C.V. Hunt

COCKBLOCK

In Memory of

Cooper Gordon

For Andy

Chapter 1

I kept my focus on the traffic and caught a glance of the infamous flashing red and blue lights of a police car ahead. The police vehicle was parked on the grassy median dividing the six lanes of the highway. Most of the brake lights of the cars in front of me in the northbound lane illuminated. I sighed heavily and pushed my brake, knowing there was an accident. Six o’clock on a Friday evening was always a crapshoot and a challenge for the drivers who lived in the city. An accident bottlenecking the traffic into the downtown area was almost a given. I would’ve been more surprised if I’d actually been able to make it home in the normal twenty minutes it usually took any other day of the week.

Everyone was always in a hurry, picking up their kids or grabbing their dinner before heading home or rushing off to rendezvous with friends or a lover. But it generally wasn’t the rushing around to start the weekend that caused the inevitable accident on Friday evening. It was everyone’s inattentiveness to their surroundings because they were too worried about answering their phone or returning a text or fiddling with their radios.

I once spotted a teenage girl scrolling through her social networking feed as she sat at a stoplight. I assumed she would set her phone down and pay attention to the traffic when the light changed. Instead she glanced up briefly before returning her attention to her phone and driving off. People were too concerned with what was happening on their phone to pay attention to the road anymore. And the brainless addiction to constantly scroll through whatever content the owner chose was the reason I shunned my phone most of the time, especially while driving. My meager administrative assistant job was enough to get by on and I wasn’t in any rush to have to fork over what small savings I had for medical bills or a new car payment. Every time I took my vehicle in for an oil change I sat in the waiting room of the shop with my fingers crossed, hoping they didn’t find something detrimentally wrong with my car. If I could get a couple more years out of my clunker I’d be happy.

I pressed the brake to put room between my vehicle and the van in front of me as the driver intermittently tapped their brake and rode the white line separating the van from the enormous semi-truck beside it. The soft glow of cartoon characters danced across the drop down screen within the van’s interior and I could faintly make out the shadow of the driver’s cell phone holding hand as they tried to do something on their phone while driving. They were probably either texting someone they were going to be late or trying to take video or a photo of the accident.

My phone vibrated silently in my back pocket to signal an incoming text. I muttered a curse under my breath as the driver in front of me came close to sideswiping the semi-truck before jerking the van back into their own lane. My phone vibrated again.

“Jeez, Callie,” I muttered. “Hold your horses.”

Callie and my brother were the only two people who texted me. My brother would check in with me at least once a month, usually when he was bored on the weekend. The text was more likely from Callie. Even after living together for over two years she still sent me daily flirty or dirty texts while on her breaks at work.

The van I was following suddenly braked hard. I hit my brakes and joined the crawl of traffic as we neared the flashing lights.

My radio was tuned to a talk station and I realized the guest was arguing with the host about the President and something he’d allegedly done or said to a woman. I wondered how recent the traffic accident happened, since there was no mention of it in the traffic report that ran a few minutes before I entered the highway. Every day I left work at the same time and by the time I reached the stop sign at the end of my second turn the radio host would rattle off any major construction or accidents in or around the city. There hadn’t been any mention of slow traffic on the northbound highway. If they’d reported an accident I would’ve taken the route through the city to avoid being stuck on the highway for an hour.

As I closed in on the scene I noticed there wasn’t one but three police vehicles and a road crew truck parked in a haphazard square in the median. Four police officers were huddled near one of the cruisers and a man wearing a high-visibility vest appeared to be searching the grass for something as he approached his truck. There were no smashed vehicles or tow truck. There was not broken glass or shattered fiberglass littering the road. If there had been an accident all the evidence had been cleared away.

The whole week, on my way to and from work, the road crew personnel had been hitting this stretch of highway hard, mowing and collecting litter. The section of median the police cars were parked on was shorn and free of trash except one black trash bag situated near the cluster of uniformed men, which appeared to contain something solid. The wind pulled at the plastic of the bag and one of the police officers looked nervously at the traffic while the others focused their attention on the bag.

Once I was past the scene the traffic began to pick up speed. My phone vibrated and I looked at the clock on the dash. Callie must’ve been taking her 6:30 break a few minutes early. My phone vibrated again. The rapid fire of her text messages made me think there might be an emergency and I pulled the phone from my pocket while keeping my eyes on the road. I thumbed the button at the bottom of my phone’s screen and held the device at the top of my steering wheel to read the first part of her first message: Getting off early—

I tossed the phone in the console. Date night would start early. Either the salon was slow today or one of Callie’s appointments canceled. Either way, she’d want to shower to get rid of the ‘bits of itchy hair’ before we went out. I looked forward to being with my girl and grew a tad wet thinking about her naked body in the shower. I started to recall a time when we’d shower together and the act of cleaning ourselves would turn into sex and the next thing we’d know the water would be cold and neither one of us was remotely clean. An ache to be with Callie engorged my clit and I could feel the heaviness of horniness filling my cunt. I realized my mind was wandering worse than the idiots who couldn’t put down their phones for five minutes and drive.

I tried to think of anything but Callie’s soft skin and lips and my fantasy was immediately replaced with a vision of the black trash bag alongside the road. What was in the bag? What could the road crews have found that would require the police? And why so many police? Some dark place in my mind kept warping what I’d seen and somehow the plastic pulling tight against the thick and solid object in the bag was distorted into the shape of a torso.

I shook my head and chastised my horrific imagination. It was more likely a huge block of drugs. The highway was a notorious route for running drugs from Florida to Chicago. Some druggie probably got spooked and dumped their loot out the car window. A junky might’ve tossed all his used heroin needles to avoid a paraphernalia charge. I’d have to check the news once I was home. Surely whatever coaxed so much attention would be on the news.

The man being interviewed on the radio shouted, “A man has needs!”

The interviewer replied calmly, “But it doesn’t give him the right to sexual assault—”

“What does a woman expect when she goes back to a wealthy man’s house after a date?!”

I growled in disgust and hit the power button for the stereo. Through clenched teeth I grumbled, “Fucking men,” as I hit the turn signal and took the exit for home.

Chapter 2

I changed into black dress pants and a red blouse Callie said she liked on me. I sat on the sofa, scrolling through the news website on my laptop, when she arrived home. She dropped her purse and keys on the table by the door. The elevator doors slid shut down the hall with an audible thunk before she closed our apartment door.

Callie kicked off her flats and slumped in an exaggerated manner. “Ugh,” she said. “My last appointment canceled and there was a lull. I didn’t feel like dealing with the last minute walk-ins and Jess told me I could skip out. I could use the tips but I didn’t want to deal with the stress of being rushed. Tomorrow’s gonna be bad enough.” She stretched her arms toward me and made scratching gestures with her fingers. It was her daily and wordless sign for ‘I’m covered in itchy hair and need a shower’.

I said, “The I-tried-to-do-my-own-hair-and-will-you-fix-it day.”

She sighed. “There’s one every Saturday. Hopefully I don’t get stuck with them.”

She crossed the living room and gave me a peck on the lips. A lock of her curly brunette hair fell toward my face and I fingered it briefly before she promptly headed toward the shower.

She called, “What are you doing?” as she entered the bathroom.

The sounds of her rummaging through the drawers and linen closet prompted me to raise my voice for her to hear.

I said, “Passed a bunch of cop cars on the way home.” I refreshed the news site again for any updates. “Trying to see if there was anything about it on the news.” There was no report of anything out of the ordinary on the highway but there were a bunch of headlines covering some type of mob violence and another blaming it all on the President.

Callie mumbled something I didn’t catch before shutting the bathroom door. A few seconds later the faint patter of the shower began.

My phone vibrated and distracted me from the computer. I retrieved the phone from my pocket and found a text message from my brother that contained one word: “Cunt”. I debated responding to him and assumed the text might’ve been meant for one of his friends as a joke. Joining in on whatever prank he might be involved in I fired back: What’s your problem, Dick?

I stared at the screen of my phone for a while, waiting to see the dancing three dots that indicated he was responding to the text but nothing happened. Eventually I was distracted by the growing sound of sirens in the distance. But my attention was distracted again by the squeak of the faucet knobs emanating from the bathroom as Callie cut the water and the scrape of the shower curtain as she exited the shower.

I closed the laptop, set it on the coffee table, and made my way to the window overlooking the street. The sirens were off in the distance but they didn’t seem to be growing or fading in volume. As if the emergency vehicle was parked somewhere and the driver had forgotten to cut the alarm.

The bathroom door opened. I turned and took in Callie with her hair pinned up messily to keep it from getting wet and a towel wrapped around herself. She headed down the hallway toward our bedroom. I stealthily followed her. She went straight to the dresser, pulled the top drawer out, and began pawing through its contents. I pressed my body against her damp back and ran my hand up her thigh and under the towel.

She made a conspiratorial sigh and continued to shove her underthings around, searching for whatever it was she wanted. She said, “Don’t you want to wait until after dinner and drinks?”

I kissed the back of her neck and took in the scent of the coconut soap she’d used while sliding my hand across her lower belly and slipping my middle finger over her hairless cunt, teasing her clit. She stopped rummaging in the dresser, gripped its top, and pressed her ass against my crotch. I grew wet and my cunt ached to have her. I rubbed her clit before slipping my finger in her wet pussy as she squirmed against me and moaned.

She said breathlessly, “But I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”

She turned her head toward me and I kissed her. She bit my lower lip lightly and moaned as I finger fucked her. She grew wetter as I worked. I pulled the towel from her body and dropped to my knees behind her. She closed the dresser drawer and bent over it, planting her feet farther apart. I grabbed each of her ass cheeks and spread her open before I began tonguing her clit and cunt. I slid two fingers in her while flicking her clit with my tongue. She moaned and reached back to pet my short hair as I worked. I fingered her faster and could feel her skin growing warm and damp with perspiration and knew she would come quickly. My nipples grew hard and my own cunt grew with the ache and pull of desire for release.

“Oh, Sonya,” she whispered, “I’m coming.”

I sucked her clit into my mouth and flicked it rapidly with the tip of my tongue as her vagina spasmed around my fingers. Her whole body convulsed slightly and she yipped. She let go of my head and gripped the dresser to steady herself. She let out a soft cry of ‘oh’ each time the orgasm shook her. She sighed in relief when the last wave of pleasure was gone and her body relaxed.

I stood and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and she turned to look at me coyly. Her face was flush with the orgasm and a large strand of her hair had fallen free from a clip. She was so beautiful and it was moments like this that made me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I pounced on her like an animal, pulling the clip from her hair and ramming my tongue into her mouth while she and I pulled off my clothes in a frenzy. My panties were so wet they left a trail of my own juices down my thigh when she removed them. I pulled her down on the bed with me, our mouths locked on one another. I licked and sucked on her small breasts as she pressed her fingers against my wet and swollen clit and massaged it. She moaned as I lightly bit her nipple and I came before she had a chance to do much else.

We lay on the bed in each other’s arms, catching our breaths, when Callie said, “It sounds like the world is ending out there. That wailing has been going on the entire time.”

It took me a second to realize she was talking about the sirens.

“It started before you came out of the shower,” I said.

I wrapped a strand of her hair around my finger and looked at her profile as she glared at the ceiling. She was clearly miffed by the ruckus outside.

“You were checking the news,” she said, turning her head toward me. “It didn’t say anything?”

“It literally started right before you came out of the shower. The site didn’t have anything about the cops on the highway from earlier either. Sometimes it takes them awhile. And sometimes it’s like they don’t think it’s important enough for the general public to know, I guess.”

Callie’s stomach rumbled loudly.

I poked her in the belly. “Sounds like my kitty is hungry.”

“Meow,” she replied.

“Come on.” I sat up. “Let’s go before we get too lazy to leave the apartment and decide to order in.”

Chapter 3

I held Callie’s hand and let her set the pace since she opted to wear heels and a skirt tonight. Her shoulder bag crossed her body and the purse rattled slightly with each step as it bounced against her hip.

Her schedule was hectic and most of her weekends were occupied with work so we made it a point to have one nice date night a month. I urged her to pick a day when she’d be off from work but she was so set on it always being on a Friday, regardless. I habitually let her choose where and what she wanted to do. Living downtown gave us plenty of options. She decided last week we would be going to a recently opened modern Italian restaurant six blocks from our apartment. I’d nearly choked when I’d visited their site and looked at the menu and pricing. I always paid for my girl. And what she wanted this month was some extremely overpriced Italian food. But I kept my mouth shut about the cost and gladly called to make a reservation since her coworkers raved about the place and she had her heart set on it. It was hard not to agree to whatever made her happy.

The restaurant was located in a small three-block area teeming with businesses designed for couples and groups of friends to kick back and have fun on the weekend. Every weekend the district would be swarming with people, the shop fronts consisting mainly of restaurants and bars with a few stores and a porn shop boasting twenty-five cent peep shows thrown in for good measure for those who really wanted to spice up their weekend or were a little lonely. There was even a small arthouse cinema that served beer. Coupled with the lax open container laws for the district, it gave the area a Bourbon Street feel.

The walk to the restaurant was eerily quiet for a Friday evening with the exception of one car that raced by, blaring its horn as it went. I assumed the sirens were the police and emergency personnel attending a traffic accident and must have blocked the roads into downtown. We didn’t see anyone out walking for the few blocks between our apartment and the busy nightlife district, which struck me as odd, since even on the deadest day you’d pass at least a few people. Callie and I rounded a corner to find the area a lot less busy than normal. As we continued down the street toward the restaurant my gut told me there was something off about the few people milling about. Not that I didn’t expect to see a homeless person, it was inevitable living downtown, but this street was usually clear of vagrants. I was never sure if the police kept a close eye on the area or if the business owners scared them off. To me it seemed the perfect area for them to collect change from generous drunks looking to spend their money. There would always be at least one or two asking for change or a cigarette on a Friday night, hidden among the groups of merrymakers. Today the street was teeming with them. Or what appeared to be displaced people.

Everyone had that slow confused shamble about them the homeless population had. But with the exception of one disheveled man approaching us, fumbling with a bent and unlit cigarette, the other people were dressed in what I would’ve described as ‘regular’ clothing, carrying their usual bottle or cup of beer.

The disheveled man called, “Hey! Pretty ladies! Got a light?!” as he approached us.

Callie gripped my hand tighter and said under her breath, “Son,” which she pronounced as the shortened version of my name.

The man had almost reached us but I kept a determined pace to pass him and head toward the restaurant. I figured the best strategy was to ignore him as his facial expression was gleeful and spacey and I didn’t think the interaction was going to go well. But he was persistent.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, waving the cigarette at me. “Got a light?”

As we passed him I said, “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

We picked up our pace. The restaurant was only a block and a half away. I was anxious to be seated with Callie, all the troubles of the outside world muted by the intimacy of our date.

“Really?” he called. “’Cause you’re smoking right now. Smoking hot! I could light my cigarette on that ass!”

“What the fuck?” Callie snorted a laugh.

I bit back my own laugh until a beefy fraternity guy began to cross the street, heading toward us. He wore a university team shirt, cut off sweat shorts, and leather sandals. The man waved a bottle of Bud Light at us and said, “Hey, babe, I’m studying to be an astronaut. Can I look at Uranus?”

“What?!” Callie exclaimed.

She stumbled over her heels and I grabbed her forearm to catch her from falling. The man kept coming toward us and another person on the street yelled, “Are those space pants?! ’Cause your ass is out of this world!”

“Come on,” I said to Callie. “We’re almost there.”

“Hey!” the frat guy yelled.

We passed him before he’d managed to cross the street. He followed us. Callie limped slightly and I assumed she might have twisted her ankle. I was forever giving her a hard time and calling her high heels ‘ankle breakers’. I felt terrible dragging her down the sidewalk but the frat guy was obviously drunk and I wanted to get Callie into the safety of the restaurant.

The frat guy was closer than I thought. “Are you two bitches dykes or something?”

A man across the street wearing a button down shirt and khaki pants said, “Are you Japanese? ’Cause I’m about to get in japanties!” He held his pointer and middle fingers in the shape of a V and wagged his tongue between them.

Callie made a disgusted sound as we reached the door for the restaurant. I noticed several other men further down the street walking toward us. Each of them was shouting at us but they were too far away for me to comprehend what they were saying. But by what was being said to us from the other men I could only imagine.

What happened next proceeded swifter than my mind could process. I reached for the handle of the glass door leading to the restaurant to open it for Callie. The frat guy slammed into her and pressed her up against the brick exterior of the building between the door and a bench with a metal cigarette extinguishing pole situated by it. She screamed as he ran his hand under her skirt. I grabbed the man’s upper arm and tried to pull him away but he was much bigger than me and Callie combined.

“Get off my girlfriend!” I shouted and jerked the guy’s arm.

He shook me off effortlessly and pressed his lips to Callie’s ear and said, “That bitch doesn’t have a dick. She can’t satisfy you. I know you want my fat cock in your pussy.” He began to fumble with the front of his shorts.

Callie screamed my name and clawed at the brick wall. I saw red. I lunged for the overflowing cigarette extinguisher. I picked it up and almost fell. The contents in the bottom were heavier than I imagined. I swung it blindly, not thinking about Callie’s safety, only wanting to stop the man from defiling her. The pole struck the man hard across his lower back. He yelled. Callie yelped. I lost my grip on the extinguisher and it rattled noisily on the sidewalk. The man stumbled backward. His shorts and underwear dropped to his ankles. Callie scrambled toward the door of the restaurant, sobbing. She managed to open the door with shaking hands and held it for me. She cried my name frantically but the man was now between me and the door.

He turned his attention to me. His penis was erect. He lifted his arms as if he wanted to grope my breasts and shuffled toward me.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “Wanna fuck?”

The man in the khaki pants was halfway across the street now. He called, “Do you work at Subway? Because you just gave me a foot-long!”

Callie shrieked, “Sonya!” in the open doorway of the restaurant.

I knew I couldn’t wield the cigarette extinguisher again in time so I resorted to the oldest trick in the book. I braced my feet to steady myself, took a couple of steps toward the frat guy, swung my right leg back, and delivered a hard kick to his exposed scrotum. He did not yell or grasp at his nuts. He immediately fell slack and dropped forward. I jumped to the side in time for him to fall full-force on his face. When his head hit the sidewalk it made the same sound I remembered from my childhood when my brother and I smashed a pumpkin on the sidewalk after Halloween. The man didn’t move.

“Sonya!” Callie screamed. “Watch out!”

I turned to find the other man in the khaki pants stepping on the curb. I hurdled the frat guy on the ground and rushed into the restaurant. Callie pulled the door shut behind me and held the handle to keep it closed. I grabbed the handle also and pulled it along with her before I noticed the spinning lever lock and flipped it. Callie and I stared wide-eyed at the khaki pants man as he continued toward us. The frat guy was still face down with his shorts around his ankles, unmoving, and I wondered if he’d knocked himself unconscious or was possibly dead. I wasn’t sure what the effects of smacking your head against concrete were but I was content knowing whatever they may be the man deserved them. Maybe he’d received some brain damage. Although it appeared he might have already been brain damaged before our encounter.

I distinctly heard the man in the khaki pants say, “I’m not a photographer but I can picture my dick in your mouth,” his voice muffled by the door.

Callie’s breath hitched as she suppressed a sob. “Oh my god.”

“What the fuck is happening?” I said.

“This is a bad dream, right?”

“I wish it were.”

Other people up and down the street were all migrating our way. All of them appeared to be men. The khaki pants man unzipped his pants to expose himself to us and began to masturbate.

