Chapter 17: Hiram Rockwell, April 10th and 11th, 2010

Joyous is a word that isn’t often used to describe me. I’ve been told by many that the right word is grim. Right now, joyous was a good description of how I was feeling. The life of a combat soldier is usually filled with tasks that are necessary; it’s rarely fun. I was driving Bertha, a Beiger Industries Mark II Armored Personnel Carrier and it was a blast; I didn’t need a mirror to know I was smiling. Henrietta our second APC followed behind. We were going 5 miles an hour down the center line on I-15. We had taken this Interstate Highway all the way down from Salt Lake City. Bertha started off as a metro bus. She had 3 inches of multilayered steel armor over her exterior including the top and bottom. Her sides were angled so bullets hitting her were more likely to glance off. All the windows were covered by massive steel bars. Bertha had two large bulldozer blades pointed like an arrow in front of her. She was ramming the abandoned vehicles off the highway.

You could feel a jolt down to your bones every time Bertha smashed into a car or truck. There was a stream of zombies in front of me. The dozer blades were designed to catch them at the knees and knock them down. Behind the blades were rollers with spikes a couple inches off the ground that turned the zombies into chopped flesh. Sweepers behind the spikes kept most of the zombie bits away from our wheels. I couldn’t physically feel the zombies being squished below me but I could picture it in my mind; the image made me smile. I had been driving for about an hour. The constant pounding was punishing. As painful as it was to drive Bertha, it was fun. As a boy I used to daydream about have a vehicle big enough to mow down everything in front of me. I had a grin on my face for so long, my face was getting tired. Every half hour, Bertha and Henrietta changed positions.

Ever since we almost got our asses handed to us by a vampire smart enough to attack us from a distance up near Ogden, SaLT SOP or standard operating procedure for being out in the field had changed. Armored vehicles based on modified full size pickup trucks became obsolete. The Ogden vamp had launched hundred plus pound manhole covers at our old trucks and had pounded them into scrap. The old armored truck doors hadn’t been strong enough; this wasn’t a problem on our new vehicles. We had enough room in our new APCs or Armored Personal Carriers to fit 40 people. We had twenty-one men split between two. We had room now to pick up small groups of survivors and all our gear. We only got 4 miles per gallon so we had to bring lots of fuel.

There were stretches on the highway between towns where the road was clear. On those stretches we went our top speed of 30 miles an hour. Other times when there were wrecked semi-trucks or the multicar pileups that couldn’t be pushed out of the way we had to use diesel powered winches to pull vehicles off the side of the road. There were masses of abandoned cars at almost every exit we passed.

We had aerial support. Mike Kim and Alex Wu were flying in front of us in a two man Powered Parachute or PPC. The PPC had a normal flight speed of 30 miles an hour and could stay in the air for 4 hours. The downside of the PCC was that it couldn’t be flown safely in the rain or if the winds were blowing faster than 15 mph. The past few days the weather had been perfect. The PPCs were great for scouting. They were also the best way to herd zombies. A PPC circling the air a couple hundred feet off the ground will draw zombies from miles around. Cowboys herded cattle. The PPC Zomboys herded zombies.

We had photographs of I-15 taken two days ago from our only operational airplane. Before we left Salt Lake City, we knew where people still survived and where there was open highway. Every gas station was marked. We knew that the FLDS had a degree of operational control because a lane of traffic had been cleared from St. George to Colorado City.

Our mission was threefold: to try to make peaceful contact with the FLDS, exploration and rescue, and pest control. We were clearing I-15 from Salt Lake City to St. George. The entire trip Zomboys drew zombies on to the highway in front of us.

Even at 5 miles an hour we were going fast enough to run down the undead. Men on top of the Henrietta behind us were shooting every zombie Bertha missed. The constant pounding and shaking made it impossible to shoot accurately from the lead APC.

Pre-outbreak population estimates gave us useful intel. Close to 40 percent of US were infected with the zombie virus on September 11th last year; if you knew how many people used to live in a town, you had a pretty good idea of how many zombies there were. Cedar City used to have a population of about 20,000. There were about 2,000 zombies on the highway in front of us; there should have been 8,000. Whenever there was a mismatch between the predicted numbers of zombies versus the actual, there were usually survivors.

