CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Marine Sergeant Maxwell Rankin crawled on his stomach through the woods. He had survived thirteen days by this point, far longer than any other student in the simulation. The last few, he witnessed from afar, were captured by the instructors three nights earlier. His belly growled with hunger, a loud enough noise he worried they’d hear and capture him next. Then would come the worst part, the torture and interrogation. It wouldn’t be real, of course, though he had been warned it would feel that way.
The military school was aptly named, implying the very nature of his situation. First, he must survive, then evade. If captured, he would reluctantly experience the need to resist their persuasions, and he worried how far they would go in testing his mettle. There would be pain, both physical and psychological, but his gunnery sergeant had warned him ahead of time. He would need to endure torture the best he could while constantly searching for an opportunity to escape. It was all in the name of the school—S.E.R.E. Survive, Endure, Resist, and Escape.
He found what he’d been searching for at the base of the tree. The ants here were meaty and crunched nicely between his teeth, providing little in the way of filling his quivering stomach but at least giving some nourishment. They weren’t as bad as he’d feared and learned quickly to ignore the tiny bites on his tongue.
The bushes behind him moved and several men leaped out, pouncing on his position. These were well fed and rested, overpowering his weakened state and bruising his ribs before dragging him off. He was surprised at the violence, but then again, he’d signed a waiver. Anything goes in this training. A black hood slipped over his head and they led him away.
Escape, he urged himself.
But the logical part of him rebuked the notion. Not yet. There’s too many of them, and you’re too weak. Prepare for the difficult part.
The difficult part came more quickly than he expected. After a short truck ride, they arrived at a cabin of some sort. Unable to see through the hood, he assumed it was one of the hooch houses he’d spotted earlier in the week. He focused on what he remembered about the structures. They were small, about three meters long and wide. The walls were wooden, slatted and hopefully nailed instead of screwed. He must focus on escaping as soon as they left him alone. But the shack wasn’t his prison, it was an interrogation room.
“Who are you, soldier?” a voice asked as strong hands laid him onto a table.
Max tried to struggle, but leather straps soon wrapped around his arms and legs.
“What’s your name?”
“Sergeant Maxwell Rankin, United States Marine Corps.”
“What outfit? Who’s your commanding officer.”
Max refused to reply. Resist, his mind urged.
Strong arms abruptly lifted him into the air. Max felt his knees rub against a tight circle as he was lowered into what he assumed was a barrel. His leg muscles engaged, fighting to hold himself up. A fist crashed down against his face, striking repeatedly until his strength failed and knees buckled. His backside hit water waiting within. His hood was suddenly ripped free from his head, revealing what he’d feared. As the lid of the barrel was set in place and locked by a metal cuff, he focused on a series of holes. Each was neatly drilled in a circle mere inches from the top.
From somewhere, perhaps one of the holes, more water poured in, raising the level and sending him pushing to rise. With legs pressed tightly against his chest, he realized how difficult breathing would be, even if he could reach the air above. With eyes closed he focused, breathing slowly and calming his pounding heart. Survive, he commanded himself. Survive and Escape!
*****
Now, Max awoke hooded and strapped to a table. He closed his eyes against the water splashing over his mouth. He’d been trained for this, even if he’d never actually experienced the exact sensation. Though false, it felt real and he gagged, sputtered, and coughed. His body writhed, arcing to leave the table against strong hands holding him down. These men were not S.E.R.E. school instructors, and no doctor stood by in case of heart failure or asphyxiation. Focused on his training, his mind returned to the place as if it were a final test of resolve, remembering to breathe slowly through his nose between each dowsing.
He tried to remember what he knew of the practice. Twenty seconds. That was the common time from for each pour, slowly ramped up to forty if no information was forthcoming—at least if the interrogator was reputable and followed the rules of war and the Geneva Convention. These men had no such restrictions and would not care if his heart stopped or if he drowned.
Unless they are testing me.
