by Gabi Moore
When I watched him get dressed, I couldn’t help but picture him as being some type of fertility god. The fact that he could go that long and bring me to my knees in a snowbank was unreal. I began to get legitimately worried for a moment that I wouldn’t ever be able to find another person who could fuck quite as well. The idea of losing out on that future source of pleasure was more than a bit disappointing. Naturally, all of these calculations were taking place just below the surface. In order to be a woman of my standing, it was necessary that I be aware of my instincts. So, I paid more attention to the ’why’ of my feelings, than most.
“Wait!” I yelled, my voice already being threatened to be swallowed by the roar of the fire, and the snapping of the timber frame of the cabin.
Another sound, and one that I wasn’t prepared for. A high-pitched sizzling sound, like a pot coming to a boil. I couldn’t be sure if it was the oil from inside of the timber, or the actual snow that surrounded the building. Regardless of the state of the sounds, I had to gather myself and get going quickly. “The Stag King” was already hiking through the forest away from the cabin.
“You’d just leave me?”
“Not my fault if you can’t keep up.”
The call back was low, and I could tell that he didn’t bother to strain himself or even turn around to deliver the message. My standing in our relationship couldn’t have been more clear. That sequence of mind-blowing orgasms for me had been nothing more than a sport fuck for him. Spreading my legs or my ass wasn’t going to get me any kind of special treatment from this one.
I was done for.
What’s worse is that he had managed to pull all of that off without losing so much as a drop of precum. I wanted to wrap my lips around him and feel that explosion in my mouth so badly that I could almost taste it. There was something incomplete about the whole thing. To be fucked relentlessly, but not to be able to experience the joy of that biological release. Not mine, obviously, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it for what it was.
Resentment started to build up as I watched him walk away in the snowdrift.
He would leave me right where I was without a moment’s hesitation. To him, I wasn’t worth anything more than a fuck. I wasn’t worth so much as a drop of sperm. Of course, as soon as the thought came through my mind, I realized that it couldn’t have been true. He had given up his home, if not for me, then at least because of me.
Shoving my clothes on, I felt the burn of the snow on my skin, as the post-orgasmic haze began to pass from my mind. It didn’t take me too long to figure out what was happening with the rest of my body. The fact that I was freezing could only be blinded by ecstasy for so long. On the other side of all that, I was beginning to feel foolish for having stayed naked for so long.
The gear fit me well enough. I needed to make harsh adjustments, and do so quickly in order to adapt. The worst part about everything was that I only had an old pair of army boots that were too big for my own feet. One thing is for sure — it doesn’t take nearly as long as you might think to get your shit together. Especially when your only path through the woods is leaving you behind.
He was well out of view by the time I had put everything together. The house was already collapsing on itself, but I was ready to catch up. I found that I didn’t need to think about anything too hard. The blatant tracks in the snow led me from the cabin toward what I assumed was the highway. After a short hustle, I was able to catch up to him. He moved at a steady pace, and I was out of breath by the time I got by his side again.
I had made it, and that was all that mattered.
We didn’t talk about anything while we went through the forest. I thought about how our tracks would tell people that we had left the cabin. Then, I realized that he probably could have hidden his tracks if he had wanted to go to the trouble. I began to suspect that everything this man did was for a specific purpose.
I thought about it for a moment longer, then the real question implicit in my train of thought came to my lips.
“If it’s so obvious that you don’t give a fuck about me, then why did you just have sex with me?”
To my surprise, the question actually seemed to catch him off guard. The brisk pace through the woods slowed down for half a second. In that time, he came to terms with the animalistic behavior that the two of us had just indulged in, back at the cabin. He literally stopped in his tracks, and turned to look at me.
What I saw then startled me.
Instead of the typical anger and disdain that I was used to seeing in his eyes, I saw an authentic form of curiosity. The curiosity lasted a moment, and then he seemed to come to some conclusion within himself. As soon as that conclusion had been reached, whatever softness I had seen vanished immediately. He closed off to me once more, and then resumed his swift pace through the snow.
“What was that about?” I called after him, reaching a hand out to pull at his shoulder.
He didn’t exactly pull away from me, but he didn’t stop either. His movement forward was stronger and more self-sustained than my pull backward. He did, however, offer me a response.
“People like you have sex with whomever pleases them, and you pretend like it has meaning.”
“What do you mean, people like me?”
He ignored me and continued on with his proclamation.
“You came onto me, after I told you that you were going to be on your own, and that I would have nothing more to do with you.”
“I’d say it was mutual enough,” I replied, still feeling a slight pain in my crotch when I moved my body in a certain way.
“Hm, maybe if you count me checking over your wounds last night as foreplay, otherwise, I see that as a bit of a stretch.”
“You’re not very nice.”
“This isn’t a nice contest. You’re used to manipulating men to get what you want. You can’t stand it when that blatant privilege blows up in your face.”