Two thousand was too many to mow down in one pass. Bertha’s turning radius was crap. I used the last exit ramp out of Cedar City to turn Bertha around and then make another sweep. The spikes behind our dozer blades were 6 inches long, one inch think, and spaced a couple inches apart. As they rolled over a zombie they poked one inch diameter holes, every two square inches over a zombie’s body. When we ran over a zombie, every bone in its body including its skull was broken into cracker sized bits. Our APCs made monster mash. It took 6 passes to clear out all the Cedar City zombies. There’s a certain pleasure in nailing a zombie in the head with a well aimed rifle from hundreds of yards away; nothing beats mowing down 2,000 zombies in a few minutes in a huge APC.

Private Kim, the PPC Zomboy pilot had done a good job drawing local zombies to the highway. Zombies are slow and have a top speed of about two miles an hour. We had made so much noise and there were now so many dead zombie bodies on the highway that the entire strip of highway had become a zombie magnet. We spent the next two hours shooting down stragglers. Once it looked like there were no more zombies coming, we put Bertha and Henrietta into lock down mode. With our old armored trucks, we had to manually put up jacks that kept our vehicles from rocking and had to put up fencing around our vehicles by hand.

Bertha and Henrietta were completely automated. With a push of a button, 6 hydraulic outriggers come down to make it impossible to rock or overturn our vehicles and armored plating deployed to protect our tires. The buses had razor wire strung all around the vehicles so that if any zombie tried to climb up the sides, their fingers were sliced off. The top of the buses were observation and shooting platforms.

Once we were sure the perimeter was clear. I radioed up to Kim’s copilot Alex Wu and told them to land. Once on the ground, it wasn’t a big deal to get the PPC stowed inside Henrietta. The PPC unloaded only weighed 250 pounds. With a ramp down it was easy roll it up into the APC.

The last time our plane had come this way the crew saw survivors in Cedar City, Hurricane, and the twin cities of Hildale and Colorado City. The plane dropped care packages in Cedar City and Hurricane. The FLDS in Hildale and Colorado City taken shots at the plane; a care package wasn’t dropped. The care package included medications, two suppressed rifles, a couple hundred rounds of ammunition, and a pamphlet describing what we had up in Salt Lake City and that we welcomed newcomers. Kim and Wu confirmed that there were still survivors in Cedar City. Wu thought that there were about 500 survivors. Cedar City had a vampire; most of the survivors were women and children.

We were seven months out from the zombie outbreak. Zombies are only dangerous in large numbers. If you survived the initial zombie outbreak and avoided getting trapped by a large numbers of them, they weren’t that dangerous. Plywood walls could keep Zombies out. Vampires on the other hand were quicker than weasels and were strong enough to tear through most roofs and plywood walls like they were tissue paper. They could also jump over twenty foot walls. I’ve seen a vamp throw a grown man 30 feet across a room.

Unless you found a bunker with steel or reinforced concrete walls, you couldn’t avoid a vampire at night. Vampires preyed on humans. Even worse, vampires kept humans much like a rancher keeps his cattle. For the last couple hundred miles we had been finding isolated groups of a couple hundred humans usually holed up in a fortified ward. In almost all these cases, vampires had been coming to feed on the survivors a couple times a week. Clearing out zombies was easy they were always predictable. Vampires were predictable most of the time; they became problems when they weren’t.

It had taken 3 days to drive 252 miles from Sugar House to Cedar City. We could have gotten here faster but we were trying to kill off as many zombies and vampires as we could. I was anxious to see how our new armored vehicles handled a vampire smart enough throw things at us. I use the word ‘anxious’ because I was uncertain about how it would go. The kind that was smart enough throw things tended to be unpredictable; in combat the unexpected is a bitch.

We set up for the night on the highway. We turned on two lights on the back of the APCs. Vampires hate bright lights and will almost always try to destroy the lights before trying to attack people. All our lights were surrounded by steel cages that made them difficult to break. There was a small platform below the lights that was a perfect standing spot for vampires. It was a trap.

A little after two in the morning, a vampire landed on Bertha’s vampire trap. The vampire’s weight caused a hundred thousand volt current to go through the platform. Vampires are tough. The current froze the vampire in place; it didn’t kill it. A target that can’t move is easy to hit. One of our sentries blew a hole in its head with a large bore hunting rifle. Even after it was dead, SaLT SOP was to shoot at the head until the top half was gone. Our troops were good shots. It usually took three shots to do this.

At first light, The Zomboys took off. They flew 30 miles-per-hour about 500 feet off the ground. They scouted our path to the survivors. We had done a good job clearing out Cedar City yesterday. The PPC only pulled in two zombies. Our snipers took them out easily.

