Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

“We need to go to Oregon and talk about gun control.”

It had been a long trek back from Old San Juan. At least five miles. Derek wore a plastic trash bag as a poncho, but he was still soaked to the bone. They’d stopped for breaks every mile or so—not so much to take a rest break but so the Aryans could rape and fondle the woman. The first time she had screamed bloody murder, but she was subdued now, passive and broken, the men still taking her with the same excitement. Derek wasn’t sure which was more horrific, her screams or her broken acceptance.

The other men looked at him sideways because he hadn’t participated. They weren’t sure if Derek was really one of them, which was why he carried a machete and not a rifle, even though he knew how to shoot. Thor had been the most suspicious of Derek. He was the highest ranking Aryan in their group and looked exactly like you’d expect him to look, based on his nickname. The perfect Aryan specimen: tall and built and blond.

Thor and the other Aryans had wanted to surround that building, to root out the others, but Derek had told them that the people inside were men with guns, even though he hadn’t seen a gun and even though he was pretty sure one of them was a woman. The mention of guns had been enough of a deterrent for the Aryans to call it a night. Besides, Thor and the others had been eager to party with the woman, so it wasn’t a hard sell.

Derek had felt weak and powerless and sick to his stomach about the woman. He’d wanted to intervene, to kill them all, but he carried a rusty machete, no match for the rifles carried by his Aryan brothers. Still, he’d watched and waited for a chance to make it stop, but the Aryans had been watching him too.

Wade met every new Aryan, and that included captives, so they took the woman to his house, the concrete bunker. They entered from the rear, the guards letting them through the backyard. On their way to the house, they encountered two guards carrying a lifeless naked body.

Thor said to the guards, incredulous, “Another one?”

One of the guards frowned, but they didn’t stop. They hauled the body toward the exit. Derek recognized the woman as the same one he’d seen in Wade’s bedroom. Mark’s sister.

“Damn, I wanted a piece,” Thor said. “Not enough women as it is without Wade chokin’ ’em out.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” one of the other raiders replied.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want.”

Inside, Wade and a few Aryans played pool by dimly lit LEDs. A few smoked marijuana and drank from wine bottles.

“What have we got here?” Wade said, holding a wine bottle by the neck and approaching the woman. “You look familiar.”

The woman looked down at the floor.

“We followed a group from the fort,” Thor said. “Snatched her when she was alone.”

“How many men did they have?”

“Ten. They had rifles and pistols.”

Wade turned from the woman and narrowed his eyes at Derek. “That what happened?”

Derek nodded the affirmative.

“How did he do?” Wade lifted his chin to Derek, then looked at Thor.

Thor hesitated for an instant. “He’s green, but he’ll be all right.”

Wade held up the wine bottle and said, “Let’s party, boys.”

The Aryans drank some sort of fruit wine from the old wine bottles. Derek smelled it, faked drinking it, and passed it on. The woman quickly became the life of the party. At Wade’s command, Thor put her on the pool table.

Wade said, “Strip and make it sexy, or I’ll kill you.”

“He’ll do it too,” one of the Aryans said, laughing. “You saw the other dead girl.”

The woman did her best to give the men what they wanted. She’d already been stripped of her poncho. One of the other men had claimed it hours ago. She removed her rain-soaked T-shirt, and the men ogled and cheered her small breasts.

“Not like that. Dance while you strip,” Wade said.

The woman moved awkwardly, tears in her eyes, dancing without music. She kicked off her water shoes and fumbled with the button on her shorts, still swaying to the music in her head. Blood stained the crotch of her tan shorts. Her legs were hairy. She slid her shorts down her legs, slowly, much to their delight. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

The next few hours, the Aryans got drunk and high, all the while they took their turns raping and sodomizing this woman in full view of the group, some going together. Blood and semen ran down the woman’s legs. The woman was compliant, like a rag doll.

With slurred speech, Thor pointed to Derek and said, “Your turn?”

The woman was in the corner of the room, naked, huddled in the fetal position.

Derek showed his palms and said, “I’m too drunk.”

“Are you a faggot?” Wade asked, glaring at Derek.

“No, but I don’t think …” Derek trailed off.

“You know what I did to the last faggot we picked up?”

The Aryans laughed, collectively remembering what had happened to the last faggot. One of the Aryans took a pool cue and mimed inserting the fat end into his buddy. Everyone laughed again.

“She takes it, or you take it,” Wade said.

Derek stood from his seat and walked to the corner of the room where the girl lay in the fetal position. Derek grabbed her under her arms and said, “On your knees.”

The Aryans cheered.

She struggled to her knees, Derek standing in front of her, his back to the Aryans. Derek bent down and said into her ear, “Just pretend. For them. Don’t do it.” Derek grabbed her hair, not hard, and lifted her head so she was even with his crotch. Derek opened the button fly of his pants and moved his hands as if he were pulling out his penis. Derek put his hands on her head and moved her forward and backward, miming the sex act. The Aryans offered encouragement and commentary. Thankfully, they were all too tired and wasted to stand from their seats to get a better look.

“Get some!”

“Suck that cock.”

Shortly after the performance began, Derek groaned, feigning an orgasm. The men hooted and hollered, laughing at Derek’s quick “climax.”

“That’s it?” one of them said.

Derek let go of the woman’s head, and she slumped back to the floor. He buttoned his fly and returned to his seat. He wondered if survival was worth the price. He thought about grabbing a rifle. He’d probably kill of few before they killed him. But then he saw a way out.

One by one, the Aryans passed out. Some on the floor. Some on the chairs. Some wandered to the bedrooms to sleep it off. But not Derek. Eventually, Derek was the only one awake. He stood from his chair and retrieved the woman’s clothes and shoes. He shoved her shorts and T-shirt into one of the large side pockets on his fatigues. He put the water shoes in the other pocket. He tiptoed to the corner of the room where the woman slept.

He whispered into her ear, “I’m gettin’ you out of here. What’s your name?”

She was unresponsive.

“I’m Derek. Just act dead. I have your clothes, but I need to carry you out naked, so the guards will think you’re dead.”

She was still unresponsive.

Derek picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She groaned in response. “Act dead, okay? Don’t say a word or make a sound. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

Thankfully, she was thin and light. Derek carried her to the backyard. It was still dark, but the rain had stopped, and the moon and stars provided dim light. As Derek walked toward the rear exit, he whispered to the woman, “Be still and quiet.”

The two Aryan guards, who guarded the rear exit, stood from their chairs, watching Derek’s approach with interest.