Callie turned away from him in disgust. I pulled her away from the door. Her mascara was streaked down her cheeks from crying. I noticed a pinkish scrape on her cheek that must have come from the man shoving her up against the brick wall. I touched the wound with my thumb.

“I want to go home,” she whimpered before burying her face in my shoulder.

“Okay,” I said. I guided her toward the empty podium for the host. “We’ll get the manager to call the police and send those dickheads to jail. Then we’ll head home. Okay?” I rubbed her back to assure her.

She responded with a hiccup and nodded with her head buried in my shoulder. I didn’t turn to look at the asshole outside the restaurant but he responded by banging on the door and shouting something I couldn’t comprehend but sounded like “I’m coming.”

When we reached the host’s spot there didn’t appear to be anyone in the restaurant. There were several plates of abandoned food on the tables and a couple of the chairs were overturned. Two plates of pasta were spilled on the floor by the swinging kitchen doors along with a silver serving tray and two glasses. I sensed the hairs on the back of my neck raise as muffled sounds came from an ill lit room to the right of the swinging kitchen doors. We couldn’t see directly into the room.

Callie clung to me but quieted once she recognized the state of the restaurant. I guided her across the dining room toward the noise. I craned my neck to look into the other room and could see some frantic movements in the shadows at the end of the bar. There was another sound, almost a soft squeal. Callie lifted her head from my shoulder and her body tensed. She opened her mouth to say something but I brought my index finger to her lips to shush her. I pulled her back toward the podium and into a short hallway to the restrooms. We were out of eyesight of the room and front door.

“What are you doing?” Callie asked in a panicked tone.

“Something is wrong here.”

“You think?!” Her voice squeaked with terror.

Another squeal came from the back room, followed by a muffled man’s voice.

I signaled for her to keep her voice down and whispered, “Please, Kitty Cat, don’t let them know we’re here.”

Callie wiped at the tears on her face. “Please… let’s go home.”

I hurriedly retrieved my cell phone from my pocket and dialed 911. The call immediately played a recorded message informing me all emergency lines were busy.

“Do you have your phone?” I whispered.

Callie nodded and began to dig in her purse.

I tried to pull up the news site. When Callie had her phone in her hand I said, “Try calling 911.”

She did so as my phone informed me there was no internet access. I quietly cursed under my breath. The logo that indicated internet was absent from my phone’s screen. Callie held her phone to her ear. Her expression grew confused and even more panicked.

“How can that be?” she said.

“Too many emergencies, maybe?” I said. I pocketed my phone.

A man erupted into a cheer from the back room as if he were watching a sports game and someone made a goal. Callie jumped and almost dropped her phone. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a yelp. I began to creep across the dining room toward the commotion.

“No,” Callie said. She grabbed my arm to stop me. “Please… Let’s go home.”

I held a finger to my own lips to indicate she keep quiet. As softly as I could I said, “I think someone needs help.” I tilted my head toward the front door of the restaurant. “Like you needed help. We can’t just leave. Stay here”—she tried to interrupt me but I kept talking—“and if something happens there has to be a back door through the kitchen.” I pointed toward the kitchen’s swinging doors. “Run and get help. Do you understand?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t spill. I stealthily headed toward the room where the voices emanated from. The softest sound came from behind me. I turned to find Callie slipping her heels into her purse and following me. I shook my head at her and mouthed ‘no’. She gave me a look I interpreted as ‘fuck you I’m coming’. I mimicked the gesture of a resigned sigh.

I crouched and made my way to the doorway. Staying low, I pressed myself against the wall and slowly peered around the corner. I wasn’t sure anyone in the room would be able to see me but the maneuver was one I’d seen police and military characters pull in movies. Callie followed my lead, holding her shoulder bag against her hip to keep it from making any noise.

I peeked around the corner. A bar ran from our direction to the other side of the room in the center. The lights over the bar were dim and there were tables with stools running along the walls on both sides and booths along the back wall. At one booth partially obscured by the bar there were three men in cook’s uniforms. I could see two of them fully but the third I could only see from the waist up due to the bar. One of the two I could see appeared to have his dick out, masturbating, while the other looked as though he were struggling with something on the table. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on after taking in the third and partially obscured man thrusting his hips, a muffled cry mixed with anger and terror coming from their direction. The two men encouraged the third.

I clasped my hand over my mouth and nearly choked on tears threatening to spring forth as I sat back behind the wall. I began to cry regardless of my efforts to staunch the flow. Callie placed her hand on my shoulder and mouthed ‘what’ frantically. I shook my head and steadied my breathing.

When I knew I could talk without sobbing I whispered, “Rape.”

There’s nothing more stomach-wrenching than seeing hurt and terror fill the face of someone you love. Callie’s expression was already filled with terror and despair before I said the dreaded word but it swiftly morphed into something I’d never seen from her before and never wanted to see again.

“We have to stop this,” I whispered.

She clenched her jaw and nodded.

I said, “Stay low and follow me as quietly as possible.”

I checked around the doorframe again. None of the men changed position and the two who would’ve been the most likely to spot us were too preoccupied by their own agenda. Staying hunched, I crossed the short pathway from the doorway to the short end of the bar obstructing us from the scene. Callie followed closely behind me. I waited only a few seconds for one of the men to alert the others of our presence but nothing happened. I peeked around the corner of the bar. The stools for the bar were stationary and there wasn’t any room for us to squeeze between them and stay hidden in the shadows close to the bar. We’d have to make our way toward them down the actual walkway. I made a small internal prayer or wish to a higher being I’d never believed in that the men would be too preoccupied by what they were doing to notice us so we could make it to them in surprise and hopefully make it out of this unscathed.

Callie touched my lower back and I waved for her to follow before making my way down the aisle in a crouch.

Everything happened in a flash. Before I reached the booth I caught a glimpse of a dark-haired girl with a ponytail and a dishtowel shoved in her mouth being restrained, face down on the table. One of the men pinned both of her wrists behind her neck and the man violating her had pulled down her server’s uniform pants just far enough for him to fuck her. The man not violating or holding her watched the man raping her and kept making agreeable sounds while masturbating and telling him to hurry up so he could go next. The girl screamed and tried to kick but her rapist held her hips tight and didn’t seem to waver.

The man restraining the girl noticed me and Callie and said, “Hey, there’s enough for everyone now!”

He hadn’t finished his sentence before I’d dodged across the walkway, snagged up a chair, and charged the group. The masturbator turned toward me and was first in my path. He opened his mouth to say something but the chair made contact with his head before he could say a word. He staggered against the bar, masturbating, as if the blow that produced a gash in his cheek and broken his nose in an odd angle hadn’t fazed him. Blood ran from his nose as he slowly righted himself.

Callie let loose a battle cry and ran past me toward the man pinning the girl. She’d retrieved a bottle of whiskey and the quick-pour spout leaked its contents down her arm and onto the floor as she brandished it above her head for the attack. She slammed the bottle over his head. The glass shattered and shards of the bottle and whiskey rained over all of us. The man she’d hit let go of the girl and clutched his slit scalp while letting loose a line of derogatory profanities at Callie. Callie jumped back, startled by the result of her attack, and looked at the broken bottle neck in her hand.

The girl bucked wildly at her attacker and managed to shove him off. The rapist thrust in the air wildly as if he were still fucking her. The girl rolled sideways on the table, yelped as bits of glass cut her hand, arm, and bare buttocks, and delivered a massive kick to the rapist’s balls as he humped and groped in her direction. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes and went silent. The girl sprang from the table, sobbing, and pulled her pants up while backing away from all of us.

The masturbator I’d struck with the chair regained his balance and began to approach me while stroking himself. He said, “I seemed to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” He coughed on some blood that leaked from his nose into his mouth.

I steadied myself and swung the chair at his head a second time. I made contact with the other side of his head and he fell into the bar.

The man who had been pinning the girl to the table clutched his head. He looked at Callie and said, “Hi, my name is Derek. Remember it because you’re going to be screaming it all night.”

Callie screamed in frustration, lunged at him, and planted the broken neck of the whiskey bottle in his crotch with a sickening crunch. The man opened his mouth in surprise and his expression didn’t change as he crashed to the table, his head bouncing off the thick wood. He lay inanimate.

The masturbator righted himself again.

Callie took a step back and yelled, “Ouch!” before lifting her foot to pull a piece of broken glass from it.

“Don’t move,” I told her. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“In the balls!” the dark-haired girl yelled. “Kick him in the balls!”

The masturbator said, “Did the sun just come out or did you smile at me?” He stumbled toward me.

I kicked him hard enough in the balls to make my foot tingle and in that instant I worried I might have broken my toe. The man crashed into the bar and slid to the ground in slow motion. The bar was silent except for the heavy breaths and stifled sobs coming from us three women.

Chapter 4

“There has to be an explanation,” Callie said.

I was crouched and dabbing at the tiny cut on the bottom of Callie’s foot inflicted by the glass she’d stepped on. She sat on the stainless steel counter in the kitchen. The three of us—the girl we’d rescued told us her name was Sydney—had moved to the kitchen since the lighting was the brightest, after searching the rest of the restaurant and securing the backdoor. We’d found the kitchen empty except for a thoroughly boiled over and burnt pot of pasta and a radio droning quietly above the sink. The volume was low and I couldn’t hear anything being said on the radio but I recognized the monotonous tone as the President’s. I wondered why none of us shut it off yet to keep an ear out for any intruders. The President’s voice was similar to an annoying insect buzzing in my ear.

I smoothed a Band-Aid over the cut on Callie’s foot from the first-aid kit Sydney retrieved from the office. “Mass hysteria or something,” I said. “Not everything has an explanation. Maybe we should turn up the radio. They’d have to report on this.”

Sydney scoffed. “Have you listened to what that asshat has been saying?!” She stood facing the counter beside Callie and bandaged a cut on her arm. “This is probably all his fault!” Her voice wavered and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

The girl had periodically burst into tears since the incident, and rightfully so. It broke my heart every time to see her suffer. She refused to allow Callie or me to comfort her. I wasn’t sure I knew how to comfort her. What could I say? Everything was going to be okay? No, it wasn’t. Sydney had lived through every woman’s worst nightmare. She needed a doctor. She needed the police. And I wasn’t sure how to get her to either of those since there wasn’t any internet or phone service and, from what we could see, there were men slowly roaming around the streets who took to cat-calling us and banging on the glass door if they spotted us through the glass. Luckily none of them appeared smart enough to try and break the glass and stopped immediately after we were out of eyesight. After spending some time in the bathroom Sydney emerged with a new and earned demeanor of equal parts grief and anger and she swung from one to the other in a flash.

I stood and addressed Callie, “We need to get you some tennis shoes. Those ankle breakers are no good.”

She nodded and touched her stomach. “I know this seems wildly inappropriate,” Callie whispered to me, “but I’m starving.”

“Plenty of food,” Sydney said. “Don’t think we have any shoes though.”

Callie slipped from the counter and began exploring. Sydney helped her and I went to retrieve the radio on the other side of the kitchen. As I neared it I realized what Sydney was insinuating about how all of this could be the President’s fault. He wasn’t giving a speech. He was spouting off terrible pickup lines and making crazy misogynistic remarks.

He droned, “Sometimes you gotta put a dick in their mouths to shut them up. Hey, I’m looking for treasure. Can I look around your chest? I just shit my pants. Can I get in yours? Sometimes you have to treat them like shit. Putting them to work is dangerous. Once they’re successful I get jealous and sad. We need to keep them uneducated and dependent on us. Is that a tic-tac in your blouse or are you happy to see me? You must be from Tennessee. Because you’re the only ten I see.”

I said, “What the fuck?!” and turned to the others.

“What’s the matter?” Callie called. She appeared panicked.

“You have to hear this.” I waved her over.

They both crossed the room toward me. Sydney didn’t seem surprised, crossing her arms and hatefully staring at the radio. Callie’s mouth dropped open as she listened to what was being said.

“Fucking pig!” Callie furrowed her brow.

Sydney reached for the radio and turned the knob to change the channel. The President’s voice was intermittently interrupted with static but his gibberish resumed as she moved through all the stations, each one playing the exact same thing. She grabbed the power cord and yanked it from the outlet.

She gripped the plug and waved it at me. “This is what they were listening to!” A breath caught in her throat and she growled. She threw the plug and it hit the sink and made a loud gong against the stainless steel. “They were all in here listening to this shit and then… and then …” Her breath hitched and she crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself.

Callie and I both reached for her at the same time but she jerked away from us.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Callie said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

As sincerely as I could I said, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through but telling us might help you to vent. And it might help all of us figure out what’s going on.”

Callie added, “It wasn’t just those guys. I was attacked outside. There were some men wandering around…” She looked at me for an answer.

“One fell down dead when I kicked him in the balls,” I said. “Like the other three.”

“The men outside kept saying gross things.” Callie pointed to the radio. “Like the President was saying.”

Sydney rubbed her eyes as if she could rub away the weariness. “It’s like it’s contagious.” She leaned her butt against the counter. “I came in here to pick up an order and the men were all laughing about what he was saying on the radio. I didn’t pay any attention to the program. I was more focused on my job and trying to remember which tables I needed to check on.” She stared at me and I could see the tears lining her lower lids. “But when I came back in with a second order the atmosphere had changed. There was a tension between the guys and the two girls working back here. The guys leered at the girls with these creepy grins on their faces. I rattled off the order and clipped the slip to the order rack over there.” She pointed to a shelf where four slips of paper dangled and then wiped at her eyes before the tears could spill. “And I… left to refill drinks. I mentioned it to Sara—”

Callie interrupted, “Sara?”

“The other waitress,” Sydney said. “I stopped her and said something like ‘the guys are being weird in there’. She mumbled something I didn’t catch before she headed back into the kitchen to pick up an order. I was refilling a table’s water when everyone in the dining area overheard some yelling. Sara came out of the kitchen with a pissed off look on her face and a tray of orders. The other girls ran out behind her and knocked the tray out of her hands. The guys came out right after them and grabbed Sara. She was screaming and they were tearing at her clothes and saying this awful shit and… and…” She sobbed loudly and buried her face in her hands before bursting into tears.

She didn’t fight Callie as she hugged her. Sydney buried her face in Callie’s neck and I rubbed her back. Sydney bawled as Callie petted her head and she finally said something but I couldn’t make it out.

She pulled away from Callie and said tearfully, “I don’t know what happened! I was helping her! She got away! Then the guys got me and carried me into the bar and no one helped me! No one helped me! There was screaming and the other men in the restaurant kept saying all this nasty stuff! And no one helped me! They kept doing it! And they raped me!”

Callie and I smothered the girl in hugs and let her cry. Her emotions were contagious and we cried with her.

Once she calmed some she pulled away from us. Her eyes were red and her face was blotchy. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and said, “I think I need a drink.”

Callie was blotting her nose with the back of her hand and nodding at me. She said, “I’ll get some tissues.”

I wiped my eyes with my thumb. “I can take care of the drinks. Be right back.”

I left the kitchen and took a deep breath. I scanned the dining room even though I knew we checked every nook and cranny. I didn’t feel safe. I felt exposed. I was terrified and nauseated over what happened to Sydney, filled with an overwhelming sense of dread Callie and I were destined for the same fate or worse.

I really didn’t want to go back into the bar but I knew Sydney… hell, all of us could use a drink. The hair on the back of my neck pricked when I entered the bar. I tiptoed as if any sound I made would awake the three men even though we checked for pulses and they were most definitely dead. It didn’t seem possible kicking a man in the balls would kill him but nothing felt real at the moment. I could partially see the man splayed on the table and the fallen masturbator’s head beyond the edge of the bar. I caught the faintest scent of feces and found slight solace in the fact the men were probably stewing in their own filth.

I lifted the bar top door and slipped into an alcoholic’s Mecca. I wasn’t sure what Sydney would want to drink. I found a server’s tray stashed under the register and loaded it with a smorgasbord of liquors, cold bottles of beer, a couple sodas, a jug of juice I found in a mini fridge, and some glasses.

When I returned to the kitchen I found the others were in the middle of preparing some boxed pasta they’d found and Callie remarking she couldn’t believe they didn’t make their own. I retrieved two small tables from the bar and three stools and we ate in the kitchen and had our drinks with dinner. We were afraid we might be seen through the front door if we sat in the dining room. Each of us periodically tried our phones but the internet and phone service hadn’t returned. We didn’t talk much during the meal.

Callie mixed a second rum and coke toward the end of her dinner and checked her phone again.

I said, “You should probably save the battery and try the landline in the office.”

She said, “We can’t stay here all night.”

Sydney was knocking back her third shot. She set the shot glass down a tad too hard and gasped before saying, slightly slurred, “I don’t want to go out there.”

“We can’t stay forever,” Callie said.

“I don’t think we should leave tonight,” I said. “At least not without an escort or something. It’s dark and Sydney is impaired. We should wait until we can get a hold of the police and make a report.”

Sydney gave a small dry laugh and poured a fourth shot. “Lot of good that’s gonna do,” she mumbled and then added, “We haven’t even heard sirens. The police are probably dead or, more likely, part of the problem since most police officers I see are usually men.”

Callie looked panicked. “Do you think the whole male population has lost their minds?”

I downed the last swallow of my beer and decided one drink was enough. Someone had to be alert and coherent enough to keep checking for a connection to the outside world and keep watch for any interlopers.

“We’ll keep checking the landline until it’s restored,” I said. “And sleep here tonight. We’ll venture out tomorrow when it’s daylight so we can see to defend ourselves if we have to.”

“And where are we gonna go?” Sydney remarked. She held up another shot with the intention of drinking it. “Home? To the police? Back to our lives?” She snorted derisively. “The world is dead.”

“We don’t know that,” I said.

“They’re not zombies,” Callie said.

“They might as well be,” Sydney said. She laughed and teetered on her stool, spilling some of her drink on her hand. The laugh went from something drunken and playful to manic and scary. She licked the liquor off her hand. “Sex zombies! Instead of eating you they want to rape you… or humiliate you! And… and… and instead of shooting them in the head… you have to kick them in the dick!” She threw her head back and laughed.

Callie and I looked at one another and spoke at the same time.

Callie said, “That actually makes sense.”

I said, “Like a subliminal message… or some type of virus spread through hearing it.”

“What are we gonna do if that’s true?” Callie said. “What about all the other women in the world?”

Sydney drank her half spilled shot and shouted, “Kick them in the dick!”

Chapter 5

I checked the landline and radio while Sydney drowned her sorrows and Callie joined her to calm her nerves. Once Sydney got sick we decided the best thing we could do was to turn in for the night and hope things would be righted in the morning. I put Callie in charge of getting Sydney to drink water to stave off a nasty hangover while I arranged the sleeping situation.

The best place seemed to be the manager’s office. It didn’t have a window and we would be able to lock the door and add another level of security in case someone would take the initiative to break the weak glass of the front door or break in through the back door of the kitchen, which led to a lightless alleyway behind the strip of storefronts. I shoved the manager’s desk against the wall to give us enough room to lie down.

I knew there wouldn’t be any pillows or blankets in the place but I did find a closet off the kitchen with random supplies, including stacks of extra tablecloths. I used the tablecloths to fashion some acceptable pillows and blankets. The floor was uncomfortable but the other two were inebriated enough to fall asleep fast, even with the small desk lamp left on. The light and the comfort of spooning Callie didn’t set my mind at ease and I had difficulties staying asleep. I kept having small panic attacks upon wakening in an unfamiliar place and was filled with the dread of reality once I realized where I was and what had happened.

