Debauchery Falls Ch 06

*** Disclaimer ***

The following story may contain themes of hypnosis, mind control, non-consent, paranormal, cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, incest, gang bangs, and other forms of debauchery. This may not be the story for you.

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Debauchery Falls chapter 06

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They stood in the kitchen of Emily Tanner's last stand, peering through the boards and chain link fence that had been used to barricade the windows. There was a sense of unreality as the fireball rolled skyward from their camp.

It seemed an eternity that none of them spoke, although it was only a second.

Then Galloway was barking orders and the men were running. "Delacruz, Foster, secure the front. Quinn, on me. We're going back, right now!"

Andrea was frozen in place. She hadn't the first clue what to do. Her mind was processing all of this, but much too sluggishly. She felt like her brain was moving in slow motion.

Galloway reached back and grabbed the girl by the arm, nearly yanking her off her feet. "C'mon, kid. Fight or flight. Never freeze," she was saying.

By the time she reached the front living room, a new series of explosions shook the house. These weren't nearly as epic as the one across the valley. They were loud and crisp, like party balloons breaking in rapid succession.

"Shots fired, shots fired!" The men were shouting. Foster and Quinn dove to either side of the front door as the frame splintered. Delacruz, who had been halfway out the door, staggered. A mist of pink momentary hung in the air by his leg. He dove behind a mini backhoe before he went down.

"Down!" Galloway grabbed the Tanners and threw them to the floor. She had just the briefest glimpse of multiple shadowy figures moving in the grasses beyond the driveway. Men in black hoods.

More shots peppered the front of the house. Periodic bursts of light from the grass marked the flashes of rifles.

"Stay here," she ordered Brad and Andrea. The good humor gone from her face. Her expression severe, all business now. She scrambled forward on her elbows to rejoin her men.

Foster was blindly returning fire, cursing around the mouthful of tobacco tucked into his lip. Quinn was moving from window to window, trying to see who was attacking them, and how many.

"I count eight, maybe as many as ten," he said.

Galloway swore. That meant there were probably more they didn't see. She remembered the dire warning of Emily Tanner-- their failed last stand here in the barricaded house, and she shivered.

She rolled to the nearest window, bringing her rifle up and peering out into the night. She spied Delacruz crouched desperately behind cover. Their fellow officer had taken up a position behind the rental tractor in the front lawn. He was kneeling. His leg was bleeding. They could hear him screaming at everyone to stay back.

Beyond his position, they were advancing-- hooded monks from the darkest of nightmares. They were carrying weapons, rifles.

"Holy shit," Quinn said as gunfire was exchanged between them. Bullets were pinging off the tractor, fired from several of the men.

Galloway zeroed her sights and fired. One of them dropped. The rest scattered. But they were still advancing, hiding in the grasses, the woods, behind cover. They were outnumbered and had no information as to who these people were, or how many. When outnumbered, the best strategy was to retreat and regroup.

All they could see was ghostly robes and hoods over the wild eyes of lunatics. The word 'cultists' came to mind, although none of them were sure why. And the focus of the cultists was on the nearest officer-- the fallen Delacruz.

Delacruz was struggling to reload his rifle. The look of primal fear in his face was apparent.

"Quinn," Galloway shouted to her Sergeant, "On my mark, we're going out there and pulling Delacruz back inside!"

He nodded his understanding.

Galloway used the muzzle of her rifle to break the remaining glass away from one of the already boarded up windows. She fired into the trees. Several of the men scattered. They slowed their approach, but in a second, the rifle blasts replied. Galloway ducked as the boards near her head splintered.

Foster retreated to Andrea and Brad, keeping protective watch over the two of them. Andrea had covered her ears, cowering and sobbing. Brad protectively hugged his daughter. They were all confused, but Andrea had a look of complete terror on her face.

Galloway and Quinn both returned fire. Her rifle clattering, mixing with the thunderous booms from Quinn's shotgun. It was blind fire, meant to send their attackers running. It didn't seem to have an effect. These lunatics were charging up the driveway, almost like they had no regard for their own safety.

Delacruz fired a shot over his shoulder, holding his rifle with one hand. With the other, he was struggling to remove his belt. He clenched his teeth as he synched it around his thigh and pulled it tight. He was putting a tourniquet on his leg.

He didn't have a chance to finish before one of the cultists lunged at him from around the tractor. The hooded zealot grabbed him, trying to wrestle his rifle away from him. Delacruz rolled and grappled with the lunatic, struggling like mad not to lose the rifle.

