice looked up at her apologetically but Madeline was not going to be dissuaded that easily. She reached over and plucked the radio from Alice's hand. "Jess," she said into it. "This is really important. I need to talk to you now."
Jessica refused to answer Madeline directly but this seemed to do the trick. "Alice," she said, "go ahead and send her in."
"Thanks, Alice," Madeline told her, dropping the radio back onto the desk. She walked to the door and opened it. Jessica was sitting behind her large desk, a half eaten tray of food pushed off to the side. She was sipping out of a glass and going over some sort of paperwork - God knew what it was. Jessica enjoyed keeping lists and ledgers and notations on every little thing that occurred in the town.
"What is it?" she said shortly, not even looking up at her security chief.
Madeline closed the door behind her and walked over to the desk. She sat down in a chair across from it without being asked.
"Well?" Jessica said, finally looking up, showing bloodshot eyes. "You were so anxious to get in here. What's the problem?"
"Greg Rollins is the problem," Madeline told her.
"Greg Rollins?" she said blankly, the name obviously meaning very little to her.
"The man that you and your friends utilized for your little party last night," she reminded her.
"Oh... of course," she said with a disinterested shrug. "What about him? Why would he be a problem?"
"He's dead," Madeline said plainly. "He died about four this morning." She paused a little. "From internal bleeding."
Jessica s
howed no particular emotion at this news. "What happened to him?"
"What happened to him?" Madeline said, leaning forward. "Do you really not remember what you and your friends did to him last night? Did it slip your mind? Or were you just so drunk that you can't recall it?"
Jessica face flushed with instant anger. "How dare you come in here and speak to me in that tone!" she said. "You are forgetting your place, little missy! I am the leader of this community. What makes you think that you can come marching in here..."
"You don't remember the crowbar, do you?" Madeline asked softly. "You really don't."
This startled Jessica a little, bringing back a blurb of a memory, which she quickly buried again. "Crowbar?" she said.
"Jesus," Madeline said, somehow more bothered by the fact that Jessica didn't remember than by the act in the first place. "Let me refresh your memory a little for you, shall I? Apparently during your little gathering last night, after you finished raping him with that dildo you use, you decided that the dildo wasn't humiliating or painful enough and you ordered Alice to go find you a crowbar."
"I wouldn't have been serious about that," Jessica said.
"You were," Madeline said. "Alice brought you one and you and your friends took turns putting it up inside of him and twisting it. You ripped him open rather badly and it would seem that you managed to push the thing all the way up into his stomach cavity."
"That's impossible!"
"I was the one with the honor of getting rid of the crowbar after the party," she told her. "It had pieces of what I'm pretty sure were intestine stuck to it. Greg was brought to the medical office writhing in pain and vomiting blood. He suffered in agony for several hours before he finally died."
Jessica paled during the story but finally recovered herself. She shook off the image and then turned on Madeline for providing it to her. "So what if we did do that?" she asked. "What the hell is the difference? He's one of the men that used to rape us. Why should anyone care what happens to those scum? Do they deserve any better?"
"Yes," Madeline said, "they do. For God's sake, Jessica, what you did was barbaric. It was beyond an atrocity. And it's not the first time either. We've had a total of three deaths now because of the abuses that you and your friends do during your little parties."