The survivors were holed up in a fortified ward 3 miles from the highway. We left the APC’s outside their compound. Half my men stayed in the APCs. I took the other half into the ward. This wasn’t the first time I’ve rescued people. It never seemed to get any easier. Most survivors are grateful. A few are always angry. As usual someone asked why we didn’t come just a few days or even twelve hours earlier. We were rescuing people as fast as we safely could. It’s a balance. Push too hard; take too many short cuts, SaLTs die. Be too careful; take too much time, civilians die. Even though I knew we were moving as fast as we safely could. I felt guilty whenever anyone asked why it had taken so long to rescue them.

Before the outbreak, humans were top predators. For the last seven months these people had been prey. It took awhile before people calmed down enough to tell us their story. Three Cedar City wards survived the outbreak on September 11th. Just like Salt Lake City, about half the adult population turned into zombies. Unlike Salt Lake City where there were hundreds of thousands of zombies, in Cedar City there were less than 10,000. Over the next several weeks, the survivors were able to kill all the zombies surrounding their fortifications.

For the first couple of months, everything went well. The wards were able to band together. They were the process of rescuing non-LDS families that had survived in single family homes when the EMP hit. The EMP took out their lights. That night, the vampire attacked. Since then the vampire had been feeding on one of their men every few days. Only four adult men were still alive. Five hundred and seven women and children survived. The ward members had gathered enough food and water to keep 2400 people alive for three months. So many people had died since then that they still had supplies from the original stores.

About a month back, our plane dropped a care package including rifles and ammunition into their compound. A group of ten men tried making their way by foot to Sugar House. The first night they had been out, the vampire attacked and killed two of them. It then chased the rest back to Cedar City. Since then the vampire had killed all the men that had tried to escape. I used my walkie talkie to call my radio man inside Bertha.

“Jake, can you hear me?”

“Yeah Sarge.”

“Jake relay a message back to the Fortress that we need transport for a little over 500 people in Cedar City.”

“Will comply Sarge.”

I called the zomboys and told them to land and fuel up. We still had plenty of daylight left. I was going to take Bertha and the PPC and head on over to St. George which was 54 miles south of us on I-15. We knew for sure that there were survivors in Hurricane and it was likely that other smaller groups of survivors were still alive. It would be tragic if there were people who needed rescuing close to us and we turned back without them. I wanted to make sure that the PPC was completely topped off with gas before we started heading south. The PPC gave us better information than a plane. Our plane had a cruising speed of over 200 miles-per-hour and generally flew a couple thousand feet up in the air. It was easy for our plane to miss something that could be seen by a PPC which had a cruising speed of 30 miles-per-hour flying a couple hundred feet off the ground.

The Cedar City folk started panicking when they realized half of us were pulling out. I assured them that we would be back by nightfall. We were just going to go down to the outskirts of St. George and then come back. There were survivors down south and that we had to see how they were doing. I had eleven SaLTs stay at the ward with Henrietta.

In two hours, the PPC would be in St. George. During the same period, Bertha would be lucky to make 10 miles. About an-hour-and-a-half after we left Cedar City, I got a call from Alex. He said that there were signs of survivors in La Verkin. He estimated 20 survivors. All of them were women. The FLDS especially the women dress like they live in the 1800’s. The La Verkin survivors didn’t look FLDS.

We took exit 27 to UT-17 on our way to La Verkin. At our current pace, we would be there in four-and-a-half hours. I told Mike to keep exploring up ahead of us and then circle around and meet us when they started getting low on gas. With a full tank of gas, without a head wind, the PPC could make 120 miles.

Half-an-hour later, Alex radioed us, “Sarge, the whole town of Hurricane is full of idiots dressed like they escaped from ‘Little House in the Prairie’ and the assholes shot at us!”

“Get the hell out of there soldier! If you think its safe, swing on over to St. George and check the town out before you get back to us.”

“Yippie ki-ay Sarge.”

Alex radioed that there were close to 20 thousand zombies in St. George. Based on the pre-Outbreak population there should have been more. It looked like the FLDS had been doing some pest control.

We were about an hour out of La Verkin when Mike flew within eyesight. Once the road was clear the PPC landed. Mike and Alex took a break and ate while the rest of us refueled the PPC and checked the canopy. We found one bullet hole. It was easy to patch.

I got on the radio and contacted the Fortress. I needed to talk to the Director. It took awhile to get him.

“What’s the news, Sergeant?”

