by Jessy Cruise
"Ohhh," she cooed in his ear. "Sooo big. So good."
He knew that he wasn't really particularly big, just average, but he didn't bother correcting this notion at the moment. He began to move within her, keeping it slow so as to avoid waking up Jack (assuming he was still asleep). Very quickly the going became easier as her body adjusted to having him inside of her. Soon he was moving in a delightful friction, a tight, slippery channel that seemed custom designed for his pleasure. Though Julie, his wife, had been an expert at making love to him, Christine had the tightness and the allure of youth in her corner. Though she was clearly without much experience, and though she couldn't hold a candle to Julie's techniques at movement and gripping, he had to admit to himself that the actual sensation of intercourse with her was better than anything he had ever felt before. He could revel in the pleasure of her body for hours.
The factor of Jack kept him from driving into her as he truly wanted to do. Instead, he kept it slow, using gentle, steady strokes designed not to make much noise or rustle the sleeping bags. It was a tender, almost hesitant act, though no less passionate than an unrestrained one.
When Christine began to buck up and down with her second orgasm, Skip once again covered her mouth with his, sucking her tongue to keep her from moaning aloud as the waves of pleasure overtook her. The uncontrolled spasms of her tightness against him as she came pushed him over the edge of his own control. He felt the inevitability of his own orgasm building in his groin, moving up and down his spine. His hips began to move faster, driving with more power and now creating the noise that he did not wish to create. But he could not help himself. To not thrust potently in her body was impossible.
This time it was Christine who kept him from moaning with her own mouth. She brought her legs up around his back, pulling him even harder against her. The spasms began and soon he was unloading thick jets of sperm into her body, plastering her cervix and overfilling her to the point that it ran out onto the fabric beneath them.
Slowly the last vestiges of orgasm departed, the strokes slowed to a halt, and their breathing began to return to normal. They lay against each other, kissing softly, their bodies bathed in a sheen of sweat that quickly gave them chills. The entire lean-to, despite the ventilation from the openings on the side, reeked of sexual musk. Christine reached up and pulled the sleeping bag tighter around them.
For the longest time they simply held each other, enjoying the sharing of their body heat, his wilting penis still nestled within her sopping opening. Finally Christine broke the silence. "I think the inside of my sleeping bag got wet," she said quietly to him.
This gave them the giggles, the sound of which they covered by putting their lips to each other's necks.
"Are you sorry for what we did?" Christine asked him when their laughter dried up.
He didn't answer her right away, he only laid there atop her for a moment, trying to examine just how he felt about what had happened. "I don't know," he told her at last. "Ask me in the morning."
"Okay," she said softly. "But in the meantime, can you hold me for awhile?"
"Sure."
He pulled himself off of her, rolling onto his back and she laid her head on his chest. His arms came around her, crossing protectively over her back. Within minutes, both of them were asleep.
Part 2
Skip awoke, as always, to the sound of rain and wind outside the lean-to. That was nothing unusual. What was different however was the fact that instead of shivering alone in his sleeping bag, he had a warm body lying atop him. Christine's head was snuggled into his chest, her blonde hair cascading over his shoulder. Her right arm was clinging to his upper torso. His own hands were still wrapped protectively around her back, his fingertips against her smooth skin.
He groaned miserably as he remembered the events of the previous night. What had he done? He had violated a sixteen-year-old girl! That was statutory rape. Rape! A week ago he could have been thrown in prison for doing such a thing, and he would have deserved it. Skip, though a cop, had not been a fanatic on the subject of many of the laws that he had enforced. Some of them he had recklessly violated himself. He had been known to drive his car considerably faster than what was legal on a regular basis. He had been known to drink a beer while behind the wheel. He had routinely fudged deductions on his income taxes. He had taken home batteries, flashlights, map books, and several other useful items from the department supply room. But when it came to sex crimes against minors, he had always been a firm believer in the law that declared those under the age of eighteen to be hands-off. It was a good law, designed to protect young girls from people like... well people like himself. And now what had he done? He had slept with Christine. Just because the threat that the law represented had been removed he had done something that he believed, that he knew was wrong. What kind of man did that make him? Was he any better than the bikers he had shot?
He opened his eyes slowly, noting that it was just past dawn. The meager light that marked the daylight hours was just starting to show itself, allowing him to see Christine's blond head on his chest and the slanted roof of the lean-to above him. Christine, feeling him stir a little, opened her own eyes and looked up at him.
"Hi," she said meekly, offering him an embarrassed smile.
"Hi," he returned, finding it difficult to look her in the eye.
"That was the best I've slept since... well... you know."
Skip did not admit to her that it was the best the he had slept as well. He let his arms fall to his side, releasing her from his embrace. "We'd better pull our sleeping bags apart," he said. "Jack will be up soon and I wouldn't want him to see us like this."
She didn't move for a moment. "Skip?" she said, her face troubled. "Are you okay? You're not... mad at me, are you?"
"No," he told her, shaking his head. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself."
"You don't have to be upset," she told him. "What we did was..."
"Wrong," he interjected. "What we did was wrong and I should have known better. Come on, let's get separated."
