“Well what do you think?” Irene was looking up into the branches of a stunted willow that appeared to be fighting valiantly for survival by the river’s edge.
Alex wasn’t hopeful. “Looks soft and spongy. Cut me a branch and let me test it.”
This high in the mountains, hardwood trees weren’t that common, the slopes blanketed instead with pine-trees; a softwood unsuitable for Alex’s longbow. Irene swung a broken blade, scoured from one of the DC-9’s turbofans, like a machete, hacking off a willow branch and passing it down. Alex stuck the end into the soft earth and applied her weight. The branch bent easily. Too easily.
Alex shook her head. “It’s got no spring to it. Soft as cooked linguine and couldn’t propel an arrow with enough force to do any damage.” Disgusted, she tossed the stick into the water.
Irene jumped down and scanned the treeline. “There’s another tree,” she pointed, “looks something like a birch or an aspen, maybe.”
The women hiked across the rocks to the crotchety old tree, its branches naked against the sky this late in the season. It looked arthritic and gnarled. Alex lifted her chin. “Christ. There’s not a straight branch in the whole friggin’ tree. You see one?”
Irene shielded her eyes. “No,” she conceded. Placing hands on hips, she looked around at the surrounding forest. “Maybe we should stop looking for a tree.”
“What?”
“A shrub,” Irene pointed.
Questions rose in Alex’s eyes. “What shrub?” She followed Irene’s gaze to where some low-lying bushes were clinging to the swampy shoreline.
“C’mon.”
As they got closer, Alex realized that the shrubs were taller than she had first imagined; a good head taller than her own lofty frame. There was no central trunk; the shoots growing straight from the root in the soupy soil. “What is it?”
“Looks something like a Green Adler.”
“My. Aren’t you the little botanist.”
Irene ignored the dig. “They grow along the creek banks back home. As kids we used to cut them for walking sticks and sword fights.” Irene stopped before the bush. “What do you think?”
To Alex, the naked bush looked like a bundle of bread sticks stuck in a cup. But the stalks were long and straight. “The best we’ve seen so far. Cut me one. The longest you can reach.”
Irene hacked off one of the shoots close to the ground and passed it to Alex. It was as long as she was tall and as big around as a broom handle. She tested it with her weight, and smiled.
It took most of the day to fashion the longbow. Alex trimmed the stave to length and stripped the bark with a shard of glass. She began tapering the ends so they matched. Irene returned to the compound to search for a jagged piece of aluminum from which to fashion a knife.
After an hour, the girls traded places so neither one would be missed. Irene hid in the forest to whittle the bow while Alex sat at the far end of the compound working on the shaft of wood that would become her arrow. Another hour passed and once again they traded places.
Late afternoon and Alex finally strung the bow with a length of electrical wire. The weapon looked crude, makeshift, but when Alex gingerly pulled back on the string and released it, there was a snappy twang. Irene studied the arrow. It was as long as her arm. One end had been honed sharp and hardened in the coals of the fire. Alex had cut soft vinyl from one of the passenger seats for feathers and using fingernail repair, glued the strips on the shaft.
“You think it will work?” Irene asked.
“I’ll only get one chance to find out,” Alex replied, sounding a lot braver than she felt.
“Okay. We’ll sneak it back to the compound in a blanket. Hide it until it’s time.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Alex regarded her friend. “Just how do you plan to get Ashwin and Dirk alone together.”
Irene lifted a shoulder. “Haven’t got that part figured out yet. Maybe have to offer them something they both want. Something that would need to be done in private. I dunno.”
Alex wrapped the bow in the blanket. “Yeah, you do.”
By the time they had smuggled the longbow back into the compound, Ashwin was already at the campfire. The stew-pot was boiling and there was the smell of wild onion but there was something more. Something sweeter. Bev stood watching, the chipped designer sunglasses poised on the end of her nose.
“What’s he got?” Irene asked as she stepped up beside her co-pilot.
Bev turned. “Ribs.”
Irene looked more closely. “Ribs? Where the hell did he get ribs?”
Ashwin had removed one of the shelves from the galley refrigerator and, using it as a grill, had placed two racks of ribs over the coals. Using a fork, he basted them with ketchup and honey.
“I’m afraid to ask,” Bev remarked.
The consequences hit Irene like a wet blanket: Ashwin had gone back to Elsa’s remains, gutted the chest cavity and returned with her ribs.
Irene noticed the stew-pot steaming. “So then, what’s in the stew-pot?” she asked.
“That’s our dinner,” Bev turned away, “two chunks of meat, with nipples.”
The gag reflex closed Irene’s throat. She felt sweaty and soiled. The thought of returning to the river for a swim was appealing even though the air had turned cold. Instead she slumped down beside Alex who was leaning back against the log. “The bow safely tucked away?”
Alex nodded. “Right behind us, covered in the blanket. You work out a plan yet?”
Irene hesitated, took in air and exhaled with a rush. “I was thinking I might take Pamela back into the woods. You know she’s gay?”
Alex locked onto Irene’s eyes. “Yeah. I had guessed.”
Irene looked down, resignation showing on her face. “Well I was thinking I could fool with her a little, in front of Ashwin and Dirk. Lead her into the forest. Hopefully Ashwin and Dirk will follow us. To watch.”
“You think Pamela will go for that?”
