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The tendons sticking out on her neck, the pregnant woman was drenched with
sweat, her fist jammed into her mouth to keep from crying out. An AK-47 was
held tightly in her other hand, the bolt primed and ready. Her legs clenched
together and trembling, the floor beneath her damp with a clear fluid.
"Oh, no," Mildred said, kneeling on the floor.
"What's wrong?" Daffer asked, bringing the lantern closer. "Did we hurt her
pretending to bounce on the bed?"
"Her water broke. She's in labor." The physician took the weapon from the
woman and placed it aside. "Help me with the bed."
Daffer rushed over. Together, they lifted the furniture and moved it out of
the way.
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"You sure?" he asked nervously. "It's much too early."
"Tell that to the child. They come when they decide, and that's life."
"Or death," he said, glancing at the door.
Brushing the damp hair from Tabitha's ashen face, Mildred placed a palm on her
bulging belly and counted. The contractions were only seconds apart. Tabitha
gave a muffled cry of pain, as Mildred knelt before the woman and eased her
legs apart. Then as gently as possible, the physician tested the birth canal
with fingertips.
"Why, you're already at ten centimeters," Mildred complimented her soothingly.
"This will be such an easy birth."
The panting woman writhed in agony as another contraction shook her whole
body, and this time she cried out, "It hurts!"
"Always does," Daffer said, trying to be helpful.
"Not this bad. Get my med kit," Mildred snapped, pointing. "Over there by the
chopping block. Start boiling water in that clean pot, and bring that bottle
of moonshine!"
"Shine? Daffer stared in confusion at the physician but did as requested.
Tabitha shuddered in terrible pain, as Mildred probed inside her in a
different manner. Her fingers touched something that felt like a foot.
Placing the bag nearby, Daffer asked a question with his expression.
Rolling up her sleeves, Mildred nodded. "It's a breech. The baby's coming out
backward and strangling on its cord."
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"Don't," Tabitha gasped, through clenched teeth, "& let die."
Yanking open her bag, Mildred didn't reply as she laid out the shoelaces, the
clean cloth and her jar of sulfur, then placed the sterilized knife from Jak
on a separate square of bed linen. That was for emergencies should everything
else go wrong.
"Easy, now," she said, placing a folded piece of leather into the woman's
mouth for her to bite down on, although losing teeth was the least of her
worries at that moment. "There, better, isn't it? Daffer, bring the moonshine.
Now, Tabitha, try not to push on the next contraction, okay? I know how much
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you want to, but don't push. Understand? Do not push."
The woman nodded, clawing blindly at the floor, cracking fingernails and
leaving bloody trails.
"Pour the moonshine on my hand," Mildred ordered, holding out her arms. As
Daffer complied, she washed thoroughly, paying special attention to under her
own nails.
"Now what?" Daffer asked, hugging the empty bottle.
Mildred picked up the knife and inspected the edge in the flickering light.
"Pray,"
she whispered.
THE BLACKNESS FADED into a red haze, and sluggishly Krysty awoke into a world
of pain. Her head was throbbing and her mouth tasted of blood. In a rush of
fear, the woman suddenly knew that she was standing against something cold and
metallic with her hands tied. Forcing her vision to clear, Krysty realized she
was tied spread-eagle to the side of the LAV 25, her shirt was unbuttoned to
the waist, her bra was missing and several grinning sec men were roughly
squeezing her breasts. "Ryan's bitch is nice and juicy." A man guffawed,
pinching her nipples hard.
Another man started to unzip her jumpsuit the rest of the way. "Let's get to
it!"
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Revulsion and fury welled within the woman, but she was as weak as a kitten
and totally helpless. Frantically, Krysty glanced around as the laughing sec
men dragged her jumpsuit down to her ankles. The garage was large enough for
several wags, but only one Bradley was parked inside. Another door off to the
side led somewhere, and the garage door she had mistaken for a wall was closed
tight. The troops were gathered close around their prisoner, grinning and
rubbing their crotches ten, maybe fifteen blue shirts and one officer. He was
the only man shaved and wearing a side arm.
Dimly, Krysty could hear the sounds of warfare outside the rattle of a machine
gun, the boom of a shotgun, a scream of pain and the insistent clanging of the
alarm bell.
Dirty hands fondled her intimately, and the woman braced herself for the gang
rape. These animals wouldn't dare kill her, because the baron would be
furious.
Her death would come later in Overton's private chambers.
"Line up, boys," said a big sec man who sported a bushy mustache that he
stroked lovingly. Oddly, he stood a bit away from the others. "We can each
have a turn with the slut!"
The sec men eagerly formed a line to the right, slapping one another on the
back and making vulgar comments.
"Officers first," a lieutenant stated, unzipping his pants.
"Sure," said the sec man and, leveling the blaster, he hosed the lieutenant
with a stuttering burst of rounds. Shifting the barrel, he then moved quickly
down the row, spraying them in a classic figure-eight pattern. The last few
tried to grab their weapons, but to no avail. At that range, the rapid-firing
Kalashnikov assault rifle tore them into pieces.
Disoriented, Krysty could only stare in wonder at the man, as he slammed in a
fresh clip and shot the blue shirts some more just to make sure everybody was
dead. When he was done, the sec man shouldered the AK-47, drew a knife and
started sawing at her bonds.
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