Max suddenly understood. They were not extracting information, for he had little to none to give. Also, if the Regiment wanted Max dead, they would have killed him where they found him. This is about revenge, he realized. They’re angry about the boys in the grocery store. He steeled his willpower and waited for the men to set him upright again.
“Well,” a voice asked, “what’ve you got to tell us?”
Max coughed and smiled, then sang loudly. “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli! I will fight my country’s battles in the ...” There was nothing like the Marine Corps hymn to demonstrate how willing you were to endure and die.
They slammed him hard onto the table and began again. From somewhere in the room he heard the other Marine laughing quietly.
*****
Cathy Fletcher stared straight ahead with head held defiantly high but clutching little Joshua, giving reassurance their lives had not completely ended. She tried to reason out her surroundings. The look and feel of it all reminded her of a college campus, though one from a movie about zombies and end-times. That gave her a chuckle. This was, after all, living proof those movies were nowhere near the truth—all except for the Colonel.
He had the classic bad guy vibe, with beady eyes too narrow for his face and gaunt cheeks that spoke of a man willing to burn the fields and salt the earth if it meant total victory. He led them toward a tall building with six columns and broad steps leading up. The inscription on the side read Soldier’s and Sailor’s Memorial Coliseum, but she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d find inside. Two tattered American Flags flew upside down on the flagpoles on each corner of the building.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
“Where are we?” she asked. “What city?”
“Questions will be answered later,” he replied with displeasure. He was a brooding man with thoughts she never hoped would be revealed. He seemed put out at the interruption, but she pressed on.
“So am I to be your slave, or someone else’s?”
“Who said anything about being a slave?” he grumbled.
“You did just buy me from Crazy Mike. What was that, if not a slave trade?”
“It’s called survival.”
“I don’t understand...”
“But you will.” he snapped quietly, a strangely calm reaction more terrifying than if he’d shouted. He was far more different than Clint, and the finality of his words resonated with his intensity.
Nonetheless, she continued. “Am I to be a sexual servant then? Or am I to serve the household? Do I call you master? I may have experience taking my clothes off in front of men, but my true specialty is medicine. I’m a nurse. Don’t let my worth be measured by my tits.”
The fierceness with which he spun caught her off guard and she stumbled. In a flash, strong hands gripped her throat and fiery eyes burned into her own. The putrid aroma of foul breath caused bile to churn as she breathed in the heaviness of his words.
“Society is dead,” he said with a growl, buried beneath a layer of filth and fallout. “All that matters now is building a new one, and my men need wives.” With a quick nod he turned her eyes toward Josh. “Birthing children will be difficult and birth defects will be the new worry, but a nurse should know that, shouldn’t she?”
She nodded, but truly hadn’t given thought to repopulation.
“So you understand you’re valuable, as a woman with little exposure and few concerns about radiation poisoning? You’ll be married to one of my officers and eventually help birth a new world.”
“Under your rule?” she asked This earned a smile from the man, and it chilled her spine.
“Someone has to lead.”
His hands released as quickly as they’d gripped her, and she gasped a desperate breath of air. Nothing else exchanged, even as armed guards drew open heavy wooden doors. The Colonel led everyone inside, then went his own way without another word to neither her nor the men. They guided her and Josh with hungry eyes. She could feel them tasting her flesh, but she was used to that and knew how to handle men like these.
“Take it all in, boys,” she said, slipping into the act she’d learned at Pussy Galore’s. “But while looking’s free, everything else belongs to me.”
They quickly looked away, each embarrassed for their own reasons. Men were easy to control; she knew after years of enduring Clint. Most remembered mothers, sisters, or daughters when put in their place by a woman. Only those like Clint pressed further to take what they wanted, and those were the kind she hated. The rare sociopaths like him would do what they wanted—and were the true dangers. No, these men were harmless, unlike the Colonel.
