at a way station between Tabis and Red Waters
OOC- This gets a little twisted. Also its a bit long. A bit more of Mandrake-
ICC-
The girl had been screaming for three hours. At first it sounded musical but by the third hour, the screams were finally trying Mandrake’s nerves. That, and the bouncing of the wagon hearse at each pothole, was enough to make this otherwise pleasant journey become uncomfortable.
He had driven the brahma hard, and more than a few times he had thought they would collapse from exhaustion. That would have been too inconvenient, so he had rested the tired beasts near a pool of radiation-free water, while he took his speed which kept him awake and aware. That’s when Mandrake had learned he was being watched.
The reflection of light from a hillside to the west had been the first hint of observation, and the first warning. There had been other signals along the way, a broken branch near a pool, tracks across a road.
They were hidden, but Mandrake could practically smell their presence.
He wasn’t worried. He had expected them, and now that he knew he was being observed, it eased his mind. They were after the girl, probably thinking that she had information that was useful.
But Claire's mind was past all that now.
The girl had first begun screaming when he had stolen the wagon. She had been delightfully frantic through the ride out of Tabis, her screams mixing with terrified laughter, the cackle of a crazed witch in the night.
During the day she had come down from her high and had passed out. Now the sun, sweat and dust from the road covered her lithe body. She had always been sexually enticing, but the dirt and grime somehow made her especially fetching in an animalistic, barbaric way. Mandrake had been more than pleased with her, and his minor alternations had merely enhanced his pleasure.
At afternoon she had received her treatment and had paced around the cart like a wounded and angry deathclaw. At nightfall when he had rested the brahma, he had injected her with the other treatment. This was all in preparation for the big show.
A few hours later she had started the screaming. It hadn’t stopped. Delightful girl but somewhat boring after awhile. He had made this discovery when had had removed her fingers. But the forks, oh that had been so pleasurable.
It was mid evening when he had seen the fire along the highway, and it occurred to him that anyone might have see from miles away. It was a signal fire left to attract travelers to an isolated way station where they could rest before continuing on their journey.
As he neared the way station he could make out the tall Esso sign that stood like a beacon above the ruined highway. Crooked crosses lined the road for a mile in either direction, homage to the Church of the Crooked Cross. A number of derelict cars rusted in the back, along with small squat buildings of stone. The Esso station was still standing but at places the roof had caved in. A stockade fence kept a number of Brahma out back. One of the buildings would be trading post.
It was just a resting place for the caravan routes. A place to restock or replace brahma that would not make the next leg of the trip.
As he neared he could see silhouettes of the three men waiting to meet him, each bearing a shotgun. Life at the way stations was often precarious if profitable for the men who worked there, even for members of the sacred church.
“Stop where ya are. Who goes there?” Called one of the three men.
“I come looking to pick up two brahma, bought and paid for out of Tabis by a man calling himself Othello.” Called Mandrake. "I seek to come into your camp."
“Aye, we know your business, but you’re a day late.”
“I was held up at Tabis. Can I enter?”
“Aye stranger, but I’d appreciate it if you can get that wench to stop her screaming. It’s likely to stir up the bulls.” Said one of others.
Closer to the camp Mandrake could see a resemblance on all three men. Three generations of roughhand cowboys. The oldest was a grizzled and greying old wirey veteran. His son seemed about middle aged, a big man strong in the arms. The youngest was no more than a boy.
“Just the three of ya?” Asked Mandrake, his voice loud. Claire had not stopped her screaming.
“Yep, at the moment, we have a couple of others but they’re out hunting a pack of wolves that's been raiding the pen. They won’t be back for a couple of days. We got a spare bunk inside if you want to get some shut eye.” Said the middle aged one, also practically yelling.
Mandrake could smell the liquor on him from his perch on the wagon.
The older man had stepped back, the shotgun in both hands but pointed away. A blink and the gun would be on him. They were being cautious, but was natural given the circumstances.
The boy was peering into the wagon where Claire McKinner moved from side to side like a caged animal.
