Part 6 (1/2)
A minute later, they left Portland behind them and raced over the Cas...o...b..y Bridge. The rest of the group waited at the top of the span. When Robson and Dravko joined them, they stared over the rail and out into the bay.
”What's up?” Robson asked.
DeWitt pointed to the horizon. ”That set of lights is the Angels' yacht. It looks like they made it out okay.”
Although glad the Angels were safe, it devastated Robson to see them go. He had never intended to fall in love with anyone after the apocalypse, but it had happened between him and Natalie. Just as he began to harbor a vague hope of maybe rebuilding his life, he had to send the woman he loved on a suicide mission to get Compton's vaccine for the Zombie Virus to the government-in-exile in Omaha. He knew the Angels had a slim chance of succeeding. Even worse, he knew the chances of his ever seeing Natalie again bordered on non-existent. Things like personal happiness were no longer luxuries anyone could hope for in this terrifying new world.
Robson watched the lights of the yacht recede into the night. He closed his eyes and mentally said goodbye to Natalie, hoping somehow she would sense him.
Turning from the bay, Robson faced the others. ”Okay, let's go.”
”Where are we going?” asked DeWitt.
”To get Windows from that rape gang.”
CHAPTER NINE.
Windows lay curled in a fetal position in the corner of the storage container, as much to ward off the damp and cold as to hide her shame.
Last night, Price threw the victory party he had promised, and she had fulfilled her role as the ”entertainment”. It had started as soon as they got back to camp. Price and the rest of the hunting party brought her to one of the larger storage units that contained only a large, st.u.r.dy table. He forced her to strip and then raped her on top of the table while two others held her down. When Price finished, he let the rest of the party have their turn. One by one, other gang members filtered in to get in line. Windows mentally distanced herself from the a.s.sault, losing track of how many men violated her. She vaguely recalled two and sometimes three men taking her at once. Of course, she remembered her last a.s.sailant, Meat. He had gotten his revenge by s.e.xually brutalizing her so badly she pa.s.sed out. When she came to later, her attackers had left her alone on top of the table in the same condition as when they had finished, naked and covered in s.e.m.e.n and blood. Gathering her clothes, she had dressed and crossed over to the corner, hoping to catch some sleep.
Of course, that never happened. Every time Windows began to doze off, the images of her gang rape replayed in her mind.
Dealing with the self-recrimination proved worse than constantly reliving the nightmare. Rationally, she knew she could have done nothing to prevent last night, but her subconscious argued otherwise. Maybe she shouldn't have willingly undressed for them. Maybe she should have fought back, not that it would have prevented what had happened. In fact, it more than likely would have made her situation worse. She would still have been raped, and probably have been beaten senseless as well. At least she would have some dignity in knowing that she had fought back and didn't willingly submit. This internal argument had gone on all night. Every time Windows convinced herself that she had done the right thing by not resisting, or determined that in the future she would fight back, self-doubt set in and the internal argument began all over again.
Windows had been curled up for G.o.d knew how long when she heard voices outside the unit, followed by the clanking of the sliding metal door being raised. She bolted upright and pushed herself into the corner, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the intruder. Her heart pounded, her skin flushed, her stomach went nauseous. The door slid open and a woman stepped into the unit. Windows recognized her as the same woman who had brought her dinner and the sleeping bag on her first night. Windows finally had a chance to get a close look at her. At one time, she probably would have been considered attractive, but not now. Her five-and-a-half-foot frame was gaunt, and she walked with her shoulders hunched forward. She wore shabby, filthy clothes. Scraggly red hair flowed over her shoulders, and appeared as though it had not been washed in weeks. Several strands covered her face. When the woman ran a hand through them and pushed the hair behind her ear, Windows saw that the woman's beauty had been beaten out of her. Hollow eyes stared vacantly from sockets blackened by lack of sleep, remnants of bruises darkened her cheeks, and a scar ran across her upper and lower lips. She carried a tray with a plate of food, a bowl of water, and a towel and facecloth.
