Avarice Desperation Valley

The Hole.

The subdued mood in the camp abruptly came to a close with the entrance of Bennett, tailed by the majority of his wild men. Their stolen glinting jewelry, wild hair, leather and fur attire, making for a fearsome spectacle. Only taking moments for Carlos to register that he was the object of their nefarious interest. What now, haven't they had enough? His angry thoughts rising. At the same time internally quailing with dread despite his cool exterior. Most there already sniggering, eager for the entertainment to begin.

He sighted Raissa's quick attempted departure, deftly blocked by Sven. You cruel prick he thought. Having nowhere to go she stood glumly, even from this distance he could plainly see the tears in her soft honeyed eyes. Remorse rose in him then, a now all too familiar emotion, one he was finding he did not enjoy. With it also regret, at things that might have been in another time and place. So uncomfortable was he that he had to look elsewhere.

Bennett advanced toward his captive warily, like a man who would tame a wild stallion. His hard face impassive, impossible to read, eyes icy cold, never leaving his intended quarry. Carlos sensing the worst, tensed for the oncoming confrontation. Instinct taking over as he attempted to use the only weapon he had at his disposal, the several feet of chain swinging from his neck.

This sudden action brought a loud roar from amongst the men, now arranged about on all sides. The chain connecting with Bennett's cheek drawing blood, so swiftly did Carlos strike. The wily leader expected this however, and in the space of a heartbeat already had the chain wrapped firmly in his powerful grasp. He commenced to brutally twist its length, a practiced move he had perfected to gain his prisoner's submission. Carlos fought wildly, achieving very little. With every turn of the chain further limiting his access to air. Persistently robbing him of fight. Finally he could do little more than sink to his knees, as he reflexively clawed at his throat. The big man towering above, gloating in a victory almost complete.

Somewhere through the mists of raw panic and strangulation Carlos found his hand reaching upward, unnoticed by his confident attacker, and in a last ditch attempt to extricate himself from his dire situation, he grabbed the bulge of Bennett's testicles and squeezed, crushing with everything he had.

Immediately Carlos was flung violently backward, Bennett's vision swimming as he strove to gain control, and get the upper hand. The slave barely aware of the frenzied warriors enthusiastic shouts, as they realized that what had at initially appeared as a one sided walkover, was yielding more surprises. Shades of their last bout paramount in all minds, especially the mind of Bennett. Who by this time was maddened with a tempestuous fury. He would not stand to be bested in full view of all again. His wounds only just healing to his satisfaction, and still inwardly smarting from their last showdown. Bennett would not play this game again.

With his anger shielding him from pain that would have brought a stop to a lesser warrior, he again advanced on the smaller man. Who despite the force Bennett had earlier applied to his throat, had recovered exceptionally swiftly. Once more he felt the bite of the metal as he dove underneath the chain's solid links, laying his shoulder open, crimson spattering the ground. So furious was Bennett, he was almost blind to its force. His only mission to subdue his smaller nemesis convincingly this time in front of his cohorts.

For a big man Bennett was shockingly quick, this harsh, violent life giving him every opportunity to hone his fighting prowess, and Carlos was tiring. Lack of food and his first brush with Bennett were all taking its toll, and it was a surprise to all assembled that he was still on his feet. Warily they circled one another, each measuring the others will, looking for an opening, waiting for an invitation to victory to present. Carlos' breath coming in ragged gasps, his quick dark eyes attempting to anticipate his foe's next move. Sweat soaking his black hair, adhering the sand to his back, bruising ugly and purple beginning to show around his throat, the golden ring on its chain glinting brightly there; gleaming gold against the dark.

The tussle ended as abruptly as it began, Carlos barely cognizant to see it coming, let alone still possessing the strength and stamina to evade the crushing blow. Bennett's well delivered lightening fast uppercut connected powerfully with his jaw, knocking him senseless to the ground. The bully of a man looming over him the triumphant victor, even if it had always been a one sided fight.

Renard had watched these proceedings from the sidelines, amazed. However war was waste, and waste these men did in abundance, they could not see beyond what the last seven years of hard survival had wrought on their collective psyche.

