The men stepped from the trees, arms linked about each other’s necks, stumbling and laughing. Sharing the joke. The others gathered ’round to share in the explicit details: Has she got nice tits? Was she tight? Did you do her in the ass? And Ashwin passed the bottle to the conquerors. They deserved a drink, by God! The men ducked into the lean-to shelter to kickback, rest and gloat. The bottle made its way around and they started eyeing the volleyball players with new interest; the girls staring back, horrified, like startled sheep in the holding pen.
Later, Angie emerged from the trees.
Beseeching eyes turned to her but she looked away, her face lowered in shame. Dirty and scuffed and holding her torn shirt together across her breasts, she limped to one side to sit apart from the others. Then, staring hard at the burning logs, she began to rock herself. Several of the girls went to her but backed away from an evil glare. Zoey threw Angie a blanket. Angie pulled it around her shoulders and turned back to the fire, her arms locked about herself as she rocked and rocked.
The cold seeped through the cardboard and penetrated Irene’s lower joints like frosty thorns. She had slept fitfully with the sounds of sobbing etching at her nerve-endings and awoke now to a ghost-like world. A heavy mist moved between the trees, the dampness clinging like spiderwebs. Girls, driven to their feet by the chill, mulled about in the dusky predawn light, some close to the remains of last night’s fire, seeking any remaining warmth. With gray blankets drooping from shoulders, Irene thought they huddled like prehistoric vultures, hunkering around the kill.
The girls mumbled in hushed tones, the words incomprehensible, but it wasn’t hard for Irene to guess the topic of conversation. Who would be singled out? The next to be taken behind the bushes?
Irene’s legs ached and she needed to stand but Pamela was nestled on one side with Linda opposite. Both girl’s still slumbered and Irene was damned if she was going to drag them back into the unforgiving reality any sooner than necessary. She thought instead about the trip down the mountainside.
What a relief it would be to find a village around the bend in the river. Irene had gathered her flight-crew together and explained her plan. The girls had been supportive, to the point of offering their meager ration of food to the expedition’s supplies, but that had been before Angie suffered a brutal raping at the hands of the men. How would her girls feel now? Would her departure be perceived as desertion? Running away and forsaking them; leaving them behind, each waiting for their turn in the woods?
Irene was sorting out her new-found fears when her senses jolted. Dr. Dixon stepped from between two trees and quickly moved to the fire. He dropped to warm his hands.
Who was with Jack? A yawing emptiness descended and Irene went all hollow inside. Jack?
Doctor Dixon straightened and scanned the compound. Their eyes met. He blinked once and Irene discerned the slight shake of his head. Oh Jack. She held a knuckle to her lower lip to still the trembling and moisture clogged her eyelashes. Suddenly she felt abandoned. She needed to be away from this god-forsaken mountain. Be someplace where the sun shone. Where it was warm and the air felt fresh in her lungs. Irene roused her girls. “Almost dawn,” she said.
Irene folded the blanket and placed it, still warm and inviting, into one of the backpacks. They had water for breakfast. They could have a stale muffin for lunch and Alex had packed them a sandwich each; half tonight, half tomorrow. Then Irene hoped the river and its shoreline would provide fish and berries. It was a long-shot but the only arrow in her quiver. In the watery, yellow light of a sun rising in mist, she swung a backpack over a shoulder.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Ashwin Franks stood, feet apart, and slapping the end of his billy-club in the palm of his hand. He had two of the other men backing him up.
Irene’s spine stiffened. “I don’t know why you’d be interested but I’m heading down river. Someone has to affect a rescue,” Irene spat.
“I don’t think so, sweetie.” Ashwin replied with simpering grin.
Irene’s eyes blazed. “What’dya mean, you don’t think so?”
“Well for one thing, you’re under arrest.” Ashwin rocked back on his heels, obviously pleased with himself.
Irene had to shake herself. “Under arrest? By whose authority? And for what?”
“I’m in charge as of last night. There was a vote and I was put in place, unanimously.”
“Vote! No one asked me to vote.”
“You’re a woman, Irene. Women don’t get a vote. It’s a man’s world, pussy. But I can understand you having trouble accepting that, being you’ve taken a man’s job. Who did you fuck to get it?”
Irene’s eyes widened. Had he and Carlos Sandro spent time together Cartagena? Had Sandro regaled him with the story of her job interview? Explained how she had taken the man into her mouth, all for the privilege of flying the DC-9?
“A man’s world,” he repeated, “and about time you realized it. I’m charging you with dereliction of duty, insubordination and deserting your post.” Ashwin pulled the revolver and waved it under Irene’s chin. “Trial begins in two hours. Until that time you will be restrained.”
“You can’t…”
“Oh but I can.” He smiled.
Linda stepped forward, chin up. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Ashwin turned the gun on her and ran his eyes over her chest. “What’s your name, pussy? I think I’d enjoy fucking you.”
Irene stepped between them. “Leave her along, Ashwin. Your fight’s with me, not my crew.”
“We’ll see.” Ashwin turned to his men. “Get some wire. Truss her up good and don’t be shy about twisting the wires tight. Stick her in the plane.”
