Myra swore under her breath as she cut through a thick tangle of Kudzu. The damn vines were everywhere, and made traveling through the forested hills of the Ozarks a complete nightmare. Her arms ached terribly from the continual effort of swinging her machete, making it feel like it weighed twenty pounds more than it had when she had started her flight through the countryside. ‘At least the weather has cooled down some,’ she ruefully thought, grasping onto anything that might give her some hope.
The summer heat had been oppressive, but now the leaves on the trees were starting to turn various shades of orange and red, signaling that fall was finally here. Myra long ago lost track of the exact date, but felt confident she had at least another month to find shelter before winter came in force.
Resting against a tree to catch her breath, she cringed at the telltale tickle of an insect crawling up her leg. Grimacing in disgust, she pulled the tick off of her skin and crushed it between her fingers. The fucking things were everywhere, and had been a constant irritant since she’d been forced to flee from her home with little more than a machete, her sleeping bag and an antiquated accelerator rifle.
For the first time since the war blasted away civilization, Myra truly began to despair. She was starving for decent food, and felt weak from exhaustion. She was reaching the end of her rope, and desperately needed to find a safe place to hole up and get some rest. If she were really lucky, she might even find some decent food to eat.
‘Lord,’ she thought, ‘I’d do anything to get my hands on a jar of peanut butter right about now.’ A low rumble in her stomach reminded her just how unlikely that would be.
Making matters worse, five years of constant wear had taken its toll on her combat boots, and the leather had split in several places. That was going to be a problem soon. It wouldn’t be easy to find new ones, not until she arrived at one of the abandoned cities. With a sigh, she consoled herself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be much longer before she got there.
Fortunately for Myra, being brought up in the traditions of her Native American heritage had given her the skills she needed to survive on her own. They were skills she honed to a fine edge in her time with the Army Rangers, leaving her easily able to navigate her way through the wilderness. Now, judging by the lay of the land, she reckoned Springdale was now just a few miles away. Once there, she hoped to find all of the things she needed to survive the coming winter.
If she were lucky, the few locals who might have survived around Springdale would still be terrified enough of the Red Death to avoid the city, despite the food and others supplies that might still be there. The engineered plague had been incredibly virulent, and Myra felt certain that only the most desperate of travelers would willingly expose themselves to such a risk.
‘Well,’ she thought grimly, ‘I’m about as desperate as they get.' Myra smiled at the irony of it all. She managed to survive the horrors of the War when the vast majority of the human race had been annihilated. Considering the overall circumstances, she felt extremely lucky to be alive.
Coming upon a large gap in the forest, she paused warily, her senses primed for any hint that might give away the presence of others in the area.
The gap was at least a mile across and the ground seemed relatively flat and unbroken. Looking up and down the length of it, she tried to see how far the gap ran through the trees, but it seemed to run for miles in both directions.
Open spaces worried her. It would be bad enough for a lone man to be caught in the open by a roving gang of bandits. He would probably be shot from a safe distance, just for whatever gear he possessed. As a woman though, Myra was keenly aware that she had a very special value to such men. It was a value that would make them hesitate in killing her right away. It was a value that, even as desperate as she was, she wasn’t quite ready to cash in just yet. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Looking at the sun, she guessed there were only a few more hours till sundown. With a sigh, she decided to wait at the edge of the clearing until nightfall, before beginning the final leg of her journey.
Sitting with her back to a tree, hidden just inside the cover of the overgrowth, she thought about the War five years ago. So much had happened, and she reminded herself again just how fortunate she was to still be alive.
That she had survived even the first few minutes of the attack had been completely the product of luck. She was twenty-three years old at the time, and a member of the Army Rangers. She lived only because she had been on leave, visiting her family, when the attack came.
Myra remembered well how warm that summer evening was. She was sitting on the porch of her parent’s cabin, talking with her father, when she saw the flash on the southern horizon. At first, they were both at a loss to explain what they were witnessing.
