by Chogan Swan
The tackle brought them both to the ground with a thump, but one didn't struggle, simply keeping inside the man's arms in case he decided to strike.
The man encircled one’s neck with his arm and pressed his forehead into the side of one’s face, a tactic to prevent a biting attack. With his other hand, he reached down and pulled up one’s skirt then slid his hand up to one’s crotch.
One allowed him enough freedom of movement with his arm to do that much without being able to touch one’s tail.
He leered again. “What? Nothing on under here? Did you already get yourself ready for me, bitch?”
“I did not come here to get raped,” one answered, voice neutral.
“But is it rape if you really wanted it?”
“Is that actually your ethical stance? Would you stop if I told you to?”
“Not a chance,” he said, his fingers feeling for the opening at one’s mons. “Ah! you're wet for me already. Maybe both of us will enjoy this.”
One had—in fact—released lubricating fluid to the life orifice upon detecting the man’s intentions, but that had nothing whatsoever to do with any arousal. The fluid would decrease friction, protect one’s inner flesh and increase the man's arousal. And that would create a greater discharge that would benefit one nutritionally.
The Tiana memories contained the relevant anatomical data. ShwydH had also consumed sperm, usually using finger filaments. He'd seldom deigned to be involved with the actual process of getting it, preferring the sperm bank he'd set up to avoid that less orderly part of the transaction. His normal diet had been more focused on fat and blood—which he'd preferred to obtain from his female bodyguards.
The man inserted a finger inside one and moved it in and out. The smell of his arousal grew stronger, and his erection stiffened against one’s leg. When he moved to thrust his member inside, one relaxed the orifice to allow the penetration and focused on mining Riniana Tiana's muscle memories—now mature enough to be useful—for information on how to use the life orifice to increase his stimulation.
Though one cared not at all for the man’s pleasure—after all, he did think he was committing rape. But one could gauge the reactions to learn what might please later partners. It would probably be useful.
There was no danger of being distracted with any hint of pleasure to one’s own body. The man's sexual organ was nowhere near long enough to approach the pleasure node. Nor did his approach even hint at an interest in—or knowledge about—giving pleasure to a human female. The ShwydH memories held plenty of information from experience about that subject.
Scarcely a minute later, the man ejaculated with a gasp and a whimper. The result—from one’s perspective at least—was decidedly disappointing as far as the amount of sustenance derived. Well, perhaps the man's starvation diet coupled with dehydration didn't help. One squeezed the life orifice muscle walls hard to milk out the last drops of semen.
“What the fuck?”
“Oh, was that painful?” one said, looking for information. It wouldn't be good to hurt a future partner by accident.
“Not as painful as what I just gave you,” he sneered and raised his hand toward his head.
One clamped down on his arm to prevent the motion. It would have put his hand in a position to strike.
“Let me show you something,” he said. “I just want to take off my hat.”
One loosened the tension on his arm, allowing the man's hand to reach his hat and tug the stocking cap away from his forehead where a crude tattoo spelled out the legend. Herpes 2.
It was a jailhouse tattoo, done with black ink and a nail or a knife. It must have been painful to receive that against the bones of the skull. One doubted the man had requested it. No … someone had done it to him because he'd failed to warn them of his infection before sex.
One looked from forehead to facial expression. The man was gloating in anticipation of a reaction.
One tugged the folds of the shemagh aside, revealing the stripes across the nose and cheeks of one’s face. “What is your name, rapist?” one said in a quiet voice. “I would prefer to know since I’ve decided to condemn you to death, but your refusal to give it will not stop me.”
The man stared at one’s face, his mouth open in a shocked gape as he attempted to push away. One locked legs around him and jerked him back, twisting his arms behind his back and wrapping his wrists with one’s tail to pin them.
ShwydH had been familiar with the herpes 2 virus. It was one that could jump from human to niiaH, and he had actually contracted it once a century ago. It had taken him months to get it out of his system. But reviewing the internal reaction between one’s new body and the virus revealed an immunity to it already in place.
One considered then turned attention back to the human. Technically, within the nii code, one was entitled to sustenance from an unprovoked attacker when hunger constituted a danger to survival. In addition, the attacker had proven himself opposed to nii ideals. Duty demanded his death. One wrenched the man's head back and took the vein of his neck between one’s teeth and drank deep, but after seven long pulls, a thought stopped one short of draining all life there. Instead, one built a slow-acting toxin and forced it into his bloodstream then closed the vein and pushed him away.
The man rolled away. “What are you?” he cried, holding his hand on his neck to cover the bite.
One stood, collected the forage bag then turned back to the man. “For you, I am justice. I have given you a slow-acting toxin that will kill you about this time tomorrow. I tell you this so you can spend time considering your life choices and … if you can … to make peace with whatever deity you might wish to recognize. Though your attempt to infect me failed, your actions make it clear you are too toxic for me to leave you alive and able to harm others. You will not suffer, but you will be too weak to travel before you die. I will leave water so you will not suffer from thirst during your final day.”
