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kc_obrienAuthor's Note: I was really attempting to keep to the word count for the meme. I really really was. Was not aiming for the second longest piece I'd written since coming over to DreamWidth. :-D
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"It's going down." Water poured off the shoulders of Malcolm's rain slicker as the little cabin they kept us in was shaken by another clap of thunder. He made an imposing figure, standing there with a lantern in one hand and a massive key ring in the other. "It's now or never. Are you all with me or not?"
Jazzy was the first to speak up. "Of course we're with you," she blurted out, quickly looking to the rest of us who shared the chain that bound us to the wall.
"Of course we are," I agreed quickly, glancing at the massive lock that attached the chain to the wall.
"Good." Malcolm got down on his knees and started working at the massive lock. "The thunderstorm knocked out the outer surveillance shell."
"So we move everything up?" That was Karl; he hated it here more than any of us but was similarly terrified of what would happen if we were caught. To be honest with myself, I was too, but the chance at freedom was more than enough incentive to take the risk.
Malcolm looked up from his work, staring at him a moment, "Yeah. I was able to get a jeep to get us all out in the chaos, and that chaos shall set you free. If I broke my back working to try and get us a better opportunity I'd fail."
"I still don't know why you're helping us." Jack murmured through the wired jaw he earned from mouthing off the second week we were here.
"Let's just say I have my reasons, and that they're none of your business."
He nodded, and the chain went slack behind our backs. I struggled to my feet and did my best to help everyone up, even with my hands bound behind me. "Have something for the cuffs?"
"No," Malcolm replied quickly, "once we're out of the deep grass, I'll get them cut off of you. And get you some clothes. Now let's MOVE!"
He opened the door and we quickly followed him out. The jeep he'd acquired was one of those big military style Humvee, not the flashy ones that rich people who don't care about the environment drive, but the heavy duty bastards that they mount machine guns to and take into war-zones. This one was huge and while there wasn't a gun attached to it, it clearly was designed for one. Malcolm opened the back door and there was more than enough room for the four of us to sit. Sure, we could have been more comfortable with one of us in the front, but speed was an issue and at least we weren't in the shed.
Malcolm pulled himself up into the driver's seat and clipped the racing harness that his seat had across his chest. "Aren't you going to belt us-" Karl started to complain, but Malcolm shut him up with a glare.
"No, if we run into sentries, I can make an excuse with you like that. Now shut up and let me get us out of here."
The Humvee lurched forward as he slipped it into gear before taking off like a rocket. I wondered, and not for the first time, where these people got that sort of heavy military hardware and how they got away with it (and having a slave compound on U.S. soil for that matter), but this time the hardware meant freedom and I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
At night, through the thunderstorm, it was impossible to figure out where Malcolm was going. Wherever it was, he was taking an evasive route, I assume to ensure that we weren't followed.
Unfortunately, though, being followed wasn't the problem.
"Not far now," Malcolm grunted as we crested a hill. That's when the lights hit us.
Four Humvees with spotlights mounted to them closed in on us. Two lurched out from the darkness behind us while another two cut off paths to the sides. What was worse was the barricade ahead of us with those ridiculously bright lights on generators that they use for road construction on the overnight shift.
And in the midst of it, behind two more parked Humvees was the silhouette of The Mistress.
"Fuck." Malcolm said, his tone terrified and resigned at the same time as he brought the truck to a stop.
The doors on either side of the truck were pulled open and the four of us pulled out, brought behind the barricade of trucks, pushed to our knees in front of the mistress. I dropped my eyes, terrified of what she would do to us; terrified that it was some trap to test our loyalty or even worse. Terrified of what she would do.
"Poor dears," The Mistress almost purred, looking us over. "Zimmerman, you will take them inside to get warmed once this business is done. I will not have my property getting sick."
"Yes my lady," her aide-de-camp murmured.
She wore heavy black zip-on rain boots that were (for once) more functional than stylish. It was all I could see of her with my head down as it was. She started to walk forward not stopping until she reached the front of the barricade.