To Renard it was blatantly obvious that to do this to this man was a crying waste. So typical of these brutish morons, their failure to recognize talent and put it to good use. Any fool could see what a fine warrior Carlos would make, his timing and reflexes were phenomenal, rarely bestowed on a man. With a bit of discipline and training the wild looking lad would be a fearsome foe indeed, but no, these mindless louts would prefer to destroy all they could not understand or conquer.

Renard though had problems enough of his own, without dwelling on someone else's. These last few days had been pure turmoil for his usually decisive mind. The appearance of his sister as hostage demanded that he come up with something clever, and quickly.

Still he knew not what, and somehow he must get urgent word to his parents, because in the next few days Bennett's bloodthirsty crew would undoubtedly be on their doorstep. This game he played had reached a new and dangerous level, and the prizes of his success or failure would be all those he cherished. With these grim thoughts and as yet no solution running through his head, Renard stood, casually leaning in the shade toward the rear of the rabid throng, taking in the sadistic spectacle being played out before him. The only phrase to spring to mind as he watched Bennett reach down and unchain the sorry captive was, life can be so damn unfair.

The sharp tug of a fist in his knotted hair brought a window of clarity to Carlos' reeling senses. Another rough hand slid under his arm encouraging him to stand. He staggered upward, the supporting hand gripping him all too tightly with torn and dirty nails biting like talons into his flesh. Trying vainly to focus on the milling crowd, he was dimly aware that the chain's long confining weight had been lifted from about his neck.

Desperately armed with this new knowledge he made a last futile effort to escape. However weakened and disoriented as he was, he only received a painful buffeting for his efforts. Bennett's solid presence restraining him, guiding him from behind toward, he knew not where. The rest of the rowdy gathering followed pressing close, the rank smell of unwashed bodies, fire smoke and sour alcohol, sickly and cloying, making him want to wretch, as he was directed just beyond the central circle of huts, toward the rubbish dump.

The odor here was stifling, with most avoiding this unwholesome place, today though the crowd did not seem to care, ignoring the heady stench of decaying carcasses, and other unmentionable wastes. All of which the camp generated with profusion, drawing clouds of flies amongst the twisted, rusting, skeletons of vehicles discarded long ago.

Bennett stopped abruptly, Carlos almost fell, the sun very hot on his back burning in its intensity. Exhausted and beaten he stood, head lowered, raven hair masking his face, bare feet burning uncomfortably in the red sand, awaiting his fate. Two men stepped forward at their leader's command, one being Aran, Carlos fuzzily noted, and like a slap in the face came the dread realization to his numbed mind. He was being sentenced to the pit.

The two men heaved on the heavy wood and iron bound trap door, exposing the dread pit's dark maw. Seeing this the fight rose in Carlos yet again, there was no way he was going down there. Fear giving him a final burst of strength, almost enabling him to escape from the clutches of his massive captor. With tactics descending to clawing, biting, anything, to evade his impending incarceration.

Most assembled there laughed and jeered at the good show. None caring for the desperation of Bennett's slave, most wanting to see him suffer. Even Lucy and Marcus had gotten into the spirit of the occasion. Lucy's wild yells of enthusiasm heard clearly from the frenzied crowd. Unceremoniously, little by little, fighting Bennett all the way, Carlos was dragged ever closer to the hole, its hellish dark gaping larger each time he dared to look, his reserves of strength to resist failing fast. Too soon he was poised at its verges, like something out of a nightmare Bennett's unyielding grip holding his struggles in check, readying him for the final shove into dark oblivion.

Above the clamor of the crowd, and the rush of blood in his head, Bennett's lips brushed close to his ear, delivering a message meant for him alone. "Only when you yield yourself fully, and willingly to me, shall you return to the light of day. I am your master, a hard fact you will learn. How you deal with it is up to you."

"Never!" Carlos huskily retorted through broken lips, defiant until the end.

"We'll see?" With that came the final shove, the hole opening up blackly before him as he fell heavily into its fetid depths.