Sometime during the night I was awakened by Sydney stumbling toward the door.

Trying not to wake Callie, I whispered, “Where are you going?”

Startled, she turned to me. Her face didn’t exhibit any of the grogginess of sleep. But there was a weariness I attributed to the effects of drinking and, mixed with her mussed hair, it made her appear ghoulish or haunted.

“I have to pee,” she said, a tad loud and emotionless.

Callie stirred and mumbled something I didn’t understand but didn’t open her eyes.

Having just awakened, my brain tried to process the situation. I wasn’t sure why I said, “Do you want me to go with you?” But in my head there was an echo of my mother telling me there was safety in numbers when it came to girls roaming about without parental supervision.

“I’m a big girl,” she said. “I think I can take care of myself.” She promptly slipped out of the office and left the door cracked a few inches.

Sleep flooded me once I closed my eyes and my dreams were manic and feverish. I dreamt of my father’s death and how I’d driven two hours to sit by his bedside with my brother, waiting for his last breath or an apology for how he’d treated me and driven a wedge between me and my mother when I finally told the family I was gay. I’d moved out after finding a full-time job and began to put myself through college. My mother insisted I meet a nice man and marry him and have him take care of me. So over Christmas dinner one year I’d revealed my long hidden secret to the family: the girls they’d thought were close female friends throughout high school I’d had tiffs with and didn’t hang out with ever again were actually my girlfriends and we’d broken up over some petty high school argument. My brother and mother took it well but you would’ve thought I’d sacrificed an infant on the dinner table as far as my father was concerned. As if my homosexuality was something I chose as a weapon to specifically hurt him. In the dream my brother and I sat on one side of my father’s deathbed and everything was an exact replay of the actual event. Except my mother was there in the dream, sitting on the other side of the bed, even though in life she’d died a year before my father. In real life my father had only slightly eaten crow and had my brother call me days before she passed and gave me permission to come see her one final time without any interference or name calling. My father had stood in the hospital hallway with his arms crossed, refusing to talk to me as I passed in and out of the room. My mother began to sob in the dream. Her cries were strange rage-filled hiccups that started strong but slowly faded. Once my mother was quiet my father’s heart monitor screamed a high-pitched wail of a woman filled with terror and my brother began calling for me frantically in Callie’s voice.

The door to the office burst open and Callie yelled my name. I bolted out of the dream and sat up in a panic. Callie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around me, crying and nearly incoherent.

Trying to clear the sleep fog from my brain, I said, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s dead!” she bawled. “Oh god! It was so fucking terrible! Why would she do it?!” Her body shook violently, racked with sobs.

My sleep-addled brain was trying to process why Callie was so upset over my mother’s death even though she’d never met her. I kissed her cheek, returned her hug, and tried to soothe her. It took me a bit to get my bearings and realize she must be talking about something else and Mom was on my mind because of the dream.

I said, “Wait. Who?”

Once she caught her breath and was able to speak I asked her to tell me what was going on.

She sat back from me and wiped her face. “I got up to go pee and, and— Oh god… I think I’m gonna be sick.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth and crawled over to the small paper bin. She began retching and I followed her and held her hair. I rubbed her back as she vomited. I eyed the open door of the office dubiously and hoped the restaurant was still secure. When Callie was done being sick she spit a few times in the waste basket. I let go of her hair once she sat back. She scuttled away from the mess and sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. She looked exhausted and amped up at the same time. The room stank of vomit and sleep and I was pretty sure one of us must have passed some terrible gas while we slept. I wanted to suggest we head to the dining room or kitchen to talk because the smell was making me nauseated but I wanted to prepare myself because the sleep had cleared from my brain and I knew Callie was talking about Sydney. I wanted to brace myself for whatever had traumatized Callie. I went to her and hugged her and sat holding her hand until she was ready to tell me.

“I really had to pee,” she began.

Her words made me painfully aware of how full my own bladder was.

“She’s in the ladies’ room,” she continued. “She must’ve taken a knife from the kitchen and… she mutilated herself.”

“Mutilated?” I tried to coax more information out of her gently. “You mean she cut her wrists?”

Callie turned to me and shook her head. Her breath was a terrible mixture of sick and sleep. She said, “She did things to her…”—she pointed to her own vagina—“pussy. Very bad things.”

“With the knife? Did she… stab… herself?” I experienced a phantom pain of sympathy in my sex and the nausea sank deeper into the pit of my stomach.

Her face crumbled. “Worse. Oh god.” She let go of my hand, closed her eyes and rubbed them with her fingertips. “I’ll never get that image out of my head.”

I kissed her forehead and stood. “Stay here.”

Callie grabbed for my hand. “It’s bad. You don’t want to see. You don’t want it in your head—”

“It’s all bad,” I interrupted her. “And I have a gut feeling whatever is happening out there isn’t going to get better.”

She whimpered and stood. Her face filled with fear. “You don’t think we’ll all end up like her do you?”

“No,” I replied automatically and then added, “What do you mean?”

“If what’s happening with the message is subliminal… What if there’s a hidden message for women, also? What if it’s telling us to kill ourselves?” She blinked rapidly. “Or, or, what if being assaulted passes on a virus or something?”

“I think that’s a far stretch.”

“Like men losing their minds because of a subliminal message isn’t a far stretch?”

“Okay. But we’re still here. We heard the message. You were attacked—”

“I wasn’t attacked the way Sydney was though.” Her voice hitched.

I pulled her into a hug. “Kitty Cat, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. If that were the case”—I hesitated—“you probably would’ve already done it.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah,” she responded weakly.

“Now, I really have to pee,” I said. Her body tensed. I held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I’ll use the men’s room. Then I’ll assess what’s happening and what we should do.”

“I’m coming with you. I want to be with you all the time. I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too.”

She nodded and followed me into the restroom. Nothing had changed in the dining area but the funky smell of rot I’d previously perceived as a lingering fart within the office was stronger once we exited the room. The men’s room had an awful stench but it wasn’t the same. I used the toilet while Callie rinsed her mouth at the sink. I found her trying to use her fingers as a brush and remove some of the sleep knots from her hair when I exited the stall. We switched spots and I tried to make myself slightly presentable while she used the toilet.

Rinsing my mouth did nothing to eliminate the lingering yeasty taste of beer. I tried to brush my teeth with my finger and water and mentioned to Callie the kitchen might have some mint leaves somewhere we could chew on to freshen our breath. She chastised me for talking to her while she was peeing.

We left the men’s room and I hesitated at the women’s room door.

Callie said, “I can’t go back in there.”

“You don’t have to,” I said.

I started to push the door open but Callie stopped me.

“Wait,” she said. She retreated to the office and reemerged with one of the tablecloths we’d used to construct our beds with. She handed it to me and whispered in a solemn tone, “Cover her. We can’t leave her that way.”

I took the tablecloth from her and pushed open the door. The sink was located along the wall adjacent to the door. I peered around the doorframe and noticed a pair of bare legs hanging over the countertop of the sink area. Sydney’s socks, shoes, panties, and pants lay haphazardly on the floor along with a congealed pool of blood. The room reeked of the musty and coppery sent of old menstruation. I breathed through my mouth and stepped around the blood and into the bathroom with trepidation.

Sydney sat slumped against the wall-length mirror behind the counter and in between two sinks. She was naked from the waist down. Her cunt was a bloody mess, as were her wrists. Her head hung toward her chest. Her mouth was open and she stared downward with milky and unseeing eyes. A bloody knife and spool of cooking twine sat on the counter beside her.

I’d never seen a dead person outside of a funeral home and the experience was unnerving. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and my ears tingled deep inside their inner workings as if I’d sucked on a piece of super sour candy. My stomach lurched but I took a deep breath of the fetid air to steady my nerves. I blinked back the tears of horror and fear and stepped up to the counter, careful not to step in any of the blood. There was no way to reach her without stepping in blood or climbing on the counter. I didn’t want to do anything to disturb the scene. I chose to climb on the counter beside her, careful not to disrupt anything.

I didn’t want to look at her crotch to know what she’d done to herself but I couldn’t help myself. The gruesomeness of being near a corpse was nothing compared to the awful recognition of the ghastly arts and crafts project she’d constructed from her own body. Sydney had cut and pulled her insides out through her vagina, wrapping and tying it with the cooking twine so it looked liked a penis.

I gagged and managed to maneuver my head over the sink in time to unleash the remnants of my stomach along with a wail of horror.

Callie cracked the door. “Sonya, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I managed between heaves. I spat in the sink and composed myself. “I’ll be out in minute.”

The door to the restroom made the slightest tap when it closed. I looked at Sydney’s dead face and searched the countertop for any sign of a note but didn’t find one. I thought about closing her eyes but I couldn’t bring myself to touch her. I would rather go my whole life not knowing what dead flesh felt like.

I unfurled the tablecloth like a bedsheet and let it settle over Sydney. Something deep within in me hoped I was the one who was right about the broadcasted message and it only affected the men. Because if this was something I was forced to inflict on myself or, for the love of everything that was once good in this world, I had to watch Callie do this to herself, I might as well snatch the knife off the counter and slit my throat right now.

I carefully slipped from the counter to avoid disturbing Sydney or stepping in her blood. I picked up Sydney’s discarded black tennis shoes. Thankfully she’d kicked them off far enough away and they hadn’t been touched by the blood.

Chapter 6

“We have to leave,” I said.

Callie and I carefully checked out the front door of the restaurant, hiding ourselves from view. There were a few shamblers on the street. The men appeared lost and listless, unaware of each other or their surroundings.

An overweight man in a checkered button down shirt walked in slow circles across the street. Every so often he would misstep and run into a support pole for a business’s awning, bounce back a step, and continue his worn path as if nothing happened. The entire time he kept shouting, “That shirt is very becoming on you! If I was on you I’d be coming too!”

Callie said, “But where are we going to go?” She stepped back from the door and checked her phone for the millionth time. “We have no idea what’s going on out there.” Frustrated with the lack of signal and possibly a dying battery, she slipped her phone back into her purse.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But we can’t stay here. We can at least make it back to our apartment and wait it out.” I stepped back from the door and nodded toward the bar. “The smell won’t be so bad there. We either need to leave or move the bodies outside.”

Callie’s nostrils flared and I knew her patience was wearing thin. She shook her head and I knew touching the dead men and Sydney was out of the question. She said, “And what are we going to wait for when we get home, Son? Someone to rescue us?” She waved her hand toward the door. “Have you looked outside?”

I gestured for her to keep her voice down. I checked out the door again to see if the guy across the street heard us. It didn’t appear he had. It didn’t seem possible for us to hear him shouting but for him not to have heard Callie.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Hey, do you think they can hear us?”

“What do you mean?” Callie joined me in peering out the glass door. She stared at the man for a few seconds and suddenly shouted, “Hey, you piece of shit! Fuck you!”

Her sudden outburst startled me. I took her upper arm and pulled her out of view. “What are you doing? There are a dozen of those assholes out there. They’ll tear the door off the hinges.” I checked around the edge of the door but the man was nevertheless on his endless loop as if nothing had happened. I turned back to her and made a confused sound.

“What?” she said.

“I don’t think they can hear.”

She waited a beat before she laughed. “Isn’t that a stereotype the hetties use?” She spoke in a valley girl voice. “He never listens to me. He only pays attention to me when I’m dressed up.”

“Maybe if it’s a subliminal message it’s scrambled their hearing or something.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Sex zombies that detect women by sight.”

“Does that mean they’ll leave unattractive women alone?”

“That might be the most egotistical thing I’ve ever heard you say. Are you saying you’re a hottie?”

“Are you telling me I’m not?” I waved my hand to cut off the argument. “No, no, hear me out.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “If it’s a stereotypical male thing… wouldn’t they only harass women they thought were hot or at least fuckable?”

Callie considered it for a moment. “Unless they were wearing beer goggles and then everything would become fuckable to the stereotypical hetty male. And who’s to say the subliminal message isn’t a big case of the beer goggles and not some sort of spell.”

“Not all hetty males become rapists and say stupid shit when they’re extremely intoxicated.”

“Fifty percent of the population is male.” She pointed toward the door. “Does it look like all the men are out there”—she lifted her arms like the Frankenstein monster, stomped in place, and spoke in a baritone voice—“hey, let me fuck you. Hey, let me fuck you. Hey, let me—”

“I get it. I get it,” I interrupted her. “We don’t know though. The world is a big place. I’m sure there’s probably a hot spot. Isn’t that how zombie movies go? A group of survivors convene in a secure spot and are surrounded by a horde? Usually a shopping mall or movie theater or—”

“In our case it would probably be a strip club.”

We both laughed.

“So is that the plan?” Callie said.

“I think going back to the apartment is the better option. Or getting one of our cars from the parking garage and getting the hell out of the city.”

“Maybe look for a group of people to hole up with.”

“That never ends well in the movies.”

“But this isn’t a movie.”

I sighed. “I know. Come on. We should probably at least arm ourselves.”

We retreated into the restaurant to prepare ourselves for the outside world.

Chapter 7

Callie wasn’t too keen on wearing a dead girl’s shoes but I insisted they’d be better for running even though Sydney’s feet were a size and a half larger than her own. She walked around the kitchen in Sydney’s shoes, trying to get adjusted to the extra toe space. She tripped every now and then but learned to lift her knees higher.

I found a small closet with a broom and mop inside. I removed the heads from the handles and Callie and I took turns finding the best way to hold them to swing effectively toward an oncoming person’s crotch. We found holding the handles in a slightly modified manner of the way a hockey player would hold their stick was the best option for an upswing toward the groin.

Callie stowed a knife in her purse and I modified a server’s apron to hold a knife of my own. Neither one of us thought we could bring ourselves to stab someone but desperate situations sometimes called for desperate measures. We were now in an ‘us or them’ scenario. There were no questions as to what I would do if either of our lives were in danger. We snacked on a jar of olives and some cheese we found in one of the giant stainless steel refrigerators before we psyched each other up enough to check out the restaurant alley door.

There weren’t any people in the alley and Callie and I were off toward the apartment in a swift and nearly soundless jog, handles posed to hit the balls of the first guy to get near us. Once we reached the alley I checked around the corner of the last building and my stomach sank. A couple of blocks down, and filling the street and sidewalks, was a large group of people. From this distance I couldn’t tell if they were female or male but from their listless shuffling and the periodic scream of, “Yeah, baby, whew!” coming from their direction I was certain they were male.

“Shit,” I mumbled.

Callie stood behind me and maneuvered to take a look. “Oh no.”

“Maybe if we go down that street”—I pointed kitty-corner from our position at the road running east as opposed to the northbound road we wanted to take—“a few blocks and make a large circle—”

“They’ll see us,” she interrupted. “We can’t cross here. Let’s double back and find a more deserted route.”

“They’re going to be everywhere, Kitty Cat. The longer we’re on the street the higher the risk we’ll be spotted. The population according to gender is nearly fifty-fifty. There’s going to be one of them for every woman in the city. We have to take our chances. And we’re faster than they are. We’ll run.”

“I don’t like this idea.”

“Neither do I but we don’t have a lot of options.”

Callie made a soft whining sound. I gave her a hug and kissed her forehead.

We were both startled by a booming male voice echoing down the alleyway. “Hey! Which one of you lezzies wants to sit on my face and let me tickle you with my mustache?!” A young hipster guy with a handlebar mustache, a bowler hat, and jeans folded up to expose his ankles snapped his suspenders as he stumbled toward us with a leering smile.

Callie swung her handle at him in a threatening gesture but he was either unaware of the damage one hit to the balls would cause or didn’t care.

I tugged Callie’s elbow. “I think it’s time to run.”

We both turned and bolted toward the street I’d pointed out.

The man in the alley screamed, “I want to eat your pussy!”

Someone in the mob down the street must have spotted us and a large cry of incoherent gibberish arose from the group. Almost across the intersection, I noticed a couple dozen men break from the group and head our way. Callie let out a small scream of fear.

We bolted down the street. Callie tried to run straight ahead at the next block but I pulled her to turn right and head north, knowing the others would make it to the intersection behind us soon. I didn’t want them to spot us. If my assessments were right, they’d give up shortly once they couldn’t see us anymore. But we’d only made it twenty feet when we perceived the belligerent catcalls and rude remarks coming up the street that crossed in front of us. The street that separated us from the mob we’d spotted.

“I think they’re splitting up,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

Callie said, “This way.”

She’d spotted a narrow eastbound alley separating two buildings across the street and we dashed toward it. Callie tripped when the toe of her shoe struck the curb. She partially caught herself with her handle and I took her bicep and pulled her back up on her feet. I could tell by the look on her face she was restraining a long line of expletives and must have hurt herself because she was now limping as fast as she could. I wished to whatever nonexistent being that might be listening to help us get to a safe spot, if not our apartment, unharmed by the lunatics coming after us.

We took the alley, not knowing if there was anyone waiting there to capture us. It was empty, thankfully. I wasn’t sure what to do next. If we headed northbound again surely we’d encounter the group of men we’d just avoided if they continued going straight. We couldn’t stay in the alley. The hipster guy could have easily followed us and might catch up. I nearly made myself dizzy looking back and forth at each entrance to the alley. Hopefully we could stay put and the hipster and mob would continue straight. We wouldn’t be spotted and could try to make it the rest of the way home.

Callie leaned against her handle as if it was a staff and rubbed her ankle. She was definitely hurt. She said, “I think I twisted my ankle.”

Suddenly there were pounding footsteps coming down the northbound road. Fast footfalls. Not a shambling man but someone running. I glanced around the corner and spotted a woman in military fatigues and cap running in our direction with a handgun drawn. When she passed the intersection the group of men had been traveling toward they began screaming all kinds of filthy things at her. None of their remarks or presence bothered her and she kept running. Waiting it out in the alley wasn’t going to be an option. Surely one of the men would spot us when they followed the woman. And she was an officer with a firearm. She had to know what was happening or where to go. At the very least she could protect us.

I jumped out of the alley and swung my broom handle in the air to get her attention. “Wait! Wait! Please help us! My girlfriend is hurt!”

Callie emerged from the alley after me, using her handle as a staff.

The officer holstered her firearm as she ran toward us. She stopped and proffered her back to Callie. Callie looked at her, confused, as the first couple of men rounded the corner and spotted us.

“Piggyback! Piggyback!” the woman shouted impatiently.

Callie didn’t question her. She jumped on her back clumsily and wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck. The officer held her under the thighs and instructed her to hold her shoulders rather than choking her and took off running before Callie had a chance to situate herself. I followed them closely as the group of men continued their relentless chase, yelling at the three of us the whole time.

“Only dykes and sluts enter the military!”

“Was your mother a beaver?! ’Cause damn!”

“Can I read your T-shirt in braille?!”

“If I could rearrange the alphabet I’d put my dick in your mouth!”

“I wish you were my pinky toe so I could bang you on every piece of furniture!”

“Women will never make as much as men so why don’t you make me a sandwich and give me a blowjob!”

We ran in the opposite direction of home. The woman appeared sure of her route and I imagined she knew where she was going. And it had to be a safe place.

A couple blocks in front of us a figure clad in a billowing red dress with an oversized white headscarf stood on the sidewalk, waving their hands above their head to get our attention. It took a few more seconds for me to realize what the enormous stone building the robed figure was standing in front of was and what their outfit meant. A nun from the monastery.

“In here! In here!” the nun yelled. “Take refuge in the Lord!”

