by Bryan Smith
Allyson’s life prior to arriving at Camp Whiskey had not been an easy one, but she was pretty and personable and so had always managed to find a way to fit in wherever she went. This ostracism was something new. Being surrounded by people who would barely talk to her or look at her was worse by far than merely being alone. It hurt her in a fundamental way that she’d never truly experienced before. And, of course, they all knew of her past in the porn industry. Someone—
Jim, she thought, her blood boiling.
—had decided to share this bit of information with his inner circle. And the juicy tidbit had filtered down through the grapevine until everyone knew about it. Chad’s apparent unwillingness to stand up for her made it worse. It was almost as frustrating as her several failed attempts at seducing him. He didn’t seem at all interested in her physically anymore, and Allyson was beginning to feel it was pointless to keep trying.
Thinking about it caused her to grit her teeth and start chopping the carrots faster. She wielded the gleaming blade in her hand with a swift efficiency. Something about the task made her recall how easily the axe blade had punched through the flesh of the men sent to retrieve Chad and Jim. She imagined the blade in her hand pressed to Jim’s throat. Saw his eyes go wide as she eased the sharp wedge of steel into his flesh and drew blood, his pleas for mercy going unanswered as she made him pay dearly for the humiliation she’d suffered. But the fantasy brought no real satisfaction. Her wounded pride aside, she ached to fit in and be accepted. Ached to have Chad like and respect her again.
She didn’t realize her eyes had filled with tears until she heard the sound of boot heels on the kitchen floor. She wiped her eyes with the back of a hand and looked up to see Wanda Lewis entering the kitchen from the mess hall. The woman was tall and slender, and possessed of a striking prettiness that made Allyson want to touch her. Which was just odd. Allyson had performed sexual acts with women before, but never outside the context of porn films. Hetero was her default orientation and she was happy with it, so it was a strange thing to feel that little tingle of arousal every time she saw Wanda’s face.
There was a small, enigmatic smile teasing the corners of the woman’s mouth as she approached Allyson and placed a hand on her arm. “Come for a walk with me, Allyson. I’d like to talk with you about some things.”
Allyson looked into the taller woman’s luminous green eyes and felt something melt inside her. Maybe Wanda had approached her as a peacemaker. Perhaps she’d even been sent by Jim for that very purpose. The prospect of being accepted at last by the inner circle made her heart skip a beat. She felt like crying again, but she managed to keep the tears at bay. She dared not get her hopes up too soon.
She let go of the knife and wiped her hands on the dirty apron tied about her waist. “Okay.” She untied the apron and tossed it over the back of a chair. “I’m about sick of this women’s work bullshit anyway.”
Wanda smiled again and moved toward the screen door at the rear of the kitchen. Allyson followed her outside and noted at once the mixture of disdain and curiosity playing across the faces of her co-workers. Most of them puffed at cigarettes and pretended not to notice her, but one man, a soldier who’d moved away from the nearby woods to talk to the gathered women, looked her in the eye for a moment. A flicker of some unreadable emotion passed over his face and disappeared.
Allyson hurried to catch up to Wanda, whose long strides had nearly carried her to the edge of the woods in the time Allyson had paused to study the soldier’s expression. She stepped through the line of trees and put an extra spring in her step as she glimpsed Wanda’s back in intermittent flashes through the maze of trees. They were moving along a winding, ill-defined path. She moved quickly along lengths of bare ground, then had to take her time negotiating areas covered with thick bramble and blocked by low-hanging branches.
She was nearly out of breath by the time she emerged into a small clearing. Wanda was standing in the center of the clearing with her back turned. She moved closer to the other woman and said, “It’s…kind of…nice out here.” She laughed once, a sound rendered brittle by her live-wire nerves. “If you’re into the whole back-to-nature thing, I mean. I’m not, really, but I’m trying to get used to it.”
Wanda laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Allyson.”
She turned around and Allyson gasped at the sight of the gun pointed at her chest. Her knees went weak and her stomach did a slow roll. “Wh-what…is this?”
Wanda moved closer. “Get on your knees, Allyson.”