“Are you so bitter that you can’t believe that someone might actually be attracted to you, and want to have sex?”
He shrugged.
“It’s not an issue of attraction. The way humans operate these days has very little to do with actual attraction. Emotional labor is the currency of today's relationships. You wanted me to expend more emotional labor. You thought you would give me some sweet piece of ass that would change my mind, and make me want to stick it out with you.”
As he berated me for being a manipulative slut, he didn’t even bother to stop and look at me.
“It’s not necessarily your fault. I personally blame society.”
“Convenient.”
“No, I’m serious. You don’t have much of a choice. All you do is wake up and go to sleep in a rat maze with a bunch of other pathological manipulators. I’m sure it rubs off on you.”
“But you’re free of all of that in your little hermit cabin?”
“No, I just gave up.”
“Well, that’s real manly of you.”
“See that?”
“What?”
“What you just did.”
“What do you mean?”
“You attacked my masculinity. I fucked you silly, rescued you from the middle of a forest, saved your life, and protected you from five armed paramilitary operatives.”
He had me.
“After all of that shit, I tell you that I prefer to isolate myself from your toxic culture. Your response is to use that autonomous decision as grounds to attack my masculinity. I might add that your insult is a gender construct of that same society that I’m busy rejecting.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you don’t have to fucking apologize. Just realize what you’re doing, and try not to be so much of an asshole when you get back to the city.”
“So you’re like Jesus or something?”
“Yeah, I’m 'Hermit, Ex-Military, Killer, Just Gave You Three Orgasms Jesus'. You can tell your next boyfriend — ‘Business Casual Fuck-boy’ that I said his gender is a social
construct. Evangelize that shit, and you might get some credit from the social progressives across the Manhattan Bridge.”
“You mentioned that right before we fucked. How do you know where I’m from?”
“You proposition sex like a New Yorker.”
“Bullshit.”
"You fuck like a New Yorker."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Your pussy tastes like Manhattan."
"You're an asshole."
He shrugged, not even bothering to turn and look at me.
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked… not even knowing how to respond to this tirade.
He didn’t reply, only kept walking through the woods.
We kept silent for a while and I was able to take a look at the surroundings in the area. The world around me stopped looking the same, the more time I spent in it. Initially, my head was fuming about that bullshit argument. The world around me was too beautiful.
I didn’t feel like pushing forward into more of the same conversation.
He had me frustrated.
I was beginning to consider the merits of hooking up with someone who wasn’t serious about the whole thing. At the very least, I could say that I had a good fuck. Beyond that, he had saved my life. If I was intelligent enough to look at this type of thing as a transaction then I had to say that I had come out on top. A bit of ass was a small price to pay for the rewards I had received through our exchange.
There was that one final comment though, that still got under my skin. He pegged me for a New Yorker, just by the way that I fucked, but by the way that I tried to use him through his sexuality. At the moment, I couldn’t quite distinguish whether or not his observations were accurate. If he was right, then I really was a monster. The only problem I have with that is that I suspected that the way people treated one another on Madison Avenue was how the rest of the world operated.
We had been walking in silence for about a half an hour. Thoughts were still rushing through my mind when he pulled me into a snowbank and held a gloved hand over my mouth.
My mind went back to the five bodies still burning back at the cabin, and I held my tongue.
Even though I could hear the sound of cars passing on the highway, I knew we weren’t out of the woods yet.
Chapter 11 - Aden
The first thing I noticed was the smell of diesel fuel in the air. You can get a fair read on something like that in the dead of winter. The cold changes the way I am able to pick up those types of scents.
Diesel by the highway is nothing out of the ordinary, but usually, the experience is more like a passive form of pollution. When you get a stronger scent, you really need to be aware that a car has stopped, and you are no longer alone.
In the past, I had to worry about rangers coming by to bother me. I didn't worry because I was doing anything illegal. My concerns came about because any interaction with the authorities brought back bad memories from a time before.
Unproductive reflection was something that I wanted to avoid at all costs. The fumes were not, as it turned out, from a ranger truck. There wasn't even a semi pulled off to the side of the road.
The fumes were from a truck that appeared to be waiting for someone. If I had to guess, they would be waiting for people that were never going to come back. The plates were unmarked, and the car was just as cocky as the attitudes of the men who came into the forest after me. Their attitudes got them killed, and though we didn’t have cover at this point, we at least only had a driver to worry about.
I paused for a moment, trying to assess the situation at hand.
Whoever was in the car would definitely be armed. They would almost certainly also be in easy contact with whomever was point on this whole operation.
The windows of the car were tinted. I couldn’t quite see inside of the vehicle, so I was unsure of how many people we had to contend with. Given the size of the vehicle, and the number of people I had already killed, I judged that my odds were fairly high. Then I saw another duplicate vehicle positioned immediately behind the first.