Under other circumstances I would’ve passed on the sanctuary of a religious foundation. The faithful of almost any religion had never been particularly kind to me once they learned I was gay and I’d quickly established my own convoluted religious ideas which excluded any faith or belief in a higher being and was based loosely on a karmic checks and balances system. Do good and good things will happen for you. Be an asshole and hopefully your life falls to shit. But surely the situation at hand made a god moot and the three of us didn’t hesitate to head directly toward the nun, follow her up the steps of the monastery, and help bolt the heavy wooden doors behind us against a mob of rabid men who wanted only one thing.

The interior of the building was dim and cool and silent except for our hard breathing which echoed and bounced off the high ceilings of the church and main worship area we’d entered. The muffled and distant voices of the men from outside barely permeated the structure.

The officer set Callie on the stone floor gently and the three of us stepped away from the door and braced ourselves for the clatter of the mob tidal waving the front of the building. The nun didn’t seem to be aware of the situation outside and smiled beatifically at us. The crash against the door never came and the sound of the group died down to nothing we could discern through the thick doors and walls.

“There’s no need to worry,” the nun said. There were faint wrinkles around her mouth and there could’ve been some more at the corners of her eyes if her smile was something more than a forced expression. Her expression didn’t waver and it was unnerving. “This place is protected by the Father. They won’t enter his holy house.”

“They can’t see us,” the military officer said. “Once we’re out of their line of sight they stop.”

I noticed the name tag ‘Naff’ above the breast pocket of the woman’s uniform along with two bars on the lapels of the shirt. The same bars were on the front of her hat.

The nun stared at her and something almost imperceptible darkened her eyes but her smile didn’t falter. She said, “I’m Sister Catherine. You are welcome to anything the Sisters of the Precious Blood can provide you…” Her eyes flitted to the officer’s lapel. She tilted her head and added, “Lieutenant?”

“Captain,” she said. “Megan Naff.”

“Captain,” the sister repeated.

“How many civilians are you harboring here?”

“There are a few around.” She waved her hand toward a hallway behind her, leading out of the church area.

“Is the government rounding people up?” I asked.

Callie added, “They have to have a safe place for us.”

“Sadly they don’t that I’m aware of at the moment,” Megan said. “I fled from my company yesterday when the madness broke out.” Her voice cracked and it was evident she was struggling to keep her composure. “Some of the other female soldiers weren’t so lucky. It became chaotic and every woman for herself. But we were stationed off base and I’ve been trying to contact them or return there.”

Callie’s eyes rimmed with tears and she whispered, “Jesus.”

A flicker of agitation crossed Sister Catherine’s face. “It’s part of His divine plan.” She clasped her hands together and held them under her chin in a sign of prayer. “The fornicators have angered the Father and he has sent a plague. The world has accepted the castration of his will. They murder his children without their consent before their tiny bodies have been given a precious soul from The Almighty. Condemning the slaughtered to suffer in hell for eternity.” She opened her arms and raised them. She lifted her face toward the enormous crucifixion hanging above the pulpit. “And he will smite the homosexuals for choosing to defy his intentions!”

Callie and I looked to one another. Callie carefully placed her mop handle on the stone floor as to not make a sound and limped closer to me as if we might have to physically defend ourselves shortly. Each of us gave the other the ‘holy shit this woman is a fucking nut job, be careful around her’ look while Catherine continued to rant at the crucifix. I wanted to wrap my arms around Callie in that instant but knew better than to fan the flames of religious fanaticism.

Sister Catherine continued, “The Lord said in Genesis, ‘It is not good for man to be alone. Be fruitful and multiply. Fill the earth.’”

She turned back to us as Callie and I were having our unspoken moment. Callie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment once she realized the Sister was scrutinizing our body language.

Sister Catherine approached Callie and laid her hand on Callie’s shoulder. Callie tensed and I squeezed my broom handle so hard one of my knuckles cracked. It took everything inside me not to crack the delusional bitch over the head.

The Sister spoke to Callie, “Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed to cleanse the world of the homosexual infestation—”

I opened my mouth to tell Sister Catherine what I thought of her religion and what she could do with it but Megan beat me to the punch.

“I think,” Megan interjected a tad too loud and drew all of our attention, “maybe we need a few minutes to collect ourselves and assess what the next course of action should be. You wouldn’t happen to have a radio somewhere, would you? A phone? Possibly a computer with an internet connection? Or a television?”

My attention was on Megan and I noticed the nun in my periphery removing her hand from Callie’s shoulder. I wasn’t an advocate for physical violence and had luckily only encountered a couple of play yard scuffles in my youth before all the current madness erupted, but if I were given an opportunity I would break the self-righteous cunt’s hand.

“Of course,” the Sister said. She clasped her hands together and the sleeves of her robe fell to cover them as she addressed Megan. “Just because we’re a religious order doesn’t mean we don’t live without the conveniences of modern technology. The monastery isn’t a medieval living village.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I said.

It was out of my mouth before I had time to think of what a terrible idea it was to provoke the nun. Callie’s eyes grew to the size of saucers in a comic attempt to shush me. The nun’s gaze snapped to me and the muscles in her jaw constricted.

Megan interjected again, attempting to keep the conflict at bay, “Could I use them to see if I can find a communication from a higher ranking officer?”

Sister Catherine and I continued our hateful staring contest. The nun broke her stare first and turned to Megan.

Catherine said, “There’s a phone and computer in Mother Superior’s office. And a television in the communal room.” She waved her arm toward the hallway again.

Megan mimicked her gesture toward the hallway. “Would you be so kind as to show us?”

The Sister’s eyes fell on mine and Callie’s handles. Her eyes flitted to the knife handle slightly exposed from my makeshift apron/fanny pack before she said, “Please leave your weapons here.” She smiled at me and raised an eyebrow in an expression I could only describe as condescending. “This is a peaceful house of worship and there’s no need for such violent things.”

“Callie sprained her ankle,” I said.

Callie took it upon herself to emphasize my remark by using her handle as a staff and limping closer toward me.

I ignored acknowledging the knife and added, “And I’d rather keep mine. My rod and my staff… they comfort me.”

Fury briefly flashed over Sister Catherine’s face before she lifted her chin in a defiant manner and said, “Follow me.” She turned abruptly and hurried down the hallway in a flurry of red billowing robes.

Megan shot us both a crooked and uneasy smile before following Catherine. I stayed with Callie as she hobbled to follow them. The hallway was lined with stained glass windows on the left side and large wooden doors punctuated the stone wall on the right. The nun and Megan disappeared into the last door at the end of the hallway before a ninety degree turn in the hallway.

Sister Catherine reemerged from the room before Callie and I made it there. She coldly directed us to the door before the room she’d come from, telling us it was the communal room and she’d send Sister Frances to help with Callie’s ankle before disappearing around the corner.

Callie and I entered a wood paneled room with a stone fireplace. Several brown leather sofas were scattered about the room. An old, small, cream-colored television sat atop a flimsy metal cart with wheels. A black box sat on top of the television with two comically long antennas protruding from it.

I helped Callie to a sofa and took her handle and mine and leaned them against the wall by the door. Callie set her purse on the floor and lifted her hurt foot. Her ankle was swollen and I helped her with her shoe. There was some light purple bruising above the ankle bone.

She took one look at it and said, “Oh, god. You don’t think it’s broken, do ya?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had a broken ankle. It’s probably just a bad sprain.”

“It looks awful.” She tried to move her foot and winced, sucking air through her teeth. “And it hurts.”

“Don’t move it, Kitty Cat. It might make it worse.”

A young nun came into the room bearing a silver tray with an old-fashioned reusable icepack, an elastic bandage, a bottle of Advil, and a glass of water. I imagined she was Sister Frances as she didn’t introduce herself or speak to either of us. Frances kept her face downturned and emotionless in a demure nature as she sat the platter on a coffee table and approached Callie and I. Her skin was flawless and her eyes had a sad quality I found alluring when combined with her pouty and unsmiling lips. I detected the stirrings of desire, the overwhelming obsession I’d always found mind-consuming until fulfilled, ignite in my loins as the beautiful young nun gently helped Callie to lie down on the sofa without a word. Sister Frances retrieved a throw pillow and propped Callie’s foot up before helping her to take the Advil. Callie appeared to be just as enthralled with the pretty nun and tried to engage her in conversation but the Sister never spoke a word. I wondered if a vow of silence was a personal choice and not something practiced or enforced by a whole monastery.

I turned my attention to the television on the other side of the room to distract myself. The set was old and something I’d seen photos of but never encountered before. There were three small knobs labeled brightness, contrast, and vol/on and two larger knobs. One of the large knobs was numbered two through thirteen with the letter U in place of the number one. The second large knob was numbered fifteen through eighty-three and I imagined it was the channel knob. I guess channel four would be out of the question.

Megan entered the room and approached me. She took in the television situation, shook her head, and spoke just loud enough to insinuate the conversation was between the two of us. “The phones are still non-functioning. And I’m not sure if the internet is working because they have dialup.”

I involuntarily barked a laugh and covered my mouth before I could shout, “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Callie and Sister Frances turned toward us.

Callie said, “What’s happening?”

“No phone,” I said.

Megan turned the vol/on knob and the television hummed to a static filled life. She pushed one of three buttons on the black box I hadn’t noticed before and the screen was filled with a black and white image of the off air color bars and tone. She hit another button on the black box and the screen hesitantly flipped to another channel with a black screen and no sound. She waited a beat before proceeding to another channel and finding a slightly skewed camera shot of an empty news desk. The set of the news room was eerily quiet and the image raised goosebumps on my arms and sent a chill down my spine.

“Only local access,” Megan said. She asked Sister Frances, “Are there any cable channels?”

Sister Frances shook her head without looking at Megan and readjusted the icepack on Callie’s ankle.

I added, “And this is the only television?”

The nun nodded.

Megan flipped through the few remaining channels. With the exception of one channel playing reruns of a ’90s sitcom and a weather channel displaying the current radar the rest were either blank or displayed some sign of technical difficulties. It was blatantly obvious the local television stations had been left to their own devices. I expected to see channel after channel filled with the bloated head of the President spouting off his contempt and brainwashing message live or on a loop and that very well may have been the case on nationwide news channels on cable.

Sister Frances removed the icepack from Callie’s ankle and wrapped it with the elastic bandage before retrieving the items she arrived with and leaving the room. When she exited I couldn’t help but watch her move and try to envision what she looked like under the habit.

Callie broke me from my daydream when she said, “What’s that thing?” She pointed to a large wooden item that almost blended into the wood paneling.

“Oh, wow,” Megan said.

She crossed the room toward it and I followed her. She ran her hand across the polished wood.

Megan said, “I haven’t seen one of these since my great grandparents were alive.”

“Is that a radio?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

She turned the power knob and the speakers hummed before emanating the President’s maddening speech. All three of us groaned simultaneously.

“Of course,” Callie said.

Megan began to fiddle with the knobs and changed to another channel. And like the day before, each channel broadcasted the speech. Callie sighed and I retreated to a seat beside her.

“How’s the ankle?” I asked.

“It doesn’t hurt as much. I’m afraid to move it though to see if it’s better.”

Flipping through the channels and without turning to us, Megan said, “You should keep it elevated, stable, and ice it every three hours.”

The static and squawk of the radio was replaced and a clear female voice with an Irish accent emanated from the radio’s speakers.

“—at one one seven five South Metro Lane. It’s the last building on the right on a dead end road. I plan to play this message on a loop as long as I can. I have some provisions in the studio to last for a few days but after that…” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do. You can stop them by kicking them in the balls. If you can hear this message please let other women know. If you know how and have access to another radio station please jam the frequencies. I think if you stop the transmission we can stop them.” There was a brief silence. “Hello. My name is Melissa Hayward. I’m the chief engineer at the radio station WZUL. I’ve managed to reverse hijack the broadcast signal intrusion to put out this message. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to maintain the hijack. It appears the government has overridden all radio frequencies to broadcast the President’s speech on a loop. I don’t have very much information I can provide other than I know you can take the men down by kicking them in the balls. None of the phones are working and the internet is down. WZUL is located at one one seven five South Metro Lane. It’s the last building on the right on a dead end road. I plan to play this message on a loop as long as I can. I have some provisions in the studio to last for a few days but after that…” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do. You can stop them by kicking them in the balls. If you can hear this message please let other women know. If you know how and have access to another radio station please jam the frequencies. I think if you stop the transmission we can stop them.”

There was another brief silence before the message began again. Megan turned the volume down but let the message play on. The three of us looked at one another.

Megan said, “The radio station is halfway between here and the base.”

“You’ve seen it?” I asked.

“No. I know the area well. I cross over South Metro Lane between my apartment and the base. My best guess would be if you took the road east you’d find it.”

“Why east?”

“I’m assuming it would dead end in the direction toward the edge of city. It’s on the city outskirts if my memory serves me correctly.”

Callie said, “I’d never find my way to the grocery store if it weren’t for GPS.”

Megan began to pace. She furrowed her brow at the floor when she spoke. “My best guess is a radio station would scout a location with the least amount of noise interference. So it would have to be to the east.”

Callie sat up straighter and asked excitedly, “Are you planning on going there?”

Megan stopped pacing and looked at her. “In the event of an emergency with circumstances such as these the protocol is for me to return to the base and secure any civilians in the process.”

“But…” I hesitated. “Wouldn’t… it be overrun with men?”

“Women comprise fourteen percent of the base’s population.” She appeared to be running the numbers in her head. “It’s a possibility. But since there’s no line of communication I can’t be sure. It’s also a possibility the female population has secured the area. They have every tool they’d need to do so readily available to them. We need a vehicle.”

“The roads will be crazy,” Callie said.

“We didn’t see any cars though,” I said to her.

Megan added, “They can’t drive. I made it on the shoulder pretty far but had to abandon my vehicle on the highway. There were so many accidents and the men were roaming around on foot in a daze. I was lucky enough to make to the exit into downtown before I set out on foot. The gridlock appeared to have happened only on the highway. The city streets were deserted except for the packs of men.”

Sister Catherine appeared in the doorway as the woman on the radio was informing us to hit the men in the balls. Her face reddened with anger and she closed the space between her and the radio to shut it off.

Megan said, “How many civilians are here? Do you have any vehicles?”

Catherine spun toward us. She ignored Megan’s questions and focused on the radio’s transmission. “Filth! Such vile filth within the house of the Lord! You will not listen to such things here.”

“That was a distress call,” Callie said.

I said, “She managed to break through the President’s speech.”

Callie added, “She needs our help.”

The Sister waved her hand dismissively. “It is only the nonbelievers who will call out in distress. It is His will to repopulate the earth and we as women should be thankful He has chosen us to fulfill his plan. I will only answer to his call.”

“Well,” Megan said. “I answer to the United States government. And since you don’t seem to be in any hurry to go anywhere, do you have any vehicles at your disposal I can commandeer?”

Catherine clenched her jaw and stared daggers at Megan. Megan looked to her with determination and expectation of an answer.

Catherine lifted an eyebrow and her chin and said, “We have a bus we only use for the Lord’s work behind the monastery.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Megan said.

“You’ll have to speak with the Mother Superior to get permission.”

Megan opened her mouth to say something but at that moment Sister Frances appeared in the doorway with her head lowered. Sister Catherine acknowledged Frances before turning to us.

“A meal has been prepared for you,” Sister Catherine said. “If you’d follow me.”

She turned and the two nuns stepped out into the hallway. I collected our handles and helped Callie to her feet as the others patiently waited on us. Callie refused Megan’s offer of help and used both handles in a skier’s pole fashion as crutches to hop along.

Once in the hallway the two nuns rounded the corner and Callie and I followed. But Megan held a finger to her lips and darted into the Mother Superior’s office nearly soundlessly. She rejoined us shortly after we’d rounded the corner ourselves, shoving a hand in her pocket as she did so. I gave her a questioning glance. She pulled her hand from her pocket carefully to show me a keychain containing a number of keys and a few random tags and trinkets before clenching them to keep them silent and sliding them back into her pocket.

Chapter 8

In the dining hall we found three place settings. Megan tried to ask Sister Catherine once again where the rest of the people were and she avoided the question with the flippant response of ‘they were around’ before excusing herself. She left us with Sister Frances who hovered by the door but remained silent when we tried to get any answers from her. Our assessment was she’d taken a vow of silence and the three of us gave each other uneasy and questioning glances as we ate our bland meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The other two appeared as disturbed and apprehensive about the nuns as I was.

Once we were finished eating Sister Frances took us to a large locker room with a communal shower. The nun retrieved three terrycloth white robes and towels and provided us with soap, shampoo, and razors. She stood by awkwardly in the locker room and stared at us.

Callie asked, “Are you going to watch us?”

Sister Frances pantomimed washing our clothes.

“Oh,” I said. Queasiness filled my gut as the déjà vu of teenage awkwardness and the struggle of sexual discovery from my own high school locker room came raging to the forefront of my mind.

I looked to Megan and a flicker of fear washed over her face. My defensive nature was on full alert. She had to know Callie and I were a couple and just because we were gay didn’t mean we were fucking animals. I was about to say something derisive but caught myself when she touched the pocket where she’d stowed the keys. She was worried about being caught with them.

I took Callie’s purse off her shoulder and she made a small disgruntled sound as if to ask me what the hell I was doing.

“We can put our things in Callie’s purse,” I said.

I made a show of dropping my cell, wallet, and knife in the purse before using my body to hide Megan from Sister Frances.

“Oh, thanks,” Megan said. She covertly added the keys before retrieving her cell, ID card, and a few other small items she had in her pockets.

I placed the purse on one of the benches and Callie took a seat beside it.

We avoided looking at one another as we disrobed. Megan appeared as uncomfortable as me with the communal shower, which struck me as odd, as I thought the situation was one someone in the military must’ve dealt with quite a bit. Callie never had shame when it came to getting naked regardless of whoever was around. When we first started dating she’d reluctantly told me about her brief stint as a topless dancer at a gentleman’s club on the weekends. About how she hated it but it helped pay the bills and it was something with flexible hours she could do while she went to school for hair. The job also helped her get over any insecurity she had with being nude, not that she had much to be insecure about.

While Callie was seated I helped to remove her bandage. A lot of the swelling had subsided. Sister Frances collected our clothing once we were done. I entered the shower first, helping Callie as she tentatively walked on her unbandaged foot. Megan lingered in the entry until Sister Frances left with our clothes.

Megan avoided looking at us as she approached a shower head opposite of us and said, “I wanted to keep an eye on the purse.”

“Why?” Callie said.

I said, “I’ll tell you later.”

I showered in a hurry and didn’t bother with shaving. I didn’t see the point in our current situation but I’d at least take advantage of the monastery’s generosity and take the razor with me. Callie took her time and even shaved her pussy which made Megan extremely uncomfortable since it appeared she was keen on the all-natural look. It made me uneasy to watch Callie pull unsteady acrobatic poses as she shaved. I was afraid she was going to reinjure her lame ankle or shave her labia off.

I exited the shower after Callie assured me she could walk on her own and was in the middle of drying off when Sister Frances returned with three new toothbrushes and a fresh round of ice for Callie’s ankle. I pulled on the robe even though I wasn’t dry and wrapped my hair in the towel and could feel my skin flush as Sister Frances seemed to be appraising me. I could’ve fucking swore she gave me bedroom eyes when she handed me a toothbrush and pointed at a tube of toothpaste on a shelf above one of the sinks. I was brushing my teeth when Megan exited the shower. She took a seat on the bench by Callie’s purse and waited to brush her teeth until after I was finished.