“Director, we got FLDS in Hurricane. They shot at the PPC when it did a flyover. I don’t think peaceful contact is an option”

“I’ll be down there with a fleet of buses tomorrow afternoon at the latest. The survivors in La Verkin, are they FLDS?”

“Not according to the zomboys. They weren’t dressed like it.”

“Keep an eye out, Hiram. You’re on the ground. I trust your judgement. Do what’s necessary.”

I loved working with the Director. He didn’t hover or micromanage. He didn’t give stupid commands. My men and I were down here to see if the FLDS were too stupid to live. I knew our mission. He trusted me to carry it out.

We drove into La Verkin. I told Mike to stay within eyesight but at least a couple thousand yards away from us. If we were attacked, I wanted them to immediately return to Cedar City. La Verkin was a typical small desert town. In the last hour we had been taken down just three zombies. The last few miles of highway had been cleared of broken down vehicles. People had been doing pest control here for a while. There were no zombies in town. The La Verkin City Office was a small two story stone structure next to a cemetery. The building had been turned into a fortress. The roof was encased with welded metal panels and all the windows and doors had metal shutters over them. Tombstones had been used to reinforce the walls. A fence made of out of scrap that looked strong enough to resist zombies surrounded the building.

The fence gate opened and a strawberry blonde woman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt walked out to us. She was about 5 foot, 10 inches tall about my age. I felt like I had been hit with a brick. I’m a big man. Tiny stick-like women make me nervous. I worry that if I brush up against one by accident they’ll break. I’m not attracted to women who look like children. Rachel didn’t look like a child. I could have spent hours looking at her curves. She introduced herself as Rachel Levin. She said that she and a group of women had been staying in the La Verkin City Hall for the past 6 months. They had cleared out all the zombies in the area. It had taken weeks to get the metal roof and shutters installed. Most of their men were killed by a vampire while they were getting this done. Her husband had survived the initial Outbreak. He was one of the first men killed.

I asked if she had any problems with the FLDS. She said she hadn’t. Their main problem was vampires. Her group had to hole up at night. Every few nights they would have a vampire on their roof trying to find a way in. While Rachel was talking to me 14 other women dressed in jeans and work shirts came out.

Usually when we rescued survivors, they hadn’t been able to take a real bath or shower for months. Even if a rescued woman was attractive, until she got cleaned up and stopped smelling funky, it was easy to remain a gentleman. The La Verkin woman had been taking care of themselves. None of them were wearing much makeup but they were all clean and some of them were wearing perfume. There are pretty girls at home but they don’t usually travel in packs of 15. My men looked as dazed as I felt. When Rachel invited us all in to the City Hall for some bottled water, we all followed her. Rachel was at my side as we walked into the building. We went from bright sunlight into the dark. The windows were all covered with metal shutters and there weren’t any lights. It took a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did I saw at least 30 FLDS men pointing rifles at me and my men. I turned to Rachel and saw that she was holding a snub nosed revolver 4 inches from my side. All the women were holding guns on my men.

Rachel smiled, “Sergeant, the FLDS don’t bother us because we are the FLDS. It’s wonderful how sinners let down their guard in front of pretty women. We were hoping to catch some gentiles today. We really hit the jackpot with you and your men. A fully armored and equipped bus, how nice of you to bring it to me. Now hold still while my men disarm you or I’ll blow a .357 size hole into you. At this range I can’t miss.

Sergeant, I would really like to have a powered paraglider for my collection. Tell your pilot to land next to the city call. Careful now, if you warn them or say anything too revealing, I’ll shoot one of your men.” She pointed at Max Sutter. He just turned 18.

I looked into Rachel’s eyes. She was a psychopath. She was looking for an excuse to shoot someone. I turned on my walkie talkie, “Alex, do you hear me?”

“Yeah Sarge.”

“Everything here is fine. We’re going to stay here awhile. I want you guys to land outside the City Hall.”

“I hear you Sarge. Everything is fine. Will comply.”

The Director is a clever man. He predicted that there would be SaLTs who would eventually end up in a situation like this. He told us to use the word ‘fine’ as code. It meant that everything was fucked and to do the opposite of what was being said. When Alex repeated my words “everything is fine”, I knew he got the message. He and Mike were on their way back to Cedar City.

Men came forward. They wrapped chains around my wrists and ankles and then used padlocks to keep them in place. Once they were done with me, they chained my men. We waited. After an hour went by without the PPC landing, Rachel chuckled, “My, my. So the Sergeant used a code word, even after I promised to shoot one of his men if he did.”