Allyson knew she should turn and run. A mad dash back into the woods was her only chance of escape. But the sight of that looming gun barrel was so intimidating. The strength drained from her legs and she dropped to her knees. Wanda’s smile broadened as she approached Allyson and placed the warm gun barrel against the center of her forehead.
She laughed at the sight of tears spilling down Allyson’s cheeks. “Poor little thing. Did you really think I brought you here for some heart-to-heart, girl-to-girl talk?”
Allyson was shaking uncontrollably by now. The steel biting into her flesh felt like the cold finger of God, the Almighty laying His judgment down on her. She’d done a lot of bad things in the past and now the time of reckoning had come.
Wanda pressed the gun harder against Allyson’s forehead, making her look up into her leering face. “I’ve been assigned by my Mistress to act as your executioner. You shouldn’t never have fucked us over, bitch.”
Allyson’s eyes blinked in confusion. “Wh…?”
Wanda’s forefinger began to exert pressure on the 9mm’s trigger. Allyson knew she was an instant away from dying. She should be praying to God for forgiveness in hopes that He might show her some mercy once she crossed to the other side. But instinct sent her mind scrambling to make sense of w hat Wanda had said.
It almost seemed as if…
BLAM!
Allyson screamed as the shot rang out, the blast echoing in the clearing as Wanda toppled backward and fell hard to the ground. Allyson remained frozen for a moment, unable at first to comprehend that she was still alive and that the person who’d meant to kill her had been struck down. Then she gasped as she heard heavy footsteps moving past her toward the fallen woman.
The soldier she’d glimpsed outside the mess hall knelt next to the woman he’d shot and felt for a pulse. Then he showed Allyson a grim expression and said, “She’s dead.”
Allyson nodded.
Then the world went fuzzy and she fell into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The view from the balcony pleased her more with each passing day. A small, ramshackle community was rapidly taking shape out there in that alien desert, with numerous primitive huts and a handful of prefab buildings and trailers dotting the landscape. The huts functioned as the new living quarters for the slaves. The prefab buildings and trailers—which were surrounded by a chain-link fence tipped with barbed wire—housed the Black Brigade compound. Plans for the near future included the establishment of a large, open-air marketplace, drinking halls, and places of entertainment, where the live sex and torture shows once enjoyed by the Overlords of Below would be resurrected.
Giselle’s intent was to fashion the incipient city into a bustling center of filth and decadence, of tawdry spectacle and ultimate corruption. She imagined the new community several months hence. A fully realized city of the damned. Used-up prostitutes bleeding to death in alleys, razor-wielding psychopaths prowling dark streets, murderers and petty criminals alike strung up from public gallows, children ripped from the arms of their parents and made to watch as mommy and daddy were raped and slaughtered in the streets by Black Brigade soldiers, and all-night fetish/torture sessions in a lounge reserved exclusively for an elite few in the Brigade’s power structure.
The vividly imagined atrocities brought a smile to her face.
Beyond the embryonic city, hundreds of slaves clad only in loincloths and sandals continued to work at hauling huge sla
bs of stone toward the steadily rising structure just visible at the edge of the horizon. The technology and machinery necessary to greatly speed up the construction process was available, but, as with so many other things, Giselle preferred to do the job the old-fashioned way. She liked watching the slaves toil. But there was a purpose to the method beyond the simple joys of casual cruelty. The human misery honored the death gods, who drew sustenance from pain and gave power to those who appeased them. The city taking shape beneath her would also honor the death gods. Giselle would provide the old ones with a veritable feast of suffering and death, a nonstop carnivale of depravity unlike anything they’d seen before, eclipsing anything from Medieval times or modern war. Her forces were working continually to cull thousands of sacrifices from normal human communities, mostly the marginalized people no one in authority cared much about. Poor people. Prostitutes, runaways and drug addicts. This in addition to the handful of societal castaways who managed to find their way here by accident every year. Ms. Wickman had largely contented herself with the random strays who happened into her territory, but Giselle had no interest in conservatism. She was determined to be bold. To do big things, bigger even than the Master had ever envisioned.
