He leans in close. "Scream all you want, Little Bud," he whispers. "No one can hear you." I whimper, but refuse to scream. He likes it when I scream.
His grip on my throat tightens. I can barely breathe. "Stop," I manage to splutter. He ignores my plea. I slap him across the face. His smile broadens. I slap again, but he catches my wrist and pulls my arm across my torso, turning my body.
I face the wall. He grabs a fistful of hair, drags my head backwards. I am forced to face the ceiling as he pulls at my underwear. He spits on his hand. "Deep breaths, Little Bud," he says as he wipes it between my thighs, moistening me with his saliva. I try to fight back. That is when I feel it: the cold bite of honed steel. He releases the handful of my hair. He knows I will not move now. His knife is long and broad, fitting for such a man. I feel its smooth edge nip at my flesh, and I am thankful. Its other edge, the serrated edge, filed to teeth and sharper than a surgeon's scalpel, is far less forgiving.
I feel him rub me, massaging his spit over my labia, working his fingers inside me. Then he stops. I allow myself a brief moment of relief. But then he forces my head to the mattress, forces my chest down, causing my lower back to arch up. I bite down hard against the duvet. I know what is coming. I am terrified.
I squeal as he thrusts himself inside me. He is not gentle. He has no regard for my comfort at all. I am convinced he enjoys the pain he is causing, gets off on it, uses my suffering to fulfil his sadistic fantasies. I start to cry. He barely notices. He just grunts louder with every sob, thrusts harder. I swallow the bile that has gathered in my throat. Maybe I should just throw my neck back, carve the head from my own shoulders. Would he care? Would he even stop? The thought makes me nauseous.
I feel him swell inside me. He groans loudly as he grabs at my left breast. He squeezes hard. I yelp loudly, unable to suppress my screams any longer. My breasts are so sensitive. Every pinch, every squeeze, I wail. He relishes the moment. I sob louder. He finally lets go and withdraws himself, allowing his seed to drip out onto the mattress.
"Sorry, Little Bud," he says as he gets up off the bed, giving my head one last push into the sheets. "I just couldn't hold it." I am not surprised in the slightest. I knew he would not pull out.
He walks away. I keep my head against the mattress, crying into the softness of the duvet. I feel so ashamed. I feel sick. I wish that the ground could swallow me whole.
"Clean yourself up," he says as he reaches the door. "Your parents will be back soon." I do not respond. "Look at me!" he roars. I slowly turn my head. I cannot bear to look at him, but I dare not disobey. He twirls his knife in his hand. "Remember, if you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you all." I do not doubt his words for a second. He slams the door behind him. I leap for it, reseat the bracing bar. I return to my bed and curl up, cuddling my knees, rocking back and forth. I hate what he does to me, but I cannot tell anyone. I do not want him to hurt anyone else because of me. I lay myself down, still curled, sobbing. Tears wet my pillow.
This is how it is every time my parents leave me with him. You would think I would be used to this by now. Somehow, I do not think I will ever get used to it. I hate my life. I hate him. Whether it be from stress, shock, or exhaustion, I do not know; but I feel myself drifting off. I welcome the sleep. I love to dream. It takes me away from this awful place, releases me from this nightmare. I feel my mind sifting through scenarios, searching for the perfect one. Just before I go, I feel it settle. The same dream I have dreamt since he got here. I will dream of Ryan.
RYAN
Friday, 02:17
What a beautiful night. The moon is bright, casting its guiding luminance through the trees. I can see everything, every rustling leaf, every scurrying critter. I breathe deeply. The sweet smell of pine fills me, lifts me up from the darkness. But it is here I must remain, silent. He has crossed my path twice tonight already. I dare not shift from this spot, nor dare I make a sound. This time I will make my move. This time I will nail him.
I have tracked his movements for days. He is a creature of habit, thinking he has nothing to fear. Tonight he does. My crossbow is loaded. The bolt is slightly bent. It has been well used. Not an issue in an instance such as this. I have become accustomed to the arc, aim accordingly.
There is not much to see at the moment. Nothing but trees and leaves and undergrowth. But he will come this way. He always does.