She stepped up to Max and put the barrel of on his head. I lurched forward. The FLDS men held me back.

“Sergeant, I guess I need to prove to you that I keep my promises.”

She moved her gun to Max’s left arm and fired. Max grunted. He didn’t scream.

“Oh it’s just a flesh wound, but next time Sergeant, if you disobey me. I will kill one of your men.”

We were loaded back on to our APC and we were driven through Hurricane down into Hildale and then Colorado City. On the way a couple of the FLDS dressed Max’s wound. The bullet had gone cleanly through his left biceps without hitting bone. They gave him a sling. On the way I saw groups of men and women working in fields while surrounded by armed guards. It looked like the FLDS had reintroduced slavery. We were taken to a warehouse. Inside was a row of 20 by 20 foot cages made out of steel fencing. There were prisoners in most of the cages. One by one our chains were removed. We were told to undress to our underwear in front of everyone. We were given hospital scrubs pants and shirts to wear. They took everything including our watches, rings, shoes, and socks.

Max walked up to me, “Sarge, what are we going to do?”

I motioned the men around me, “Guys we talked about this possibility before the mission. If we’re questioned tell the truth. Don’t hold anything back. We don’t know anything that would hurt the SaLTs. Let them know that we all volunteered for this mission and we knew the risks coming in. Make sure that the FLDS know that if anything happens to us, they’re in for a world of hurt. They have no fricking clue what the Director will do to them.”

We all knew that if we were captured we would be questioned, possibly tortured. For years before the outbreak, the media has been spouting off bullshit idea that torture can’t give you accurate information. That just because a tortured prisoner will say anything that he thinks you want him to say, that any information he gives you is worthless. If you only have one prisoner it’s often difficult to know if a prisoner is giving good information. If you have multiple prisoners and/or a way to corroborate information, torture gets you extremely accurate information. As long as the prisoners can’t communicate with each other and their stories match, you know that the information you’ve obtained is likely good. It’s reasonable to debate whether it is ever morally or ethically ok to torture someone, but it is complete bullshit to claim that torture doesn’t work.

The Director deliberately kept us in the dark before we left about all the new military information. I knew that he had sent salvage crews to Camp Williams, the Utah National Guard training facility, but neither I nor any of my men knew what kind of weapons he had found there. None of us knew what he was planing to do if any of the SaLTs were captured. We all knew that if the FLDS hurt us that they would be in for a world of hurt. We didn’t know how the Director would go about punishing them. It was possible that our willingness to answer any question truthfully would prevent us from being tortured.

I tried talking to a prisoner in the cage next to ours. The cages were about 30 feet apart so I had to raise my voice, “Hey how’s it going?”

The prisoner didn’t even look at me. One of the armed FLDS guards patrolling the warehouse shouted, “No talking between cages.”

I looked at the guard, “You coming in this cage to stop me little man?”

I expected him to get angry. He grinned, raised his shotgun and fired. “Fuck!” I felt a blast of pain over my chest and stomach that almost dropped me. The shotgun was loaded with rock salt. He kept the barrel pointed at me and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head. The fucker grinned and went back to patrolling. My men gathered around me.

“You ok Sarge?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” Shit, that hurt.

About an hour after we got here, six men armed with assault rifles came to our cage. They told Max to come to the door and told the rest of us to get back. They opened the door, got Max, chained him and led him out of the building. Four hours later they took one of my other men and every hour after that one more. No one was ever brought back to the cage.

There were two plastic bedpans in the cage and some mattress pads and blankets. There were no chairs or mattress frames. We didn’t have anything that could be used as a weapon.

The next morning there were only three of us in the cage. A tired looking woman came by our cage and pushed a couple energy bars and 3 bottles of water through a slot at the bottom of our cage door. The water bottles were worn; they had been emptied and refilled multiple times. She told us to pass the two bed pans we had in the cage with us to her. We did. She emptied them into a large bin she had with her and then slipped them back to us. She told us that she would come back in 6 hours to take back the empty water bottles and give us new ones. If we damaged one of the water bottles, we wouldn’t get a replacement.

By the afternoon all my men were taken away. I was given two energy bars to eat for dinner. More time passed. It was dark. It must have been around 9 pm when the guards came for me. They threw a small bar of soap in the cage and told me to strip. This was new. They hadn’t asked any of my men to do this. I asked them why. They said that my men and I stunk and that the interrogators were tired of smelling us. After I stripped down they hosed me off with cold water while I cleaned up. After a few minutes, they tossed in a towel and new scrubs. After I got dressed, they motioned me out and then chained my arms and legs.