She heard a click of heels behind her. A moment later Ursula was standing to her right, leaning over the balcony railing to stare intently at the bustling, busy forms a half mile below. “Wow, Razor City is really coming along.”
Giselle glanced at her lover and smiled. “Yes. I enjoy watching it grow.”
Ursula was wearing a long, cream-colored backless dress woven from a thin, clingy fabric. It adhered to the pronounced curves of her long, slender body in a way that made Giselle’s breath quicken. Her hair was an almost white shade of blonde. It was long and straight and fell in a brilliant spray across the pale expanse of her back. Her flesh was the incandescent white of one who has spent nearly all her life indoors. That and her fine, regal features made her look like an ice queen from a fairy tale. Ursula turned her head to look at Giselle and the spray of hair across her back rippled and shifted, revealing a small birthmark on her left shoulder.
Ursula lifted an eyebrow. “Are you having naughty thoughts, Mistress?”
Giselle moved closer and laid a hand on her lover’s back, enjoying the way Ursula shuddered slightly at her touch. “Perhaps.” She moved her hand slowly over Ursula’s back. “Are you in a mood to tempt me?”
Ursula licked her lips and said, “Always.”
Giselle pulled the woman into a sudden embrace and kissed her with vigor. Ursula matched her hunger and grabbed at her hair, pulled her head back to kiss her throat and the hollow between her breasts. Then Giselle grabbed her by the hand and led her back into her quarters and the huge, plush bed they’d shared so many times over the last month. They disrobed quickly and fell upon each other in the bed, rolling over the soft sheets, limbs shifting and intertwining, mouths warm and seeking, hands rubbing and probing. A little later, when they lay sated and still in each other’s arms, Giselle said, “I feel like giving you a present.”
Ursula squealed with delight and sat up suddenly, bouncing up and down for a moment before exclaiming, “I love presents!”
Giselle smiled. “Would you like to play tonight?”
Ursula’s eyes opened wide and an eager grin made her pale flesh almost glow. “We haven’t played in days! Oh! Do I get to do whatever I want to our playmate?”
“Anything your heart desires.”
“Anything? Seriously? Even…”
Giselle laughed. “Even that.”
Ursula moved to the side of the bed and lifted a bell off a marble end table. “Should I ring for Mr. Schreck?” She shook the bell by its black handle (though not hard enough to produce a tone) and grinned. “Have him fetch one of the fresher arrivals, perhaps?”
Giselle pulled Ursula close again and stroked the girl’s long, shimmering hair. Hair the color of sunshine. “You’ve wanted a playmate and you’ll have one. But I want to properly show my affection for you. No mere slave will do.”
Ursula gasped. “You can’t mean…no, you can’t, surely not. Do you mean…” She made a sound of exasperation. “Oh, I can’t make myself say it.”
Giselle clasped hands with Ursula. The younger girl’s chest was heaving as she struggled to control a burgeoning euphoria. It was a lovely, delicious thing to see. “Darling, is there any one person you hate more than anything else in the world?”
Ursula’s eyes blazed with a degree of intense excitement Giselle normally only glimpsed in the deepest throes of passion. “Gwendolyn.”
Giselle smiled. “I thought as much. Which is why I’ve taken the liberty of planning ahead.”
Ursula clapped her hands together and squealed.“Yes!”
Giselle got off the bed and strode quickly to a nearby wardrobe. She opened the wardrobe and withdrew a pink satin bathrobe, which she shrugged into and closed by loosely knotting the white sash at the waist. Then she crooked a finger at Ursula and said, “Follow me.”
Ursula hopped off the bed and hurried to catch up with Giselle, who had just come to a stop at a blank patch of wall. “Why are we staring at this wall?” Ursula crossed slim arms beneath her breasts and frowned. “I want Gwendolyn.”
“This is no ordinary wall, dear.”
Ursula’s frown deepened. “Stop teasing me and get on with it.”
