Avarice Desperation Valley Ch 01

Desperation Valley.

It occurred to Carlos De Sade as he stared out on the savage desert vista before him shimmering with unbelievable midday heat; that he had fared better than most in these brutal and lawless times. For now a new order of supremacy prevailed, and it mattered not what one was before the conflict. Dreams and aspirations could no longer comfortably exist. He now lived in a place where only the strongest, and most cunning could rule.

Not that he was feeling exceptionally grateful for his present circumstance. Though many around him were broken in both spirit and body; some hideously disfigured, their loved ones taken, and they cruelly enslaved. A sad irony too that Carlos was as much a slave, despite his proud bearing and good looks as any in the encampment that day; his only salvation being he was favored.

Yes, favored he thought to himself, with a shiver of disgust, by the ruthless leader of this feral band of crazed warriors, Wezley Bennett. That hard and cruel man, leading his thirty or so men, on their wild, inexhaustible crusade. Bringing wave after wave of senseless death and destruction to all, in their never ending search for vanishing resources across this ravaged landscape.

Such was the cause that had fueled the zeal of the majority of the warriors this dawn. Departing the camp with the ever burning hope of replenishing the constantly dwindling supplies. Food was almost impossible to grow in this place of little rain and arid soils; the hunting poor. With many of the best water holes poisoned by warring factions. The fierce band also went with the high hope of capturing new slaves, especially women, though unsullied ones were hard to come by.

Most that were captured did not last long here in this terrible place, its only redeeming feature, a deep artesian well, which never ran dry. This Bennett's warriors initially had to defend at all costs, though as the years passed, the challenges over this vital resource greatly diminished, the surrounding marauders either perishing, or moving on.

How long had it been since they had first colonized this austere valley, Carlos pondered? Counting at least six years wasted here as Bennett's plaything. The very thought made him seethe with repressed anger, if only he could just sink a blade in that vile beast's black heart, or even make good his escape. Try to escape on many occasions he had, and failed just as often.

On numerous occasions Carlos had made a break for freedom, eluding the sentries and making for the south where more habitable bush land lay, and perhaps the tantalizing promise of joining a settlement. Despite his best efforts he was usually promptly located and returned to his angry master, but never without putting up a good fight. Once he managed to elude Bennett's scum for more than seven days, living off the land as best he could and hiding in a cave. For those few days he was blissfully happy, despite the obvious discomforts of living rough, at least he was his own man even if only for a while.

As with all good things, they must, and do end, so stupidly too Carlos mused. Unknown to him the water he located had been poisoned, probably with strychnine, and he fell suddenly and violently ill. Luckily the poison had begun to dissipate and lose its potency, so he did not meet a swift and agonizing death as was intended. Find him Bennett did. Better he had died he wished than be brought back here to this foul place once more..

For many days Carlos was stricken, hovering near death without the will to live. His very being screaming for the release that he was sure death would bring. His past racing through his mind jumbled, confused, disturbing. Except for the clear image of his mother. "You must live!" She had implored, her cool, graceful fingers brushing back his raven hair from fevered brow. She, the only woman he had ever loved and lost, the only woman whose praise he had ever craved. She in life, as he always remembered, so cold, aloof, nothing he ever did was good enough for her, or her lofty standards.

Carlos loved her anyway, deeply. Forgiving her vanities and flaws. He, the unwanted child, no more than an inconvenience to her high life of endless parties and powerful men. She a high class prostitute, a beauty who could have had it all, and very often did. So growing up he was left vastly to his own devices, raising himself for the most part on the city streets, a life which prepared him well for things to come.

Annoyed he swatted at the flies, sweat coursed down his tanned skin, long mane of lustrous black hair half shading his face. Absent-mindedly he toyed with the gold chain that encircled his throat, and the strange signet ring, two dragons entwined like lovers, that hung there threaded on its length. Another of his mother's little mysteries, if only she had told him more? Though he doubted that she really knew much more about the strange piece than he did. "A gift from your father." She would say. "He said that you would know its purpose when the time came."