“Two cars…”
“What do we do?” she asked, her voice hushed.
Whatever dissatisfaction she had been working through only moments before was now gone.
I shook my head.
It’s amazing how quickly a woman’s mind changes as soon the situation around you takes a turn for the worst. Of course, I shouldn’t put it off to her like some misogynist; most people are like that. If anything, it should tell you something about humanity and not one specific gender.
Maybe she’s right… I thought, letting introspection get the better of me for a moment. Maybe I am too bitter for my own good.
“Stay here,” I told her in a short voice.
No need to, really, but I thought the command might give her something to hold onto while I moved into position.
The interesting thing about civilian psychology is that no matter how difficult things are, they tend to defer to authority. Generally speaking, it doesn't even matter if a civilian is creative, or conventionally defiant.
I suppose it has to do with the fact that there is a need to appeal to an expert in a given scenario. Particularly when your life is on the line. However, I have some suspicions that the actual reason has more to do with herd social behavior than not. Whatever the case, it sure makes it convenient to have someone who stays out of the way without my needing to explain myself.
If she manages to kill herself, I’m sure it will be just another emotional scar I’ll have to deal with. At least I will have the knowledge that I did what I could in order to contend with the problem.
With confidence in the efficacy of my own actions, I left her to move into a more advantageous position.
We had taken a circuitous route toward the highway. I didn’t want to come up on a conflict situation, and be caught out in the open without any viable recourse. There is an open clearing at the closest section of highway to the cabin. Any chance she has of getting a ride is going to be in that clearing. Unfortunately, that convenience also meant that encountering our current problem was also a possibility. In order to account for that option, we dropped down into a valley, and came up along the southern end of the open clearing.
Lorin’s position — if that really was her name, was good enough for the moment. She would be out of sight, and if I came out aggressively from a different vantage point, she would at least be outside of combat.
I retraced our steps for about fifty feet down the hill. Then, I came up in an alcove of trees just next to the highway on the southern end of the field. Pulling out my bow, and two arrows, I took a deep breath and calmed myself before the shot.
I had to expose myself amid the group of shrubs and trees in order to get a solid shot off.
I have always been more accurate from a standing position. If you have the element of surprise, it’s important to exercise that advantage to the best of your ability. You never quite know what you’re up against.
The first arrow went off, and my shot was true. The tire of the rear car sank into the snow as all of the air left the all-terrain tread.
There was some commotion in the car, and the engine for the car I hit roared to life. Before the car could move, another arrow had been shot into the front wheel on the passenger side of the same car. I didn’t even indulge in a smile while the rims turned futile into the snowbank where the car was parked. Even if they managed to get out onto the highway, it would be impossible for them to navigate the cliff sides with two blown tires. The roads were twisted, and required the full attention of every driver on the pass.
They were stuck, and the car that was parked just in front of them was unable to back out without making itself vulnerable to attack as well.
Knowing my position was exposed, I decided to run across the highway in the opposite direction of Lorin. I wanted to take advantage of the moments I had while they were not yet out of the car. As soon as I moved, a window from the car was down, and a shot was fire
d in my direction. I had to run into traffic in order to evade the bullets firing into the bushes in the position I had just left.
Without realizing, I was nearly hit by a semi-truck making its way up the highway. The shots continued, and I heard glass break, and tires skid, as I dove to avoid a collision with the truck. My bow dug into my spine, but besides that I had made it out of harms way without meeting my death. I couldn’t be sure about the others though, as the truck careened out of control toward the meadow. I finished my roll and pushed my body over the edge of the far side of the highway. An explosive impact assaulted my senses as the Semi-Truck made a direct hit with the truck parked closest to the highway.
Another car driving south honked at me, skidded, and then corrected course in its path down the perilous road.
Whether a good samaritan was at the wheel or not, I’ll never know. The car stopped for a moment, as the driver threw on their hazards. Before they were able to respond to the crash that took place on the side of the highway closest to the meadow, more shots were fired in my direction.
I heard the yells from inside of the vehicle that had fired at me from across the road. Dissent in the decisions as to whether or not it was a good idea for them to stay, or flee. The samaritan made the decision to vacate the area as quickly as possible. The only mark of their presence was a screeching noise as the car sped away from the growing altercation in along the highway.
Highway Patrol would be here soon. There is no way this incident is going to be contained.
My thoughts go to Lorin, and I hope that she has had the good sense to remain in her position. Looking up across the highway toward the far side of the meadow, I can see that she hasn’t.
“Damnit,” I curse, and stand up to ready another arrow.
The car that had been shooting at me is now fishtailing through the snow toward the southern path of the highway. Obviously, the will of the driver overtook the will of the gunman in the passenger side of the car. His window remained open, and I came face to face with a man wielding a shotgun.