"Tell me Malcolm, was it worth it? Four pieces of my property for your own use? Petty vengeance for some slight?" Her voice was deadly cold, and even the thunder seemed to stop lest it invoke the wrath of the Mistress with the cold voice.
"Fuck you, Gwendolyn. Fuck you and your sense of superiority." From the sound of things, Malcolm had been pulled out of the truck too, but he was still standing.
"It's a pity it had to come to this, my love." In her hands, the endearment was a razor-sharp knife that threatened to cut anything it touched. "I can smell the fear on you."
"I've accepted my fate. Did before I took off with the brats." But the terror in his voice belied the truth of that statement.
"Did you, my love?" She walked over to us. "Zimmerman, Carlton; help the children up to their feet."
Her men's hands were uncharacteristically gentle as they helped us up. I drew my eyes up and the scene was awful; Malcolm had his wrists and ankles bound, drawn back behind him through the grill at the front of the Humvee. He was completely immobilized and had a look on his face like a man trying to look brave in the face of certain death. The Mistress stood between the two Humvees at the front of the barrier, wearing a black full length vinyl raincoat that was cut like the kind of trenchcoats that a femme fatale would wear in an old movie; always striking the balance between utility and showing off her body, even when it was fully covered.
"Part of me thinks that you should suffer slowly for your insolence," she murmured, sounding sickeningly playful as she paced the small area behind the barricade.
"Most of me doesn't give a fuck." Malcolm yelled, almost daring her to kill him (which I'm certain was the idea).
"Mm," she turned towards us and smiled a feline smile, looking over the four of us. "Good conduct will be rewarded," she murmured, slipping over to stand in front of Jack, lightly caressing his cheek. "Bad punished. Isn't that right?"
"Yes Mistress," we all responded by rote, the first rule of her household ringing through our minds.
"Good. Especially you Karl." She took a small step to the side and ran a fingertip down his bare chest. "It's a very brave thing you did telling me what that terrible man was going to do to you..."
That spineless motherfucker. I thought, trying not to let it show. We might be out of here now if it weren't for him!
"Zimmerman, get Karl here a towel and put him in my car. He has no need to see the example be made of this fellow."
"Of course my lady." Her aide responded, spiriting him away. One of the other soldiers that worked for The Mistress pushed Jazzy towards Jack and I.
"Now I don't blame the three of you for chafing under the collar and wanting to be free of here. You're new and have not learned to serve yet, so I will be," she considered her words carefully, or at least made it look like she didn't know what she was going to say all along, "magnanimous and not punish you." She turned on her heel and looked at Malcolm again, "But that doesn't mean that you won't get a lesson."
"A lesson on brutality, Gwen?" Malcolm called out, shaking from cold and terror.
"A lesson in respect. A lesson in knowing ones place. A lesson in obedience." She stepped out from behind the barrier and walked up to Malcolm, touching his cheek much as she had Karl's. "You were trying to steal from me, my love. And for that you know there is but one punishment."
"Fuck you and fuck your punishment."
"Is that really the last thing you want to say before you die?"
He spit in her face. And she laughed, a cold, terrible laugh. She ripped a piece of fabric off of his jacket and used it to wipe the spit off of her face as she walked back behind the barricade. "Children, mark this lesson well, sil vous plait?" Before I was here, I always thought French a beautiful language, but she wielded it, much like her endearments, as weapons. "I don't want this to happen to you."
She turned on her heel and stared Malcolm in the face.
"A vos marques!"
It was then I first noticed that the two Humvees at the front of the barricade did have guns mounted on them. Huge, terrible chainguns that reminded me of something from a movie, a heavy gun made to take count tanks. The gunners chambered rounds and lowered the barrels of their weapons, pointing them at Malcolm.
"Prêt!"
Malcolm swallowed and closed his eyes. I didn't, because somehow in the back of my head, I knew that she would know.
"TIREZ!"
==
Welcome to the Second Semester of "30 Days of Fic." Today's prompt was to write a story that starts with the words "It's going down."