Reluctantly she raised herself off of him allowing him a tantalizing and tempting glimpse of her breasts dangling beneath her for a moment. He did his best to ignore the sight and to try not to think about how those breasts had tasted and felt the night before. As he slid out from underneath her, trying to work his way fully into his own sleeping bag, he looked over the top of her, checking on Jack, expecting to see him still snoring away. Jack, a typical fourteen-year-old boy, was always the first to bed at night and the last to rise in the morning. But this time, as luck would have it, he was not. He was leaning on one elbow, looking at the two of them.
Skip froze in place, a jolt of adrenaline surging through his body as he realized that he had been caught. Could this morning possibly get any worse? Would Jack pick up his rifle that he had been so recently taught to use and shoot the man that had raped his sister? That was certainly in the realm of possibilities, wasn't it?
Christine, noting Skip's sudden halt in movement, looked over her shoulder to see what he was looking at. She too froze in place, so surprised that it took her a few moments to realize that her breasts were exposed to Jack's eyes. When she did realize this she slowly reached down and pulled the sleeping bag tighter against her chest.
How long did the moment last? Skip was not sure. It seemed an eternity that the three of them all stared at each other. Skip tried to read Jack's face and found it impossible. There was no expression to be read. It was as if he was looking at a baseball card or a pinecone.
"Morning," Jack finally said, his tone strangely normal.
"Uh... good morning," Skip answered slowly. Christine said nothing.
"Did you guys sleep good?" he said next. "I know I did. I think I'm starting to get used to sleeping on rocks."
"Really?" Skip asked, feeling a little like he was in the Twilight Zone. What was happening here? Wasn't Jack upset?
"Yep," he said, nodding. "Would you guys mind tur
ning around so I can get dressed? I gotta pee."
"Uh... sure," replied Skip.
"Yeah... okay," echoed Christine. Both of them dutifully rolled over to the other side, hastily moving as far apart as they could in the process. Skip had a sudden worry that this was how Jack was going to kill him; by having him turn his back to him. He listened for the clacking of a gun being picked up. It didn't come, only the sound of Jack's clothes jingling.
"Man," Jack told them as he dressed, "I really hate putting these wet clothes on in the morning. Talk about cold."
Neither Skip nor Christine had any sort of answer to offer him. It took him the better part of five minutes to get fully dressed.
"Okay, I'm done," he said.
They both turned to look at him again. He was carefully threading his belt through the pistol holster, positioning it neatly on his right hip at exactly the angle that Skip always did. He gave it a pat and then picked up his rifle. "I'll set out the cans from dinner last night so they can fill," he said as he wormed his way out the side. "We're starting to get low on water in the canteens again."
"Uh... sure. Good idea," Skip told him, staring after him as he disappeared in the rain. He then turned to Christine. "Did that just happen?"
"That was kind of weird, wasn't it?" she agreed. "I mean, we were totally busted. There's no way he didn't see us."
"It was like he didn't even care," Skip said, shaking his head in wonder.
Christine shrugged a little. "Well," she suggested, after a moment's thought on the Micker, "maybe he doesn't."
"What?"
"Well, think about it. Why should he care? I'm his older sister, not his girlfriend or his daughter or anything. My dad or my mom probably wouldn't have liked finding us very much, but Jack is younger than I am."
Skip rubbed his temples a little, massaging at a tension headache. "Too much to think about right now," he mumbled, sitting up and grabbing for his own clothes.
"Skip," Christine said softly, putting her hand on his bare shoulder.
He looked over at her, knowing what she was going to say, desperately wanting to avoid it.
"What about us?" she asked. "Don't you think we should talk about it?"
"There's nothing to talk about," he said firmly. "I shouldn't have done that. I took advantage of you last night and it was wrong."
"I don't feel like you took advantage of me," she said. "I wanted it as much as you did."
"That's beside the point."
"No it's not!" she insisted. "Don't you like me, Skip?"
"Yes, Christine," he sighed. "I like you a lot. I like you too much. You're a very beautiful, very smart girl and I am very attracted to you. That's what the problem is. You're too young to be having sex with a thirty-five year old man."
"Says who?" she asked him.
"Says me! What I did goes against everything I believe in."
"Everything you believe in is gone now," she said quietly. "You told us that yourself. It's a completely different world now with completely different rules. We could die at any time. Isn't it more likely that we're going to be dead in a month than that we're still alive?"
" Christine," he said, "I hardly think..."
"Isn't it?" she interrupted forcefully.
"Yes," he admitted. "I suppose it is."
"Then why shouldn't we enjoy a little affection while we're still alive?" she asked him. "Who is it harming? It's not harming me. No one is going to come and put you in jail for it. Why shouldn't we do it?"
"Why shouldn't we go and kill people who have food if we need it?" he countered. "Why shouldn't I have raped you at gunpoint the other day instead of protecting you? We can't just go changing our morality because there's no one to enforce it anymore. Don't you see that? That's what those bikers are doing. They are what happens when people just start doing whatever they feel like doing."