Within moments, the eerie form of a glowing mushroom cloud rose in the distance, and the realization sank in that a high yield nuclear device had been detonated. Her father was the first to put two and two together and guess what the target had to be.
“That would be Little Rock...”
They ran into the cabin and turned on the com-net, only to find that it had been burned out during the attack. Scrambling around the house, they finally found an old, military issue, wind-up radio that would turn on. By then, most of the broadcast sites were already down, and they found themselves cut off from the modern world. They tried their electric vehicles, but found that none of them were operable either. Fortunately, their home, like most others in rural areas, ran on solar power. These systems, at least, seemed to be untouched.
Myra and her family spent the rest of that evening in open mouthed horror as broken and incomplete bits of information filtered in through their radio. The attack had been nationwide, and the destruction was incomprehensible in scope.
Myra later surmised that the multitude of exploding weapons had bathed the country in electromagnetic pulses. These pulses must have overloaded and burned out most of the civilian communication transmitters, as well as disabling all but the most basic forms of transportation. Unable to contact her unit, and travel being all but impossible, she was left with no choice but to stay with her parents and brother, huddled inside their secluded home in the forested hills outside of the little town of Boxley.
The next day, rain started to fall and soon it turned to snow. The long envisioned nuclear winter had arrived. They had enough food put away to survive for a time, but the heavily overcast skies starved their solar system, and much of their frozen supplies began to thaw.
Myra and her brother planned to make the long walk into Boxley once the snow stopped falling. Before they could though, reports of a second horror came over their radio, and this time they knew that there would be no help available.
Plague was spreading like wildfire across the countryside.
Rescue workers gathered the refugees together from the areas around the smaller cities and townships that survived the initial attack. Those camps were the perfect breeding ground for the disease, and when the plague hit, they were powerless to stop it. People everywhere began dying in-mass from the effects of the engineered plague that would come to be known as the Red Death. Myra suspected that the hybrid hemorrhagic fever ended up killing more people than even the nuclear attack that preceded it.
Of course, the larger metroplexes like New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago were spared the slow rot of the disease. These and many others were consumed in the nuclear holocaust that had engulfed the world shortly before the Red Death began to kill in large numbers.
The mass slaughter was the final accumulation of over a century of religious hatred in the Middle East. What began as terrorism in the 1980’s had grown in seething self-righteousness to a jihad of extermination by the year 2135.
The western powers had been oblivious to the threat, even as their enemies constructed vast numbers of nuclear weapons. Worse, they never seriously anticipated that these zealots might be able to design a biological weapon as insidious and deadly as the Red Death.
It had the advantage of being as virulent as the Ebola virus from which it was derived, but with a much longer incubation period. The virus must have been spread around the world before the attack, infecting thousands before any hint of the disease became known.
It seemed insane to Myra that anyone would release such a weapon. Surely they must have known that their own people would have been just as susceptible to it as anyone else. They must have thought that God would protect them from it.
If that’s what they believed though they had been wrong. Once they initiated their missile attack, the U.S. and Europe responded with concentrated nuclear attacks of their own, laying waste to the lands of the Middle East.
Soon, the entire world, from India and Pakistan, to Russia and China, began to feel the effects of the virus. In enraged desperation, they found targets for their own arsenals and thousands of years of human civilization had been destroyed in less than a month.
As with any disease, there were always those who would prove resistant, although this number seemed to hover at about five percent in the case of the Red Death. Others, like Myra, had been able to hide themselves away in small groups, hoping that they would be fortunate enough not to have an infected person with when they left.
Needless to say, these groups became extremely paranoid of strangers. The rest, who could not or would not leave the comfort of their towns and cities, were mercilessly stalked by the Death for several years, until there was simply no one left to infect.
Of course, in such dreadful conditions, other, more mundane but just as deadly diseases became pandemic. Without the benefit of modern medical science, even more lives were lost. All of that, coupled with the starvation and extreme violence that ensued, caused the vast majority of the human race to perished within just a few short years.