For a full rundown on my Second Semester of 30 Days of Fic, please click here for future prompts and to find all the stories I've created.
><><
"It's going down." Water poured off the shoulders of Malcolm's rain slicker as the little cabin they kept us in was shaken by another clap of thunder. He made an imposing figure, standing there with a lantern in one hand and a massive key ring in the other. "It's now or never. Are you all with me or not?"
Jazzy was the first to speak up. "Of course we're with you," she blurted out, quickly looking to the rest of us who shared the chain that bound us to the wall.
"Of course we are," I agreed quickly, glancing at the massive lock that attached the chain to the wall.
"Good." Malcolm got down on his knees and started working at the massive lock. "The thunderstorm knocked out the outer surveillance shell."
"So we move everything up?" That was Karl; he hated it here more than any of us but was similarly terrified of what would happen if we were caught. To be honest with myself, I was too, but the chance at freedom was more than enough incentive to take the risk.
Malcolm looked up from his work, staring at him a moment, "Yeah. I was able to get a jeep to get us all out in the chaos, and that chaos shall set you free. If I broke my back working to try and get us a better opportunity I'd fail."
"I still don't know why you're helping us." Jack murmured through the wired jaw he earned from mouthing off the second week we were here.
"Let's just say I have my reasons, and that they're none of your business."
He nodded, and the chain went slack behind our backs. I struggled to my feet and did my best to help everyone up, even with my hands bound behind me. "Have something for the cuffs?"
"No," Malcolm replied quickly, "once we're out of the deep grass, I'll get them cut off of you. And get you some clothes. Now let's MOVE!"
He opened the door and we quickly followed him out. The jeep he'd acquired was one of those big military style Humvee, not the flashy ones that rich people who don't care about the environment drive, but the heavy duty bastards that they mount machine guns to and take into war-zones. This one was huge and while there wasn't a gun attached to it, it clearly was designed for one. Malcolm opened the back door and there was more than enough room for the four of us to sit. Sure, we could have been more comfortable with one of us in the front, but speed was an issue and at least we weren't in the shed.
Malcolm pulled himself up into the driver's seat and clipped the racing harness that his seat had across his chest. "Aren't you going to belt us-" Karl started to complain, but Malcolm shut him up with a glare.
"No, if we run into sentries, I can make an excuse with you like that. Now shut up and let me get us out of here."
The Humvee lurched forward as he slipped it into gear before taking off like a rocket. I wondered, and not for the first time, where these people got that sort of heavy military hardware and how they got away with it (and having a slave compound on U.S. soil for that matter), but this time the hardware meant freedom and I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
At night, through the thunderstorm, it was impossible to figure out where Malcolm was going. Wherever it was, he was taking an evasive route, I assume to ensure that we weren't followed.
Unfortunately, though, being followed wasn't the problem.
"Not far now," Malcolm grunted as we crested a hill. That's when the lights hit us.
Four Humvees with spotlights mounted to them closed in on us. Two lurched out from the darkness behind us while another two cut off paths to the sides. What was worse was the barricade ahead of us with those ridiculously bright lights on generators that they use for road construction on the overnight shift.
And in the midst of it, behind two more parked Humvees was the silhouette of The Mistress.
"Fuck." Malcolm said, his tone terrified and resigned at the same time as he brought the truck to a stop.
The doors on either side of the truck were pulled open and the four of us pulled out, brought behind the barricade of trucks, pushed to our knees in front of the mistress. I dropped my eyes, terrified of what she would do to us; terrified that it was some trap to test our loyalty or even worse. Terrified of what she would do.
"Poor dears," The Mistress almost purred, looking us over. "Zimmerman, you will take them inside to get warmed once this business is done. I will not have my property getting sick."
"Yes my lady," her aide-de-camp murmured.
She wore heavy black zip-on rain boots that were (for once) more functional than stylish. It was all I could see of her with my head down as it was. She started to walk forward not stopping until she reached the front of the barricade.