“Won’t be necessary, just unhitch these and give me the two paid for and I’ll be on my way.”
The middle son nodded and went to fetch the two brahma while the boy watched Claire, who had not yet stopped screaming. The older man stayed close, moving about to keep the shotgun trained in Mandrake's general direction.
Mandrake got off the wagon and prepared another treatment from his kit. When he was ready he went around and unlocked the caged doors.
“Why she screaming mister?” Asked the boy.
“Bad nightmares.” Explained Mandrake, “She has developed something of an addiction to drugs. Sleep or awake, all she sees are dreams now.”
“Must be some awful drugs.” Said the boy. The boy had a big smile. He had picked up a stick and was poking at Claire. "I don't think I'd want to try anything like that."
“Just say no, kid.” Said Mandrake, “ and keep your arms outside of her range or she might hurt ya.”
“Why? She's just a girl.” Asked the boy, who stepped back just to be safe.
“Even so, the drugs she’s on increases her strength and she could hurt you with one of those paws.”
“Lookie, She got no fingers!” Said the boy, who was laughing.
“That’s cause she’s half deathclaw.” Said Mandrake.
“Bullshit! There ain’t no such thing.” Said the boy.
Mandrake was now entering the cage. Claire, even in her hallucinations, struggled with him, trying to force herself out of the cage. Her muscles were stronger because of the narcotics, but it was no use. A open handed slap from Mandrake knocked her to the floor of the cart. Then, before she could resist, he had her down on her stomach and was injecting a syringe into her bottom.
Claire screamed with the injection, then her scream turned into laughter, and the laughter into a whimper, but now the kid could see her face quite clearly.
“Lords! Mister what happened to her eyes?” Asked the child. The boy was moving around, giggling, trying to get a better look at Claire.
“I didn’t like the way she was looking at me, so I made her more appealing.” Explained Mandrake now leaving the cage.
“You put them forks in her eyes?” asked the boy.
“The good book says its better to pluck out the eye then to see evil. Well, this little girl has seen too much. Better blind then be witness to such matters. Still she’s a pretty thing, isn’t she.”
“She’s nicer than anything in Cat’s Paw. You took off the fingers too?” asked the boy.
“That’s right, because with those fingers she could rip out your eyes.”
The boy thought that was hysterical.
The middle son had brought up two Brahma from the stockade, ‘This here’s what was paid for.”
The two brahma were clearly old and unfit, they wouldn’t get half way to the next way station. “Those Brahma won’t do.” Said Mandrake.
The older man had stepped closer, his shot gun now coming up a noticeable inch. “It’s what was paid for. You’ll have to do, least ya want extra. Then ya'll have to pay up.” He said.
It was a lie, but that was alright. Mandrake had expected something like this.
“I’ll make you a deal." he said, " I’ll let ya have a time with the lady, I get to pick the two best Brahma.”
The old man, walked around to the side of the cart and took a peak at Claire.
The drugs were having their desired effect on Claire. She was panting like a cat in heat.
The old man licked his lips. “She was a purty thing, ‘cept for the eyes.”
“Ya won’t be fucking her in eyes, dad.” Said the middle son, who had also come over to take a look.
“Dad, she’s better than them ya got in tha magazine.” Said the youngest, “ You were saying it was about time I lost my cherry.” The boy was practically whining.
Mandrake was smiling. It was like tempting children with candy. He sniffed at the air. It was time to disappear.
“I don’t know.” Said the old man. “She dangerous?” the old man asked.
“As long as you don’t put your pecker in her mouth. With what she’s on, she could fuck the lot of you and a caravan more.” Said Mandrake. “But if it makes it easier, I’ll tie her down.”
“Ya, right.” Said the middle son. ‘I’d like it like that.”
"I don't know. Two bulls for one poke, don't seem fair with her eyes all freaky." Said the old man.
"Ok, I'll let you have her for two hours. But I get the bulls. You can have her as many times as you can." Said Mandrake.
"That's more like. Consider it a deal." Said the old timer.