She took in her surroundings, correct in her assumption the coliseum had been designed for sporting events. After descending a short ramp, they emerged on what had once been a basketball arena, but unlike any she’d ever seen. The space opened up on one side to accommodate a large stage. A high gallery hovered above, with seats removed and wooden structures erected in their place. Beneath that vantage point, not an inch of the wooden floor was visible, replaced by a tent city of tarps and makeshift structures. Narrow walkways snaked through the dizzying maze.
Down one of these paths, she spied a woman with a rounded belly full of advanced pregnancy. She busied herself by hanging laundry on a line to dry.
“Where do I go?” Cathy asked the men, but none seemed to care beyond their leering.
“Stage,” one finally said. “For decontamination.”
But then another stepped forward. He was a young man, sort of shy but not in the bad way. He was the kind whose friends would have dragged him to watch her dance then fallen in love with her after she showed him attention. She hated taking money from these, as they were not much more than boys when it came down to their experience.
In a gentle voice, he suggested, “I can take you there, ma’am.”
After a glare toward the others, she turned thankfully and offered a smile for his help. “Thank you...”
“James. Um... Parker.” He blushed deeply. “I’m James Parker, ma’am.”
Above, Cathy noticed additional men watching from the balcony. These wore the uniforms of officers, and their salivating stares churned her stomach. Handing the young man hers and Josh’s bags, she slipped a hand around his bicep and smiled.
“Well then, James Parker. Why don’t you show me around?”
His cheeks turned a rosier shade of red as the others jeered him with cat calls and remarks. They asked him whether he knew what to do with her, but the young man ignored the jests and kept true to his offer. He led her through the self-contained city without once making a pass or pushing himself.
After years working at Pussy Galore’s, this relaxed Cat. He was putty in her hands and she would make him her first true ally since the Klingensmiths. “What is this place?” she asked.
“We call it The Shelter,” he chuckled, “but it’s not a true bomb shelter. The Colonel planned for all of this and mustered us here after the EMP.” He turned serious again and added, “He’s been prepping us for this, and the Regiment was ready. But now America’s probably gone, and we’re all that’s left of liberty.”
“Liberty?” Cat forgot her charming act for a moment and let a bit of anger show through. “My son and I were kidnapped and sold, how is that liberty?”
“You’re not slaves, ma’am.”
“Oh? What do you call it?” She stared coolly and waited for his answer while steaming inside.
“Liberated. So are all the people in The Shelter. See that woman over there?” She’s going to give birth to the first child born after D-Day.”
“D-Day?”
“Destruction Day, miss. The last day of liberty in the world. We hope to set the world right again, and the Colonel has a plan.”
“He’ll use his army to expand his territory and start a new nation?”
“Yes, ma’am. One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
“I see,” she said, less convinced than James. So far, she had only witnessed forced servitude and the loss of her liberty as a woman. Changing the subject, she asked, “Where will I live, James?”
“There are some vacant tents on the stage in what we call the observation area. That’s where we put the newer arrivals, to quarantine and watch for any radiation sickness. Once we know you’re cleared, you will be given your own hootch. Soon though, we’ll be moving out of here to repopulate the surrounding area. That’s when you’ll be assigned a home and hopefully your own farm with your new husband.”
Cat shivered at the mention. “What if I refuse to remarry?”
“That’s a condition for receiving the Regiment’s protection and the price for living in the new society. Everyone must do their part to repopulate the world and start fresh.”
Cat frowned but kept her thoughts to herself. Instead, she allowed him to lead them toward a set of steps leading to the stage. There people in scrubs waited for her and Josh.
“I’ll leave you here, ma’am, but can I call upon you again? I’d love to get to know you and...”
She raised an eyebrow expectantly and waited.
“And you’re very pretty, ma’am.” He blushed sweetly. She hated she’d have to someday destroy his crush but smiled back and nodded.
“Of course, James. I’d like that. Thank you for everything. You’ve made our arrival most welcome.”
He grinned wildly and waved awkwardly before hustling off to join the rest of his squad. They, of course, were waiting with laughs, jeers, and welcomed him with crude gyrations of their hips.
With a shudder, Cat led Joshua up the steps.