I fished a brush out of Callie’s bag, used it, and handed it off to Megan once she joined me on the bench. Megan and I sat awkwardly in silence as Sister Frances observed us and we waited on Callie. Callie finally exited the shower, pink from the hot water, and Sister Frances had her sit in a towel as she iced her ankle again before rewrapping it. Callie brushed her hair and the nun dropped our towels in a laundry bin by the shower entrance.

After Callie was done brushing her teeth I gathered our shoes and her purse and she used both handles gripped together like a staff as Sister Frances led us to a Spartan room with four cots. Callie took the cot closest to the door. Sister Frances lowered her head in an excusatory fashion before exiting the room and leaving the door open.

Megan carefully glimpsed out into the hallway before shutting the door as quietly as possible. She pushed on the knob as if she were checking to see if there was a locking mechanism before placing her foot in front of the door and bracing against someone opening it.

“When do we leave?” I whispered. I sat our shoes on the floor and removed Callie’s purse from my shoulder.

“Leave?” Callie said, a tad too loud.

I laid my forefinger to my lips as a sign for her to keep her voice low.

Megan spoke to Callie, “Something isn’t right. They keep saying there are other people here but we haven’t seen or heard anyone other than the two Sisters.” She turned to me. “I think our best bet is the base but we need our clothes before we can do anything. There will be provisions there and it’s protocol to set up a line of defense and protection in emergency situations like this.”

“But we have food and a place to stay here,” Callie said. “And I’m scared to go back out there. You said yourself the ratio of men to women is high on the base and it’s possible it has been overrun.”

“I can’t make any guarantees,” Megan said. “That’s true. But I’m putting faith in our country’s emergency response training. Because there’s one thing certain… if the base has been overthrown then the probability the rest of the emergency response system has been destroyed is high. And if that’s the case then we are all royally fucked unless we band together and fight back or find a cure or answer or anything that’ll put a stop to what is happening.” She waited a beat to let what she said sink in. “Now, it’s my duty to protect and to serve and I’ll do everything in my power to do so but I can’t help anyone without more information or recruiting more emergency responders. The two of you are welcome to stay here if you want but I’m leaving regardless. I can send troops to clear this area once a plan is established and we resolve this thing.”

“Kitty Cat,” I said to Callie. I sat on the cot beside her. “These people are creepy. I think we’d be better if we went with Megan.”

She made a hesitant but agreeable noise.

I set her purse in my lap. “Megan got the keys for the bus.” I began rooting around in her bag until I found the keychain. None of the keys looked like a car key. “Which one do you think it is?”

“The one with the Blue Bird tag,” Megan said.

I fished out the small silver key. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Do you know how to drive a bus?”

“I’ve driven a deuce and a half. I think I can figure out a bus.”

Callie and I stared at her as if she’d spoken a second language.

Megan added, “A troop hauler. It’s similar to a bus.”

“Wait,” Callie said. “You’re stealing the bus? Why don’t you ask if you can borrow it? Then you can see if there’s anyone else who wants to leave with you. Maybe the Sisters would want to go too.”

“First, in my experience,” Megan said, “religious figureheads aren’t keen on cooperating with the government if they think their beliefs or power are being dismissed or attacked.” She shrugged. “Separation of church and state. Second… I don’t think anyone else is here.”

“What are you thinking?” I said.

Megan’s face flashed with concern and she put her ear to the door. We all waited a beat and a faint sound came from far away. It sounded rhythmic and was accompanied by a high screech. Something similar to a door slamming shut in the distance brought the sound to a halt.

We eyed each other in silence.

Megan whispered, “Old pipes?”

“I hope,” Callie responded.

Megan didn’t miss a beat. “I have some juice on my phone. I’m a light sleeper. We set an alarm for oh two hundred hours and take the bus. We’ll be up and out before they’re awake for mass or prayers or whatnot.”

“We can’t leave people behind,” Callie said. “And what about the girl at the radio station? We can’t leave her there by herself either.”

Compassion and empathy were two things I loved about Callie. But in this situation it was really hard for me not to grab her by the shoulders, look into her eyes, and tell her ‘Fuck those people. We need to save ourselves.’ Callie and Megan were each right though. We had to get out of here but we couldn’t do it at the expense of other people. There was something extremely off about this place and the nuns. I could chalk up my leeriness to my previous interactions with religious fanatics and their fervent disdain of me and my homosexuality but there was something more here and I couldn’t put my finger on it. If there were other people here we needed to do everything in our power to evacuate them, even if we weren’t sure there was a place to evacuate to. I trusted in Megan and her knowledge to deal with emergency situations though. I couldn’t let myself fall down the rabbit hole of worry and the belief we might be leaving a safe place and heading out on a suicide mission. Megan was a trained officer whereas the nuns were brainwashed into falling to their knees and wishing on a falling star or begging a mythical character to rescue them or give them guidance.

“We won’t leave anyone behind,” Megan said. “If we see anyone before we leave we’ll take them with us if they’ll come. I promise we won’t leave the girl at the radio station. And we’ll pick up anyone we see on the way.”

Callie nodded and I noticed her shoulders relax some.

A light knock at the door startled all of us and Megan threw open the door. Sister Frances entered with a stack of white material that looked like sheets. She set the stack on one of the empty cots and unfolded one of the items to show us a shapeless, long shirt resembling an old prairie nightgown. Frances affirmed the garment’s purpose by placing her hands together, closing her eyes, and laying her head on her hands in a sleeping gesture.

“When will our clothes be done?” Callie asked.

The Sister looked at a thin gold wristwatch and held up one finger. I wasn’t sure if she was telling us to hold on or if the laundry would be done in an hour. She didn’t feel the need to pantomime anymore and none of us wanted to prolong her stay by asking more questions. We thanked her and proceeded to don our new apparel.

Chapter 9

Sister Frances never returned with our clothes and we agreed to try and get as much sleep as we could once the sun set. Callie took the cot closest to the door and I wanted to sleep beside her for a semblance of normality. Against my better judgment I ended up pushing another cot up beside hers. Megan was the one who voiced some concern about the sleeping arrangements. Not because she had a problem with Callie and me but out of concern if the Sisters saw the sleeping situation and put two and two together there may be a problem. I reassured her we would be gone before anyone would know and it wasn’t like we were having sex, only comforting each other, as far as they were concerned. We could be friends or relatives for all they knew since no one was concerned with learning much about any of us.

Megan set her alarm and placed her phone and the keys under her pillow. She placed her boots at the end of her bed before lying on her cot. Callie and I slept on our makeshift double bed and held hands for a little while. The odd sounds we’d heard earlier came and went as we lay in our beds silently and willed ourselves to sleep.

Eventually the deep and rhythmic breathing of the other two comforted me enough to lull me into a fitful sleep. I dreamed of the distant sounds calling to me and being awoken by the pale and perfect face of Sister Frances hovering over my bed. Her lips were painted crimson and her eyes were done in smoky black. She held her forefinger to her lips to hush me and keep me from waking the others and began to slowly remove her habit. She exposed her large pale breasts and the only thing she wore underneath was a black garter and stockings. Her cunt was shaved. She climbed onto my cot, still wearing her coif, and straddled me. She began to kiss me and tasted like soda as she groped me through my sleeping garment. I squeezed her large firm breasts as I kissed her and tried to ride her hand rubbing my cunt. As with all dream logic I was either unaware of Callie sleeping beside me or didn’t care as my pussy throbbed for an orgasm. It was all I could think about as I began to suckle Sister Frances’s breasts and she pulled up my nightgown. We both finger fucked each other’s wet cunts and I tried desperately to urge the nun to rub my clit. I wanted the orgasm more than anything and pushed her shoulders down to make her eat me. She agreed but either had never eaten pussy before or was clueless as she only kept slipping her tongue in and out of my vagina, fucking it with her tongue, instead of lapping or sucking or doing anything with my clit. Frustrated, I began to rub my clit while she fucked me with her tongue.

A noise startled me awake. I was sweaty and my heart was racing. I was on my back and the room was silent. I lay perfectly motionless and listened for what had awakened me but didn’t hear anything. Under the blanket I’d hiked my nightgown up to my hips and my fingers were on my wet pussy. The pull to orgasm was there and I was so close. My mouth was extremely dry and I was dizzy and nauseated. I wondered if my nerves were getting the best of me or if I was coming down with something. Trying not to make any noise, I closed my eyes and envisioned Sister Frances sitting on my face. In the fantasy I ate her shaved pussy and it tasted like raspberries. I touched my wanting clit and it pulsed with the desire to orgasm. I remembered the black stockings and garter belt from my dream and added the image of Callie nestled between my legs, sucking on my clit and flicking it with the tip of her tongue the way she always did. The image of the three of us fucking sent me over as I rubbed my clit. I tensed to keep my breath from shuddering audibly or physically jerking from the intense orgasm as it pulsed from my groin and into my stomach. I refrained from teasing my clit further and prolonging the orgasm or inducing a second one.

Once the orgasm subsided I had to struggle to keep from falling back asleep. I wiped my hand on the sheet and rolled toward Callie. My euphoria was replaced with panic as I realized from the scant light coming from the hallway she wasn’t in her bed. I sat up and turned toward Megan’s cot just as the faint buzz of her phone’s alarm sounded from beneath the pillow of her empty cot.

I bounded out of bed and snatched the phone from under the pillow and fumbled with it until it stopped. I was unsteady on my feet and queasy. My heart was racing when I dropped the cell on the bed. A million thoughts raced through my brain and the first one was that Callie and Megan had left me. I scrambled under the pillow again until my hand hit the keys. I snatched them from under the pillow and clutched them as if they were the only thing keeping me alive at the moment.

They couldn’t have left without the keys. I rubbed my eyes and wondered briefly if I was having some sort of vivid nightmare but knew I was wide awake and there had to be a simple explanation for Megan and Callie to be gone. Callie must’ve woken in the middle of the night and had to pee. Megan probably did too. The two of them must’ve gone to the restroom. My own bladder protested and told me it was a likely situation since I myself had to urinate badly.

A long low noise came from far off and my gut told me there was something very wrong going on. I turned toward the open door and stared at it. The girls wouldn’t have left it open if they’d gone to the restroom. Callie and I had pushed our beds together and she would’ve closed the door so no one could pass by and spy on our sleeping arrangements.

I pulled on my shoes and struggled to keep from falling over. For some reason I had the sensation I’d been drinking or maybe I was sick. I noticed Callie’s shoes at the foot of her bed and checked to find Megan’s also had been abandoned. Why wouldn’t they have put on their shoes? Why wouldn’t Megan have taken her phone? She surely would’ve checked the time and knew it was close to the time for us to leave and would’ve at least shut her alarm off. And Callie’s purse was here so they both had to be in the building.

I gathered the others’ shoes, retrieved my knife from Callie’s purse, and crammed Callie’s shoes, the keys, and Megan’s cell in the bag. Megan’s boots were too big to fit in the purse so I loosely knotted the laces and rested them over my shoulder with the purse. Knife in hand, I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. My head spun and I grappled to focus as I gripped the wall to regain my balance.

I lifted the hem of my nightgown and tiptoed to the restroom closer to the end of the hallway. The door to the single toilet was cracked. Afraid to make any noise I pushed the door open slowly. The room was dark. I stepped inside and found it empty.

A resounding thud came from the far end of the hallway. I carefully checked around the corner of the doorframe, hoping I wouldn’t be spotted or I would see Megan or Callie. Instead I caught a brief glimpse of Sister Frances pulling a door shut at the end of the hallway. She was facing the door and I slipped back into the darkness of the restroom. My heart raced and my bladder felt like bursting. Under normal circumstances I would have relieved myself in the toilet. The jolt of terror cleared the fogginess from my brain. But the fear of the unknown, and the terror of not knowing if Sister Frances had seen me, kept me rooted and frozen.

I held my knife at the ready, constricted a Kegel muscle as if my life depended on it, and covered my mouth. I listened intently to the nun’s footfalls as she approached and covered my mouth as she passed the restroom, unaware I was standing in the darkness. After she was out of eyesight I pressed myself against the far wall and listened.

About ten seconds passed. Ten seconds that felt like an eternity. And then hurried footsteps and Sister Frances bolted past the restroom door, heading back in the direction she’d come from.

My mind raced and in a split second I knew the girls were wherever she was running toward like a bat out of hell. I didn’t have time to think or question myself. I couldn’t let the rules of a normal world, a world that no longer existed, stop me from doing whatever it was that needed done to get me and Callie to safety. And surely there was no safety here.

I grabbed the hem of my nightgown again to keep from tripping and bolted after her. I met up with her as she opened the door and took a couple steps down. She spun in a flurry of robes and was about to shut the door but I put my hand out to catch it and raised my knife with a trembling hand. I pointed the blade directly at her face as a muffled scream came up from the bowels of whatever was at the end of the spiral, stone stairwell below.

Sister Frances stared at me in terror and I noticed an amber glass bottle in her hand along with a rag. She tried to shut the door and I pushed back with all my weight and advanced down the first step. The knife came dangerously close to her face and she pressed her back against the stone wall of the stairwell and descended a step to get away from me.

In a low growl between clenched teeth I said, “Don’t even fucking think about it or I’ll stab your fucking eyes out. Where’s Callie?”

Her flawless face contorted into a mask of rage. A man’s ecstatic voice echoed off the stone walls of the stairs and the nun nodded in the direction of the noise.

I snatched the bottle and rag from her hands and said, “Give me those,” before depositing them in the purse. I flicked the blade in front of her face, motioning down the stairs. “Move your fucking ass, you fucking cunt.”

My body was vibrating with fear and rage and I knew something very sick was happening down the stairs and I didn’t want to see it or know but I had to get Callie and we had to get out of here. It took all my willpower not to shove the Sister down the stairs and hope the fall broke her fucking neck when she began to descend the stairs. She was complicit in this. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what was in the glass bottle I’d confiscated from her and why I’d felt so sick and dizzy when I woke up.

The only light in the stairwell was the light emanating from the area below. A high-powered stench of vagina and feces and unwashed bodies wafted up to assault my sense of smell as we stepped into the room. It was also at that moment the scene of what we’d stepped into set in. I grabbed Sister Frances and held the knife to her throat before anyone noticed we’d arrived.

There were four naked women bound with rope and gagged in all sorts of compromising positions, posed for easy sexual access. Three women were bound to cots. One woman was bent over a heavy wooden table, unmoving, with a pillowcase over her head. The woman on the table had blood and feces smeared around her anus and down her thighs. A couple of the women cried softly against their gags. The others seemed to either be silenced by shock or resignation. Two women were hogtied with their heads covered, lying by the far wall where Sister Catherine watched the proceedings.

A naked man covered in sweat wore a chain with a padlock around his neck. The chain ran to a rafter in the ceiling and he was fucking a brunette woman who’d been tied face down on a cot. The woman tried to twist and turn away from him as much as her restraints would allow. She screamed and cried against her gag and it took only an instant for me to recognize it was Callie.

A fury so powerful flooded through me in that moment of recognition and I was hit with a sensation I could only recount later as something akin to clairvoyance. I became calm and my hands steadied and it all happened in a slow and deliberate way without hesitation as if I were on autopilot. Essentially, I gave myself over to something larger than my puny human brain could understand. Something animalistic and instinctive. Something survivalist. Everything happened so fast that I let my body do what it knew to do without any thought and I saw it all so clearly, almost like I was a spectator.

I reached forward and grabbed Sister Frances’ forehead and pulled her head back against my shoulder and slit her throat. A hot spray of her blood shot forward and soaked my arm as she let out a wet and garbled sound. I shoved her away from me and she hit the floor with a wet smack before heaving and clutching at her throat.

Megan’s head snapped toward me. She lay face up on the cot next to Callie and was tied spread eagle. The man either was not aware or didn’t care about what happened and continued to rape Callie.

Sister Catherine let out a scream of protest I couldn’t decipher. I bolted toward the man and the nun lunged toward me, screaming. I made it to the man first and drove the knife into his back, below his shoulder blade. The blade twisted in my hand as it bounced of his ribs and slid in between them. The knife slid in all the way to the handle.

The man yelped and pulled out of Callie. He continued to fuck the air but held onto Callie’s hips. He made a wet gasp and a trickle of blood fell from his lips. He gasped again and spoke to no one in particular. “Nice ankles, but I’d like them better if they were on my shoulders.” He began to hump Callie’s ass crack, trying to regain some entry back inside her.

Callie squealed and bucked against her restraints as Sister Catherine threw herself on top of all three of us. I fell on the man and he collapsed on top of Callie, still desperately trying to fuck her. The handle of the knife slammed into my right shoulder and an electric shock of tingling pain shot down my arm. My arm vibrated and was nearly numb and made it nearly useless as I grappled with Sister Catherine. The nun tried to claw at my face.

“Sinner! Murderer!” the nun bellowed. “Homosexual!” She grabbed my hair and began rocking my head back and forth violently, tearing out strands as she did so.

The metal of the cot protested against the massive weight of four occupants and the legs bent, spilling Sister Catherine, me, and the man onto the floor. The Sister lost her hold on my hair. I landed on Callie’s purse. One of Megan’s boots I’d draped over my shoulder flipped in front of my face and caught my nose and caused my eyes to water. The laces of the boots were wrapped around my throat and the nun took the opportunity to use them as a weapon and strangle me. She couldn’t get good leverage and the knot I’d put in the laces slipped. My right arm tingled from the blow of the knife handle but I was regaining feeling and reached behind me. I dug desperately in the bag for anything to use as a weapon.

I grasped one of Callie’s shoes and bashed Sister Catherine in the nose as hard as I could. Hot blood shot from her bent and destroyed nose and rained down on me. She screamed and let go of the boot laces to hold her gushing nose. I shoved her off me and she fell backward, striking the back of her head on the metal frame of the cot. Her arms dropped from her face and she weakly struggled to sit up.

I calmly sprang to my feet and realized the man was lying on the floor beside me. He was on his side, facing me, thrusting his hips in my direction with an erect penis. His mouth opened and closed as if he were trying to speak but the only sound was a light gurgling as blood seeped from his mouth. He reminded me of a flopping fish out of water. I rounded him and pulled the knife from his back. The wound made a sucking sound as the knife slid free, blood bubbling and spilling from the cut.

Immediately, I turned my attention to Callie. She breathed in short hitches of exhausted sobs. I cut her gag first, careful not to hurt her or slice her hair. She wailed my name like a wounded animal once the gag was gone and a torrent of tears spilled from her eyes.

“I know, Kitty Cat,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m hurrying.”

I made quick work of cutting the ropes holding her hands and another wave of rage filled me when I detected the raw skin of her wrists once they were free. She rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around me so tightly I could barely breathe. I didn’t want to push her away but I needed to get her feet free. I petted her head and calmly shushed her like a child. The sound of her pain cut through the numbness of my anger and I began to sense the anguish I knew would fully manifest once when we were out of this place. The guilt I would feel for not being there to protect her. The guilt of not having experienced the defilement she had. The pain of seeing someone you love suffer and not being able to absorb the anguish for them.

“Your feet,” I managed to say.

She let go.

I began to cut the ropes. They were so tight her feet were a pale shade of purple. I carefully cut downward as I couldn’t find a place to slip the knife in and slice away from her. I said, “Grab the other knife from your bag.”

She did as I said and held the knife with a shaky and reddened hand. She pointed the blade at Sister Catherine and screamed, “Sonya!”

In my periphery I noticed the Sister managed to sit forward. I hurried to finish the last bit of rope on Callie’s feet and nicked her ankle. She either didn’t feel it or was too terrified of the nun to be bothered by it.