Time passes slowly when you wait. Usually I would hunt smaller game: pheasant, rabbit; anything that tastes good in a stew. But small game only goes so far. I needed to think bigger. And so here I am, waiting, watching, listening.
I find myself thinking of things to occupy the mind. There is not much to look forward to at present, save for the warmth that summer will bring. Longer days, warmer nights; but that is not the warmth I crave. I begin to think of her again. That fiery auburn hair. Those pouty red lips. I shake the thought clear, fight the urge to want her. It is no use. Those emerald eyes have a hold over me. One day I will tell her. Maybe in a few years, when John relaxes his hold on her. For now I would do well to stay clear. John would cut my balls loose and feed them to me if he knew the illicit thoughts that circled my craving mind.
He is here. I can hear his soft steps. Hooves snapping twigs, crushing berries to pulp. He is not as stealthy as he thinks. I see him, he cannot see me. I am king of these woods. He is just renting the space.
I steady my breathing, hold fast. My finger closes on the trigger. Just a few more yards. I can see the moonlight reflected in his eyes. He is a regal beast. I feel shame for what I must do, but I do it regardless.
My bolt hits true, between the eyes. The moonlight fades from them. The perfect metaphor. It is as if the light of his life has fled, leaving only darkness to consume. What does that make me? Am I the darkness, ready to devour such a splendid creature? Or am I death, the reaper of souls?
My knife is in my hand before I have time to think it through. I work quickly, carving the brute from pelvis to chest. The smell has never bothered me, I am arm-deep in guts before it even registers. I chuckle to myself, morbid as it is. The last time I brought Caitlin a deer I did not bother to field dress it. She will not let me forget it. Still, it is winter this time. The chill air is my ally.
I make light work of it, no longer than five minutes before he is prepared and slung over my shoulders. I grab the two ducks I snagged earlier, bound together with baling string, and head for home. Long strides help me maintain my pace. The buck is a big boy, must be close to a hundred kilos, and it is a long way back. The terrain is uneven, neglected. I do well to steer clear of roads. I do not know why. The night is a safe haven. Solars cannot survive in the dark. Dad says they absorb the sun like we breathe oxygen. Without it, they essentially suffocate. Still, you can never be too careful.
I listen, focusing on sounds beyond my laboured breaths and crunching footsteps in the leaves. There is nothing. My sight sees more than I can hear. There are squirrels in the trees, rabbits in the clearings. They are like me; they have also learned to be invisible in the night. But I can see them. Nothing escapes my gaze.
I notice a trail. Something has crossed this path already. It is big, smart. It has tried to cover its tracks. My eyes scan the area, but there is nothing. I have seen this exact same thing a few times in the past few weeks. I do not know what kind of creature made these, but I do know one thing: it has been following me.
Something catches my eye. A flash, a reflection of moonlight hitting glass. Glass? Unusual. There is nothing near here, only the fallout bunker that we have occupied as home. How could any kind of trinket be left here?
I drop the buck, flopping him over a felled tree. I walk towards the light. It twinkles. I can see its form as I approach, and my heart begins to race. Is that what I think it is? I keep walking until I am standing over the light's source. It no longer twinkles, the angle of reflection no longer shining on me. "You fucking beauty," I say as I bend down to pick it up. A portable police scanner, still intact, only superfi
cial damage to its casing. It has been years since I last saw one. The last had led us this far, sent us farther north than we had ever dared before. All we need is the final piece of the puzzle. We need the exact location.
I twist the volume knob. This should have activated the device, but nothing. The batteries are dead. Damn. I cannot remember the last time I found a working battery. It has been too long, their charge dissipated over the decades since they first came. I will have to charge the batteries myself, and I know exactly where to find a charger.
I stuff the scanner in the pocket of my duffle coat. I walk over to the buck, still draped over the decayed trunk, and hurl it onto my shoulder. By the time I get back it will be too close to dawn. I will not have time to get to where I need to go before sunrise. I will wait for today. But tonight, I will find the charger I seek. Tonight, I will go to town.
