M. Banner - Desolation

“Darla,” she said as she accepted his mitt, wet with perspiration, and returned his shake vigorously. “This is my brother, Danny.”

“Hey Danny,” Carl said in a comforting tone.

“Hey,” came the disinterested reply.

Darla, on the other hand, became more interested with every step.

Best she could figure, two days ago she’d been drugged and knocked unconscious. She had been beaten several times and raped once; she fought off two other rape attempts, nearly castrating one of the men with her teeth. This had resulted in the most recent beating from which she was just waking. In her mind, she made each interaction an exercise, learning something more about each of her captors so that she could gain the advantage. Logic and reasoning were her strengths, and for now, she had no place for emotions. The tally was pretty simple: all but one lacked any brains or balls, and all had egos the size of a John Deere combine. Cowboy Hat never touched her. She had only seen him once since their first conversation. She guessed he had brains enough for all his idiot sons. She was still puzzled at what they wanted with her or why they kept her alive. She knew she had just about outlived her usefulness as some sex toy for these men who were not likely to catch the eye of any woman by any other means except through force.

Every conscious moment was applied to finding the quickest route to her freedom, and with some luck, killing these men. She knew no one was going to save her. She was completely on her own. There were no police, not even the rule of law anymore; each person became their own law, judge, and jury. She had found these men guilty and planned to exact justice by any means she could find.

Her plan was easy but not simple. Cowboy Hat had the keys to her chains. She needed to kill CH, take his keys and weapon, then kill the other two and leave. Of course, they all had guns and she didn’t; that’s what made this difficult. Her best weapon was surprise. She had to act quickly, without them knowing she had taken the advantage from them. Another difficulty was their moving her from the kitchen to this dark and musty cellar, where there was no light except when a propane lantern was brought down for her next feeding, beating, or raping. For her plan to succeed, she had to lure CH to her. She was pretty sure that he had no interest in her, so she was working on a way to use Butch, whom she expected back any time now.

The cellar door creaked open and light from a lantern cut through her darkness. She could see Butch’s feet, recognizing his obese ankles and unlaced boots immediately. Butch had tried to touch her only once, but she’d popped him in the nose, probably breaking it. He was easily the dumber of the two sons, but also the less testosterone-filled, so he was manageable. She pushed back her emotions, hiding them in her darkest recesses, and forced a smile to her puffy face.

“Sleeping Beauty, it’s dinner time,” Butch called down the cellar. Each of his heavy footfalls down the steps punctuated her resolve and purpose. Belying this, her smile became more sultry and helpless. When he was in full view, he stopped and she could see his expression was one of fear and confusion. His throbbing red and purple nose warned him to stay back. Yet, he could see her demeanor was different this time, calling him forward. With his lower lip and shoulders drooped and one of the straps of his grungy overalls unbuckled, he looked like a little boy—a three-hundred-pound little bearded boy. In another life, she might have felt sorry for this man. In another life.

“Howdy, Butch. I’m so glad to see you,” she cooed as she tried to look helpless. “Oh, what’s wrong? You know I didn’t mean it. After what Chase did, can you blame me?”

He stood his ground, not buying into her act, yet.

“Come on, Butch, I’m sorry. Could you help me, please?” She held up her two hands, which had been handcuffed after she nearly made Butch’s brother into a eunuch. “I have a horrible itch that needs scratching and I can’t reach it.”

“Daddy says not to get close to you or you’ll break somin else.” His feet started forward and then stopped again.

“If I promise I won’t hit you again, would you at least bring my food?”

That seemed to do the trick, as Butch remembered he was holding her tray. The man-boy shuffled forward and set it down in front of her.

“Would you sit down while I eat? I would love the company,” she said before tearing into the bread. She knew the drugs had to be in either the soup or the water. She was hoping it was the soup, which she pretended to taste and then said, “I’m going to let this cool a bit longer.”

Noticing he seemed to be a little less defensive, she pursued her plan. She stopped chewing, shot him another sexy smile, pretended to look for anyone who might be listening, and then leaned closer to him so she could whisper. “Tell me, Butch—can you keep a secret?”

Butch looked around too to make sure the others couldn’t hear them. “Yes!” he whispered back like the little boy she imagined him to be, bouncing with excitement.

“Do you know what I do… what I did before the blackout?”

“Noooo.” His voice rose and his eyes got wide. She had him hooked. This might be easier than she thought.

“I was an astronaut. You know what that is?”

“You fly in space, like on Battlestar Galactica?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m like Starbuck.” She paused to see if he caught on.

“Ohhh, woooww,” his face lit up and his bearded smile wrapped around his face.

“Well, I got shot down by the Cylons and my spaceship is only a few miles away. I have food and water and everything you and I could use, if you can help me break free. Can you?”

“You got a ray gun too?”

“Yep, but if we don’t hurry, someone else might get it before we do. Can you go get the keys?”

“I think so. But if I get caught, I could get a whoopin’.” His face grew serious. Then, a single thought exploded in his head and he looked at her with eagerness. “Would you teach me to fly, like Apollo?”

“Yes, you could be my Apollo and I’ll be your Starbuck. Do we have a deal?”

Butch scrunched his face in shallow-deep thought, and then rose with purpose and headed up the stairs, carrying her only light with him. After a couple of steps he turned back and whispered, “I gotta go, but I be right back with the keys… Okay, Starbuck?”

“Okay, Apollo,” she said sweetly.

He bounded up the stairs two at a time and slammed the door, again plunging her world into total darkness.

It seemed like hours to her, but Melanie only had to wait fifteen minutes when the door crashed open, its strained hinges braying a tortured squeak. A set of cowboy boots clomped down the stairs, led by lantern light. It was Cowboy Hat.

He stopped at arm’s length from her, first examining her tray to see if she had eaten her food. She had made sure her bowls were emptied into the five-gallon paint bucket they’d given her for a latrine. She also acted the part, pretending to be drugged, having difficulty opening her eyes as she croaked, “That you, Butch?”

CH leapt forward so that his mouth was an inch from her ear. “Cut the bullshit, Ms. Lieutenant Sinclaire, or would you prefer I call you ‘Starbuck’?”

Melanie, careful to not move her upper body, was poised and ready to spring at the right moment.

“That line of shit may work on my son, but it doesn’t wash with me. I know you’re an astronaut and you crashed somewhere around here. I saw your uniform.”

She clutched a steak knife; she had found it under a kitchen cabinet when she was held up there and managed to spirit it down to the cellar. Any moment now , she told herself.