Sister Catherine wailed as she took in the state of the dying man. He was on his side and humping the air but his eyes focused on nothing as a pool of blood from his mouth gathered on the floor.

The nun crawled toward the man and began to ramble in a nasally tone as blood dripped from her chin. “Oh, Father Thomas! What have the sinners done to you?!”

She grabbed his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Father Thomas weakly lifted his hips to thrust his erect penis in the air.

The Sister lifted her arms toward the ceiling. “Dear Lord! Your trials and tribulations will only make us stronger! We shall repopulate the earth with your followers!” She moved the chain from the man’s neck out of the way and lifted the hem of her habit. She crawled over the priest and straddled him. She began to fuck him. “Your seed will not die with me! I will bear your fruit and God will rejoice!”

Without looking at Callie I told her, “Cut the others loose.”

Callie slipped from the bed, holding her knife in the direction of the nun who was oblivious to our presence. I held my blade at the ready as Callie cut Megan free. Megan attended to the woman bent over the table first and quietly informed us she was dead, most likely from shock, before helping an older blond woman on the third cot. Callie cut the two hogtied women and I held vigilance over Sister Catherine as she literally fucked the Father to death and continued fruitlessly to produce an orgasm from the corpse while spouting pompous religious oratory.

Once all the women were free they progressed from shyly covering their nudity with their hands into a militant phalanx closing in on Sister Catherine with furious faces and clenched fists. I knew what was going to happen next and I wasn’t going to stop it. I took a few steps back to allow the women to surround Sister Catherine.

The older blond woman who was tied to the cot beside Megan struck first. She punched Sister Catherine in her already destroyed nose. The nun’s hands flew up reflexively and she wailed. Megan took the opportunity to strike her in the side of the head and Catherine crumpled to the ground.

The two women who’d been hogtied could’ve been twins if they were clothed as they both had long tawny hair but their nakedness revealed two different body types. The heavier set one with large breasts pounced on Sister Catherine. She grabbed the nun’s coif and ripped it off her head to expose shoulder-length gray hair. The other woman who’d lain on the floor with her snatched a handful of Catherine’s hair and began pulling her toward the cot Megan had been on. The other women swarmed the nun and ripped her habit to shreds as she wailed. Megan gathered pieces of cut and fallen rope and they proceeded to tie Catherine to the bed in a spread eagle posture. The women whooped in animal cries as Callie climbed on top of the woman, still holding the knife.

I collapsed on the broken cot Callie was on and slid to the floor. I was rooted to the spot Callie had been defiled on. I wanted to stop them. I didn’t want to see or know what was going to happen. I didn’t want Callie to do whatever it was she was going to do. I didn’t want her to have this experience in her head but I knew she deserved vengeance and I wouldn’t deny her it. I wanted to look away but there was something inside of me that knew I had to see the last bit of civilization cast into the void.

“You like this?!” Callie screamed in her face.

Sister Catherine cried, “No! No! No! Sinners! God will punish thee!” She turned to the other women for sympathy. “We must repopulate the earth with his followers, Sisters! Don’t let these women of Sodom and Gomorrah fill your heads with their evil intentions! Where are the men which came in to thee this night?! Bring them out unto us, that we may know them!” She turned her attention to Callie. “You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female! It is an abomination!”

The older blond woman said coolly, “And Lot offered the mob his daughters to rape instead and eventually two of them ended up raping him.”

“Like this?” Callie said. And before anyone could process what she was doing she positioned the knife in front of her pubis mons, as if the knife were her own grotesque penis, and began to thrust it repeatedly inside Catherine’s cunt.

Catherine’s screams became something I’d never heard before and never wanted to hear again. The other women grew eerily silent. I dropped my knife and covered my ears. I turned my face from the scene and found myself staring at Megan who stared back at me with a haunted expression. No one stopped or encouraged Callie and you could feel the sanity in all of us break in that very moment.

Sister Catherine grew quiet after what felt like an eternity and Callie sat back on her haunches between the nun’s legs. Callie’s arm and crotch were covered in the nun’s blood and she began to clean herself with the ripped habit. Her hands were trembling furiously.

The other women made mention of not leaving the dead woman who’d died with a pillow case over her head in such a disgraceful state and they moved their attention to untying her.

I stood on numb legs and approached Callie cautiously as if she may turn her anger and hatred on me. She was focused on cleaning the blood off herself and I noticed Megan was standing beside me as I touched Callie’s shoulder. Callie’s head snapped in my direction and my heart broke.

The Callie I’d fallen in love with, the compassionate girl, the fun-loving and care-free girl who loved to try new things and watch terrible rom-coms and take too long getting ready to even run to the grocery store and loved to snuggle on the sofa and read true crime books… was gone. Her eyes were wide and glassy and filled with fear and anger and nervousness and something that said she wasn’t going to take any more shit from anyone, ever. She’d been replaced with something wild. She’d experienced something so horrendous, had something so horrendous done to her, it had not only broken the spirit deep within her but severed the bond between us in a way that was never going to be fixed if we lived a hundred lifetimes. We’d both taken another person’s life and that indoctrinated the both of us into an elite club neither of us wanted to be a part of but it was nothing in comparison to what Father Thomas had done to her and I’d never be able to wrap my head around what she was feeling.

We clung to one another wordlessly. I stroked her hair as if she was a pet and I knew we both were absorbing our new reality. I was only vaguely aware the three women had freed the dead woman and laid her on an empty cot before covering her with a discarded habit.

After a long stretch of time Megan spoke up. “Come on. Let’s get everyone cleaned up.”

Chapter 10

The low hum of the radio was the only other sound in the gathering room aside from the looped message from Melissa Hayward, which hadn’t changed. The six of us sat in silence and in different states of internal turmoil, staring off into space or at one another.

After we’d left what I could only internally refer to as the ‘dungeon’ the three nuns searched the rest of the monastery for the other convent members but found no trace of anyone else. Their assessment was that the others must’ve gotten away before they were drugged and taken to the dungeon by Sister Catherine and Sister Frances to be a part of their depraved and misguided mission.

Inevitable showers ensued. I helped Callie from the shower floor after she’d collapsed into a ball of racking sobs and encouraged her to take her time and finish. The thinner of the brown-haired nuns, who informed us her name was Sister Mary, appeared with a box of douche and demurely offered it to Callie as she clung to me in the shower. Callie got a hold of herself and calmed after accepting it but her hands shook so violently I was forced to open the box and assemble it for her. It must have been the only one as Mary didn’t offer one to Megan, the other brown-haired nun, Doris, or the older blond nun, Eunice. And none of the other women appeared to be bothered by the exclusionary gift. I wasn’t sure if the others had been violated like Callie because they didn’t speak about it and I hadn’t witnessed it but their demeanor made it apparent they had and they knew Callie needed the symbolic cleansing more than they did.

When the showers were finished Sister Eunice found our clothes. They hadn’t been washed—a sign of Sister Catherine’s and Sister Frances’s true intentions—and she proceeded to do the laundry for us. Mary and Doris dressed in their habits but Eunice refused to don herself in the religious attire, mumbling under her breath her belief in a higher being may have been broken. Her statement had drawn shocked expressions from the other two nuns but neither of them protested when she resorted to wearing a night dress much like the ones we were given to sleep in. Megan, Callie, and I continued to wear our after shower robes as our clothes ran through the dryer and the six of us found ourselves gathered in the communal room listening to the radio, hoping for any new information from the outside world as our phones and the internet continued to be nonfunctioning.

Callie lay on a sofa with her head in my lap and I fingered her damp hair as she stared wide-eyed at nothing in particular.

Megan spoke and her voice broke everyone’s traumatizing reverie like a gun blast even though it was barely more than a whisper. “I think we should try for the base.”

Callie flinched at the sound of Megan’s voice but continued to stare off into space. Mary and Doris looked to Megan with worried expressions but Eunice’s face was hardened and determined and she appeared to be up for whatever Megan had planned.

I told the nuns, “We’d planned to leave before anyone woke up. We were going to take your bus.”

“To transport as many people as we could to the air force base,” Megan added.

Callie broke in with a monotone response, “And rescue Melissa from the radio station.”

Megan looked to Callie before continuing. “With the phones and internet down I can’t get any communications or know what’s going on but the military has emergency management plans for disasters such as this.”

“Like this?” Eunice scoffed. “Is there really a plan for when men decide to rape the world?”

“No.” Megan didn’t let Eunice’s pessimism bother her. “But the CDC does have a plan for pandemics which calls for the military to participate in heavily. I’m confident my fellow female officers have been able to establish order and provide a safe space for refugees.”

“Sex zombies,” Callie said nonchalantly.

“For lack of a better term,” Megan said.

Doris said, “But you can’t be certain.”

“Without a line of communication? No.”

“It sounds like a suicide mission,” Eunice said.

“I’m not forcing anyone to leave who doesn’t want to go,” Megan said with a strong air of authority. Her determination felt like anger but it wasn’t directed at any of us in particular. “I’m commandeering your bus and anyone who wants to go is welcome. It looks like you all could stay here relatively unharmed as long as supplies will last you. Once I’m there I would inform the base of your location and troops will be sent once order is established. Or once the issue is resolved a message would be broadcast with further instructions.” She pointed at the radio. “Now, day broke a half hour ago and once my uniform is laundered I will be leaving. It’s up to you whether you’re on the bus with me or not.”

Doris said, “I’d rather stay with the Lord. I, I, I have to repent for my sins against my fellow Sister. I trust my god has sent a test of my faith and he works in mysterious ways.”

Sister Mary nodded in agreement with her. I bit my tongue to keep from spewing hateful things about her Lord and how his plan made it apparent he didn’t give two fucks about fifty percent of ‘his children’, including her.

Eunice waited a beat before she said, “I’m in.”

The other two nuns looked at her. Doris’ expression exuded her disappointment in Eunice’s decision but she didn’t say anything. Mary bowed her head and clasped her hands in a sign of prayer.

I said to Megan, “You already know where we stand.”

She nodded her head.

Chapter 11

The problem with the monastery was there were very few windows overlooking where the bus was parked. It was located in a space designed for it in the alley behind the building which separated the monastery from the back of another brick building.

We’d consulted the windows facing the street and could see approximately thirty men lazily shuffling up and down the road, spouting their vulgar and brainwashed slogans. They didn’t appear to be aware of the state they were in or that there was a gaggle of women watching them from within the monastery. Some of the men were in different states of dress. A lot of them were naked. All of them were sporting erections.

Mary was deeply embarrassed by the men and left us with Doris and Eunice to explain the situation with the bus. Neither of them had driven the vehicle. Sister Catherine was the only one with the correct chauffeur’s license to operate it. Once they instructed Megan on how they’d seen Sister Catherine unlock the folding door of the bus—something I never considered would be different than unlocking a car door—we collected the few things and weapons we’d arrived with and made our way to the alley door.

Callie’s ankle had improved enough that she didn’t need to rely on the handle for support any more. She held it at the ready beside me.

Sister Eunice lifted the hem of her night dress and tied it together between her legs. “To keep from tripping on it,” she said. The bunched and pleated material near her groin made it look as though she were wearing a giant diaper onesie. She lifted a bat she’d laid against the wall as she worked, something she’d retrieved from a closet housing exercise and recreational equipment.

I held my handle and took deep breaths to calm my nerves. I fingered the knife blade I’d tucked back into the waitress apron and positioned on my right side. We had no idea what was on the other side of the door. There could be a hundred men. There could be none. I didn’t want to think about the worst thing that could happen.

Megan was only armed with the keys for the bus. Her knuckles were blanched by the tight grip she had on the separate key for the door lock.

We crowded the door, Megan in front, me and Callie side by side behind her, and Eunice behind us, as Sister Doris held the handle to the door, preparing to close and lock it behind us.

Megan told Doris, “No matter what you see or hear… lock the door after we’re out.”

Sister Doris nodded gravely.

My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my pants and retightened my grip on the handle. I glanced over at Callie as she stared hatefully at the door. The muscles of her jaw clenched and unclenched. Her eyes were huge and wild, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I could tell she was running on pure adrenaline.

“I love you,” I whispered to her.

Callie’s head snapped to me. Her expression didn’t change and her tone was emotionless when she replied, “Love you too,” before she redirected her attention to the door.

I opened my mouth to say something further but I was cut short.

Megan said, “Is everyone ready?”

We all replied with a yes. Megan took a deep breath. Doris unlocked the door. Megan shoved open the door and wasted no time running outside.

I barreled out the door behind her, trusting she knew what she was doing. Megan was almost immediately confronted with a man. She planted a boot in his crotch and he dropped to the ground. I wasn’t expecting her to come to a stop and almost ran into her. I veered around her and the man before colliding with either of them and found myself running away from the bus and toward a scattered group of men. The men were momentarily startled by my presence before they resorted to their idiotic catcalls and began advancing toward us. I stopped short and spun back toward the bus.

Callie let out a battle cry and ran directly at a naked long-haired man lumbering along the side of the bus toward its boarding door. A group of men at the other end of the alley was already heading toward us.

The man beside the bus opened his arms, smiled, and called, “Hey, baby! I hope you have pet insurance because I’m about to destroy that pussy!”

Callie slammed her handle into his balls, which were clearly visible and quite saggy beneath his erect cock. He wore the stupid grin he’d given her as he fell to the ground. She proceeded to bash him in the face with her handle—items in her purse jangling as she did so—and screamed profanities at him.

Megan ran for the bus and fumbled with the key and lever handle located beside the folding door. I noticed her hands shaking violently even from this distance. Callie continued to beat the dead man and I knew the group advancing from the back end of the bus wouldn’t take long to catch up with her. Megan needed to be covered until she could get the door open.

“Callie!” I yelled. “There’s more! Cover Megan!”

Eunice ran in my direction, growling, with her bat positioned for an upswing.

A man’s voice, clearer and closer than I expected, came from behind me. “Why pay for a bra when I can hold your boobs for you all day?”

I pivoted with my handle at the ready as Eunice passed me. She hit a man five feet from me wearing a blazer with a button down shirt and tie but no pants, socks, or shoes. His erection was peeking out of the slit in his shirt at the bottom. He was thrusting his hips right before Eunice hit him in the groin. He fell sideways in a comedic fashion and his head made a sickening ‘thwack’ as it hit the pavement.

A cacophony of calls erupted around us and bounced off the brick buildings and street.

“You look nice but you’d look even better in my bed.”

“Nice tits. Let’s bang.”

“You look like you’re into BDSM.”

“You have the nicest teeth I’ve ever come across.”

“You left your panties on my pillow. Oh, wait. I’m seeing the future again.”

“A woman’s place is in the kitchen or on her knees.”

“Are you a chicken farmer? Because you sure know how to raise a cock.”

“Is heaven missing an angel? Because give me a rim job.”

Eunice didn’t waste any time and turned her attention to the next closest man who was completely naked except for his askew toupee. I turned back toward Megan and Callie—the latter taking out her aggression on the dead man—just as Megan’s hand jerked and she turned with a stunned expression and locked eyes with mine.

Barely discernable above the chaotic calls of the men, Megan yelled, “The key broke off in the lock!”

Doris stood in the open doorway with a panic stricken look on her face. She yelled, “Come back inside!”

Eunice yelled from behind me. “Shut the door!”

There were two men lumbering toward Doris.

A group of around ten men were closing in on Callie.

“Callie, stop!” I cried and ran toward her.

Megan changed her tack. She positioned herself in front of the door to the bus, reared back her leg, and kicked the folding bus door on the seam where it should collapse in. It moved about an inch as I ran past her.

I tried to grab Callie’s arms to keep her from hitting the dead man again but she shoved me away. I turned my attention to the group of men coming from the back end of the bus. I hit a haggard looking man in a high-visibility hoodie and dirty jeans who was missing half his teeth. I swung the handle to strike a man with dreadlocks but his pants were extremely baggy in the crotch and I couldn’t reach his scrotum. I realized almost too late his balls were above the waistline of his pants and I speared him in the nuts with my handle. The group seemed to multiply and we were going to get swarmed if we didn’t get the hell out of there soon.

Another couple of bangs sounded as Megan kicked at the bus door before a defiant screech and protest of metal rewarded her.

Megan yelled, “Get on the bus!”

I turned and observed Eunice running for the bus. She screamed, “Shut the door!” at the monastery door I couldn’t see around the bus.

The sounds of Doris’ scream could barely be heard over the chaos.

Megan yelled from within the bus, “Get on the fucking bus!”

Eunice jumped on the first step and turned to face the oncoming crowd. She yelled at me, “Come on!” as the bus roared to life.

The men were only a few feet between Callie and I. And there were ten feet between us and the bus door. I threw down my handle and wrapped my arms around Callie’s waist and tried to lift her. She wasn’t heavy but I wasn’t strong either. And she began screaming and flailing like a wild animal, which threw me off balance, and we both went down. She fell on top of the dead man and I landed on her. My apron came untied in the tussle and it lay on the ground out of my reach once I rolled off Callie and onto my back. She scuttled on all fours beside me. Her bent knee opposite me somehow slipped through the long shoulder strap of her purse, hindering her movements.

Then the men were on us before we could get back to our feet.

A man in skinny jeans and a flannel shirt with an overgrown beard stooped and grabbed my ankle. I kicked him in the balls with my free foot and he landed on top of me. A naked man jumped on top of Callie. He reached under her skirt and ripped her panties down as she screamed and struggled under him. I wrestled with the dead weight of the man on top of me and tried to beat at the man on top of Callie. The man on top of her must’ve penetrated her because her screams turned into something inhuman and he dropped all of his weight on her to pin her flat to the ground.

The dead man was lifted from me by another man who was naked and looked to weigh nearly three hundred pounds and was covered in weeping sores. I rolled onto my side to help Callie and kicked at the fat man wildly. I tried to wedge my hand between Callie and the man on top of her, desperately grabbing for his balls. The large man somehow managed to drop to his knees, flip me over on my stomach, and get between my legs, obstructing my ability to kick him. He began yanking at the waistband of my pants. The man raping Callie grabbed a fistful of her hair and smashed her head into the pavement twice. He told her women were meant to be seen and not heard before he slammed her head onto the ground one more time and she went limp and silent.

I screamed and clawed my way from beneath the man above me. I shredded the skin on the palms of my hands on the pavement. The fat man jerked at my pants. The waistband slipped over my hips, a button or snap scratching my hips, and my underwear went with them. He managed to pull them down to my ankles but they got caught up on my shoes as I crawled away from him and toward the underside of the bus. The dirty pavement bit and scraped my skin but the pain was a dim echo amidst my howling hysteria. I kicked wildly at my pants binding my ankles until my shoes and socks slipped from my feet and I was free. I crawled under the bus, destroying my knees in the process.

There was a spinning shaft on the underside of the vehicle and I choked on the heavy fumes of the diesel exhaust. From the underside I could see all the men swarming the folding door and converging around Callie. I called to Callie and tried to grab for her hand to pull her out from under the man but the fat man grabbed at me. I pulled back and in a fleeting second I took in Callie’s ruined face and her wide unseeing eyes as her head had turned to the side. And I knew she was dead as the man on top of her continued to fuck her.

I don’t know what happened then. There was a hiccup in time as my heart and mind tried to process there was no way I could save Callie. So many thoughts came at once it felt as if my brain would explode. My chest was heavy and cold and the ground appeared to rush up to meet me even though I wasn’t falling or moving at all. I was stuck there staring at the unknowing eyes of the woman I loved in a necromantic cuckold that bleached out everything I ever knew or loved. I felt hollow and exhausted. This was what it came to. Just things. We were just things they saw to use however they wanted and when they were done with us we would be snuffed out like a flame.

