Mark Townsend - White captive

"Now, honky baby," she heard through her fogged mind. "I want that left tit first."

A cold hand closed over her breast and stretched it harshly outward from her body… she groaned, and felt herself passing into the welcome oblivion of unconsciousness. But she was suddenly stunned by a quick and terrible roar. The coldness flew from her breast as though it had been slapped away and her eyes fluttered open.

Duke was standing in the doorway, a double barreled shot-gun in hands. Thin wisps of smoke were rising from both barrels. He said nothing, but motioned to her to come to him. It was difficult and her legs wobbled but she made it through the door and heard him close it behind them. She had not bothered to look at either of the bodies lying in the room because she knew she couldn't stand it even after the horror she had just been through.

"We forgot somethin' and came back," Duke said simply, and then added with a strange note of nostalgia in his voice that even he didn't understand. "They wouldn't a done that last year if I told 'em not to."

The groaning pick-up truck loaded with vegetables on the back stopped in a cloud of dust when its driver saw the petite, blond girl waving it down. He opened the door and let her in and then resumed his journey toward the town ahead.

"Been for a walk, Miss," he ventured, unaccustomed to having strange passengers on his weekly trip into the market.

"W-Why, yes, yes I have," the girl answered hesitantly and said nothing else.

"It's a long way from town, must've takin' you all day, might near," he continued, refusing to let the conversation lag as she would have liked.

"Y-Yes, I've been gone a long time," she answered, hoping he would let it go at that and concentrate on his driving so she could collect her shattered thoughts. Duke had spared her life and she could think of no reason that he should have, in fact, he had taken quite a chance with the plans that had been worked out with the well-dressed negro wearing the horn rimmed glasses that day so long ago. It was a long walk of quite a few hours from the trail on which the cabin was located to the main road but someone might have come along and given her a ride and she would have been in time to stop the whole thing. But now it was too late, the appointed hour had come and passed and if things had gone according to schedule there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it. Besides, she had given him her word and that should be worth something. He hadn't really forgotten anything when he had come back to the shack. She knew because he had taken nothing when he had left a short time later. He had come back because he had changed his mind about leaving her to them and because he knew he no longer controlled them. Last year, as he had said, it would have been different but they were following a new leader now. Not one that they could see, but one of brutal empty promises that would lead nowhere. One needed but the slogans of the new breed she had thought so much about back in the dilapidated shack and one had an angry and dedicated following that was no longer satisfied with the Duke's and others who knew nothing but how to heist beer from a standing delivery truck. She had had a long time to think about things on her walk down to the main road but had come to no conclusions at all, she would do that later when her mind was more clear and the effect of the awful carnage of the day had worn off.

"If you been walkin' all day, you missed the big news," the farmer spoke beside her, feeling uncomfortable sitting in silence.

"Oh," Susan answered, showing a mild tone of interest out of politeness.

"Yes siree," he said excitedly, suddenly happy to find a topic of conversation. "Half the city's burnin' down. Seems a couple of young niggers started a usual Friday night ruckus and when the police moved in somebody threw a fire bomb. That blew things sky-high. Some young punk National Guardsmen evidently got nervous and fired in the crowd that came runnin' out to see the fire and that's all she wrote."

"It's bad, huh," she said without enthusiasm.

"Man, I'll say it is," the farmer continued. "They've killed off about eighty of 'em already. Even got one of the big street gang leaders down there tryin' to kill a policeman. Named Duke somethin' or other. Cain't rightly remember now, but the whole nigger population's runnin' through the streets startin' fires right 'n left and actin' like a bunch o' wild animals."

"Don't we all sometimes," Susan muttered under her breath, remembering her own body bucking and twisting under the cruel sodomizing of the half-idiotic Stitch to save her own life.

"What da'ya saya Miss, I cain't hear ya. Little deaf ya know," he laughed. "Maybe we can get something on the radio."

Susan sat quietly as he clicked it on and the station announcer's voice came through the static loud and clear.

… and this evening, the leader of the black power movement says from his headquarters in Detroit, the vicious and uncontrolled rioting that has broken out in Chicago is just another example of the spontaneous and justified dissatisfaction of the negro with his position in today's America. And… he forecasts they will continue to occur through-out the major American cities as long as blatant police and military brutality continue to exist against the black man…

Yes, Susan thought to herself as the announcer droned on about the rising casualty and damage toll, I have taken a long walk today…