"Tell me Malcolm, was it worth it? Four pieces of my property for your own use? Petty vengeance for some slight?" Her voice was deadly cold, and even the thunder seemed to stop lest it invoke the wrath of the Mistress with the cold voice.
"Fuck you, Gwendolyn. Fuck you and your sense of superiority." From the sound of things, Malcolm had been pulled out of the truck too, but he was still standing.
"It's a pity it had to come to this, my love." In her hands, the endearment was a razor-sharp knife that threatened to cut anything it touched. "I can smell the fear on you."
"I've accepted my fate. Did before I took off with the brats." But the terror in his voice belied the truth of that statement.
"Did you, my love?" She walked over to us. "Zimmerman, Carlton; help the children up to their feet."
Her men's hands were uncharacteristically gentle as they helped us up. I drew my eyes up and the scene was awful; Malcolm had his wrists and ankles bound, drawn back behind him through the grill at the front of the Humvee. He was completely immobilized and had a look on his face like a man trying to look brave in the face of certain death. The Mistress stood between the two Humvees at the front of the barrier, wearing a black full length vinyl raincoat that was cut like the kind of trenchcoats that a femme fatale would wear in an old movie; always striking the balance between utility and showing off her body, even when it was fully covered.
"Part of me thinks that you should suffer slowly for your insolence," she murmured, sounding sickeningly playful as she paced the small area behind the barricade.
"Most of me doesn't give a fuck." Malcolm yelled, almost daring her to kill him (which I'm certain was the idea).
"Mm," she turned towards us and smiled a feline smile, looking over the four of us. "Good conduct will be rewarded," she murmured, slipping over to stand in front of Jack, lightly caressing his cheek. "Bad punished. Isn't that right?"
"Yes Mistress," we all responded by rote, the first rule of her household ringing through our minds.
"Good. Especially you Karl." She took a small step to the side and ran a fingertip down his bare chest. "It's a very brave thing you did telling me what that terrible man was going to do to you..."
That spineless motherfucker. I thought, trying not to let it show. We might be out of here now if it weren't for him!
"Zimmerman, get Karl here a towel and put him in my car. He has no need to see the example be made of this fellow."
"Of course my lady." Her aide responded, spiriting him away. One of the other soldiers that worked for The Mistress pushed Jazzy towards Jack and I.
"Now I don't blame the three of you for chafing under the collar and wanting to be free of here. You're new and have not learned to serve yet, so I will be," she considered her words carefully, or at least made it look like she didn't know what she was going to say all along, "magnanimous and not punish you." She turned on her heel and looked at Malcolm again, "But that doesn't mean that you won't get a lesson."
"A lesson on brutality, Gwen?" Malcolm called out, shaking from cold and terror.
"A lesson in respect. A lesson in knowing ones place. A lesson in obedience." She stepped out from behind the barrier and walked up to Malcolm, touching his cheek much as she had Karl's. "You were trying to steal from me, my love. And for that you know there is but one punishment."
"Fuck you and fuck your punishment."
"Is that really the last thing you want to say before you die?"
He spit in her face. And she laughed, a cold, terrible laugh. She ripped a piece of fabric off of his jacket and used it to wipe the spit off of her face as she walked back behind the barricade. "Children, mark this lesson well, sil vous plait?" Before I was here, I always thought French a beautiful language, but she wielded it, much like her endearments, as weapons. "I don't want this to happen to you."
She turned on her heel and stared Malcolm in the face.
"A vos marques!"
It was then I first noticed that the two Humvees at the front of the barricade did have guns mounted on them. Huge, terrible chainguns that reminded me of something from a movie, a heavy gun made to take count tanks. The gunners chambered rounds and lowered the barrels of their weapons, pointing them at Malcolm.
"Prêt!"
Malcolm swallowed and closed his eyes. I didn't, because somehow in the back of my head, I knew that she would know.
"TIREZ!"
==
Welcome to the Second Semester of "30 Days of Fic." Today's prompt was to write a story that starts with the words "It's going down."
For a full rundown on my Second Semester of 30 Days of Fic, please click here for future prompts and to find all the stories I've created.