One turned and walked back the way one had come.
“What about food? I'm hungry,” the man rasped, rubbing his neck.
One stopped, picked up the tin can and filled it with water, but didn't turn. “I think your soul might fare better without the distraction of eating during your final hours. It will only be wasted anyhow.”
One placed the can on the ground then continued walking away from the fire.
∆ ∆ ∆
The dark of night, lonely but peaceful, folded around one’s path along the bones of the land. When daylight came, one ran for a while, hunting down and drawing out the life-giving water where it lay hidden in the folds and pockets among the stones.
CHAPTER 6 – FIRED
Marian stepped up to the firing line and selected a pellet from the table by her side. A breeze from the west—dehydrated by its climb over the mountains and warmed by its journey over the Sonora Desert—brushed gently against her bare legs, arms and cheek, cooling her as it stole her perspiration.
It was fine with her. She had plenty of fresh water in the hydration pack between her shoulders. It was good they had another way to get water from the ocean to Sun Sea Farm that didn't rely on rain. She took off her palm-straw hat and wiped sweat from her forehead with her arm before putting the hat back over her close-clipped hair.
“Load!” The range command sounded.
She slipped the pellet into the firing chamber and shut the bolt.
“Commence firing!”
Marian pumped the lever three times and brought the Daisy multi-pump to her shoulder, snugging it tight and steady by adding a touch of pressure with her elbow on the sling. The ‘standing fire’ round started now.
She was still getting used to her new scope, and it took her a few seconds to find the right place to rest her cheek on the stock. Bernard had helped her get it sighted in yesterday, and she was eager to see how it acted. She really wanted to do well in the 'Under Ten' category competition board before her birthday in two weeks put her in the ‘10 to 16-year-old' bracket.
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She took the safety off.
Look out double-digit age brackets. Here comes Maid Marian.
She smiled, took a breath and closed her finger steadily on the trigger. The rifle thwocked and bucked as the air pressure forced the piston down the chamber. An instant later, the pellet trap pinged as it collected her pellet.
The trigger pull had felt good—controlled—and she'd managed to keep the sights steady. She brought the scope back on target to see the perfect circle stamped out by the wadcutter pellet just inside the inner circle of the target fifteen meters away.
Yes!
She went to work, doing her best to keep all the shots in the tiny center ring. The standing-fire event allowed two minutes for a 10-shot group. Which, considering the need to load and pump between each shot, required keeping cool under pressure.
In the sights, she imagined the monster's forehead—with a bullet hole already in it—just the way he had looked lying dead on the rocks of the wash on the day Kaitlin had pulled her from the cave of pictures.
Instead of distracting her, it somehow helped her focus.
Rogue, Marian's martial arts instructor, said you needed to find your why and not lose sight of it in order to stay focused. Kaitlin had told Marian pretty much the same thing, only with more words, so Marian considered it Truth of the highest order. She figured her why was stronger than just about anyone she knew … except maybe Kaitlin.
Marian finished with ten seconds to spare. She’d ended up with a smaller than dime-sized grouping. She smirked. That should move her up in the listings. Maybe she’d even take the lead.
She waited for the ‘all clear’ before putting her gun in its case and walking down range to get her target. Back at her table, she signed and dated the target then took it to Razor, who was the range master today.
Razor gave a long whistle. “Nice work M&M!” He pinned the target on the corkboard. “I'm glad you're on my side.”
Marian grinned and stepped out of the way to let the other shooters hand in their targets then turned to go back to get her gun. She halted before taking a step; her father stood next to her table, looking at her gun.
He wasn't supposed to step inside the roped enclosure. A big sign by the entrance clearly said, SHOOTERS ONLY. But crashing fences was a thing he did … a lot. She looked around for Marlee or Bernard, or anyone she trusted; the only one around was Razor.
Marian turned back to the range master's table. “Razor,” she said as he sorted targets. “Can you walk me home when you're done? My father's here unsupervised.”
Razor glanced up, and his eyes flicked behind her, his face closing into what Marlee called ‘his unreadable Apache stare’. “Yeah, I got you M&M. Don't look now, but he's coming this way.
Marian took a breath and blew it out her nose in a burst.
Game face.
She turned. “Hello, father.”
In her head, Marian had stopped calling Allen Donaghy Father a few days after he and Wendy had arrived at Sun Sea Farm and tried to take over her life again. Everything they’d done and said since then had only proved to Marian that—in spite of the world turning into a battlefield when the power grid in the USA went down—they hadn't changed.
The day the power died, Allen and Wendy Donaghy had been vacationing in France, leaving Marian at Adventure Kids summer camp in Dallas. That same day, she’d been kidnapped by—the monster.