It took four years for the Red Death to run its course. In the year since, bands of murders and bandits began moving around the countryside, killing and looting from whatever small groups of survivors that were unlucky enough to be found.
Myra’s own family had been victims of that violence just a few weeks earlier. Raiders found their hideaway and murdered her family. Her father and brother, knowing what they would do if she were captured, insisted that she take her mother and make a run for it. Her mother had already been in ill health though, and the stress of the journey proved to be more than she could take. Myra buried her in the soft earth of a hillside on the third morning of her flight from home.
After that, Myra considered what few options she had left and decided that her only choice would be to find food and supplies somewhere that even the bandits would be afraid to go. She would have to risk one of the plague ravaged towns that became the tombs of the Red Death. She started the long walk to the city of Springdale.
It was noon of the next day as she crested the last hill above the town and gazed down at the ruined city. Memories of what the world had once been raced through her mind. The world before the War. Humanity had reached amazing heights of technology by the year 2135, but all of that was gone now, and only the burned out and abandoned hulks of the buildings remained. ‘This tomb of a town is my last chance. It had better be abandoned or I’m fucking screwed!’
With that rueful thought, Myra began the slow walk into the city
***
Bolo had been on sentry duty for the last ten hours, watching out for any unwanted visitors from the outside. It was a painfully boring, twenty-four hour shift, and he was almost half asleep when he heard the noise. It was a faint sound, and if not for the absolute silence of the evening, he might not have heard it at all.
For a long moment he held his breath, hoping it was just an animal scavenging through the ruins of the abandoned city. Seconds passed, and he had almost decided that it was indeed nothing more than a large rat or coyote when he heard it again. It was the distinct sound of a foot-step crunching on the gravel below his third story position.
He glanced out of the open window at the darkening sky. Twilight was quickly turning into night, and the relieved sentry felt it was a bit late for the androids to be this far from their compound. This sounded much more like a single human moving cautiously through the fallen rubble on the street below.
He held his position for a bit longer as the unseen intruder moved closer to his position. If it had been one of his people they would surely have signaled him by now, so it was likely that whoever it was, wasn’t supposed to be here.
Quietly, he moved down the steps of the burnt out building until he reached the street level. Even though it was almost completely dark, he hesitated before coming out of the building. The androids could see into the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums. Against them, the darkness would be of little use. He flipped down his light enhancement lenses and carefully scanned the area.
As he slowly looked up and down the road he saw nothing, but just as he was about to move into the street, he made out a slender figure dart past a large piece of debris and into a building not far away. ‘I'll be damned,’ he thought, ‘it’s a woman!’ His excitement began to grow instantly upon seeing her.
Bolo couldn’t believe his luck. It was dangerous enough for a man to try to go it alone, but for a woman to travel without an escort was simply unheard of. Every man she came across would surely try to take her. It was so unlikely, in fact, that he became sure that she must have someone else around to watch her back. He settled into the doorway with his night vision and waited.
Waiting and observing were things he excelled at. He had good eyes and his hearing was even better. He was as patient as the moon when he needed to be and could sit unmoving for hours. This ability was highly regarded in his clan and he had been awarded with a nickname that suited his abilities. Born with the name Bo Roberts, his uncanny ability to spot intruders before they spotted him earned him the name Bolo, like the police term from another lifetime that once meant Be On the Look Out.
Sitting there, unmoving, for over an hour, he waited for her companion to arrive. Night settled in and darkness engulfed the dead city. In time, he became convinced that if she did have a companion, he must already be in the empty store front with her.
There had been no movement or light coming from the place, so he figured she must have fallen asleep by then. It would have been wiser to wait another hour or two. The later it got, the less likely it was that anyone inside would awaken when he made his move.
He sat still, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her. It had been so long since he had been with a woman. Most of the females in his clan were claimed by the leaders, and guys like him were left to do without. Once he had her though, she would be his to keep or trade for whatever he wanted. He licked his lips in anticipation as he considered the possibilities. While he might trade her eventually, he intended to get his full use out of her first. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘this is gonna be a night to remember!’