I came back to myself when the fat man tried to grab my wrist. He was under the bus and moved faster than I anticipated. My vision was blurred from tears I didn’t know I was crying. I started crawling for the back of the bus as I didn’t see the feet of anyone back there. The man grabbed my ankle as I reached the back of the bus. I rolled onto my back and grabbed the bumper of the bus, burning my forearm on the hot exhaust pipe in the process. I hung on for dear life as the man yanked my leg with one hand and prodded at my exposed pussy with the fingers of his other hand. I screamed right before he slipped a finger inside of me. I kicked with my free leg and tilted my head to scream toward the outside of the bus. He managed to get hold of my other ankle and spread my legs open. My thigh muscles pulled as I fought against him and he forced his girth between them. I braced myself for what I knew was coming next. I tried desperately to pull myself free of him but once he lifted his large belly and laid his weight on me I was pinned.

He pushed his penis inside of me and the delicate skin of my vagina tore as my muscles tensed in a defense mechanism to keep him out. He put his sweaty face near mine and I was forced to hear his labored breathing and grunting as he began to rape me. The burn was immense and renewed each time he thrust into me and somehow, through everything happening, I couldn’t help but think about how my father bullied me and told me I should at least try to fuck men and how would I know what I was missing if I didn’t at least try it once and at the time I’d thought, Sex with a man would be awful.

The man’s weight and the force of his fucking pushed me across the pavement and I could feel bits and pieces of gravel biting and scraping my buttocks.

The back door of the bus flew open.

“Help me!” I screamed.

I couldn’t see who was at the door but heard Eunice yell, “She’s back here!”

The bus bounced and Eunice was on the ground and had hold of my wrists, pulling while the man continued to defile me. His fucking was actually helping to push me a few inches out from under the vehicle.

“I need help!” Eunice called. “He’s too fat!”

I heard Megan run down the length of the bus before she landed beside Eunice. Each of them grabbed one of my forearms and pulled with everything they had. It felt like they would rip my arms out of their shoulder sockets. The pavement tore the skin on my ass as they pulled me out from under the man. He licked and slobbered wherever his face came into contact with me and his nails tore at my blouse and naked legs as the women managed to free me. My legs and thighs were weak and I wasn’t able to stand well on my own. The two women managed to lift me and nearly throw me in the back door of the vehicle as the fat man swung his arms wildly to try to catch one of us. I landed on the floor face down and the two almost trampled me as they boarded and shut and locked the door.

Megan scrambled for the driver’s seat. The sobs escaping me as I lay on the dirty floor were like nothing I’d experienced before. They were the wails of a mourning lover. Of a victim. And of a survivor. And I didn’t know if I really wanted to be a survivor if it meant I would never have Callie again. I laid my cheek against the cool floor as I cried because I didn’t have the strength to do anything else. Eunice tried to soothe me and help me to a seat but I told her to leave me be.

The bus lurched forward and I was vaguely aware of the jarring way it jumped and pitched and the dull thud and bump of the vehicle as Megan began to mow down any man in her path.

Chapter 12

The cacophonous roar of the bus’s engine combined with thuds and the screech of metal on metal and the yells of directions shouted between Eunice and Megan but the clatter of everything happening around me couldn’t penetrate the despair and pain filling my head and body as I lay on the floor of the bus.

The mantra Callie’s dead! played over and over in my head to the point the words lost all meaning and I panicked about losing the memory of her. The fear of losing her a second time sent me into a renewed fit of sobs. I couldn’t be sure if the pain of losing her was greater than my physical pain but the combination of the two was crushing and I was certain—if not somehow wishing—I was dying. My cunt hurt. My ass, knees, and hands were covered in fresh road rash. My whole arm ached with the burn from the tail pipe of the bus. Every muscle in my body felt as though it was pulled and my wrists, elbows, and shoulders were filled with the overexerted ache of having been yanked on by Eunice and Megan. But none of it compared to the chest-crushing and stomach-wrenching ache of grief.

I curled into a fetal position on the floor as Eunice and Megan debated on taking an exit ramp or staying on the city street. A trickle of something ran from my vagina and down my thigh and I thought, Oh, please, please, please, for the love of anything good left in this world, please don’t let that be semen. As a lesbian, birth control was something I’d never bothered with. The fear of getting pregnant with that fat fuck’s child made me nauseated and I dry heaved. I scrambled to a seat and examined my cunt to find the trickle was blood, most likely from a tear in my vagina. I dry heaved again.

Eunice called from the front of the bus, “Are you okay?”

“That may be the stupidest question anyone has ever asked me!” I responded.

She was crouched in the seat behind Megan. She looked around frantically and noticed a green box with ‘first aid’ printed in red letters on it strapped to the bus’s wall above the front window. She stood and teetered on her feet as Megan navigated. I stood on shaky legs, covering my crotch with one hand. I steadied myself with my free hand, holding onto the seat backs, and made my way toward the front. I sat in the front seat in front of the door. The raw skin of my ass burned when it touched the cold and clammy material of the seat. As Eunice struggled to dislodge the first aid kit I noticed a broom had been lodged between the steps and the folding door. I assumed it was to brace against anyone trying to shove it open.

Once Eunice freed the kit she sat across from me and began rifling though its contents. She removed some antibiotic ointment, squirted a large amount of it on a gauze pad, and motioned for me to move to the edge of my seat. I complied and she proceeded to gently swab my hands and knees.

I took in our surroundings as she worked. We were on the highway running through the city. Megan was steering the bus down the barely wide enough strip on the edge of the road designed for emergency pull off. Empty cars littered the highway. Some of them were wrecked into each other. Others were abandoned. I noticed an unmoving body in the road ahead and a man kneeling over its head. It became obvious the body was a dead woman as we approached it and the man was fucking her mouth. Men were scattered everywhere. We passed one man desperately trying to fuck the tail pipe of a vehicle crashed into the median concrete barrier. I spotted more dead bodies of broken women as Megan maneuvered the bus around a car parked on the emergency strip.

Eunice taped gauze bandages to my wounds before asking me to stand and turn around. I did as she asked and faced the window to look at the city. Black columns of smoke billowed into the sky in several spots and I wondered if they were distress signals from women trying to mark their location or the ghosts of the destruction the men were causing.

Eunice told me to keep standing and moved to the glove compartment by the steps. The faint calls of the men could be heard as we passed them.

“Let’s get out of this place so we can hate each other in the morning!”

“What’s a babe like you doing not sitting on my lap?!”

“Wanna blow this joint and then me?!”

“I’m a professional orgasm installer!”

“She was asking for it!”

“It’s a man’s world, baby!”

Eunice returned with a travel package of tissues and a couple of shop rags. She dressed the scrapes on my buttocks with the tissues and then tied two of the rags together.

She handed me the dirty rags. “Here. I think we can make you some cover.”

I took them from her. “How?”

She lifted a rolled up Ace bandage from the first aid kit. “In my day you had to wear a belt with your maxi pad.”

I’d heard older women reference the old fashioned form of sanitary napkins before and always thanked the corporations for inventing a more convenient self-adhesive version by the time I’d hit puberty. There was something humiliating about grown women being forced to wear a large diaper to deal with their periods.

I placed the rags between my legs and did my best to hold up the front and back as Eunice wrapped my waist with the elastic. She then added several strips of gauze tape to the makeshift band and rags to keep them from slipping out. The result was a sumo wrestler belt. It was better than nothing and the best we could do. I sat gingerly, hoping the whole contraption wouldn’t fly apart. It seemed to work, for now.

Once I sat my attention was drawn to a black box with a dangling spiral cord mounted on the underneath of the dash near Megan. It took me a few seconds to register what it was and I bolted for it. The scrapes on my knee protested as I fell on them in front of the contraption. I lifted the mouth piece for the CB radio and turned it on.

Megan broke her concentration from driving long enough to realize what I’d discovered. “Holy shit!” she proclaimed. “Put it on channel nine!” She yanked the wheel abruptly.

The sudden shift of the bus knocked me to my butt. The scratches on my buttocks flared with a new pain but I ignored them and did what Megan told me.

The tiny speaker squelched and crackled as I flipped through the channels before emanating the lunatic ramblings of the President once I reached channel nine.

Megan slammed the heel of her hand into the steering wheel. “Fuck! They’re blocking the emergency channel by broadcasting it there. Keep flipping through and call mayday. If you run across any chatter say breaker.”

I turned the dial back to the beginning and began to call and listen. I skipped over channel nine once I reached it.

Megan mumbled a curse under her breath and I could make out a man’s voice from outside before a loud bang came from the front of the bus. Eunice let out a strangled yelp. The bus rocked left and right, almost pitching me into the stairwell. I was filled with a feeling of glee and smugness as I realized we’d hit and run over a man.

When I made it to channel nineteen I caught the tail end of someone speaking before it went silent.

My heart hammered and I yelled into the microphone, “Mayday! Mayday!”

Megan said, “No! No! Say breaker! Breaker!”

“Breaker! Breaker!” I said into the mic.

A man responded, “Heeeeeeeeeey. What’s your location? You can ride my rig any day, pretty lady.”

“What channel is that?” Megan squinted at the tiny digital number on the CB. “That’s the truck driver’s channel. Doubt you’ll get any help there.”

I pressed the mic and said, “We need help. Is there any information about a safe place women can take refuge?”

There was a long pause before he said, “I want your pussy on my face.”

“Fuck you.”

When I released the button he was mid-sentence. “—stop myself from accelerating all over you.”

Megan said, “He can’t hear you. Sounds like he’s randomly saying things into the mic.”

I switched to the next channel before he said anything else and called mayday.

“It’s probably pointless,” Eunice said. “Everyone has cell phones these days. I don’t think anyone has used that thing as long as we’ve had the bus. I’m actually surprised it works.”

Megan said, “When the end of the world happens you have to exhaust all options.”

Eunice was right though. My hopes died a little more each time I switched the channel and didn’t receive a response. I’d grown up watching movies with macho men driving fast cars and radioing their friends and cops calling in license plate numbers and kids fucking with truck drivers and even though it was in a time before me it seemed like there had to be a handful of people out there who couldn’t let go.

And then I got a response.

A female said, “This is Lieutenant Hernandez. What’s your location? Over.”

All three of us let out screams of surprise. I immediately began crying and waved the mic at Megan.

Megan said, “I need both hands to steer!”

With shaky hands I pressed the button. My voice was strangled by my tears. “We’re on a highway. In a bus. Captain Megan Naff is navigating. Where should we go?”

“Captain Naff? Over.”

“Yes! She’s driving and told me to call.”

“Can she hear this transmission? Over.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve managed to establish a refugee camp within the base. Not without a lot of casualties. We have troops out on rescue missions. Do you need assistance? Over.”

I turned to Megan. I stood, grabbed the pole by the driver’s seat to steady myself, and placed the mic in front of her face and pushed the button.

Megan said, “This is Naff. We’re currently about five miles from the base on the highway. At the moment I’m able to navigate. I will leave the line open and if we need assistance we’ll call. Over.”

I let go of the mic button.

“Affirmative. Over.”

I didn’t replace the mic. I asked Megan, “What about the girl at the radio station?”

“We can send out someone once we make it there.”

“But Callie wanted us to.” I began crying again. “Please. I had to leave her lying there.” A high-pitched hysteria took hold of my voice and I cringed at how I sounded like a pathetic teenager begging her mother for some pointless thing. “Please let me do this one thing Callie wanted. It’s the only thing I can do for her now. She wanted us to help that girl.”

She glanced up at me, not wanting to take her eyes off the road for long. “They may have already rescued her if they’re going out on recovery missions.”

I lifted the mic and pressed the button. “Lieutenant Hernandez, are you there?”

“This is Lieutenant Hernandez. Over.”

“Have you sent anyone to WZUL? The radio station. There’s a girl there—”

Eunice said, “Melissa Hayward.”

I said, “Melissa Hayward. She’s broadcasting a message on a loop that’s not the President’s speech. The station is close to the base.”

There was a pause. “Yes. She’s been a great deal of help. She managed to create a radio frequency that acts as a repellant for the area, including the base. We’re not sure how long it will hold though or if it’ll be discovered and dismantled but you’ll notice a lack of the affected as you near the gates. Over.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I replaced the radio mic and collapsed into the seat across from Eunice. She crossed the aisle to sit next to me. She wrapped her arm around me and hugged me in a maternal gesture. I buried my face in her shoulder and let myself bawl like a child.

Chapter 13

Megan had to take a small detour after taking the exit ramp for the base because of a pile up of cars and no way to maneuver around it on the city streets. The Lieutenant was right. The closer we got to the base the fewer men we spotted. Unfortunately we didn’t happen across any surviving women in the process. Or maybe it was fortunate.

A large fire burned in an open field outside the fence of the base. Within the fence there were hundreds if not thousands of women and children standing and sitting around large green tents. Large trucks surrounded the fire, people milling about within their perimeter. It took me a moment to realize what was happening when two people picked up a large sagging item and swung it into the fire. They were burning corpses.

I made a strangled sound at the realization.

Eunice said, “Don’t look at it.”

I redirected my gaze to the armed security check point as we approached. Two women in fatigues emerged, holding their rifles in a defensive gesture. Megan stopped the bus and shut it off. She dislodged the broom holding the door shut, stowed it behind the driver’s seat, and opened the damaged and protesting door. Eunice and I stayed seated while she exited the bus to talk to the others.

One woman tilted the gun’s barrel toward the ground and broke from the other as Megan headed toward them. With the gun aimed downward she made her way along the driver’s side of the bus while Megan spoke to the other officer.

After the officer got to the back of the bus she shouted, “We got a live one!”

Eunice and I both turned in the seat to see the woman pointing her gun at the underside of the bus through the window of the back door. Footfalls could be heard as Megan and the other officer arrived by her side. Eunice and I rose from the seat and made our way down the aisle to see what was happening.

Megan exclaimed, “Jesus Christ! He hung on the whole way! Shoot him!” Megan looked up at us and waved for us to get back.

The officer standing beside her spoke and was barely discernable inside the bus. “It won’t do any good. You have to hit them in the testicles.”

The discovering officer flipped her rifle and used the butt of her gun to hit something under the bus several times. A man’s growl and incoherent yell sounded from under our feet. The three women crowded around and grunted and pulled the obese man who’d raped me from under the bus. His fingers were bloody and destroyed and I imagined the target of the rifle whipping. I wasn’t sure if the terror and panic of seeing my offender again was worse than the horror of what was revealed once the man was pulled clear. It was evident he’d clung to the bumper as we’d pulled away and he’d been dragged the entire way here. His legs were now missing and his buttocks were mere hamburger from being dragged against the asphalt. He left a blood-streaked snail trail as they pulled him along the road. Somehow his penis and balls were still intact and he sported an erection. He made nonsensical sounds as he struggled to flop around and tried desperately to paw at the women.

“Oh god oh god oh god!” I screeched.

I began to hyperventilate and cry and backed away from the door. Eunice turned toward me and tried to calm me. I was breathing so heavily and quickly I became dizzy and lost my footing. Seeing the bus’s floor rushing up toward me was the last thing I remembered.

I was confused when I woke. My body was being jostled and it looked like Eunice was jogging beside me. Pain radiated from everywhere but there was a new sense of pressure and pain in my cheek.

Eunice looked at me. “She’s awake.”

It took me a few more seconds to take in the situation. I was on a military gurney and two new officers were hurriedly running me toward a building.

I asked Eunice, “What’s happening?”

“You fainted,” she said.

One of the officers added breathlessly, “Everything will be okay. We’re taking you to the infirmary.”

I said, “Where’s Megan?”

Eunice said, “They needed her.”

We entered a large building with thin curtains hung as makeshift walls to separate the beds. The room was so big the sounds bounced around and the mix of moans and whispers and crying intermingled into a sound like a low rush. But through all of it I could distinctly hear the screams of an infant and the sound instantly brought me to sobs. I didn’t want to see the mental images of what could’ve happened to the baby if it was female in our current situation and the infant’s cries were more than I could bear. Eunice touched my arm to comfort me.

I moaned, “Please don’t tell me what happened to the baby,” before another sob choked me.

The officers sat the gurney on a cot as Eunice wrung her hands at the foot of it.

One of the officers asked, “Do you think you can stand? We’re gonna slip the gurney out from under you.”

I nodded as I bit back more tears and tentatively stood as one of the women supported me. They gathered their gurney as a petite officer bustled toward me, pushing a large cart. Eunice looked on in a state of helplessness as I sat on the cot. The officers who’d carried me in took their leave as the petite woman assessed me with bloodshot eyes shadowed by huge dark rings showing the little sleep she must have received.

She pulled on a pair of latex gloves before approaching me. “What’s your name, hon?”

“Sonya,” I said.

“My name’s Rachel but most people just yell nurse at me.” She gave me a worn smile while her eyes ran over my half-ass bandage attempt and hodgepodge underwear. “Pretty beat up, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Is it okay if we take a look?”

I nodded. She turned to pull the curtain to cut us off from the other beds. She asked Eunice to step out but I protested. Either it wasn’t strict protocol or the officer was too tired to argue with me and Eunice sat at the foot of the cot as Rachel carefully removed my bandages and haggard underpants. I covered myself with my hands. She excused herself and returned with a tub of cold soapy water and a washcloth. The water smelled strongly of hospital disinfectant and she proceeded to clean my wounds.

“Were you assaulted?” she asked in a whisper.

I nodded and my breath hitched.

She turned to Eunice. “You?”

“Yes,” Eunice said.

Rachel answered by nodding and asked me, “Are you on birth control, hon?”

Someone in the cot next to me coughed wetly.

“No,” I whispered.

She turned to Eunice for an answer to the same question.

Eunice watched me with a look of concern and said, “I’ve gone through the change.”

Rachel retrieved some packages of gauze and tape and began opening them and lining them up on the cot. She asked me to stand so she could clean and bandage my buttocks first. As she worked she said, “We’re currently out of Plan B. We have a crew out now on a food and supply run. I gave them a list of supplies to commandeer from pharmacies. They should be returning before too long. We have a dusk curfew.”

She worked on dressing my wounds in silence. The person in the cot beside us coughed again and grumbled something to themselves. Once she was done with me she asked if Eunice needed any attention, to which she declined. Rachel retrieved all the open packages and told me she’d return with a pair of fatigue pants I could wear and asked what size shoe I wore. Eunice and I sat in silence until she returned with the pants, which were a little too big, a pair of wool socks, and a pair of combat boots. The only thing keeping me from looking like the other officers was the red blouse.

Once I was dressed Rachel asked, “Do you feel well enough to move to the general population, hon?”

“I think so,” I said.

“I’ll direct you two over to the living area. The troops there will help you get situated. Come back tomorrow after breakfast and hopefully we’ll have some Plan B for you. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Rachel led us through the maze of cots and pointed us in the direction of the tents once we were outside. Eunice and I crossed the paved lot and made our way toward the field of tents and people.

She said, “Cattle.”

I’d been staring at the ground in a thoughtless numbness of my own physical pain and grief until she spoke. I looked up at the crowd and took in the scene. A sense of uneasiness crept up my spine. The people were milling about in an open and unprotected space with the expectation the radio station would save them. I had an overwhelming sense of false security and instability. And what were we to do even if the invisible force field held forever? Live in tents and in fear for the rest of our lives? Someone had to put a permanent stop to the broadcast.