The girl’s impatience made Giselle pause a moment longer. She wanted to spoil Ursula. Wanted to pamper her, give her everything she desired. But her behavior at the moment was a shade shy of outright insolence. She considered delaying gratification for Ursula a while longer, even briefly thought of withdrawing the gift altogether.
But Ursula must have sensed her anger because she suddenly smiled and said, “Please.”
Most of Giselle’s anger melted at the sight of that smile. She decided not to withhold the promised gift. She would discipline Ursula later.
“Very well.”
She looked at the wall and focused her will. A dim, door-shaped outline formed in an instant, then quickly became more defined. She directed energy at the door and it began to move inward, revealing a wedge of darkness so black it seemed like a living thing, an unfathomable predator waiting with infinite patience to draw the unsuspecting into its sticky embrace. Giselle had a reflexive shudder of fear at the sight of it, but the sensation passed quickly. That strange dark energy was hers to command at will now. Once the door was fully open, she grasped one of Ursula’s hands and was unsurprised to find it cold and trembling.
Ursula let out a shuddery breath. “I don’t know if I want to go in there.”
Giselle chuckled. “Nonsense.”
Then she tightened her grasp on Ursula’s hand and led her into that deep darkness. Despite the reassurances, the girl clutched at her as they moved further into the room, a helpless, barely audible whine issuing from the back of her throat. She shrieked when the heavy stone door behind them slammed shut with an echoing boom.
Giselle decided to show a measure of mercy and released a small energy pulse. An array of candles and torches sparked to life, columns of flame driving back the oppressive darkness in places.
Ursula cupped a hand over her eyes and blinked against the sudden glare. Then she glimpsed the small form huddled in a corner of the suspended cage and grinned. She let go of Giselle and moved to a spot almost directly beneath the slowly swinging cage. Her mouth opened wide as she stared in rapt awe at the sight of her imprisoned rival’s nude—and only slightly bruised—body.
“So…beautiful.” Her voice was low and reverent. “I can’t believe she’s really mine.”
Giselle smiled.“Believe it. Nothing’s too good for you.”
Ursula abruptly came away from the cage and pulled Giselle into a rough embrace. “Thank you so much.” She kissed her hard on the mouth, then beamed at her again. “I love you for this.”
“You deserve it, Ursula.” Giselle smiled. “I would do almost anything for you.”
Ursula touched her face. “I know. You spoil me.”
Then she stepped out of the embrace and moved back to her previous position under the cage. Giselle felt a small pang at her departure, craved the return of that special warmth. A troubled look crossed her face. She had become one of the most powerful creatures on earth. Nothing should trouble her. She should be able to do as she pleased with impunity, with absolutely no concern for consequences. But she did worry about her deepening feelings for Ursula. In the immediate aftermath of killing Eddie, she’d believed herself to be cleansed of the capacity to feel things like love for other creatures. And in the beginning, she’d been able to believe that all she felt for Ursula was a simple animal lust.
Then a week passed and Ursula was still sharing her bed. A week after that it was apparent a real bond of some sort was forming between them, something beyond the obvious balance-of-power connection between Mistress and slave. And now, a full month after their first night together, they had progressed to a stage that could only be construed as romance. Given the way her heart seemed to swell against her chest wall every time Ursula so much as looked at her with a certain glint in her eyes, no other label for what was transpiring could be appropriate.
Yes, there could be little doubt now.
I’m falling in love with her, Giselle thought. How stupid.
Stupid because the very act of falling in love with a person carried with it an implicit vulnerability. It meant the other person in the relationship possessed the ability to hurt you more than any other person possibly could. The potential was there—albeit slight—for someone else to influence the girl against her. She was relatively certain that, despite being firmly under her thumb, every person in her employ was satisfied with their position here. One of the first things she’d done after assuming power was to identify potential troublemakers and purge them from the ranks. But it was just possible that someone who sought to avenge Ms. Wickman’s death remained, and Giselle would be a fool to assume such a person would not at least entertain the notion of recruiting Ursula as an assassin. She doubted very much that the girl could be swayed to an enemy’s side, given her newly exalted position, but one could not afford to be complacent about such things.