Checking the charge in his blaster rifle, Bolo began working his way slowly toward the convenience store she had holed up in.
His clan controlled this area for several blocks and had already cleaned the buildings out of any food or useful supplies. He had been in that store many times, and he figured that she would be hiding in the storage room in the back where she would be best able to defend herself. He noticed that she hadn’t closed the outer door. He gave her credit for that bit of forethought. Any changes to the outer appearance of the place would have tipped off any locals like himself who might have passed by.
***
For the first time in weeks, Myra found a roof over her head and walls between her and the outside world. She was safe from the elements, and from the larger predators that were becoming more numerous as the human population plummeted. There were still the rats of course, but if she were bothered by any of those, she would at least be treated to a free breakfast.
All in all, this ruin was about the nicest of accommodations she could have hoped to expect. Only after she had found the storage room had she dared to use her flashlight. Unrolling her sleeping bag, she striped down to her tee-shirt and panties. Within seconds, she was in the first deep sleep she had allowed herself in weeks.
***
When Bolo got to the storefront, he was careful not to silhouette himself in the dim light of the night sky. It may have been dark outside, but anyone paying attention from inside would surely see him if he just stood in the doorway.
From the side, he peered in with his light enhancement lenses. They would enhance even the tiniest bit of light to a level that was easy to see by. Pausing there for several minutes, he listened for any small sound that might give his prey away. Hearing nothing, he crept in slowly until he approached the door to the storage room.
If it were him, he would have locked or otherwise found some way to block this inner door against just this sort of intrusion. Moving slowly, he gently tried the doorknob, but it refused to turn.
‘Yep, she’s locked herself inside.’
It would have made this a lot easier if she hadn’t, but he wasn’t surprised. So far, she’d proven to be very careful. ‘Hell,’ he conceded, ‘I never would have even known she was here if she hadn’t walked right past me.’
He stood back a few steps and waited. He couldn’t be sure he hadn’t alerted her to his presence, and he listened carefully for any sign of movement on the other side of the door. Several minutes went by as he waited for any sound to come through, until he eventually decided that his silence had been rewarded.
While he waited, he considered his option for the door. The easiest approach would have been to just slag the lock with his blaster, but that would have been loud enough to be heard outside. Besides, it carried the possibility that he might injure or kill the girl, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. At least for the moment anyway. ‘Well, fuck it,' he thought. 'Sometimes the direct approach is best.’
Raising his foot, he kicked the door hard. Not having been designed for security purposes, it shuddered and gave way with a loud, crunching thump.
Myra was startled out of her slumber, and had just managed to sit up when he stepped over her and hit her in the forehead with the butt of his rifle, knocking her back to the ground.
“C'mon, git outta that sleeping bag now!” the man roared, his southern accent dripping with threat.
Myra, still exhausted, and her head reeling from the blow, hesitated only to feel him grab her by the thin top. The man was strong, and she grunted as she was thrown harshly against the wall. She had very little time to think, and all she could see was the bright intensity of the flashlight being aimed at her, and the ominous barrel of a blaster rifle just below it.
Shaking off her shock, she dropped to one knee and held her hands high, warding off any other blow that might come her way. “Please don’t shoot!" she pleaded. "You don’t need to kill me. I’m not a threat, okay. I’m not fighting you!”
Clearing the cobwebs from her mind, she tried to get a grip on her predicament as she spoke. She only heard the one voice so far and it seemed that he was alone. She knew if she kept her cool, she might still be able to salvage the situation.
“Now, you just stand up and face the wall!” he yelled, seemingly unimpressed with her pleas.
The man’s voice had steel in it and Myra complied without question. She might have considered resisting him, but there was a nervousness underneath his harsh tone that told her he didn't really want to seriously harm her. From that, she reckoned that as long as she played along, she would have some options. If she were to put up a fight now, the die would be cast. No, for the moment at least, she knew it would be better to just do what she was told.