Irene’s chin lifted and she searched out her friend’s face. “I think so. It’s better than being eaten and, well once before, Pamela and I– well, we had an occasion to be intimate.”
A look of surprise. “You and Pamela? Lovers?”
“It’s like you said: She caught me in a weak moment. I’m not gay or anything, but she wanted to, and so, well, I let her.”
It was Alex’s turn to blow out a breath. She looked to where the men were gathering with their plates. “So you and Pamela disappear into the woods. Ashwin and Dirk, expecting a free show, follow along…”
“Mmm. Pamela and I start getting into it. That gives you time to get into position. At some point Ashwin and Dirk will want to join in the fun. As soon as I get close to Dirk you take out Ashwin with an arrow and while Dirk is distracted, I use the knife.”
“Sounds so simple,” Alex mused.
“It is,” Irene reassured her friend. “We just have to keep the men distracted long enough to get the job done.”
Alex watched Ashwin carve up ribs. He shared them out between the men before scraping scraps into the bubbling stew-pot. The women looked on hopefully; they were starving. Irene had noticed the first signs of malnutrition: Dark circles punctuated hollow stares from behind gaunt faces. One girl complained that her teeth felt loose. Someone else coughed insistently. And everyone was losing weight at an alarming rate.
So the women waited to partake of the broth in Ashwin’s stew-pot. Some would even crave the flesh they found, knowing full well what it was and who had provided it. The men sucked meat off bones and tossed the leftovers at the pot. With full stomachs, they began eyeing the women. Ashwin said something and the men laughed. Irene guessed their hunger had shifted from their bellies to their cocks and they were planning the evening’s entertainment.
Ashwin didn’t bother with his bits of paper. He went straight to Pamela and hauled her up to her feet. With a hand clamped on the back of the struggling girl’s neck, he pushed her to where Laylee sat cross-legged on the ground. “Get up,” Ashwin barked.
The half-blooded Japanese girl untangled herself and got reluctantly to her feet. She eyed Pamela carefully.
“Same as last night,” Ashwin announced. “The first girl to bring me the others panties wins.”
“No,” Pamela sobbed, eyes wide as she took in the agile girl opposite.
Ashwin turned to the Japanese girl. “If you win, Laylee, I’ll help you with a bit of cosmetic surgery, free of charge. Bob those nipples of yours until they’re the right size. If you lose…” His voice softened and he pointed to the boiling pot with his chin.
The look of horror was evident on the girl’s face but she said nothing.
“And just to make it more interesting,” Ashwin continued, “your ankles will be bound.” One of his men stepped forward with a coil of wire hanging from his fingers. Ashwin watched closely as one end of the wire was twisted to hold Laylee’s feet together; the other end wrapped around Pamela’s ankles. Satisfied, he took a breath. “Bare your breasts.”
With trembling fingers, clasp and snaps were opened and a poke-a-dot bikini top along with a team-jacket were dropped to the earth. Ashwin brought the girls together, their foreheads touching, stepped back and shouted, “Begin!”
Pamela screamed. Pitted against the taller, more muscular girl, Pamela knew she was no match and she bounded away with the wild hope of escaping even though she was tethered to her adversary by a six-foot wire leash. The men rolled with laughter. The two beautiful women had been reduced to the ridiculous; hopping madly after each other, their hair bobbing in their faces, tits bouncing wildly and taunt thigh muscles straining.
Laylee’s face burned. She heard the men, knew how absurd she looked and, to Ashwin’s disappointment, she refused to continue with the vulgar display. Laylee reached down, gripped the wire in both hands and hauled back, putting an end to the deadly game of hop-scotch. Pamela’s feet were jerked out from under her and she landed hard on her chest. She was stunned but, fully aware of what to expect, Pamela rolled to one side just before Laylee landed with knees knifed together. Pamela drove her fist into the startled girl’s nose. It wasn’t a hard punch but it stung and brought a burst of blood. Laylee’s eyes burned with tears and she desperately attempted to clear her vision with the balls of her thumbs.
Pamela sprung to her feet, saw she had the advantage, and jumping, Pamela lashed out with both feet. A heel caught Laylee in the mouth and flipped the volleyball player over backwards like she had been shot in the head. But instead of going after her, taking the fight to a hapless sprawling Laylee, Pamela reached down and began untangling the wire from her ankles. She had the desperate need to run. Somewhere. Anywhere.
Pamela was aware of a moment and looked up just in time to see the descending swing. It was a chop; Laylee driving the edge of her hand into the side of Pamela’s neck. Her vision doubled. Pamela was on her back again, just barely conscious of the wires being loosened. She made a weak grab as her bikini bottoms were peeled from her legs. She knew it was over.
Laylee turned the bikini bottoms inside-out, walked up to Ashwin and rubbed the damp crotch under his nose. He grabbed her wrist and twisted. He wasn’t happy with the fight. It had been short and lackluster. He had wanted to see the girls sweat it out. “Grab her!” he shouted, pointing to Pamela who was now struggling to sit up. “Throw the little bitch into the Pigpen!”
Dirk stepped forward with a grin on his face. “Hey Ashwin. If you haven’t noticed, it’s getting a might crowded.” And he laughed outright.
Ashwin’s eyes rounded. He looked across the compound to where three figures huddled in the close confines. Dirk was right.
“Fuck it. Take her. Gut her right now. We’ll have her for tomorrow night.”