The young boy would only feel a sense of dread and confusion at her words. "Who was he?" Carlos would eagerly ask her, desperate to know more of this man who he had never met.

"He was so like you." She would say dreamily, looking out the window of their high rise apartment to the stark blue and white vista of the coastline below, lost in another place and time. Then she would add. "I only saw him once, a most striking man he was, and a fantastic lover too." Ruefully she would sigh going quiet for a while and he knew he would get no more. This frustrated him no end, as he longed to know who the man was, what was he like, anything about him. Yet today as he sat out the heat in the shade of the silent stones he was none the wiser, though he was now twenty years old.

Sure, he had survived to witness many others fall by the wayside. However he had so hardened himself that none could be close, and he would share nothing with another lest his weaknesses and hopes be laid bare for all to see, and manipulate. Many times he had in his despair clenched his father's gift in his fist, wishing to cast it from him forever, severing his only link with a self absorbed mother, and a father he had never known.

However each time he did, a feeling of incredible and uncharacteristic weakness washed over his entire being, and the ring would burn painfully into his hand that he could hold it no longer, though strangely it never burnt his flesh. However others it did burn, Bennett included. Predictably the avaricious leader had tried to take the valuable looking trinket, only to be seared with incredible pain and lasting scars for his trouble.

So did Carlos look long and hard at his only inheritance, the two dragon's ruby eyes seemed to glint at him malevolently. Not in all these long years a singular clue as to its meaning, and yet the strange power that emanated from it too real to be imagined. The vibrant young man wondered at his clouded past as he often did, wiping the sweat from his troubled brow. "God so hot." He muttered under his breath. Wishing he could see the sea again as he remembered it from his childhood, ever so blue, expansive, and cool... So mercifully cool.

However, Carlos's current reality was that he was here in this stinking hot, desert valley. Surrounded by jutting rock escarpments rising high on both northern and southern sides, their faces pitted with many caves, in which the few hardy inhabitants sought shelter and made their homes. Through the center of this valley ran the remnants of a dry river bed, mostly sand, littered with rough stones. Any water that flowed there was no more than a memory. Only the pitiful little well in the center of encampment kept them all alive. Its water was brackish but drinkable, and meant the difference between life and death in this hostile environment.

The valley Wezley Bennett had chosen in the founding days of this settlement had not been the easiest place to defend against the constant onslaught for the water from outsiders. Sentries were constantly posted on the rises overlooking the camp to give early warning of invaders, or discourage slave's escapes. The eastern end of the valley narrowed sharply making it almost impassable, it was also the site of the dump, filled with twisted steel, long ago discarded consumer items, and every manner of rotting refuse the camp generated.

Beyond this festering blight on the landscape stood a wall of impenetrable thorn laden brush. This hardy plant more branches and spines than useful green leaves grew rapidly, even with the lack of water and severe heat it thrived. Providing a deep safe haven for the multitudes of tiny brown birds and rodents that scoured the site for their food, and proving all but impassable to an enemies advance. The valley's western end though was somewhat wider, likewise bristling with more of the same thorny sentinels. Only a small tunnel like opening remained as a relatively easy access to the world beyond, allowing the movement of larger items to and from the camp.

With the demise of the vehicles though this entry was no longer of paramount importance, and in recent years it had largely overgrown. The only other reliable path to the desert beyond was a steep well worn trail that was cut into the side of the southern face. It was a treacherous vertical descent, but the one most often used. On reaching the top the surrounding landscape was a sobering sight, beyond stretched the never ending sea of red sand and death for those who did not possess good survival skills, and sense of direction.

Carlos' intense dark gaze took all this in as he squatted in the rock shelf's welcome shade. Unlike most of the survivors of these parts he was still remarkably handsome and unscarred, lithe and well muscled, though not to heaviness like many of Bennett's men. The desert life had forged him well, to be lean, strong and self reliant. His eyes were dark and brooding, his expression sullen but not broken, and unlike most men he kept himself clean shaven. He wore nothing but a pair of old torn jeans, scuffed boots, and the only thing of worth he still possessed, the ring on the golden chain which shone against his tanned breast.