It was but a few moments before the men brought out some rope and Mandrake had tied down Claire and stripped off her garments.
Then as he stepped away he said. “Reckon I’ll pick my bulls now, while you boys have your fun.”
“Ya you, do that.” Said the old one. "I as the eldest get the first taste.” And he climbed into the wagon.
Mandrake turned his back and walked towards the shop, found a old duffle bag and filled it with what goods he needed. Then he walked to the corral where the Brahma were grazing. Behind him he could hear the old man struggling with the girl, gasping and wheezing. He could hear Claire’s gasps and sighs. The narcotics where both a hallucinogenic and an aphrodisiac, and Mandrake could only wonder at the arousal the girl was experiencing, or perhaps the horror
He walked out past the pens and looked up into the sky, walked over to where the grass was tall and vanished into the dark.
It didn't take long.
They came while the boy was having his turn.
The old man had walked away to take a piss on the side of the road. He stood under one of the crooked crosses, still naked from the waist down and a bottle of rotgut in his hand. One hand on his prick and the other on his bottle, he was thinking about the smell of the girl and the crazy way the forks dug into her eyes. Then he felt the hand around his mouth and the knife cross his throat.
The boy was vigorously having his way with the girl. He had already come once but had not lost his erection. It was like his dream where he was raping one of the tribal girls who often. came with their parents to by liquor. He could hear his father practically screaming at him to thrust harder, harder.
He lost himself in the sensation. Which is why he didn’t hear when one of them slipped a garrote his fathers neck or see his father get dragged down, or how they finished him with the plunge of a knife.
But Mandrake saw this, paying attention to the technique from his hiding place. The two had come out of the dark so quietly, so fast. Then Mandrake was moving as well. One of the assassins was creeping on the boy, while the other was watching.
He closed in on the second target quickly and quietly while the first assassin was concentrating on the boy. The second was so bent on observing the death of the boy that she wasn't paying attention, and didn't hear the footfall behind her. Mandrake was on top of her before she had time to react.
The boy was still fucking the girl when the first assassin slit his throat. The boy's last coherent vision was of his blood sprayed on the back of the woman. He didn’t understand any of it, in that very moment, and then there was nothing more.
The assassin pulled the rag doll of the boy away from Claire’s body. The boy's body, still sporting his arousal, slipped over the cart and slid, wetly, to the street below. THe assassin looked down on Claire McKinner's naked back. This is what he had come for. He would bring her back where she would be interrogated. But the girl looked unfit for any interrogation. When Claire turned her head to face the man, he clearly saw the forks that dug into where her eyes had once been. Then the assassin knew that the mission had gone terribly wrong.
There was still a target missing, the driver The assassin glimpsed to his comrade. But she wasn’t there.
He had barely time to register the danger, when he felt the hands of Mandrake on his head, and the sudden twist. And then he too fell, his neck broken.
Mandrake quickly pulled the bodies out of the cart and left them on the side of the road, then locked up the carriage. He didn’t bother to clean the blood or sweat from Claire. She might lick up the blood later.
He went back to the pen and retrieved the two finest Brahmin and left the pen open for the others. Working quickly he hitched the two young fresh bulls to the cart, tossed in a bag of goods that he had collected for the trading post, got back into the drivers seat, and whipped the bulls onward.
It would be a few days before the next way station and then a few days more to Red Waters. Those that followed him would not give up so quickly.
Soon he was out past the shadow of the crooked crosses and moving North, towards the hills, in the direction of Red Waters. The only sounds were those of the hoofs of the braham clip clopping on the old pavement, and the desperate gasps of Claire in the heat of a dream.
Behind him Ibis, two tired brahma grazed and rested for the night.
No one else came by the way station that day, and by morning the birds were already picking at the bodies.
One by one the brahma, smelling blood and knowing it would attract carnivores, left the pen until only Ibis’s bulls remained. They too left that morning and slowly made their way home.
Three days later they were back in front of Ibis’s funeral parlor.
