by Jack J. Lee
The Cedar City folk started panicking when they realized half of us were pulling out. I assured them that we would be back by nightfall. We were just going to go down to the outskirts of St. George and then come back. There were survivors down south and that we had to see how they were doing. I had eleven SaLTs stay at the ward with Henrietta.
In two hours, the PPC would be in St. George. During the same period, Bertha would be lucky to make 10 miles. About an-hour-and-a-half after we left Cedar City, I got a call from Alex. He said that there were signs of survivors in La Verkin. He estimated 20 survivors. All of them were women. The FLDS, especially the women, dress like they live in the 1800’s. The La Verkin survivors didn’t look FLDS.
We took exit 27 to UT-17 on our way to La Verkin. At our current pace, we would be there in four-and-a-half hours. I told Mike to keep exploring up ahead of us and then circle around and meet us when they started getting low on gas. With a full tank of gas, without a head wind, the PPC could make 120 miles.
Half-an-hour later, Alex radioed us, “Sarge, the whole town of Hurricane is full of idiots dressed like they escaped from ‘Little House in the Prairie’ and the assholes shot at us!”
“Get the hell out of there, soldier! If you think it’s safe, swing on over to St. George and check the town out before you get back to us.”
“Yippie ki-ay, Sarge.”
Alex radioed that there were close to 20 thousand zombies in St. George. Based on the pre-Outbreak population there should have been more. It looked like the FLDS had been doing some pest control.
We were about an hour out of La Verkin when Mike flew within eyesight. Once the road was clear the PPC landed. Mike and Alex took a break and ate while the rest of us refueled the PPC and checked the canopy. We found one bullet hole. It was easy to patch.
I got on the radio and contacted the Fortress. I needed to talk to the Director. It took a while to get him.
“What’s the news, Sergeant?”
“Director, we got FLDS in Hurricane. They shot at the PPC when it did a flyover. I don’t think peaceful contact is an option”
“I’ll be down there with a fleet of buses tomorrow afternoon at the latest. The survivors in La Verkin, are they FLDS?”
“Not according to the zomboys. They weren’t dressed like it.”
“Keep an eye out, Hiram. You’re on the ground. I trust your judgment. Do what’s necessary.”
I loved working with the Director. He didn’t hover or micromanage. He didn’t give stupid commands. My men and I were down here to see if the FLDS were too stupid to live. I knew our mission. He trusted me to carry it out.
We drove into La Verkin. I told Mike to stay within eyesight but at least a couple thousand yards away from us. If we were attacked, I wanted them to immediately return to Cedar City. La Verkin was a typical small desert town. In the last hour we had been taken down just three zombies. The last few miles of highway had been cleared of broken down vehicles. People had been doing pest control here for awhile. There were no zombies in town. The La Verkin City Office was a small two story stone structure next to a cemetery. The building had been turned into a fortress. The roof was encased with welded metal panels and all the windows and doors had metal shutters over them. Tombstones had been used to reinforce the walls. A fence made of out of scrap that looked strong enough to resist zombies surrounded the building.
The fence gate opened and a strawberry blonde woman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt walked out to us. She was about 5 foot, 10 inches tall and about my age. I felt like I had been hit with a brick. I’m a big man. Tiny stick-like women make me nervous. I worry that if I brush up against one by accident they’ll break. I’m not attracted to women who look like children. Rachel didn’t look like a child. I could have spent hours looking at her curves.
She introduced herself as Rachel Levin. She said that she and a group of women had been staying in the La Verkin City Hall for the past 6 months. They had cleared out all the zombies in the area. It had taken weeks to get the metal roof and shutters installed. Most of their men were killed by a vampire while they were getting this done. Her husband had survived the initial Outbreak. He was one of the first men killed.
I asked if she had any problems with the FLDS. She said she hadn’t. Their main problem was vampires. Her group had to hole up at night. Every few nights they would have a vampire on their roof trying to find a way in. While Rachel was talking to me 14 other women dressed in jeans and work shirts came out.
Usually when we rescued survivors, they hadn’t been able to take a real bath or shower for months. Even if a rescued woman was attractive, until she got cleaned up and stopped smelling funky, it was easy to remain a gentleman. The La Verkin woman had been taking care of themselves. None of them were wearing much makeup but they were all clean and some of them were wearing perfume. There are pretty girls at home but they don’t usually travel in packs of 15. My men looked as dazed as I felt. When Rachel invited us all in to the City Hall for some bottled water, we all followed her. Rachel was at my side as we walked into the building. We went from bright sunlight into the dark. The windows were all covered with metal shutters and there weren’t any lights. It took a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did I saw at least 30 FLDS men pointing rifles at me and my men. I turned to Rachel and saw that she was holding a snub nosed revolver 4 inches from my side. All the women were holding guns on my men.