Escape was all he could think or dream, to steal a weapon, a few supplies, and he could again try his luck and run away. This time he would do better. Yes, this time he would not waste the chance again, but how? He despaired to himself, how many times had he sat here with these very same thoughts, and how long had he waited? He could have cried in despair for he knew that tonight Bennett and his men would most definitely return, and he would have to obediently do his master's every bidding. He involuntarily shuddered, a sick feeling rising in his stomach.

Bennett and his men would return on dusk to the valley as they had many times before, full of bravado and blood lust, with plunder to distribute and consume, plus captives to maim and torture. Then finally after the last man had sated his hunger for cruelty, sex, and alcohol, Bennett would call Carlos to his furs shaming him as no other could. Ironic it seemed to him that he was no better than his mother, possibly he was worse, to be more despised, at least in his own mind. Whoring himself to evade a cruel existence or death. That he pleased Bennett he knew was the only reason on this blighted earth that he had survived so unscathed, all this time keeping his looks, being spared from disfiguring punishments, as others around him had not been. He was Bennett's and no other was to touch him on pain of death, a few had tried, and died cruelly by Bennett's hand.

Bennett for all his failings had defended this place well, and had the strength and common sense to keep his men in check, and to command them as a reasonably disciplined force. Though it must be said that with this unruly lot it was never easy to hold them all together, but these were hard times, and a strong leader ruled with ruthlessness, a dash of fear, and an iron will. Bennett was tall and powerfully built, two hundred and seventy pounds of solid muscle, indeed he was one of the biggest men Carlos had ever seen. He was somewhere in his late twenties, shaven headed, with piercing blue eyes; intimidating, a war lord in his prime. He possessed a loud commanding voice, a swiftness that belied his size, and towering over most men, he killed without remorse.

Unlike the rest of his cohorts he rarely partook of drink or drugs, and never to excess. He had no affection for women either that any had ever witnessed. This seemed to suit his men's desires well as they were able to distribute any comely female captives as they saw fit. Any foolish enough to imply that Bennett was somehow going against the natural order soon changed their minds. For Bennett could drive fear into all but the bravest or most foolhardy of souls. He was a man who liked always to be in control, a wise policy in this violent age. Most of all he was a man to fear, and fear him they all did, Carlos included.

Such was life in this blighted place, what meaning did it hold? Carlos thought as he surveyed his surroundings from his lofty vantage point. Down below all was quiet amongst the sorry collection of discarded trucks, vehicles, and other assorted heavy machinery that lay disused and rusting in the valley, very slowly being entombed in the ever restless sands. It had been a long time since there had been fuel enough to run these machines, and one by one they had to be abandoned to the desert graveyard.

The only things to remain useful were the numerous shipping containers that had been positioned around the well. Though too hot for habitation by day, they gave welcome respite from the cold desert nights, and choking sand storms that could strike at any time with little warning. Bennett and his leading henchmen had commandeered most of these for their own personal residences. With a bit of modification they proved quite comfortable habitation.

The remaining containers housed supplies, one full of dry rations, another contained weapons and what precious ammunition still remained. After the big war which had plunged the country into anarchy; Carlos had then been thirteen. There had been ammunition to be had everywhere, but seven years later it was one of the most valuable commodities in the world. Understandably these supplies were kept under lock and key, and constantly guarded.

It was now the hottest part of the day, even the slaves rested until the cool of evening brought some relief. The sentries were watching him he knew from their shady nooks high up above. After his last escape, and near death experience, Bennett had ordered more vigilance, and Carlos knew his chances for another freedom bid were decidedly slim. He had been awake since before dawn, and tiredness was overtaking him, he also reckoned that there would be little sleep for him tonight. Despair flooded his mind, and dread of the evening to come.