A young girl about eight years old followed behind the woman. She had long brunette hair pulled into a ponytail that hung past her shoulders. The girl wore overalls, a sweats.h.i.+rt, and sneakers that had seen better days. Like the older woman, she was dirty and haggard, although the girl looked more scared than abused. She held clothes in her arms.
The two stepped over to the table without saying a word. The older woman placed the tray on top, and then took the clothes from the young girl and set them alongside it. Only when the guard outside slid shut the metal door did the woman speak.
”I'm Debra Caslow. This is my daughter, Cindy.”
The young girl raised her hand and waved.
Debra regarded Windows and sighed under her breath, ”f.u.c.king animals.”
”Mom, it's not nice to swear.”
”You're right, dear.” Debra ran her hand across Cindy's hair. The barest hint of a smile crossed her lips. She turned back to Windows. ”Let's get you cleaned up.”
Windows sat there, not sure what to do. Debra went over to the bowl of water and immersed the facecloth in it, soaking it for several seconds before wringing it out and returning to Windows.
”You have to keep going. Trust me, I know. Every woman here has spent time in the Clubhouse.”
”Is that what you call it?”
”No. The men call it the Clubhouse. We call it the Rape Room. You get used to it after a while. Every day in this h.e.l.lhole is a struggle to maintain even a shred of self-respect.” Debra motioned with her head. ”Come on.”
Windows stood up and walked over to the table. Debra began cleaning her face as if she was a child. Windows made no effort to do it herself, desperate for any gesture of kindness. Cindy pa.s.sed behind her mother and stood by the opposite end of the table, playing with the towel.
”What's your name?” asked Debra with the nonchalance of a hair stylist chatting with a customer.
”Windows.”
”Is that your last name?”
”That's what they call me.”
”You mean the people back at the fort?”
Windows nodded, fighting back tears.
”I'm sorry about that.” Debra let the conversation lapse. When done cleaning Windows' face, Cindy handed her the towel.
”Who are these people?” Windows asked as she dried herself.
Debra glanced over her shoulder to make certain no one could hear. ”Most of them are criminals who broke out of a nearby federal penitentiary during the first weeks of the outbreak. They set up camp here and have been preying on anyone unfortunate enough to wander past, or anyone they come across on raiding missions. Most of the men are killed outright, unless they have a skill that can be put to use. Or if they fight back, in which case they're brought back here and put on the Line. All the women are raped. The lucky ones are murdered afterwards. The unfortunate ones are brought back here to be s.e.x slaves. When the men grow tired of them, they join the others on the Line.”
”What's 'the Line'?”
”That's what they call the defense perimeter. Anyone who p.i.s.ses off Price gets sent outside where they're chained to the ground outside the wall surrounding this place. It's his sick idea of an early warning system. If any of the deaders get close to the compound, they stop to feed off of someone on the Line first. The screaming warns the guards.”
”Has it happened before?”
”Only once since I've been here. Others said it happened a lot in the early days. You can hear the screaming all over the compound. It's terrible.” Debra took the towel. ”Take off your clothes.”
Windows wrapped her arms across her chest and squeezed tight. ”Why?”
”I have clean clothing for you. You don't want to wear those. Trust me, I know. They're soiled with them.” Debra spoke the last word with bitterness.
Windows slid off her shoes.
”The Line is the reason most of us put up with what we do,” Debra continued. ”It's worse than being dead. At least death is quick. Out there, you slowly die of starvation, or you become a meal for a deader.”
”Don't they feed those on the Line?”
”It's a punishment detail. Everyone gets a cup of soup and water a day, plus a blanket to cover up at night. No one has lasted more than a few weeks. That's why most of the people in here do as they're told. It's better than the alternative.”
”Is it?” Windows sneered as she slid off her jeans. s.e.m.e.n that had leaked from her v.a.g.i.n.a stained the crotch. Windows fought back the urge to vomit. ”How often do you have to give yourself to them?”
Debra avoided her gaze. ”Every night.”