He’d abused her for months until Kaitlin had found and rescued her. But Allen still thought he knew what was best for Marian, in spite of everything. And Wendy always went along with him.
Allen stopped just outside the sunshade canopy of the range master's station. “Marian, can you come with me so we can have a private, daddy/daughter talk?”
Marian heard Razor standing up behind her.
Better say something …
“Marlee is expecting me to be here when she comes to get me in a few minutes. You can talk in front of Razor though, he's my friend.”
Allen frowned. “OK, have it your way. Your mother and I don't feel it's safe here, and your mother can't live under these conditions. The heat, the sand, the poisonous snakes and bugs…. Did you know there’s a prairie dog colony not far from here that has fleas carrying the bubonic plague? We want you to come back to France with us … back to civilization.”
Marian sighed. This wasn't the first time she'd heard this argument from him. Even explaining that Ambassador Tiana had given everyone who lived here inoculations against the plague and that all residents carried effective antivenin patches with them everywhere hadn't ended the complaints. All the things Allen and Wendy thought were problems, Marian considered a protective wall against invaders. It was fun to imagine the snakes, scorpions and spiders as tiny warriors she knew how to live with.
Allen wasn't done yet, though. “It's time for you to stop being selfish and think of your mother for a change.”
Marian's vision suddenly seemed to have a red lens she had to penetrate before she could see the world. Her face felt hotter than the morning sunshine should have made it. Her voice—though—sounded cold in her ears.
“Allen, I think you and Wendy should go ahead to France. I know you'll enjoy it more without me in the way. Maybe you can just think of this as another summer camp. A safe one you won't even have to pay for this time.”
Marian turned her head a fraction. “Razor, let me know when you’re ready to go. I'm going to get in some dry-fire practice with my pistol.”
By the time she reached the table where her guns waited for her and strapped on her pellet-gun replica of the Colt 45 Peacemaker, the red was already fading from the center of her field of vision. She looked down range, found the target and superimposed the monster's forehead on the bullseye.
FlickSnapSnap Holster, said Peacemaker.
Kaitlin was right. It was almost like meditating.
FlickSnapSnap Holster
Kaitlin was almost always right.
CHAPTER 7 – TASTED
Kaitlin followed HumanaH, detouring to bypass a washed-out section of railroad bed where the rails hung suspended above a seasonal waterway. The 600cc enduro motorcycle needed careful coaxing down the rocky grade supporting the abandoned tracks. Long ago, the arroyo had flooded, washing away the under-engineered culvert. HumanaH's bike tires sprayed sheets of water on either side as she ripped across the creek, and Kaitlin steered as close to her path as she could.
The bikes snarled as they fought back up the grade again. Ahead of them, the tracks curved south and disappeared into a tunnel in the side of a mountain. HumanaH signaled with her tail that she was about to jump into the space between the rails.
Are we going in there?
Kaitlin sighed inside her helmet. Hopefully it was a short tunnel.
Kaitlin glanced ahead and spotted the pile of gravel that HumanaH must be planning to use for a ramp. Over the hundreds of kilometers they'd traveled since leaving Puerto Peñasco, Kaitlin had survived the uncountable jumps, climbs and heart-stopping descents they'd encountered along the way, but the early days of the journey had meant many delays for HumanaH to patch the bruises, scrapes and minor fractures both Kaitlin and Caly had collected along the way.
They'd learned fast from their experiences.
Somehow, ShwydH always managed to put the bikes back together.
Kaitlin made the hop across the rail with no trouble and glanced in her rear-view mirror to see Caly and ShwydH follow without incident too. Three weeks ago, a little hop like that would have been a major obstacle to both Kaitlin and Calypso as novice motocross riders. Now it was second nature.
Something was different today. She’d first sensed it when checking her messages this morning after the secure satellite download. As she'd been texting a note to Marian—congratulating her on her shooting score—she'd noticed HumanaH motion ShwydH to her for a conference with their heads close together. After the message break, they'd all returned to the bikes, and HumanaH had led them from the dirt road the
y’d been following to strike off across country. By Kaitlin's reckoning, they were actually backtracking somewhat. Then they’d met the railroad tracks and followed them … here.
HumanaH slowed as they reached the tunnel then eased her bike inside. Kaitlin followed. As the headlight penetrated the tunnel, the streaked tans of the sandstone crags outside transformed into an ebony funnel scorched with the soot from uncountable smokestacks.
Instead of continuing down the tunnel toward the tiny speck of light at the other end, HumanaH turned off the motor and deployed the kickstand on one of the ancient timber ties. Kaitlin thumbed the kill switch on her own bike and climbed off. A few moments later all the headlights were out. The sudden quiet seemed to press in along with the dark.