How long had he been here? Days, weeks, months? His numbed mind knew not. The white-hot light suddenly blinding from above, eyes so used to the subtleties of the dark, they now commanded him to curl against the wall covering his face in the shadows, unable to bear the searing brightness. Hollow, hungry, and weak, he was, a mere husk of what he had been all those weeks before. Caring little what his fate would be, his body numbed to all manner of privation.

Bennett peered down at his handiwork, finding at once his resolve to finish off the object of his erotic desires somewhat easier than he had guessed. Gone was the attractive young man of his imaginings. Instead, the sight of the prisoner disgusted him, thin, filthy, clad in rags, covered in ulcerated sores, wallowing in his own filth. No this would not be so hard after all.

"Go get him, you!" Bennett gestured to Marcus. As a ladder was lowered into the pit's hellish depths.

Sven stood a respectful distance behind, sensitive to his friend's need for space at this moment. Yet there to back him up, standing silently as he often did, understanding that today was a culmination of his mate's agonized decision to finally lay his unhealthy obsession to rest. Sven had waited patiently for this, inside just wanting to smile, finding it difficult to maintain the respectful stoicism that was required of him. As he stood some feet away, eyes on the pathetic scrap of a man soon to meet his maker.

Carlos could barely stand, though he was commanded to do so, receiving plentiful punches and kicks to encourage him to obey. Mercifully a hessian sack was thrown over his head blocking some of the light, his irritated eyes copiously watering, he could visualize nothing at all. Still through his dimmed senses, he registered Bennett's presence, close by, menacing at his back.

Someone cable-tied his hands behind him, the bonds biting hard into his wrists, swiftly numbing any sensation in his hands. He swayed and almost fell, disoriented and weak, his only wish was to just lie down. Instead, he was held upright by strong impersonal hands, as his every muscle shook with screaming fatigue. He did not care anymore what would happen to him and put up no fight. Bennett could do his worst, he was weary of this life, abandoned, unloved, fighting for each day, tired of being a mere slave and sexual toy.

"Bring him."

Issued forth that ever-familiar, hated voice of his tormentor. Abruptly he was pushed forward on legs that could barely carry him, all his stamina gone. Still, the heavy hands on him urged him ever forward, toward his unknown destination, unmindful of his exhaustion or discomfort. Carlos had no grasp of time or distance, they may have walked just a few feet, or perhaps a mile, his mind was wandering, events blurred and disjointed in his reason, nothing seemed real to him anymore.

"Here!"

Was all he heard, as the commanding hands let him mercifully slump toward the earth. The warm sand felt soft and comfortable to his sun-starved flesh, his weary, sickened, body calling him to sleep. He felt the soft caress of the wind, it too was luxuriously warm, and the feel of the desert sunlight was heaven to his senses after his long exile in the damp, mold-filled darkness. He lay there for a time, somewhere in between the land of sleep and wakefulness until Bennett's voice again grabbed his wandering attention. All he heard was.

"Dig here, don't make it too shallow."

Accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a shovel striking stone, and the soft whisper of displaced sand.

So this was to be it then. Carlos resigned himself, used and slaughtered when Bennett had finished with him, no better than one of Pig's goats. Even to the last the psychological torture, as he was forced to listen helplessly to his own grave being dug, as he waited for his end to arrive. Part of him was boiling angry, part of him felt cheated, and the rest just flooded with despair. Knowing he was beaten, and vengeance would not be his after all.

The grave took some time to complete, Carlos deciding that he would just focus on the last simple pleasure of feeling blissfully warm before meeting the cold embrace of his death. Up until he heard Bennett's next command he had felt surprisingly calm, surreal even in the face of his execution.

"Leave us." Bennett stated flatly. Followed by the sound of retreating footsteps, as they were left alone in the quiet desert world.

Carlos was by now acutely awake, perhaps somewhat rejuvenated by the warmth, ears straining for every sound, suddenly not so willing to die. Even attempting to rise, but to his dismay finding he was too weak to do so, and slumping again back to the earth. Bennett touched him then, forcing recollections of unwanted memories.

Carlos shied away from his brawny hands. Bennett only laughed softly under his breath and grabbed him yet again. This time with a firmer hold, subduing the sick prisoner easily, waiting for Carlos' futile struggles to cease.

"Still you fight me." He commented as he positioned himself on his knees in the sand beside his bound captive. Ever so gently cradling Carlos' head in his lap, slowly pushing back the hessian sack to reveal his prisoner's face, for one final glance.

Carlos' eyes ran with tears of pain, the light was so intense he could see naught. Though he could feel the big man lovingly stroking the side of his face, and pushing back his hopelessly matted hair. "What did you hope to gain with your stubbornness? You were never going to win." Sorrow now evident in the big man's tone, a rare emotion indeed. Bennett was speaking his thoughts as though no one was present to hear them. Still, the stroking touch was soft, as though he were soothing an injured dog before he put it out of its misery.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

This is how it seemed to Carlos in the swiftly fading last minutes of his life.

"You never gave it to me did you, not once, and never freely... Never mind." He sighed, adding. "Such a waste."

He felt the big man breathe deeply, was that remorse? Carlos wondered, and more movement, his ears catching the unmistakable sound of steel sliding over oiled leather, as Bennett loosed the wickedly sharp double-sided blade he always carried sheathed in his boot. Closely followed by the sensation of its cold cutting bite as it was pressed against his vulnerable throat.

Carlos struggled then, Bennett's restraining arm more than ample match for him in his weakened state, holding him firmly.

"Even to the last you fight, you are a brave man, you deserve a clean death." The pressure bit down on the blade poised to drink his blood...