He pressed the emitter of his rifle against the back of her neck and shined his light up and down her body.
Myra heard his breath quicken and could almost feel his eyes moving over her along with the light. In the back of her mind she had known all along that if she were going to join a new group of survivors she would probably have to attach herself to a man.
Resigned to the inevitable, Myra took a deep breath to calm her nerves as the moment she'd been dreading arrived. ‘This is it,’ she thought with chilling resignation. ‘It's time to cash in my value as a woman.’
Adjusting her pose slightly, she spread her legs a bit and arched her back just enough so that her ass was displayed in a more inviting way.
“Look mister, I've been alone for a long time. I'm so tired of having to look over my shoulder and I don't want to be alone anymore. I'll do anything you want, anything okay? Just promise to take me with you. I'll make it worth your while.”
She made sure that she sounded plaintive and fearful. Being underestimated was a huge advantage, and she had every intention of protecting it as long as possible.
Bolo looked around the small room and saw that hers was the only sleeping bag present. Everything he had observed indicated that she was telling the truth.
Myra took his silence as a possible rejection and decided to play her last card.
“I swear I'm not trying to trick you. Look in my sleeping bag and you'll find my machete. That’s the last weapon I have. Please, just give me a chance. You won’t be sorry.”
He kicked at the bag and felt something heavy within it. Reaching down, he found the weapon and tossed it into the corner, next to her rifle.
“You're lucky you told me about that, if you'd tried to pull it on me I'd have had to blow your head off. Now, I'm putting my rifle down, but remember if you cross me I'll break your neck. Understand me, woman?”
Myra held her pose against the wall while he spoke, being as submissive as possible. When she spoke, she was careful to sound as submissive as she appeared. “I understand. No tricks. I'll be your woman if you'll have me.”
She had no problem with fucking him if that's what it took to get him on her side. She was a student of history and knew that women had used sex as a means of capturing the allegiance of men throughout the ages. She was certain that if he proved to be a problem later, she would be able to deal with him at a time of her own choosing.
Her planning was interrupted by her captor as he ran his hand down her side and over her panty-clad ass. Her heart beat harder in her chest and goose bumps instantly formed on her skin as the long forgotten promise of sexual release suddenly registered on her body.
He simply caressed her gently at first, exploring her slender figure with his hands as if he hadn’t touched a woman in ages. Once she thought about it, Myra felt that it was likely that he hadn’t. Single men had been the first to bolt from the cities before the Red Death took hold, and they seemed to make up the majority of the survivors. It was possible the man had not been with a girl for years. She smiled inwardly at the realization. His desire for her gave her a weapon to use against him, and she intended to use it for whatever advantage it would give her.
For his part, Bolo was completely taken aback at the girl’s willingness. He had expected to have to take her by force, and was immensely pleased by her voluntary submission to him. As he let his touch slide over her skin he began to understand her apparent desperation.
She had the filth from weeks of non-stop travel covering what was otherwise a very fit and healthy body. In a more civilized time, her condition might have turned him off, but that time was long gone, and he understood that anyone surviving alone in the wilderness would be unable to keep proper hygiene. Once he got her back to the militia's command center, he would get her cleaned up properly, but for now, she seemed irresistible.
His hunger for her grew stronger as his touch slid over the warmth of her exposed skin. He wanted her badly, but her willingness to be had made him want her to enjoy it as well. She had offered to be his, so he felt he needed to treat her with at least some respect. He stepped back a step and composed himself.
“Okay, girl, you can turn around” he said with measured softness, allowing the earlier threat in his tone to drop away.
Myra was relieved at the change in his demeanor and turned to face him. In the dim light cast by his flashlight she saw a rugged looking man, strong and confident but not overly aggressive. His brown hair was cut short and his face was clean shaven. This Myra found very appealing, it spoke volumes about what kind of man he was as well as the conditions he lived in.