CAITLIN
Friday, 05:28
I hate venison. The taste, the smell; everything. My stomach churns as I think about the meal to come. I have not got time to age the meat so it will be as tough as old boots. I doubt what little else Ryan brought back will feed us all for the next few days, so I have no choice. Oh well. The men can have their deer. I will stick with duck.
The buck's shoulders are resting on the worktop while I sharpen my new knife. There is a lot of fat to trim. I need the blade to cut through flesh like butter, so I take my time with it, stroke after stroke, checking the edge from time to time.
I feel a hand grip my bottom firmly. "Not a good idea to grope a woman with a knife in her hand," I say with a smile, expecting to see John when I turn. My tone tightens when I finally see the man responsible. "David. Do that again and I'll cut you're fucking hand off."
"Oh, so serious," he says as he fingers the tip of my knife, batting it away. "I thought you liked it when I grabbed it hard."
"What do you want, David?" My words are a lash this time. I have no time for him and am not afraid to show it.
He grabs my wrist, shakes the knife free, presses himself against me. I can feel his bulge as he leans in. We are cheek to cheek. "You know what I want," he says. He runs his tongue along my jaw line. I turn my face, catching his nose with my forehead. "You cunt," he snaps. His grip tightens. He pushes me back, then jerks me back in. We are face to face. "I was asking politely. Do you want me to ask impolitely?"
"Get off me," I hiss. I push him away. He barely moves, sturdy as he is. It is like pushing a brick wall.
"Feisty," he whispers. His hot breath is fowl. He has been drinking.
"You're drunk," I say. He only smiles. "Why don't you go and get some sleep, David? I'll wake you when dinner's ready."
"You'll wake me personally?" he asks. I can tell what his dirty mind is working towards.
"Sure," I reply half-heartedly with a nod. "I'll have a plate of deer for you."
"Will you offer anything else on a plate?" He releases my wrist. His hands begin to wander, caressing by buttocks, one stays put while the other works its way higher, stopping at my breasts. He grins as he steals a quick squeeze, before making a move to unbutton my blouse.
"No," I say sharply, "but my husband may have something for you by then." His hands retract slightly at the mention.
"Where is he now?" he asks.
"In town," I say. "He stayed behind while I brought back the cache."
"So ... he's not back yet?" he asks, twiddling my hair in his fingers.
I push his hands away, give him my sternest look. "Soon," I say. I will give his advance no purchase. I have made that mistake before, more than once.
"C'mon now, Caity," he utters seductively. "You know I'll make you cream all over my dick, just like last time. You said it yourself: no man has ever curled your toes like I can."
"I didn't say that," I protest. His smile tells me he knows it is a lie. "I think I'll stick to John's bed, thank you very much."
"Your limp-dick lover," he grumbles. "He might not even come back. And what then? You think you'll keep your hands to yourself? It'd only be a matter of time before you fell on my cock."
"Is that so?" I ask. My mocking tone aggravates him.
"Yes," he hisses, "because you're nothing but a dirty little whore. I bet John's body would barely have time to cool before you came to me, begging for dick." I slap him as hard as I can. My hand stings, the pain shoots up my arm. He smiles, baring his teeth. The warmth in his eyes is lost to the sinister snarl from his lips. "Does that turn you on?" he asks.
"Just get out, David," I yell. I drop down to retrieve my knife and point it towards his face. "Go now, and I'll forget this conversation ever happened."
He stares at me for a while. His eyes narrow, the curls on his lips turn south. Rage envelopes his face. "Fine!" he says. He pushes past me, shoving me into the wall on his way to the door. "If you're unwilling, I'll get my kicks somewhere else."
JOHN
Friday, 13:31
I love venison, even if it is a bit tough. I strip the meat from the bone, wash it down with a gulp of David's homebrewed cider. I am in my element. Rose is not faring quite so well. I can see the look of discontent in her eyes as she chews. She is proud, like her mother. I think that, when Ryan said she should just have duck instead of deer, she took it as a challenge. As much as she tries to hide it, I can see through her act. She is trying to impress him.
"Was the night productive?" David asks. Rose glares at him briefly as he speaks, then bows her head. I am curious. Did they have a disagreement in the night?