Carlos never really understood what transpired next, even much later those defining moments were never clear to him in full. However, he sensed movement, as though something was sliding over his body as the blade was pressed home. Its pressure suddenly subsided as Bennett tore himself away, dropping Carlos in his haste to be gone, his head jarring painfully on the dirt.

Bennett in his regret did not notice it at first, until it was very close by. Finally registering to him almost too late, the well-camouflaged sinuousness of a deadly king brown snake, poised, flat-headed, ready to strike. In the space of a heartbeat, he retreated, the instinct for self-preservation taking full control. Adrenaline rushing at his dangerously close escape. Watching on with bemusement as its intended strike bit deeply into Carlos' arm, the semiconscious man seemingly unaware as it injected its lethal poison.

Bennett backed carefully away, never taking his eyes from the agitated snake. Knowing these brutes had enough poison, and aggression also, to send him to an early grave. One bite meant certain painful death, he had witnessed it often enough, wishing he had his revolver on hand to put a bullet in its ugly head. Well, Carlos will die now anyway thought Bennett, though he was somewhat annoyed that the scaly reptile had stolen his moment of revenge. Now satisfied that he had put enough distance between himself and the snake, he turned and headed back to camp, deciding he would send someone to bury Carlos later when the evening came.

*****

Warren had done something as innocent as taking a walk that afternoon, pausing a while to relieve himself in the evil-smelling waste pit on the east side. That was when he heard the voices, advancing on him, close by. At once sending him in a blind panic to duck for cover in some prickly box thorn bushes that dug mercilessly into him, as he froze not a moment too soon.

He witnessed the macabre procession pass from his spiky hideaway, just meters distant. He dared not move a muscle and betray his position, despite his bad leg cramping painfully under him. The men stopped close by in full view, Warren held his breath afraid to move. Sensing something equally gruesome was about to take place, and he was right as he observed all in mortified disbelief, Bennett ordering the others to dig a shallow grave.

Warren felt sick as he watched the callous execution being arranged. Suddenly he did not feel so safe or content with his lot, getting the uneasy feeling that the wretched victim could have just as easily been him, or any of the slaves. Realizing for the first time that his life was theirs to do with as they wished, a nervous sweat rose on his skin, and nausea in his gut.

Despite the way he felt, he could not tear his eyes away from the horror spectacle unfolding before him. Hearing Bennett order the others to depart, and watching on mystified as Bennett had his final moments alone, kneeling over Carlos' broken body. Warren strained his ears to hear the brute's softly spoken words, but he could make no sense of what was said. Carlos seemed mostly not to respond. Warren was unsure that the poor wretch was even coherent enough to comprehend his impending demise. Only when the evil silver of the blade was at his throat did he have the sense to struggle, if vainly.

What happened next made no sense to Warren at all, for a split second he thought with dread that Bennett had seen him. As the massive man virtually threw Carlos off him with lightning speed, backing warily away.

However, this seemed not to be the case, much to the frightened slave's relief. He watched Bennett pause some distance from the body, shaking his head in obvious disbelief, sheathing his blade, and finally walking away.

Warren waited for long, fear-filled moments, hardly daring to draw breath, his ears straining for every little sound. He was greeted by nothing except the rustle of the grasses in the wind, and the groan of a twisted piece of iron on a rusting, truck wreck. Stiffly, relying heavily on his stick he pulled himself to standing, still fearful of discovery. Yet driven by morbid curiosity, and a sense of guilt, he felt compelled to inspect the motionless body lying close to the freshly dug grave.

Guilt over Carlos had always eaten at him, he had made a serious error of judgment thinking him a spy in those early days. Now it was obvious to him he was not, and he wished that he had been friendlier, and listened to Lucy's warped judgments less. He had never had the chance to honor his promise of a returned favor, and he felt bad inside. These thoughts were playing on Warren's mind as he covered the short distance from his place of concealment, his limping steps muffled by the soft sand.

He looked down at the once well-built, proud individual, shocked at the transition the pit had wrought on him. Could I have survived it that long? He wondered, visions of its dark dread at once springing vividly to mind. Pushing the gruesome thought hurriedly aside, bending forward to peer closer at the sorry unfortunate laying at his feet.

Warren thought there would be so much blood, strange that he mused, and he fought to repress a scream, as the supposed dead man suddenly came to life. The startled slave almost tripped as he made a swift, ungainly move backward.

"Help me." Carlos pleaded in a barely audible whisper. "Hide me..... He'll be back soon. Please."

Warren getting over his nasty shock, glanced nervously around, still nothing but the silence of the desert greeted him, though he did not feel very reassured. Surely Bennett or one of the others would return at any moment, and he did not want to be found here if they did. The desperate man helpless at his feet pleaded, his strength evaporating before Warren's eyes. Conscience got him then, knowing he must do something, and quickly, even if he knew that the poor wretch had little time left, at least he could die in peace.

It was hard work, but Warren managed to get Carlos to his feet despite the fact his disabled leg kept threatening to collapse under the pressure of the ailing man's weight, assisting him some distance, secreting him in one of the many shallow overhangs. Making him as comfortable as possible, that done he was eager to be gone.

"Cover your tracks," Carlos whispered, his voice so quiet now and weak it was barely audible. "Don't let them find me." He pleaded.

"I won't mate, you'll be safe here, rest. I'll come back when I can. Okay."

Warren did as he was bid, the knowledge on him that in all probability he would return to find a corpse. However despite this, he felt relief that he had indeed settled the debt he owed the other man, and quickly he left the place covering his every step as he did so. Fervently hoping he had not been missed.