Rachel smiled, “Sergeant, the FLDS don’t bother us because we are the FLDS. It’s wonderful how sinners let down their guard in front of pretty women. We were hoping to catch some gentiles today. We really hit the jackpot with you and your men. A fully armored and equipped bus, how nice of you to bring it to me. Now hold still while my men disarm you or I’ll blow a .357 size hole into you. At this range I can’t miss. Sergeant, I would really like to have a powered paraglider for my collection. Tell your pilot to land next to the City Hall. Careful now, if you warn them or say anything too revealing, I’ll shoot one of your men.” She pointed at Max Sutter. He had just turned 18.
I looked into Rachel’s eyes. She was a psychopath. She was looking for an excuse to shoot someone. I turned on my walkie talkie, “Alex, do you hear me?”
“Yeah, Sarge.”
“Everything here is fine. We’re going to stay here awhile. I want you guys to land outside the City Hall.”
“I hear you, Sarge. Everything is fine. Will comply.”
The Director is a clever man. He predicted that there would be SaLTs who would eventually end up in a situation like this. He told us to use the word ‘fine’ as code. It meant that everything was fucked and to do the opposite of what was being said. When Alex repeated my words “everything is fine”, I knew he got the message. He and Mike were on their way back to Cedar City.
Men came forward. They wrapped chains around my wrists and ankles and then used padlocks to keep them in place. Once they were done with me, they chained my men. We waited. After an hour went by without the PPC landing, Rachel chuckled, “My, my. So the Sergeant used a code word, even after I promised to shoot one of his men if he did.”
She stepped up to Max and put the barrel of on his head. I lurched forward. The FLDS men held me back.
“Sergeant, I guess I need to prove to you that I keep my promises.”
She moved her gun to Max’s left arm and fired. Max grunted. He didn’t scream.
“Oh it’s just a flesh wound, but next time Sergeant, if you disobey meI will kill one of your men.”
We were loaded back on to our APC and we were driven through Hurricane down into Hildale and then Colorado City. On the way a couple of the FLDS dressed Max’s wound. The bullet had gone cleanly through his left biceps without hitting bone. They gave him a sling. On the way I saw groups of men and women working in fields while surrounded by armed guards. It looked like the FLDS had reintroduced slavery. We were taken to a warehouse. Inside was a row of 20 by 20 foot cages made out of steel fencing. There were prison
ers in most of the cages. One by one our chains were removed. We were told to undress to our underwear in front of everyone. We were given hospital scrubs pants and shirts to wear. They took everything including our watches, rings, shoes, and socks.
Max walked up to me, “Sarge, what are we going to do?”
I motioned the men around me, “Guys, we talked about this possibility before the mission. If we’re questioned tell the truth. Don’t hold anything back. We don’t know anything that would hurt the SaLTs. Let them know that we all volunteered for this mission and we knew the risks coming in. Make sure that the FLDS know that if anything happens to us, they’re in for a world of hurt. They have no fricking clue what the Director will do to them.”
We all knew that if we were captured we would be questioned, possibly tortured. For years before the outbreak, the media has been spouting off bullshit idea that torture can’t give you accurate information. That just because a tortured prisoner will say anything that he thinks you want him to say, that any information he gives you is worthless. If you only have one prisoner it’s often difficult to know if a prisoner is giving good information. If you have multiple prisoners and/or a way to corroborate information, torture gets you extremely accurate information. As long as the prisoners can’t communicate with each other and their stories match, you know that the information you’ve obtained is likely good. It’s reasonable to debate whether it is ever morally or ethically ok to torture someone, but it is complete bullshit to claim that torture doesn’t work.
The Director deliberately kept us in the dark before we left about all the new military information. I knew that he had sent salvage crews to Camp Williams, the Utah National Guard training facility, but neither I nor any of my men knew what kind of weapons he had found there. None of us knew what he was planning to do if any of the SaLTs were captured. It was possible that our willingness to answer any question truthfully would prevent us from being tortured.
I tried talking to a prisoner in the cage next to ours. The cages were about 30 feet apart so I had to raise my voice, “Hey, how’s it going?”
The prisoner didn’t even look at me. One of the armed FLDS guards patrolling the warehouse shouted, “No talking between cages.”
I looked at the guard, “You coming in this cage to stop me little man?”
I expected him to get angry. He grinned, raised his shotgun and fired. “Fuck!” I felt a blast of pain over my chest and stomach that almost dropped me. The shotgun was loaded with rock salt. He kept the barrel pointed at me and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head. The fucker grinned and went back to patrolling. My men gathered around me.
“You ok, Sarge?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Shit, that hurt.
About an hour after we got here, six men armed with assault rifles came to our cage. They told Max to come to the door and told the rest of us to get back. They opened the door, got Max, chained him and led him out of the building. Four hours later they took one of my other men and every hour after that one more. No one was ever brought back to the cage.
There were two plastic bedpans in the cage and some mattress pads and blankets. There were no chairs or mattress frames. We didn’t have anything that could be used as a weapon.
