Eric Dimbleby - White Out

She could hear them speaking at the other side of the room. It sounded like they were relaxed, most likely sitting at one of The Purple Cat’s many varnished wood dining tables. Their garbled voices indicated that they were eating, chewing on something tough like a raw, bloody steak. Cavemen to the bone—gnashing their teeth and grunting joyously.

Nothing gets a man hungry like a good old-fashioned gang rape.

That hideous word ( raperaperapeyougotfuckingrapedAnnieyougotfuckingraped ) gnarled her senses, once again forcing her to beg the God of Fire to consume her broken vessel and send her to that faraway place that everybody must know sooner or later.

No.

No, that wouldn’t do. Stop being weak, Annie. They’ll smell it on you and this whole thing will only end one way.

It was Paulie. It had always been Paulie. The reason for everything, the answer to every question: Paulie. She needed to get back to him even if it killed her. He was safe at home, but he wouldn’t survive without his Mommy, not without her to guide him into manhood. For that single thought, Annie summoned the strength to roll over on to her side, with new darts of pain activating inside of her, reminding her how badly they’d fucked her up. She could feel the intrusion all the way into the lower regions of her stomach, simmering butterfly wings flapping at the bottom of her womb.

A voice came drifting through the wooden rafters, bouncing and reverberating, “Fine night for a fire, isn’t it?” The voice sounded like The Shiny Bald One, but she couldn’t be sure. The Yeti and The Chuckle Machine had hardly spoken at all. The Midget Man’s voice was something of a Munchkinland reject, so the voice she heard now had to be their ringleader.

She listened intently to the sounds: more chewing and slurping on some beverage, certainly alcoholic, and then a raging fit of laughter. The Chuckle Machine found the entire evening to be beyond delight.

“When the sun comes up, we’ll head to ol’ Sanford Pepper’s house. Heard from a guy down at the grange that he was decked out with all kinds of heavy artillery, some real World War Three shit.” The Shiny Bald One planned aloud, adding, “Our only problem may be Pepper himself, but that’s why we roll in there with gifts in hand. Some steaks, some booze, and some firewood. Of course, once we makum’ peace pipeum’ , then we’ll take care of that old coot properly.”

The Chuckle Machine erupted, apparently playing the part of mischievous super-villain in this vicious squad, as the Midget Man asked, “He’ll have his guns blazing if we roll up on him. My aunt Betty went out with him way back in high school and my pop said she was always comin’ home with black eyes.” There was a kind of ironic pity in the little shit’s voice, as though his aunt’s physical abuse was far removed from the treatment he and his trio of monster pals had just dealt out to Annie. The hypocrite couldn’t see what he’d been a party to. Maybe Annie was just a piece of meat to them, just like the wild animals that they’d soon be hunting when the Purple Cat’s food stash ran out.

“He won’t be a problem,” their leader replied, sounding resolute enough that Annie quite believed him. The Shiny Bald One was the type that always had a plan in motion. Tony had been like that, before they’d stomped the life out of him.

They kept on chewing, occasionally releasing a hearty burp to attest their pleasure.

“Stop hoggin’ that hooch, Dan. And stop getting your shit-lips all over it,” a new voice called out. Annie assumed it was The Yeti. He spoke like a high-pitched galoot, just like he looked. Annie couldn’t help but think of Lenny from Of Mice and Men . She wondered if The Yeti would start petting her after his next go-‘round her vagina, maybe break her neck by accident.

“Don’t use my name, Mikey!” The Midget Man shouted back at him.

Annie reached down around her ankles; though it felt like the lower half of her body was no longer attached to the rest of her. Her fingers touched a soft but muddy mess that felt very much like they were once her panties. With a lurch in her spine, biting her tongue so hard that she felt she might bite it right off, she pulled them up her shins and up around her waist. Her arms slumped to the floor again, fingernails digging into the wooden planks from the pain she could not escape.

“Use names if you want to,” said The Shiny Bald One, chirping giddily to himself. “She won’t know our names long enough to tell anybody… won’t know anything about anything longer than tomorrow. Our fun won’t hold out; maybe three or four more whirls and then we’ll have to throw her out with the rest of the trash. She’ll start stinking up the joint, like that other one.”

Her stomach soured. They seemed pretty nonchalant about the fact that she’d soon be dead. Dead, just like…

Tony.

She forgot all about Tony in her private bursts of pain and wishing that she would die. Poor Tony was beaten to within an inch of his life, and then an inch and a half beyond that. Annie couldn’t see him, as they’d dragged him away. Or was there a him anymore? Wasn’t it just a body now? Yes—she’d heard his last breath while they violated her.

Getting rid of Tony was understandable, thought Annie with a sick laugh that existed only inside her head. Who the hell could get a hard-on with a dead guy on the floor?

Annie couldn’t help thinking about his wife, Vickie maybe, why couldn’t she remember his wife’s name now, and kids, waiting and wishing, thinking that Daddy would be home any minute now, no different from Paulie wondering if his own mother would return to him in one piece. Tony had been a shit, but he’d saved her.

No, she thought. Don’t be naive. He brought you here, looking to score. Tony was looking to get some action and a full belly, no different from the rest of these cretins sitting around the post-rape-party dinner table, shoveling more protein into their bodies so that they could go at her again in short order. Tony was only slightly different from them. He tried to do the right thing, no matter his ulterior motives, and still, look what it brought her.

Had the whole damn world gone mad? She was almost convinced.

Annie curled up into the fetal position, trying to picture Paulie in her mind’s eye, hoping that it would lull her into a calm long enough to do what she had to do. She had trouble picturing his face, terrified that her more recent snapshots of memory might intermingle with her images of him. The thought occurred to her that she might never see him again, so she cast him out of her mind, though it pained her to do so.

She wasn’t sure how it happened, or when it happened, but she fell back asleep. And somewhere, nestled amidst her dreams, she found herself running through the splattered red snow, buck naked except for her snow boots, bleeding out of nearly every orifice, crying out for Christian to save her from the starving wolves, crying out for Paulie to avert his eyes. Raging monsters—hairy, howling, and clawing at the insufferable snow – bounded at her and dug into her flesh, eating until they were full. They ate her again and again, over and over, until she finally woke up.

Annie woke with a startle, looking up to the left, where the early morning sun was poking through the drawn shades the best it could. It was still dark, mostly from the unabating storm. But there was a warm orange glow to that light, as if the lightness of the planet was starting to win again. Annie steadied her chin on the floor, feeling around her body.

She’d been forcibly dressed while she slept. Thank God, she thought, feeling her dignity creeping back into her one breath at a time.