In the minutes that ensued the rabble filed past, obscene and callous, spitting and showering him with refuse, culminating with Pig lustily urinating over him for good measure. An action which brought forth a rousing cheer from the crowd. This final indignity concluding the afternoon's proceedings. Carlos daring to look up just in time to glimpse and feel the last caress of sunlight, and catch Bennett's cruel eyes appraising him, as the door was ordered closed.

The dull hollow thud sounded ominously as the opening to the dingy prison was sealed shut. The hot sunlight above in direct contrast to the fetid dankness that lie below. Few souls could tolerate this horror confinement long, Carlos included Bennett hoped bleakly to himself, as he strode away through the fast dispersing throng. In a few days his slave would be desperate for release, seeing the error of his ways. Even if reluctant, at least malleable to Bennett's wishes. Though dark doubts surfaced, even so, knowing that he may have to push his recalcitrant property to the extreme of his endurance, even with this feared punishment. Running the risk of possibly not achieving the desired result he craved. Well, he conceded he was at his wit's end, and there was nothing more he could do but wait, letting the dreaded pit work its persuasive magic. Religiously checking daily on the welfare of his precious project. Meanwhile there were other affairs that demanded his attention, for it was time his forces made their move.

Selene observed all from her dark cave vantage point high above. Anxiously clasping her toothed amulet as though for comfort as she watched the sorry drama unfold far below. If any had been observing her they would have been astounded to have recognized an expression of horror, even fear, cross her usually unreadable visage, as Carlos was confined to the pit. Her dark eyes glinting, wild and fierce, her mulberry lips quivering with seeming indecision, long serpentine tresses trailing across her face. Usually cool and calm this day Selene was not. Leaving her rocky ledge as silently and as unnoticed as she had arrived, to the safekeeping of her tunnels below.

Raissa finally turned and ran, unashamedly crying. Desiring to be as far from everyone as she could. Sven's malicious laughter still echoing in her head as he finally let her go at last to have her peace. Blindly she ran, not caring how, or where she went. The abhorrence of her beloved's sentence was too much to bear. Tears flooding her vision, she was blind to all things, still she ran wildly onward. Fracturing in her headlong flight, the brittle, long dead branches of shrubs, and stunted trees, that rent her skin and clothes, and tore at her golden hair. Raissa could not feel or think coherently, so deep was her hurt and distress, sobbing loudly, her stricken wails of pent up grief that she had so far repressed erupted forth overpowering all her reason and care.

Too late she felt the hands on her, stifling her screams. She had gotten careless in her grief, too late she realized as she looked up chilled with terror, into the repulsive, leering face of Pig.

Darkness and quiet followed, Bennett would leave no one to stand guard. There would be no need. Carlos could not physically reach the top of the pit with its sheer walls. Let alone possess the strength required to budge the substantial hardwood and railway iron clad door. Even a man of Bennett's vast strength would have no hope of losing himself from the confines of this hellish prison.

It had lain unused for quite some time, though Carlos could still vividly recall during his early days here, the tortured cries, and mad ravings of the poor faceless wretches who were for one reason or another, condemned to this place until they died. A cruel punishment indeed, the majority went raving mad and it did not take long, for uncomfortable here it was. Nothing more than a deep cement water tank set into the earth, narrower than it was wide, this tight space would not permit a man to lie down and stretch out fully. Despite the often blistering desert heat above, it remained perpetually cool and slightly damp, a factor which made it freezing overnight, and just bearable by day.

Carlos sighed, so this was the inglorious, slow consuming death that Bennett had alluded to should he misbehave. The thought occurred to him as he sat immobile for long moments, absorbing thoroughly his dire predicament. Head in his hands, the unshaven stubble on his jaw prickling against his palms, the curtain of his shaggy, raven hair almost brushing the filthy floor. His semi naked body was already feeling the bite of the cold, vainly wishing he had a blanket or a shirt. His keen eyes adjusting to his new dark environs, and he liked not what he saw there. The moldy, damp floor was littered with refuse, including a full skeleton of an unfortunate inmate, long divested of its flesh, curled up in silent death against the pit's sheer walls. There were numerous little scraps of hides and cloth all rotted and musty, along with small unidentified fragments of bone, as well as sticks and pebbles. However nothing of use or interest did he discover.

