Tales from the Wasteland | The No Leaf Clover

Chapter 8

The harsh earth relentlessly attacks the bare feet of the teenage girl as she runs through the veil of night. With every step, debris scratches like claws from a rabid beast. The pain succumbed to numbness some time earlier. Adrenaline grips her as she flees from pursuers. Small trails of blood are markers for the tracking men. With torches and crude weapons, they give chase with uncanny speed. Their prize is almost in sight. The sun's morning rays peek over the tree line, acting like a beacon for the men. Crashing against the girl's white nightgown, it beams through the dark of morning. The sun is treasonous to the young girl. It vanquishes the cover of night she so desperately needs.

The girl fights with all her might to keep her pace. Exhaustion beats on her chest relentlessly as ice fills her lungs. She looks back to find her pursuers. They're getting closer. Before she can turn her head, the girl steps out into nothingness. She falls headfirst into a wide ditch. Frantically she fights to get to her feet. Time is of the essence. She's a sitting duck in this ditch. Her long, white nightgown is covered in mud. The young girl wipes the murky water from her eyes and stumbles to her feet. The men are drawing near. Their words are as clear as daylight now. One yells, "She's over here. We must hurry. The Father is expecting us."

The girl checks both directions. No exit is in sight. She blindly chooses to head north. The mud on her gown and the thigh-high water slows her to a crawl. She pushes off the muddy wall for extra momentum. The voices are right above her, now. Adrenaline is pumping at full throttle with her heart about to burst at any moment. Ahead, she spots a natural ramp to escape out of the ditch. Before the frightened girl can set foot on the muddy ramp, a heavy weight comes crashing down on her. She plummets, chest first, into the thick, cold water. For several seconds, her face is sub- merged in the murky pool. She madly fights not to inhale. A hand grips the girl's wet brown hair, yanking her face from the liquid death. The first deep breath burns within the girl's chest. She is spun and slammed violently into the earthy wall. Sharp pain surges through her body, tingling her toes and fingertips.

The blur in her eyes starts to fade, revealing a boiled covered face smiling back at her. He pants heavily with a toothless grin. His breath stinks of rotten mushrooms and whiskey. He wheezes as he starts to speak, "I gotcha, you little swine herder."

The man's panting shifts to an orgasmic hissing sound. He thrusts his pelvis into her as he pushes his weight onto her. His tone is more abrasive as he continues, "You been picked, my dear, for this month's offering to the Father."

She notices one of the boils on the left side of his forehead oozing down his face; it ruptured during the struggle. The frightened girl does her best to fight free but is overpowered by the man's weight. "You can squirm all you want. You ain't get'n out of this."

The other men arrive, standing on the ledge, looking down at the muddy prisoner. Several of them high five and laugh while congratulating each other on a successful hunt. One of the men shouts down into the watery ditch. "Let's have a go before we take her back!"

The boil-faced man beams at the comment. He thrusts harder, positioning himself for entry. The girl struggles as best she can but the man pins her hands against the wall. He wheezes out a euphoric coo and says, "I'm first."

The pale man moves closer to her face. He can taste her innocence as his gruff tongue slithers up her cheek. The girl closes her eyes, crying, praying for God's help. Just before her tearful pleas end, a pop resonates in her ears. Warm liquid splats across her face. The grip from the man loosens. Opening one eye, she looks at her attacker's face. A red, meaty hole is in the middle of his forehead. She peers through the flesh tunnel just in time to see a motorcycle crashing on top of one of the attackers on the adjacent bank. The lifeless man goes limp on the young girl, with the dead weight pinning her down. She struggles to break free.