Irene felt blindsided. But getting shot wouldn’t help anyone so she hopelessly held out her wrists to be bound with electrical wiring. Then, in front of everyone, she was paraded to the plane and forced into a seat. One of the men reached around for the seat-belt, his hands lingering longer than necessary. When Irene protested, he honked her left breast like it was bicycle horn before shoving a rag into her mouth. “This will be a day you’ll never forget,” he said, grabbing the crotch of his jeans. “Enjoy the in-flight service.”
Two hours later, they came for her.
When she stepped into the glare of sunlight, Irene was unsettled by the sight of her flight-crew back in their bikini swimsuits. She met Alex’s eyes but her head stew just shrugged. The beach volleyball girls were lined-up wearing bikini-bottoms with their shorty team-jackets; rows of naked legs.
Coach, Helen Haynes, stood with her players wearing her team-jacket and a pair of blue panties. Irene blinked. The woman had lovely legs; just the right balance of muscle and sinew, but where were her jeans? Irene looked about for Ricky and Doctor Dixon but neither were in attendance; scurried away someplace, Irene thought, where they couldn’t make trouble.
One of the trainers untwisted the wires that held her wrists. “The prisoner will approach the bench,” Ashwin called out in a grave tone, his best impersonation of a TV courtroom judge.
The bench was a cargo trunk and Ashwin sat behind it and rattled the hammer he had found in the toolbox that Toby kept aboard. Behind Ashwin, Irene was disheartened by the presence of the two team trainers. Any hopes Irene held that the trainers would throw their support behind her leadership were dashed. Each held a billy-club.
“Captain Ross, you are charged with desertion, dereliction of duty and insubordination. How do you plead?”
Irene leveled him with a look. “How do they think, asshole!”
Ashwin banged his hammer down. “Contempt of court,” he screamed. “You are in contempt and out of uniform. Two more charges.”
“Out of uniform?” Irene blurted.
“The law was passed this morning,” Ashwin informed her. “All women shall be dressed in either their underwear or swimsuits. Correct me if I’m wrong Captain Ross, but you appear to be in shirt and jeans.”
Irene was stunned. “A law? You’re passing laws?”
“I am duly elected and I’ll do whatever I want,” Ashwin proclaimed loud enough for everyone to hear. “Have you anything to say in your defense?”
Despite her best efforts, Irene realized the devil had invaded her world in the form of Ashwin Franks and there was little, if anything, she could do about it. She should have listened to Helen and taken care of the bastard the moment his back was turned.
“I don’t recognize the authority of a total idiot. You’re fuckin’ insane,” Irene shot back.
Ashwin pulled a long face, feigning sadness. “Very well, Miss Ross. I’m afraid you will have to learn the hard way. I sentence you guilty as charged. You will be spanked.”
Had she heard right? “Spanked…?” Her lungs labored.
Ashwin leaned down to lift a paddle from the ground. Irene could see that the blade had been fashioned from stiff vinyl cut from a Samsonite suitcase. It had been further stiffened by a length of wood that extended beyond the blade to form a handle long enough for a two-handed swing. It was about the length of a man’s arm and could have been used to propel a canoe.
“You wouldn’t dare…” Irene tried.
Ashwin ignored her. “The mandatory punishment is five strokes for each infraction; a total of twenty-five strokes, Miss Ross. Your girls will apply two strokes each, and then I’ll be next. The final strokes will be mine.
Irene felt mutinous. She was to be humiliated: Spanked by her own flight-crew.
“Following the execution of your punishment you will be hung on public display as an example, for the benefit of everyone present.” He twisted in his chair and pointed.
Irene saw that a pole had been planted into the ground. It stood taller than a man could reach and was stout enough to support her weight. The branches had been trimmed away except for a stub near the top that stuck out like coat-hook. Irene’s bowels turned to ice-water.
“Please drop your pants and approach the bench.”
Irene struggled with his blatant demands. “Fuck you. I won’t.”
Ashwin sighed theatrically. “The court understands that, because of your age, the punishment may be construed as unusual and extremely harsh. So I am permitting a substitute.” Ashwin looked past Irene to the line of girls. “You,” he called out, “yes, you, the small one. Here. Now.”
Pamela in her poke-a-dot bikini, took a hesitant step forward. “Me sir?” she answered in a small voice.
“Yes you. Take off your swimsuit and bend over.”
She heard Pamela’s cry of dismay. “Ashwin you fuck,” Irene rushed at him, “I told you to leave my crew outta this.” Irene was blinded by the thought of getting her hands around his sweaty throat.
One of the trainers moved to cut Irene off, thrusting with his billy-club. The butt caught Irene just below the ribs and brought her to a halt, huffing madly; her body trembling with rage.
Ashwin lifted his hands in object surrender. “Just trying to help,” he offered. “The girl is young and strong. And a beating might do her some good.”
Irene reached for her belt buckle. She hated the idea but she couldn’t afford to make him truly angry. “You’re a miserable fuck, Ashwin,” she spat, her blood still boiling, “lauding yourself over defenseless women.” She pushed her jeans down to her knees and moved closer. The vulnerability she felt was demoralizing. “I’ll kill you for this.”