Idly his hand strayed to his damaged throat, it felt hot and sore, then to fondle the only thing in this world that was truly his. His unknown father's gift, finding strange strength and comfort there as he pressed it firmly into his hand. All he could hope for was a short confinement, somehow doubting that eventuality would be the case. Bennett's intention was quite plain to him, his torturer wanted to both thoroughly break, and degrade him this time, all without leaving physical scars. So then it would be obedience, or gradual madness, succumbing to a slow and ugly demise. A frown crossed his countenance at the choice he now was forced to make, wondering just who would triumph in this fast escalating battle between two opposing wills.

That evening the feast was sumptuous, supplemented by the bounty taken along with Frances. Some of the delicacies most only held as distant memories. There were biscuits, sweet and good, brightly colored preserved fruits in mason jars, honey, eggs, fine wine and spirits, hard cheese, and even coffee. All of which the warriors downed with relish, leaving no choice morsels for the lesser inhabitants to savor.

In addition to this plethora of delicious food, there were some fine weapons amongst the haul, and this evening all the men were engaged in examining them in appreciation. The beautifully crafted crossbows, and quarrels, as well as an array of keen knives and swords, which were appreciated by all. By far though the biggest treasure discovered was not necessarily the largest. Housed in a fine, highly polished cedar case was a fifty caliber handgun, a prize weapon indeed. An American Eagle ornately engraved, its silver polished steel form nestled in a bed of red velvet, along with precious ammunition. Bennett as leader had first right to this coveted weapon, and he exercised it now, claiming it for his own. Then distributing the remainder of the cache as he saw fit.

Raissa watched on miserably from the sidelines, what an appalling day it had been, things could have hardly been any worse. She shuddered unconsciously with revulsion as she recalled her hellish afternoon. Her usually clear honey eyes irritated and red from the profusion of tears she had shed, body bruised and hurting, the result of Pig's lascivious abuse, followed by his offsider Dwayne who was just as keen to take his turn at her unwilling charms. She had gotten careless today, and paid for it in kind, inwardly cursing herself for her stupidity. The camp's lesser ranked men had swiftly taken advantage of her error in judgment, as she had blindly run away from her protectors.

A shiver coursed through her at the memory of Pig's revolting caresses, his fetid breath on her throat, and Dwayne's rough, fumbling desperation. In vain she had tried to scream, and sought escape, as the two vile men forcibly dragged her to their secluded place. A rotting semitrailer on the eastern verges of the valley. Its windscreen shattered, the small squares of clear glass shining in the sand like discovered treasure.

They pulled her inside the derelict cabin of the truck, stifling her screams. What remained of the decayed vinyl upholstery perished and torn, scraping and digging into her soft flesh, as the two men removed her clothing, caring not if it tore. Isolated here as she was, Raissa had little hope of rescue or escape. Besides Sven and Aran's ardor for her had cooled considerably since the new arrivals were taken and her pregnancy had become more obvious. No, they would not be along to rescue her from this unpleasant episode as they would have in times past.

One man held her whilst the other used her in the cabin of the truck. The glass chips and shredded upholstery digging painfully into the smooth skin on her back with each thrust of the rape. Raissa had little option but to acquiesce in the pair's degrading assault, waiting until both men were sated and lost interest. Only then she was left alone, with the sounds of their receding footsteps, accompanied by the despairing solitary caw of a crow that like some evil denizen that had observed all. Feeling desolate and violated Raissa had eventually made her way back to the cave. Choosing in her grief and shame to recover alone.

Bennett sat close to the blazing hearth, avoiding the evening's mounting chill, with a cup of warm, strong coffee firmly clasped in both his calloused hands. My this was good, how long had it been since he had drunk this stuff? As far as he was concerned it was the best taste in all the world. Sven positioned close by interrupted his train of thought, he too engaged in savoring the delicious brew. "You don't suppose her people grow this stuff do you?"

Bennett being slow to reply. "Who knows? But, if they do I want it all." Followed by a low laugh.

"So who is going to go then?" Sven inquired of the impending expedition.

"We shall keep the party small, and stay unseen. I have decided to send Renard, Gareth, you of course....." At this Sven raised a questioning eyebrow.

"So you will remain here?"