I replied, “Ready for slaughter,” and wasn’t sure if I meant myself or the crowd.

Chapter 14

The next few days were uneventful. Eunice and I were assigned sleeping bags and slept in a tent crammed with women. There were too many to count and our bags were arranged in such a way it was impossible to maneuver through the maze of bodies at night if you needed to use the restroom, which happened to be a reeking line of portable toilets along the fence. The constant moaning and coughing and crying and praying made it nearly impossible to sleep and, to top it off, the temperature dropped drastically during the night and left most people shivering sleeplessly.

I was fortunate enough to be a recipient of a Plan B pill the day after our arrival. I left the cafeteria early during breakfast to stand in line at the infirmary and as I was walking back to meet up with Eunice a woman near the end of the line became hysterical when she found out they’d run out again.

Eunice and I stayed together even though we didn’t speak much to each other.

Out of boredom and not wanting to have a conversation with anyone I roamed the grounds aimlessly. I spotted a thirteenish-year-old girl with the worn expression of a sixty-year-old woman hiding behind a building smoking a cigarette and I approached her and asked if I could have one. The girl was reluctant until I threatened to tell on her unless she forked one over. The poor girl responded, “I don’t think they can do much more to me that hasn’t already been done,” before handing me one. We stood beside one another and smoked in silence as Eunice nervously stood nearby, watching the girl. I gave Eunice a look that said shut the fuck up or go away. She chose to shut up. I hadn’t smoked in years and had only ever done it casually but as the rush of nicotine filled my body and made me lightheaded and I stared silently at the young girl who’d obviously seen and experienced the dregs of life in the last few days and would forever be haunted by it, I wondered if I shouldn’t take up the habit so I could feel something more than the numb pain that filled me.

We were kept on a loose schedule of breakfast, lunch, and dinner and after each one an officer would shout for volunteers to help with chores. There were plenty of bored people who happily volunteered to have something to do other than be stuck thinking about all the horrible shit that happened to them or talking to other people who had horrible shit happen to them. And I would’ve volunteered my time as a gesture of generosity for a place to sleep, free meals, and access to the thin stretched medical care, but I was in the insular world of grief where doing anything but breathing was an extreme physical or mental exertion.

On the third day I sat in the cafeteria with Eunice and forced myself to eat the watery instant mashed potatoes on my tray. I wasn’t particularly hungry but didn’t want Eunice to nag me or to feel wasteful. The odor of unwashed bodies and subpar food intermingled with my misery over Callie and my own self-pity and physical discomfort to create a level of nausea I’d never experienced before.

I turned my attention to others in the cafeteria too small for everyone to eat at the same time. We ate in shifts and we showered in shifts. Everything was scheduled and regulated like a well-oiled machine. I was a cog in a mechanism with no objective other than to tread water and it was a struggle to do that. And I couldn’t help but look at the other women and think, What the fuck are we going to do?

Every face in the room was different but all held the terror of our situation and the things we’d experienced. All of us were from very different walks of life. Some of us lost our partners during this ordeal and others lost their children. And I was sure there were a few lonely souls grieving for themselves because they didn’t have anyone. But I couldn’t help but see the one similarity uniting us. We were women. We all came into this life with a mark against us no matter how advanced our society claimed to be. We’d been abused, turned away from knowledge, rejected from equality, had our intellect dismissed, our judgment questioned, thought of as weak or fragile, told by society we’d never be good enough or smart enough, and our values as human beings were boiled down to our outward appearances and what we could offer the world sexually. The world had never seen us as human. Only as objects and something pretty to look at and fuck. And it infuriated me. Callie died for this. All because she was born with a vagina.

Just then I spotted Megan walking through the cafeteria with a couple of officers and a young woman with bright orange hair in civilian clothing. I sprang to my feet and went to her without thinking. Eunice called after me but I ignored her. Megan looked surprised when I caught up to her.

Ignoring her companions I said, “I want to help.”

Megan said, “The kitchen is always—”

I waved my hand dismissively to cut her off. “Not like that. I want to help you guys. I want to be a part of whatever stops this.”

Megan frowned and crossed her arms. The orange-haired girl appeared surprised and confused by my sudden intrusion.

One of the other female officers with a severe expression and tight blond bun told Megan, “We can always use more troops.”

Megan responded to the woman but directed her gaze at me. “I don’t think using untrained civilians as troops is in the best interest of the United States government.”

“Don’t!” I barked. I noticed a few women seated at tables near us take interest in my outburst. I lowered my voice. “Don’t give me that shit. We all know you’ll need all the help you can get. And I’m willing to do anything so Callie…” My voice broke and I swallowed to staunch the tears welling up. “Anything so Callie’s death wasn’t in vain.”

Megan mulled over my offer.

“Please,” I added.

I hadn’t noticed Eunice behind me until Megan redirected her gaze and said, “You too?”

I turned to look at the stern expression on Eunice’s face.

Eunice said, “Yes. I want to take out the son of bitch who cost me my religion.”

“Okay,” Megan said. She took my upper arm and turned me away from the tables and the eavesdropping women eating their dinner. She whispered in my ear, “Go to building B at nineteen hundred hours. We’re having a briefing about our deployment in two days. Our mission is to take out the message at its source. We can’t guarantee success or your life.”

A thrill ran down my spine as I realized what their plan was.

“Got it?” Megan added.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Just you and Eunice. Not a word to anyone else. We only have so many pilots and aircraft available and I’m certain every woman in this room wants to be on those planes.”

“Yes.”

She let go of my arm abruptly and headed toward the kitchen. The other three followed her.

Eunice sidled up next to me and whispered, “What did she say?”

I whispered, “We’re going to storm the White House.”

A sinister grin spread across Eunice’s face and I was sure my own expression mirrored hers.

Chapter 15

The noise inside the helicopter became maddening after the second hour in flight and made any conversation nearly impossible. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk anyway. I found myself looking around at the other eleven women and studying their expressions as they readied themselves for what we were going to do and what could possibly happen to us if this didn’t go as planned. I thought I could tell the difference between the regular civilians and the actual military personnel but none of that mattered anymore. We were all dressed in military garb—including helmets—and fitted with random objects to use as weapons, mostly sporting goods items. I’d chosen a cricket bat. Others had baseball bats and hockey sticks.

Eunice sat beside me and I knew the woman on my other side was a civilian and she might be the most important person on the helicopter aside from the pilots. She was the orange-haired girl who’d been with Megan when I’d volunteered. And she was always up front and easily spotted during our few meetings leading up to this point, due to her beautiful hair. She was Melissa Hayward. She was the brains behind the invisible force field around the base and the person who’d been able to disable the broadcasting setup, if it was even at our destination. That was the one uncertainty sitting heavily on everyone’s mind. This could be all for nothing. What good would it do to kill the President if we found him and the signal was still broadcasting? And what would happen even if we could dismantle it? Were the men completely gone? Would the interruption reset them? The force field repelled the offenders but it didn’t stop them once they were dragged within its boundaries. We didn’t know but each one of us was willing to die trying. Because what were we left with if we didn’t?

My adrenaline surged and abated on takeoff only to surge again when Megan opened the back of the aircraft to refuel mid-flight. I was overcome with the fear I would be sucked out the door. I gripped Eunice’s arm and leaned into Melissa to steady myself. I thought I was going to have a heart attack from fright when Megan stood feet from the edge and unfurled a hose with a funnel attached to the end. She stood uneasily as a second helicopter approached with a penial attachment and inserted it into a funnel as we continued to our destination. The terror and sexual imagery of watching the plane being refueled set me off into a round of hysterical laughter. A few of the women on board gave me worried glances and I was sure they thought I’d finally snapped. Eunice and Melissa found my laughter contagious and nervously laughed with me.

Things died down after refueling and the ebb and flow of fear made me tired. I was hoping for one more adrenaline surge when we arrived. There was a bit of commotion at the front of the copter after a while and Megan left her seat.

She shouted over the noise of the aircraft to be heard. “We’re approaching our destination! Prepare yourselves! The place is swarming!”

We all stood to look out the small porthole shaped windows. The streets appeared to be alive and were filled with people. I could make out the shape of the Washington Monument in the distance and my heart began to hammer in my chest. Eunice was looking out the same window as me and said something I couldn’t make out over the craft’s dissonance.

I sat back down and wrung my hands around the handle of the cricket bat. My palms were sweating and I wiped them on my pants. Some other women sat and began preparing themselves also. A few others stood uneasily and watched as we approached.

The back hatch popped open and I spotted the two other helicopters trailing us. Our craft shifted and the women who continued to stand thought better than to risk being pitched out the open door and took their seats.

Megan shouted, “We’re descending!”

My impulse was to peer out the window and take in the situation instead of blindly running out into it but I was terrified of the open door. Megan left her position at the front and made her way toward the door, gripping some safety straps hanging from the wall of the craft.

She turned to face us with her baseball bat. “When you exit the vehicle keep your heads down against the air current!” She pointedly looked at Melissa. “Hayward! Stick close to me!” To everyone she said, “We’re taking the west wing!”

We’d been over our group’s instructions a hundred times. Megan was reaffirming our hopes the signal was being broadcast from the Briefing Room. The plan was for each copter’s occupants to head in a different direction and sweep the place clean and lock it down if at all possible.

Megan turned back to the open door. The front of the White House came into view as we descended. It wasn’t until the craft was on the ground that I took in the thirty or forty men standing between us and the front entrance to the White House. Most of them stared at us dumbfounded. They were in different states of dress and a handful of them thrust their hips into the open air as if a pussy was going to land on their cocks at any moment and complete their lustful interaction. One man masturbated furiously while only wearing a pair of black socks and penny loafers and, I couldn’t be certain, but thought he looked like the Attorney General.

The moment the helicopter hit the ground Melissa was up and hustling toward Megan with her hockey stick and Megan was shouting for us to move. None of us hesitated. I kept my head down like Megan instructed, the helicopter’s propellers rotating as we exited. The men began to advance on us as soon as they realized we were females. Their catcalls and remarks were drowned out by the noise of the aircraft’s winding down. The rest of us flanked Megan and Melissa, hitting the men where it hurt, and dropping them like flies. Women from the other helicopters joined us and we cleared the area in less than a minute.

Megan stormed up the steps, shouting for us to keep moving. Melissa was directly behind her and we all filed in through the front entrance and into the most gut wrenching scene I’d ever encountered. There were naked women bound with all types of apparatus and piled everywhere. Some of them were alive. Most of them were dead. The walls were stacked with mountains of abused bodies, the floor nearly covered in flesh. Several of the women, whether alive or not, were being defiled by men. It was nearly impossible to take a step without stepping on a body—dead and alive, male and female.

Some of the officers began to help the living women. One of our recruits began to untie a woman near me who was alive. A naked man fucking a corpse nearby noticed her and stopped mid-thrust.

The man reached for the woman in fatigues. He stumbled and crawled over bodies as he made his way to her and said, “I may not go down in history but I’ll go down on you.”

I stepped on something squishy and almost rolled my ankle as I charged at him. I swung the cricket bat and made contact with his head. He fell on his back and I hit his balls. Another man advanced toward the helping officer and I struck his testicles. He fell forward on the woman the officer was struggling to untie.

Megan shouted, “Don’t help them! Sweep the area first! Help later!” She turned and tried to make her way through the bodies and out of the receiving room.

Melissa was in a state of panic and stared down at the ground, horrified at possibly stepping on someone alive. Megan turned to Melissa and shouted at her to follow. A man in a business suit emerged from behind a stack of corpses. He’d unzipped his fly and exposed his erect penis. His cock and the front of his pants were covered in what I could only assume was an accumulative amount of body fluids and blood.

He said, “I’m not a family man but would you like to call me Daddy later?”

Melissa noticed him and screamed. She couldn’t take her terrified eyes off him and tripped as she tried to head toward Megan. She fell onto several bodies. I bolted toward her. Megan doubled back and grabbed Melissa under her shoulders to lift her to her feet.

I let my empathy fall away for the women in distress and bounded over the bodies as if I were in a bouncy castle, nearly knocking some of the stunned, helping, or horrified recruits down in the process. I swung my weapon up and hit the man in his filthy penis before he could reach the other two.

Melissa was back on her feet. And Megan was yelling at the women who’d lost the plot. Some of them snapped out of it and started for the hall, swinging their weapons to fend off any men. A hand popped out of a pile of bodies and grabbed one officer’s ankle.

I was the one who shouted at Megan, “We have to keep going! Fuck them!”

Megan and Melissa and I proceeded into the hallway and made a left. The scene was the same everywhere. Bodies and bodies and bodies. The three of us disregarded the people we stepped on. Men, mostly clean cut and older, dominated the hall we took.

A naked saggy skinned man with low hanging balls pulled himself from the anus of a bloated female corpse he’d bent over a pile of bodies. He turned to us as we approached him and said, “You look fiscally responsible. You wanna save some money by coming home with me?”

Megan gave a battle cry when she smashed his nuts back to their proper place.

A husky man in a pair of men’s dirty briefs emerged from the open door of a room on his hands and knees and began to crawl toward us. He said, “I’m wasted but the condom in my pocket doesn’t have to be.”

Melissa kicked the crawler in the face.

Megan said, “It’s not far!”

The three of us began to dash down the hall as fast as we could, taking out men emerging from the rooms or those dislodging themselves from the sexual acts they were performing in the hallway. The bodies got deeper as we went. I spotted the sign for the West Wing above the doorway lined with metal detectors.

Melissa made easy work of a few men who’d chosen to lie down on the mountain of bodies and fuck any crevice available. The bend of her hockey stick worked better for men in this position. The men weren’t aware of us anymore at this point. They were so tied up in or concentrating on their goal it didn’t matter there was fresh meat. They were fucking and fucking and fucking whatever stationary orifice or crevice they’d found.

Suddenly the three of us heard it at the same time and we came to a halt, listening. It was the nasally, slightly whiny, harsh New York accent of the President. Eunice and a couple other women from our crew were catching up to us, fighting off some men who’d followed them down the hallway.

Megan pointed at an open door. The floor within the room was clear of any bodies. We made our way toward the room. I harshly whispered to Eunice to get her attention and pointed to the door we were entering before following Megan and Melissa in.

The room was brightly lit and housed an enormous wooden table lined with posh leather chairs. The President sat at the head of the table at the other end of the room. He was spewing his misogynistic nonsense with his head tilted at a peculiar angle. The Vice President stood to his side, stark naked. The Vice President held the skin folds of the President’s aged neck and kept trying to insert his penis into the makeshift vagina.

The President didn’t appear to be bothered by what was happening to him as his focus was on the microphone sitting on the table in front of him. He wore the usual ill-fitted suit I’d always noticed him in whenever he was on television. Both his arms moved in a manner suggesting he was lifting and lowering something under the table.

They were the only two people in the room. Megan hopped up on the table and lifted her bat. She made her way toward them. Eunice and the other two women joined us, panting.

One of the other women said, “What… the… ?”

Melissa stayed on the ground but followed Megan toward the President. She took the side of the table where the Vice President stood. I followed her and Eunice followed me. The other two women took the other side of the table. Melissa held her hockey stick at the ready and cautiously approached the Vice President from behind.

We all stopped a few feet from the two and waited for a command from Megan.

Megan said, “Mister President?”

The President didn’t flinch. He didn’t stop. He continued to say, “Putting them to work is dangerous. Once they’re successful I get jealous and sad. We need to keep them uneducated and dependent on us—”

“Mister President,” Megan spoke over him, “I’m Captain Megan Naff of the United States Air Force and I’m here to inform you you’ve been relieved of your duty as President as stated in section four of the twenty-fifth amendment. And seeing the Vice President also seems to be in an incapacitated state the responsibilities will be passed down the chain of command until such a person is found who has the mental means to run this country.”

The President and Vice President ignored her and continued what they were doing, uninterrupted. The President kept up his speech while lifting and lowering his arms.

Melissa became impatient. She said, “Fuck this.” She hooked the Vice President between the legs with her hockey stick and yanked backwards. We both jumped out of the way as he fell. The stick was ripped out of Melissa’s hands as he fell, the stick still between his legs.

Megan kicked the microphone off the desk. The President continued his speech. With the Vice President out of the way it was apparent by the crusted white layer on the President’s neck and shirt the Vice President had successfully managed to ejaculate while fucking the President’s neck. Megan stepped forward and kicked the President in the chest and his chair rolled back and into a panel of electronics housed on a shelf behind him.

Once the President was away from the table it exposed what he was doing under it. While he had his blazer, shirt, and tie on he was missing his pants and underwear. In his hands he held the bloody and rotting pelvis of a woman. There was no upper body or legs. Just a pelvis. The President was lifting and dropping, stroking his penis with the stinking meat, like a demented Fleshlight. All the while, he kept up his impossible speech.

The sight of it made my stomach roll and my anger began to boil as I thought, This is what Callie died for? Callie was gone and for what? This worthless piece of meat sitting before us, stroking his worthless piece of meat with another worthless piece of meat. That’s all we are to all of them and that’s all they are to us.

Without another thought I stepped forward and tried to kick the President in the balls. Instead I kicked the pelvis so hard it slipped from his hands and rocketed into the air, landing on the table beside Megan’s feet with enough force it sounded like a cinder block. The President grasped at the air and raised and lowered his arms as if he was still holding the pelvis. His undersized penis was erect and the skin was raw and full of sores. He said, “Sometimes you gotta put a dick in their mouths to shut them up.”

“You killed Callie!” I screamed.

He was unaffected. I stood before him and lifted the cricket bat but at the last second I changed my mind. I sat it on the table and noticed more women had quietly found their way into the room and taken up positions on either side of the table to watch. I turned back to the President and lifted my knee to my chest.

Megan said, “Mr. President, you’re fired.”

I planted the heel of my boot right into the nut sack of the former President of the United States.

Chapter 16

“Hello? This thing should be on, right?” Pause. “Okay. We’re uh… this broadcast is coming from the White House. The President of the United States has been… uh, terminated and we’ve dismantled his…” An incoherent mumble. “His misguided and illegal broadcast. We have a small military presence here and they’ll be working hard to rebuild what’s left of, um, I guess everything. I know there are a lot of hurt and confused people out there. Please help one another and stand by for further instructions.” Another pause. “Thank you for your patience and understanding.”

Acknowledgments

I owe thanks to my brother, Sidney Nicely, for answering my vague military questions when I didn’t know what the hell I was writing about. And I’m forever grateful to Matt Hayward for inspiring me to move forward on this book and to Melissa Hayward for allowing me to make her into a character in this unsavory story.

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Endlessly (Book 1)

Legacy (Book 2)

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Thanks For Ruining My Life

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Baby Hater

Hell’s Waiting Room

Misery and Death and Everything Depressing

Ritualistic Human Sacrifice

Poor Decisions

We Did Everything Wrong

Home Is Where the Horror Is

Hold For Release Until the End of the World

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Copyright

Cockblock copyright © 2018 by C.V. Hunt. All rights reserved.

Published by Grindhouse Press

PO BOX 293161

Dayton, Ohio 45429

Grindhouse Press logo and all related artwork copyright © 2018 by Brandon Duncan. All rights reserved.

Front cover design copyright © 2018 by George C. Cotronis. All rights reserved.

Cockblock

Grindhouse Press # 038

ISBN-13: 978-1-941918-30-2

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase and additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including mechanical, electric, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author.

Content

C.V. Hunt
COCKBLOCK

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Acknowledgments

Other titles by C.V. Hunt

Other Grindhouse Press Titles

Copyright