The next morning there were only three of us in the cage. A tired looking woman came by our cage and pushed a couple energy bars and 3 bottles of water through a slot at the bottom of our cage door. The water bottles were worn; they had been emptied and refilled multiple times. She told us to pass the two bed pans we had in the cage with us to her. We did. She emptied them into a large bin she had with her and then slipped them back to us. She told us that she would come back in 6 hours to take back the empty water bottles and give us new ones. If we damaged one of the water bottles, we wouldn’t get a replacement.
By the afternoon all my men were taken away. I was given two energy bars to eat for dinner. More time passed. It was dark. It must have been around 9 pm when the guards came for me. They threw a small bar of soap in the cage and told me to strip. This was new. They hadn’t asked any of my men to do this. I asked them why. They said that my men and I stunk and that the interrogators were tired of smelling us. After I stripped down they hosed me off with cold water while I cleaned up. After a few minutes, they tossed in a towel and new scrubs. After I got dressed, they motioned me out and then chained my arms and legs.
They gave me two flip flops to wear. We walked a quarter mile to a gymnasium. I was led into the basement. It looked like a dungeon from a movie set. There was an open fire pit where iron tools and brands were being heated. Chains and manacles hung everywhere. There was even an iron maiden in the corner. This looked bad. I considered making a break for it or taking on the guards but they were too alert.
I was brought to a large wooden chair that was bolted to the floor. They sat me down and chained my ankles to the floor. My arms were stretched out and my wrists chained at shoulder height. They wrapped a strap around my forehead and then locked it to the back of my chair. I couldn’t move my legs, arms, or head. After I was strapped in the men left. I was alone to stew for about 20 minutes. Rachel stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. This time she was dressed like the typical FLDS woman. She wore a single piece gingham dress with a high collar, sleeves that went down to her wrists, and a hem that went to her ankles. Her hair was raised up in a bun.
“Sergeant Rockwell, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you haven’t been too bored.” She walked over to me and sat on my lap. She leaned her body against me, tucking the side of her head against my neck while reaching up to caress my face. “I hope you won’t hold what I had to do against me.”
The bitch was crazy. I kept quiet.
“I have to say your men haven’t been any fun at all. They sang like little wimpy canaries. I didn’t have to encourage them at all. I’m so disappointed. All of you looked so rough and tough. Are you going to be just as boring as them?”
“None of my men and I know anything of military value. You can ask me anything at all and I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”
She told me that she was glad to have found me. She loved sitting in men’s laps like a little girl. At 5 foot, 10 inches, she had a hard time finding men big enough to do this. She asked all the expected questions. How many men did we have? What kind of equipment did we have? What were our intentions? I answered all of her questions as honestly as I could. I told her that we were here on a humanitarian mission and that if she harmed any of my men that hell-on-earth would come her way.
While we talked, she would occasionally caress my chest, my nipples, and my face. She had a straight edge razor. She placed the blade on my neck and chest but didn’t cut me. Once she laid the razor on my right eye. She held it there for close to a minute. I froze; I knew that if I blinked that I would slice my eyelid. It was the freakiest situation I had ever been in. Cold sweat covered my body. She placed her cheek on my chest and neck without hesitation. She told me that she loved the scent and feel of clean manly perspiration. As I answered her questions, she got more and more frustrated. She wanted me to resist her interrogation.
“Oh pooh! You aren’t letting me have any fun at all.” She sat up and straddled my lap, facing me. She showed me the open straight razor she held in her right hand. She placed it on my neck just below my left ear and lightly cut, barely breaking my skin. I could feel beads of blood coming from the cut. She cut through my shirt and then ripped it off my body. She began licking my neck, lapping up my blood and sweat.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to have fun. You and your men have been surprisingly boring.”
I’ve been an active Mormon all my life. We don’t believe in sex outside of marriage. I’ve never had a woman sit on my lap like this before. I could tell through my thin scrubs that Rachel wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her crotch was moist and it was getting wetter as she rubbed herself against me. My pants were paper thin; it was the only thing between me
and her. Even though she was psychotic, she was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. I tried reciting my multiplications tables in my head. I tried to visualize the ugliest women I knew. I couldn’t stop my body’s response.
“Shit!” She bit my lower lip so hard it was bleeding. The pain from my lip wasn’t enough to change what was going on below my waist. She moved up and down three more times. My body shook as I released.
“Wow, that was quick. Pain and fear usually prevents men from coming so easily.” She stopped, looked thoughtful and then smiled. “Hiram, are you a virgin?”
I didn’t say anything.
She continued smiling, “This is going to be a lot more fun than I thought. It’s been forever since I’ve played with a virgin.” She got off me. She moved her razor to my groin. I lunged with all my strength. I could feel my skin rip at my wrists and ankles. I pulled toward her and then away. It was useless; the chains were too strong.
“Fuck! What the hell are you doing?”
Rachel laughed. “I think it’s unfair that only women bleed when they lose their virginity. Don’t you think men should bleed too?”
I pushed myself as far back as I could. I jerked back and forth. My restraints wouldn’t give.
She stood back, “Unfortunately, I’m married right now and I don’t believe in cheating. I won’t be able to take your virginity just yet. Who knows, I might be able to soon.
