Voodoo Plague - 01 (18 page)

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
laying 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 that 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 away 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 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 wrist.  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.

“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.

Exiting the head
I made my way out the salon door and onto the deck.  Dog greeted me with a
frantic wagging of his tail and a cold nose that managed to slide up my bare
leg and end up in a very personal location.  I rubbed his head and toddled my
way to a bench, slowly lowering myself to the cushioned seat.  The binoculars
were lying next to me and I picked them up to scan our surroundings while I
enjoyed the warmth of the morning sun on my battered body.

I hadn’t
realized that Rachel had anchored us just a few hundred yards off shore from
the house where she had been held captive until I swung the binoculars in that
direction.  Crows and vultures were feasting on the bodies I had left behind
and a fairly large contingent of infected wandered around the lawn.  Most were
males, but a few females were in the group.  Several of the females stood on
the dock staring at the boat.  Whether they knew we were there or their
attention was just drawn to the gleaming white boat I didn’t know, but I was
glad they couldn’t swim.  At least I hoped they couldn’t swim.  I hadn’t seen
any evidence to indicate they could, quite the contrary, but I reminded myself
not to assume anything.

I watched the
infected for a while, mind wandering.  I was feeling horribly guilty over what
Rachel had gone through and then it occurred to me that Katie, my wife, might
be going through the same thing or worse.  There’s an old saying that goes
something like “polite society is just a paper thin veil that masks the true
animal nature of man”.  I had learned the truth of that, years ago in the
different third world countries I’d operated in for the Army, but I had never
witnessed it in the United States until now.

Sitting there my
mind bounced between worry for Katie and guilt for Rachel.  I felt a renewed
sense of urgency to get to Arizona, but a degree of despair as well.  We had
been hiding and fighting for days and were still within a two hour drive of
Atlanta.  How the hell were we going to cross the majority of the country?

“Good morning.” 
Rachel’s voice startled me and I almost dropped the binoculars overboard. 
Recovering my composure I looked up at her, smiled and returned the greeting.

“Anything worth
looking at?” She asked, gesturing towards the shoreline as she came over and
sat down next to me.

“The new
normal.  Bodies on the ground and infected wandering around.”

“You’re Mr.
Sunshine this morning,” she teased, then reached out and took my hand and
caught my eyes with hers.  “If I haven’t said it, thank you.  Thank you for
coming to get me.”

The lump of
guilt in my throat kept me from speaking so I just nodded and looked away.  I
wanted to apologize, explain, and ask for understanding and forgiveness.  I
wanted her to have never had to experience what had happened, but none of that
could be changed and I wasn’t about to dump my emotional needs on Rachel.  She
had endured enough.

“OK, then.  I
see you’re one of those guys that struggles with gratitude,” she smiled to let
me know she was kidding.  “I’m making some breakfast while you sit here and
rest.  Any requests?”

I smiled up at
her, “Biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, thick sliced bacon and hash browns.”

“On its way,”
Rachel replied without missing a beat and walked back into the salon.

A few minutes
later she was back, balancing a paper plate on each hand.  Retaking her seat
next to me she handed over one of the plates, crossed her legs at the knees and
balanced her plate on her lap.

“Unfortunately
we were out of biscuits.  The gravy was lumpy, the eggs were spoiled and I
forgot bacon and potatoes the last time I went to the store.”  There was glint
of mischief in Rachel’s eye and the look on my face gave away my thoughts.

“Look,” She
said, serious again.  “It was not a fun experience.  They were rough and
unpleasant, but after they realized I wasn’t going to fight it cooled off their
desire to abuse me and it just became less than consensual sex.  I didn’t enjoy
it, but I survived it and I’m not about to sit in a corner and have a pity
party, so knock it the fuck off.  OK?”

I looked at her
face and realized she was really as OK as anyone could be after such an
experience.  She was a strong woman and didn’t want my sympathy. 

“OK,” I said
with a small grin.  “Dead subject.  Now, what the hell are you feeding me?”

“Stale bread,
stale cheese that I had to cut the mold off of and an overripe banana that is
probably the last one you will ever see, so enjoy it.”

After that we
sat in the sun and ate in companionable silence.  The bread was hard, the
cheese was… well different, and the banana was so ripe it was almost mush, but
I ate every bite.  Water drawn from the lake and boiled on the small propane
stove in the galley washed it all down and between the sun and a full belly I
was soon fast asleep.