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Crossroads (7a/9)
Date: 2015-01-07 06:25 pm (UTC)The rest of the Walker were silent as they were marched down onto the crossroads, rounding the hull of an old vehicle. They prodded Ches into the group of children, the older ones holding the younger and trying to quiet their crying. Adal frantically searched the survivors, counting names, faces. Two other women were supporting Peda, her face bruised, jaw hanging broken. Santi stood in the fore of the men’s group, face grave and back straight, refusing to show fear. There was a grunt and whimper of pain behind her, and she snuck a look to see Sen had been dragged behind, leg pulped but clinging to life.
Two men held her, and the one struck her for looking. She bared her teeth and tried to break free, but the other dug a thumb into one of her wounds, a burst of pain forcing her to her knees. He gave an order to the other in a language she did not know, and moved to the center of the road. He was no larger than the others, but carried himself like a predator, his helmet feathered with red, white and black. He considered her knife a moment, face hidden under goggles and a wrap, then tucked it into his belt.
“You see now your error in trifling with the Legion,” he said, coolly looking over the carnage. “No one stands against us, and none escape us, not even the most pitiful tribe.” Adal heard a scraping sound from further down the road, growing slowly louder. “But take heart, men. You have been given a chance to cast off this savage life to be part of something greater.”
“None leave the Walk willingly,” Santi said, steel in his voice. “And no Walker will bow to slavers and murderers.”
The commander began to stroll casually through the assembly. “Very well. Then you shall be the first to be crucified, elder.” He gestured to the Walker. “Look to him, and mark well. Caesar’s Legion tolerates no disobedience; not from its soldiers, its slaves, or its women.” The scraping sound was louder, and the crowd parted to show several Walker men stalked by Red, dragging the crossed poles that lined the highways. Her heart leapt to see Jeth among them, but he was staring unseeing at the ground. “We achieve peace through this order. We will teach it, and you will learn, or die.”
The plumed Legionary had made a full circuit, and stopped in front of Adal. “All have a place. It disgusts me to see one so ignorant of theirs.” He nodded to his men. “I am loath to crucify a woman, but she barely seems one. Make an example of her first.”
Adal fought to stand, heart pounding. The one holding her dragged her off her feet, slamming her against the front of the burned out car. The metal was still hot from the sun, and she flinched away, thrashing. Her shirt had ridden up, his hand fisted in it. She dug her nails into his wrist, trying to loosen his grip, too close to him to kick effectively. Teeth bared, she bucked madly, a knee catching him in the groin and biting down on his arm, twisting to tear flesh.
He swore, letting go. Adal tried to find her feet, shaky from pain and bleeding. She was jerked back by her hood, more hands closing on her body. Her limbs were growing weak from blood loss and pain, but she struggled still. A third man held her down against the burning metal, and she tried to pull away at their touch. No longer content to hold, a hand slid beneath her shirt, fingers digging into her breast. She spat on him, screaming, swearing. The first of them loomed over her, and she pulled her knees together, cold despite the heat.
He forced a hand between her legs, the other dragging at her skirt. She looked to the rest of the Walker, watching, faces horrified, some still too shocked to grasp, some turned away. “Cowards!” she shouted. “Help me! Fight them! Walker—” Someone struck her on the face, and she felt her teeth cut into her lip. “I’ll kill you!” she screamed. “Rip put your throats, gut you—” Another blow snapped her head back against the metal. “Pluck out your eyes to—” He gave up on the skirt, and she felt a knife rake at her waist, not caring if the edge dug into her belly.
Crossroads (7b/9)
Date: 2015-01-07 06:26 pm (UTC)He laughed, low and cruel and hungry. She could feel him growing harder, pressed against the inside of her thigh. Adal looked to her kin again, pleading. She saw Jeth, standing slumped next to Santi as the Red men lashed him to the cross. He met her eyes, dead and staring. “Please—Jeth—” Her voice broke. “Husband, please, help—”
Jeth shuddered and turned away.
Fury bloomed in her, driving off the pain, the exhaustion burning away. She was screaming again, no longer words, just a long tear of rage and profanity. She bucked and thrashed, and the men holding her bore down. A hand closed on her throat, and she tried to snap and bite, a weight settling on her chest. He worked his fingers once more, stretching her wider, the feeling sending a hot thrill through her spine. Colored sparks ate at her vision, and she couldn’t cry out as he pushed into her, dry and painful. It was wrong, wrong, and she felt tears running from her eyes. A thin whine escaped her, a little rush of sick sensation catching her off guard
His face was wrapped and hidden, but she could smell his foul breath as he grunted, panting excitement. His hand slipped as he ground into her, and her senses returned, hearing screams and cries somewhere beyond. She screwed her eyes shut, wishing she were not here, that this was a nightmare. A piercing scream snapped her back to reality, a child—god, oh god, her boys, watching this happen. She fought to ignore the heat between her legs, not wanting it but not able to pull away, confused and revolted at the pleasure in the violation, her struggles growing weaker.
She heaved against them, but the grasping hands on her body were too greedy, clutching and feeling. She was unsure if it was blood that made his thrusts slide deep into her, smooth and sweet. Teeth gritted, she moaned through them as her back arched, hips rolling. He grunted as he spent himself, sounding like an animal, his last rough thrusts making her whimper and jerk.
One of the men holding her laughed as he withdrew. “Wanted to scream,” he said, still kneading and pinching at her breast. He let go to reach down into her, smearing his fingers with the juices there. “There’s enough of us, heathen, to make you scream until you want more.” He forced his fingers past her lips, and she fought on reflex. He was watching her, face only half-covered. She opened her mouth, biting hard on his fingers so that blood joined the taste of salt and musk.
They threw her down on the road. “We should keep this one, Livius,” the third said. The bitten one kicked her and swore, driving the air out of her. “Been a while since we’ve had one to tame.”
“No. The woman offered resistance, so she will die. There are no exceptions,” the commander said. She climbed to her knees, crawling for her discarded skirt. She fumbled at it, trying to wrap it around herself, not able to draw more than a sobbing breath. A hand closed on the back of her hood, choking her as he hauled on it. “Stand, woman.”
She tried to pull free, her limbs numb and distant. He struck her over the wounds in her back, and pain made her vision dark. Adal didn’t feel them drag her onto the cross, consciousness flickering fitfully, catching only glimpses of the Legion and Walker around her. She was sure she had died, hovering above them as they milled below, but wasn’t sure death should hurt so much. There was a scream, and she watched as though from a long ways off as Sen was raised beside her, broken leg unable to take the weight of his body. He screamed until he ran out of breath, sobbing as he tried to draw more.
Her chest and arms burned, her cuts and wounds gnawed at her. She watched, distant and incurious, as the Walker were marched away, under the weapons of the Legion. The children straggled at the back of the group, and she searched for her sons, eyesight blurred and dim. Her boys. Brave Ches, and clever Alam. Her boys.
She pulled at the ropes on her arms, already burning with strain. They were taking them, her sons, her boys…
Darkness.
Her boys…