They gave me two flip flops to wear. We walked a quarter mile to a gymnasium. I was led into the basement. It looked like a dungeon from a movie set. There was an open fire pit where iron tools and brands were being heated. Chains and manacles hung everywhere. There was even an iron maiden in the corner. This looked bad. I considered making a break for it or taking on the guards but they were too alert.

I was brought to a large wooden chair that was bolted to the floor. They sat me down and chained my ankles to the floor. My arms were stretched out and my wrists chained at shoulder height. They wrapped a strap around my forehead and then locked it to the back of my chair. I couldn’t move my legs, arms, or head. After I was strapped in the men left. I was alone to stew for about 20 minutes. Rachel stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. This time she was dressed like the typical FLDS woman. She was a single piece gingham dress with a high collar, sleeves that went down to her wrists, and a hem that went to her ankles. Her hair was raised up in a bun.

“Sergeant Rockwell, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you haven’t been too bored.” She walked over to me and sat on my lap. She leaned her body against me, tucking the side of her head against my neck while reaching up to caress my face. “I hope you won’t hold what I had to do against me.”

The bitch was crazy. I kept quiet.

“I have to say your men haven’t been any fun at all. They sang like little wimpy canaries. I didn’t have to encourage them at all. I’m so disappointed. All of you looked like so rough and tough. Are you going to be just as boring as them?”

“None of my men and I know anything of military value. You can ask me anything at all and I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

She told me that she was glad to have found me. She loved sitting in men’s laps like a little girl. At 5 foot, 10 inches, she had a hard time finding men big enough to do this. She asked all the expected questions. How many men did we have? What kind of equipment did we have? What were our intentions? I answered all of her questions as honestly as I could. I told her that we were here on a humanitarian mission and that if she harmed any of my men that hell-on-earth would come her way.

While we talked, she would occasionally caress my chest, my nipples, and my face. She had a straight edge razor. She placed the blade on my neck and chest but didn’t cut me. Once she laid the razor on my right eye. She held it there for close to a minute. I froze; I knew that if I blinked that I would slice my eyelid. It was the freakiest situation I had ever been in. Cold sweat covered my body. She placed her cheek on my chest and neck without hesitation. She told me that she loved the scent and feel of clean manly perspiration. As I answered her questions, she got more and more frustrated. She wanted me to resist her interrogation.

“Oh pooh! You aren’t letting me have any fun at all.” She sat up and straddled my lap, facing me. She showed me the open straight razor she held in her right hand. She placed it on my neck just below my left ear and lightly cut barely breaking my skin. I could feel beads of blood coming from the cut. She cut through my shirt and then ripped it off my body. She began licking my neck, lapping up my blood and sweat.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to have fun. You and your men have been surprisingly boring.”

I’ve been an active Mormon all my life. We don’t believe in sex outside of marriage. I’ve never had a woman sit on my lap like this before. I could tell through my thin scrubs that Rachel wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her crotch was moist and it was getting wetter as she rubbed herself against me. My pants were paper thin; it was the only thing between me and her. Even though she was psychotic, she was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. I tried reciting my multiplications tables in my head. I tried to visualize the ugliest women I knew. I couldn’t stop my body’s response.

“Shit!” She bit my lower lip so hard it was bleeding. The pain from my lip wasn’t enough to change what was going on below my waist. She moved up and down three more times. My body shook as I released.

“Wow that was quick. Pain and fear usually prevents men from coming so easily.” She stopped, looked thoughtful and then smiled. “Hiram, are you a virgin?”

I didn’t say anything.

She smiled, “This is going to be a lot more fun than I thought. It’s been forever since I’ve played with a virgin.” She got off me. She moved her razor to my groin. I lunged with all my strength. I could feel my skin rip at my wrists and ankles. I pulled toward her and then away. It was useless; the chains were too strong.

“Fuck! What the hell are you doing?”

Rachel laughed. “I think it’s unfair that only women bleed when they lose their virginity. Don’t you think men should bleed too?”

I pushed myself as far back as I could. I jerked back and forth. My restraints wouldn’t give.

She stood back, “Unfortunately I’m married right now and I don’t believe in cheating. I won’t be able to take your virginity just yet. Who knows I might be able to soon.

Chapter 18