Alex had prepared sandwiches. Because she often hosted Scirocco and his business associates with full course meals, she had a complete galley. Alex placed slices of bread on a cutting board and reached for a sharp knife. The rack was empty. She had two carving knives, two chef knives, a boning knife and a cleaver. All were missing and she had to make do with a steak knife.
When she served the sandwiches, one-half per person, the men had grumbled, saying it wasn’t enough, but they greedily devoured what little they had. Now, with only one meal left to them, Alex knew things would deteriorate rapidly. She needed to warn Irene.
That night, everyone sat watching sparks spiraling skyward from a blazing log-fire, but the camp was sharply divided. Irene’s worst fears had been realized: Ashwin Franks had befriended the other five men and together, they had built a lean-to shelter facing the flames. And from where she sat with Pamela and Linda on the opposite side of the compound, Irene could see the men swigging from a bottle and assessing the attributes of the female volleyball players.
Irene placed cardboard down and she sat between Linda and Pamela, huddled under a blanket with their backs to a log. Irene explained her fears: “So the three of us leave tomorrow as soon as there’s enough light to see our way down river. We’ll take some food, enough for a couple of days and after that we eat anything we can find along the way. We stick to the river so we won’t get lost, drink the water and maybe catch fish. Hopefully we’ll come across a village; someplace with access to the outside. We don’t come back here unless we’re leading a rescue party. Agreed?”
“I’m in,” Linda’s eyes sparkled, “anything’s better than sitting around waiting.”
“You, Pamela?”
“It sounds scary,” Pamela said, searching for Irene’s hand under the blanket. “But I want to be with you. And a couple of the men are looking at me funny. That kinda scares me.”
Irene put an arm around Pamela’s shoulder. “I know baby, we all feel it. But you’ll be gone from here in twelve hours. You’ll be safe with me.”
“And with me,” Linda chimed in and they snuggled closer for support and warmth.
Pamela turned to Irene and placed her cheek on the older woman’s shoulder. “Do you think we’ll make it?” she wondered out loud. “What if there are bears?”
“We have to make it,” Irene replied. “Everyone will be counting on us.”
Pamela closed her eyes to quell the rising moisture. “Oh dear…” And she reached across with an opened hand.
A breath caught in Irene’s throat. Under the blanket, Pamela had cupped her left breast lightly before sliding her hand downward to where her fingers slipped between the buttons of Irene’s shirt.
Linda, on Irene’s opposite side, shifted. Linda was either intuitive or had seen the blanket move and Irene sensed the girl was aware of the interaction taking place beneath the woolen fabric. But instead of pulling away, Linda reached across Irene’s tummy, her fingertips tracing a path to Pamela’s hand. When their fingers touched, the jolt of hopefulness was palatable on Irene’s skin.
Irene was well aware of Pamela’s sexual orientation, but Linda? There had never been any indication that Linda was anything but happily straight. And maybe she was, but Pamela’s venerability was intoxicating. Irene knew first hand. Had Linda also been swayed? Maybe Linda and Pamela already had history. Certainly there had been ample opportunity for them to get together in Cartagena, even sleep together, if that’s where their desires had led them.
The girls were stoking each other’s hands and arms now, fingers searching, entwining. And Irene’s tummy was the chosen playground. Irene’s head went back, caught up in the dark emotional waters that washed over her, drowning her in the thought of delectable sin. She exhaled loudly and her body was racked with a quiver that ran from her toes to her neck.
The girls felt the willowing under their hands. Irene thought guiltily of Jack. She hid behind closed eyelids and longed to release her bruised emotions into the oblivion of a frivolous orgasm.
The scream bolted her upright and back into a dreadful reality.
It was Angie, the sensitive blonde that Irene had released from the tree. And two men were standing over her, staring down. “This time you’re gettin’ it,” one man taunted.
There was a chorus of protests from the volleyball players as the men reached for the girl. Irene threw back the blanket and was on her feet in an instant, charging across the compound.
“What the hell are you doing?” Irene screamed.
The men were pulling the struggling girl to her feet and Angie responded with balled-up knuckles and flailing kicks but they only laughed at her ineffective struggles. One man was grabbing at her crotch and when Angie tried to spin away to the safety of her friends the other man took a turn of her hair in his fist.
By the time Irene got to the girl, Ashwin Franks and the other men had closed ranks and this time they were better prepared. Each carried a billy-club, the size of a ball-bat, that had been carved from stout wood. Irene skidded to a stop just in time as a man lashed out. Ricky chased up and got a hand on the club and before the man could react, Ricky had wrenched it free. He was about to turn it on his attacker when Ashwin Franks stepped up between them. He pulled the gun from his belt.
“One more step, hero,” Ashwin spewed, pushing the gun barrel into Ricky’s face. “And you’ll see what it gets you. Drop the fuckin’ bat.”
Ricky hesitated but did as he was told and Irene watched helplessly as the flailing girl was hoisted off her feet and bodily carried toward the trees.
“Now everyone just calm down.” Ashwin waved the revolver at the cluster of girls. “Sit back down, all of you. Enjoy the fire and give the lovebirds a little privacy,” he chuckled.
Ricky grabbed Irene by the arm and dragged her back. “There’s nothing we can do, Irene. C’mon now.”
“But by God!” She felt like pounding sense into Ricky with her fists. “They’re going to rape her. Don’t you get it?”
Ricky grabbed her wrists. “Irene. Listen to me. There’s nothing we can do. Understand? Go back to your friends.”
Irene looked past him, watched the two men carry the girl, twisting and kicking, behind the bushes. Ashwin Franks stepped into her field of view. He looked down to where her shirt gaped, traced a line with his eyes between her partially hidden breasts, up her neck and then pointed the gun at her face. “Better do as you’re told, bitch. Or you’ll be gettin’ yours next.”
Irene gave it up. She let herself be led back to where Linda and Pamela waited with soothing hands. She sat down between the two, eyes brimming, her heart still seething, and listened to the girl’s cries of indignation from beyond the treeline.
There was a distinctive thud, like someone had dropped a roll of carpet. Angie moaned quietly and suddenly was screaming again. “No! Don’t! You can’t!”
Irene shuddered at the sound of fabric, abruptly ripped, and a chilling laugh. And then a final shriek. This time steeped in tearful, gut-wrenching pain. “Someone help me! Oh please…”
God. They had her jeans down.
Some of the girls listened, horror-struck. Others were quietly weeping, arms around supportive shoulders. One girl held her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear the sounds: The dreadful sounds of a rutting male and a girl chuffing with each and every brutal thrust.
And when he finally groaned; bodies rustled.
“No no,” she cried tearfully. “Not…” Angie gagged, her words abruptly severed. There was a horrible retching, then only an awful slurping sound penetrated the night-air. It went on and on until finally the girl choked violently, sobbed, and the silence of the forest floated in. A blessed relief.