Carlos awoke suddenly with a start shivering, the campsite below was beginning to stir, the evening shadows looming dark, and a slight frosty chill was permeating the air. It could certainly get bitterly cold here at night he thought, as goose bumps rose on his skin. He was sure the cold was not what had awakened him, and before his sleepy senses could evade the oncoming assault, a metal shod boot had collided hard with his ribs, enough to hurt but not enough to maim.

"Get up you lazy bastard, got nothing better to do than sleep here all day?" It was the harsh voice of Bennett's second in command Sven, fixing him with his cruel officious gaze. "Bennett's been looking for you, so you had better move your fucking lazy arse!" Before Sven's second blow could inflict more pain Carlos was already on his feet, he knew he was much quicker than the older, heavy set man, and took much delight in making him look clumsy with his lithe elegance, and cat like grace. However he knew that if Sven ever got the chance, he would do a lot more to him than he ever wanted to dwell on. Sven had always hated Carlos with a passion, he loathed the fact that he had bested him many a time, and that Bennett did not make him work for his keep like the other captives. Consequently he would punish him whenever he got the opportunity.

Sven had always been Bennett's second in command, he was a fair bit older than Bennett, somewhere in his mid to late thirties. Scarred from many battles, he had been a professional soldier during the war and seemingly immune to all its atrocities. With a physique like a bear, he was very much respected. Though not incredibly imaginative he was good second in command material, and zealously loyal to Bennett and his causes.

Sven was of Nordic heritage as his name suggested, complete with long unruly thick blond hair, pale complexion reddened by the sun, and he possessed the bleakest grey eyes. However by far the worst, and most fearsome thing about him, was he could be so invariably cruel. Bennett always gave him the most gruesome tasks and not once did he falter whatever the command. His military training had set him up well to survive, and even prosper in this hard and uninviting world. So Carlos knew he could never take this man's threats lightly, for he was certain that Sven would get him, if ever the opportunity arose, and tendrils of fear coiled in his vitals.

So down the rocky slope he went in haste, sending the rough scree tumbling toward the encampment. He could hear Sven somewhere behind him swearing profanities all the while. The heavier man sliding on the loose stones. As he crossed to the center of the encampment the other wretched slaves glared at him, they too despised him because he was favored. He ate when they starved, he drank when they went thirsty, he slept in the warm at night, spending his days idly whilst they toiled. Sitting near the warmth of communal fire in the evenings while they huddled around its dark cold perimeter. Yes, to them he did lead a life of privilege, and most of them hated him for it, except for Raissa.

Ah Raissa he thought, lovely Raissa, immediately feeling a stirring of his manhood, perhaps soon the two of them could sneak away? Yes, that would be good, Carlos fantasized. She had always had a kindly word for him, a winning smile, eyes soft, the color of honey. The girl was nicely proportioned, with breasts soft, milky and white, and thighs to die for. Surely a prize in this sorry place.

He had known that she had wanted him right from the first. She had been taken captive from a settlement nearby to the south early that last winter, and she hadn't given in too easily to these barbaric men's demands. No, indeed she had fought them fiercely. Carlos had been sure that she would most certainly be killed for her recalcitrance, but after many long evenings of hearing her screams, it seemed she finally succumbed to her new station in life and played along, just as he had to stay alive. This was what he and she shared, though they never once spoke of it to one another; a special common bond.

It was Raissa who nursed him back to health after his last unfortunate escape, he could still remember the feel of her cool hands on his fevered body as she willed him to live. Whenever he awoke she was there and he was secretly grateful. She was a comfort beyond belief in his descending darkness. Finally he had regained his health and Bennett sensing something was afoot between them, had Raissa given to the battle hardened Sven.

Despite the difficulty and danger they met often, sating their desires when and where ever they could, but they had to be careful for Sven, and his younger brother Aran were ever watchful. Sadly despite all they shared, Carlos did not feel love for Raissa, she was more of a need than a love in his eyes. Besides, he knew that to love and trust were danger, the less who knew your mind in this place the better the chances of survival. Besides Raissa was now Sven's, he had power of life or death over her, and Carlos was sure he would not hesitate to kill her cruelly if ever they were caught.