"You're not like those bikers Skip," she told him, almost angrily. "You're nothing like them. And having sex with me when I wanted it and you wanted it is not the same as raping someone and killing their parents. Can't you see that?"
"It's not the same," he said, "but it's a step in that direction. Don't you see?"
She had no answer for him. Before they could continue the discussion any further, they heard the sound of Jack returning. "Why don't you turn around so I can get dressed?" he asked. "I want to try and put some miles behind us today."
With a disappointed look she rolled over to the other side, turning her back to him.
The town of Foresthill had once occupied about two square miles of real estate alongside of a simple two-lane road that ran from Auburn up into the high Sierra. It had once had a thriving population of six hundred, a mix of blue-collar types that worked in the nearby lumber mill and wealthy yuppies who commuted sixty miles to Sacramento to work. But that had been before the comet. Now, three quarters of the business section and half of the old residential section had been washed away by mudslides moving down the mountain. After wiping out the main part of Foresthill the mud had continued downward, eventually burying the Todd Valley section - where the majority of the yuppies had lived in tract houses on subdivided land - more than thirty feet deep. Now all that was left were a few crumbling old farmhouses, a bait shop, a useless gas station, and a church. The population had been reduced to a mere 83 people who were taking shelter in the church and living off of the canned foods that they had managed to scavenge together.
Most of these survivors were women and very small children. Since the comet had struck during the late morning hours on a workday, the majority of the men had been at work and the majority of the school-age kids had been in school. Those that had been at jobs in Sacramento had suffered the fate that everyone else in the valley had. Those that had been at the mill, which was virtually the only employer in town, had been trapped in the building when it had collapsed in the earthquake and then buried for all time when the first of the mudslides had swept through an hour later. Those that had been in school had been thirty miles away in Auburn, since Foresthill did not have a school of its own, and their fates were unknown.
Still, a few men were in the group. Some had taken the day off on that fateful morning. A few had worked somewhere in town that hadn't been touched; such as the gas station or the bait shop. The pastor of the church was among them, his place of employment spared; miraculously he liked to think. And of course there was more than one that had been simply "between jobs", as they would have put it. In all, of the 83 surviving residents of Foresthill, there were 49 women, 20 young children, and 14 men.
That was before the convicts came to town.
They were twenty-seven strong, including six women, and they had been camped on the outskirts of the town for two days, performing a careful reconnaissance of the area through binoculars and rifles scopes that had been taken from the El Dorado Sheriff's Department. They had noted that everyone in Foresthill seemed to be staying in the church, a sturdy wooden building near the center of the remaining township. The security measures that the townspeople employed were a joke but the leader of the convicts, a man named Stuart Covington, who had, once upon a long time ago, been a United States Marine Corps infantryman, thought it best to be sure of what they were dealing with before they moved in. It was discovered that the Foresthill residents posted guards armed with rifles and pistols on the outside of the church - always men - but that they did not send out patrols of the surrounding area. Nor did they have anybody posted in a high place to keep an eye out on the approaches. It was a rare event indeed for anyone to leave the church at all.
"What do you think Stu?" asked Mark Wisington, Stu's former cellmate in the EDCCC and his unofficial second in command of the motley group.
Stu, who was staring at the church building through binoculars, answered without taking them from his eyes. "It should be pretty easy," he said. "Take down the guards out front and pin the rest of them inside. I wanna capture the women if we can get them to come out peacefully, but if they won't, we'l
l have to shoot some of those tear gas rounds in."
"If we play it right," Mark opined, "they'll come out."
"Exactly." He lowered the binoculars and edged backwards a little. "We'll move on them in one hour. You take half of the group around the back, I'll take the other half from here. My group should be able to close to within fifty yards or so before we're spotted if we use that gas station building for cover. You'll be able to get even closer if you use the trees. Keep low and keep your guys quiet."
"What about our bitches?"
"We'll have Turbo hang back and keep an eye on them. They won't be any trouble."
Mark nodded, putting his own set of glasses to his eyes and taking a quick look. The guard out front was about forty years old. He was dressed in a black rain slicker and was smoking a cigarette. He had an old bolt-action rifle slung over his back. He was not even walking around. He was seated in a damn chair. "I hope they still have some of those cigarettes when we take them," Mark said wistfully.
"Yeah," Stu agreed. "The one fuckin thing we didn't think to grab when we blew town."
"Still no M-16s spotted with the guards?"
"Nope. Just those old hunting rifles. I don't think they even have that many of those. Some fuckin frontier town this turned out to be. It would seem that if our friend is still on the loose somewhere, he isn't here. I never thought he would be once I saw their security. A man smart enough to take out four of our guys and walk away without a scratch would be a little smarter than this."
"I hope we find him someday," Mark said, lowering his glasses again. "I really hope we do. I got a little payback I'd like to give him for Joker."
"Be careful what you wish for," Stu told him. "You just might get it. But for what its worth, I hope we find him too. He's dangerous. A man like that will be able to organize others. Organization is our enemy."
"It's a small world now. We'll find him eventually. And when we do, I wanna kill him slow."