"It was," I reply. "We gathered as much as we could from the medical centre. Most of the medicines were past their expiry by a decade or more, but we must take what we can get."
"Too true," he says. I sense a hint of sarcasm. This time Cait shoots an evil glace his way. What the hell happened while I was gone? "Thanks, by the way ... for the bottles."
I hold my cider in the air, saluting him. "Any time," I say with a grin.
"How was your night, son?" he asks Ryan.
"Good," Ryan says, nodding rhythmically. "I got the bastard."
"I can see that, my boy," David says as he punches the young hunter's arm. "Well done, kid. You've done me proud."
"Yeah, Ry. You did great," Rose pipes up. She bites another mouthful of meat from the bone, gulps arduously. "It tastes great." The roar of laughter from around the room soon wipes the sweet smile from her face. She looks down. Her cheeks blush as she eyes Ryan meekly.
"It's okay, Bud," I say. I place my hand on hers for reassurance. "Venison is an acquired taste."
"Don't I bloody know it," Cait says loudly. She gestures to the juicy duck breast on her plate, nestled upon a bed of wilted greens. "Stick with poultry, sweetheart. Leave larger game to the men." Rose smiles, her eyes still fixed on Ryan. I can see us having problems with these two, sooner or later.
"Any unusual activity?" David asks.
"None," I say. Ryan nods in agreement.
"Nothing?" David asks. He sounds almost disappointed. I eye him warily.
"Should there have been?" I ask.
David shakes his head, drops his gaze. "No. Just wondering, that's all."
"There hasn't been any disturbances in the night for decades," Cait says. Her lecturing tone has Rose's eyes rolling. "Not since all the predators were wiped out."
"They weren't wiped out," Ryan mutters under his breath.
"Oh?" He jumps at Cait's response. He was obviously hoping she had not heard him. "So why haven't we seen one in so long?" Ryan says nothing. He knows better than to answer. "Solars killed everything that caused a threat."
"That's why there's so many deer," Rose says, a little louder than she had intended. Ryan smiles. Rose's cheeks flush with colour again.
She catches me looking at her. Her eyes fall to her plate. The look in my eyes must say what I am thinking. "That's right, sweetheart," Cait says. She does not look up. I worry I have scared her.
I give her a moment to reply. She does not. "So, how was your evening, Bud?" I ask
. It may have been slight, only a microexpression, but I saw it. She flinched at the question. She is scared.
"Good," she says. Her hand shoots to the back of her neck. "Just a quiet night of reading." Her words are feeble, like the squeak of a timid mouse.
"Is that all?" I say. She nods with a smile. I can see it is forced. Something worries her. "Why do you ask, anyway?" I ask David. He looks confused. "If there was any unusual activity," I add.
He turns to Ryan. The boy's eyes drop. "Tell him," David says. Ryan looks nervous. He has been keeping something.
"Ry?" He eyes me anxiously. I turn my hands, raise my palms to the ceiling. "Well? What is it?"
He looks to his father. David's eyes narrow. They say, out with it, boy!
"Okay," he says. "Rose, could you give us a minute?"
I grit my teeth as Rose looks my way. Her eyes ask for permission. "Go on," I say. I try to keep my cool, yet I still hiss the words. Rose quickly finds her feet and scurries to her room. I hear the clunk of the bracing bar latching into place. "So?"
Ryan is quiet. I can see the cogs in his head are turning, thinking of how to put his thoughts into words, how best to structure the news he brings. "Okay," he finally says. My hand tightens to a fist. If he has laid a hand on my daughter, I swear to God ...
"We're waiting," I say. My menacing tone sets him on edge. David finds it amusing. He smiles broadly.
"During the past few weeks, I've noticed a few things when hunting in the woods. Strange things."
"Like what?" I ask with a sigh of relief. It is not about Rose.
Ryan turns to Cait. "You say there are no more predators." His words are sinister. Cait's face remains neutral. She does not scare easily. "Well, there must be."
"Why's that?" Cait cocks her head as she speaks. Her brow furrows.
Ryan's eyes turn cold, nostrils flare, lips narrow, as he says, "Because something's been hunting me."
Solar: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 2