Inside, it was chaos. Quinn was firing at the shadows as they darted among the grasses and cover. Galloway was trying to get a clear shot at Delacruz's assailant. Everyone was shouting at once.

Then Delacruz drove an elbow into the face of his attacker, knocking away their hood. He recovered his rifle and scrambled backward, just as the cultist stood.

As he lined up his sights, he got his first good look at this person. Not a man, but a woman. Her hair was scraggily and her face was blank and pale, but Delacruz suddenly realized that he knew this person. They all did. He was staring into the blank, uncomprehending eyes of Emily Tanner-- the missing woman from the video. The one who had warned them not to trust anyone, not even her. The one who had spoken of a fate worse than death.

Galloway gasped as they all saw it. Andrea's sister was no longer herself.

Emily's eyes were haunted and zombie like. Suddenly it all clicked into place. The missing town's people... the hooded lunatics. They were all one and the same. How many were there? Why were they acting this way?

Emily hesitated only for a second, swaying on unsteady feet. Not even seeing Delacruz, but seeing through him, like a sleepwalker. Then she came at him, making another lunge.

Delacruz kicked out with his good leg and sent her sprawling harmlessly away. He gave a final look to Galloway. The horror was obvious on his face, as was the understanding about what happened to them... what would happen to all of them. He couldn't run. He wouldn't get far.

In one decisive moment, he turned his rifle on himself.

"NOOOOO!!!" Galloway screamed.

The shot was no louder than the others, but they all felt it much more, especially when Delacruz dropped over.

"No!" Galloway ran for the front door.

"Kate, no!" Quinn said, blocking her way and pushing her back. As if to confirm his concerns, another volley of gunfire erupted into the front door. The group in the lawn was keeping them pinned down in the house.

"Kate, we have to go!" Quinn was shouting, his shotgun thundered above all other gunshots.

Galloway glanced at him, then down to Foster, Brad, and Andrea. Especially Andrea. She was trembling, pale and looked frightened out of her mind.

Galloway looked back out the window. Dozens of men came at them from the dark. Nobody could know how many there were.

"Fuck," she groaned out loud, hating herself at once for saying it. "Back door. Go, go, go!" She shouted.

Foster hauled Andrea to her feet and pulled her with him, the two of them staggering over each other as they ran for the kitchen. Brad hurried after them. Quinn and Galloway brought up the rear.

Outside, the sounds were tremendous. Beyond the front door were the soft pattering feet of the men who were out for their blood, interspersed with the sporadic crack of gun fire. Above all was the deep nightmarish rumble of thunder. Down the hillside, new flames bloomed, and it wasn't hard to figure out what that was-- their Jeeps. They had been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. The fire danced across the lawn, creating the impression that they were in hell.

"Go!" Galloway was shouting, pushing Quinn from behind. They fled out the back door.

"Christ almighty Kate," Quinn grunted, struggling to run. She was shoving him hard from behind. He was staggering.

They burst out the back door. Foster, Andrea, and Brad stood in the grassy yard. Their eyes were wide.

They paused for only the briefest of seconds. Behind them, came the sounds of shattering glass and breaking doors as the attacking horde of men broke through the front.

"Can you run?" Galloway asked Andrea, eyeing the girl's converse sneakers and tiny skirt with doubt.

The young woman nodded her head vigorously. Her chest rising and falling, on the verge of panic but struggling considerably not to lose it.

"Then do it, and don't stop," she said. "Foster. Do NOT leave her side. Not for a second."

Foster nodded, looking equally afraid. Galloway pointed to the fields of grass in front of them. They were tall enough. They would be concealed in it. "Head south. Go!"

Foster grabbed Andrea by the hand and nearly pulled her off her feet. She yelped but ran with him, with Brad trailing close behind.

Quinn pointed his shotgun at the back door of the schoolhouse. "Get out of here Kate." He said.

She knew he was gearing up to shoot the first of the men who followed them out the back. He was resolved to stay behind, and Galloway was mustering up every curse word and insult that she could think of to get him to run with her.

"And never forget how much I love you," he added.

That did it. "Fuck you Quinn," she shouted. She grabbed him by the collar of his thick tactical vest and yanked him toward the fields.

"I was buying you time."

"I will drag you out of here if I have to," she nearly screamed.

Quinn groaned but followed. He wasn't a good runner. He never had been, and that had only gotten worse after his back injury. Still, he ran with her.

The tall grasses instantly swallowed them up. She couldn't be sure if these deranged lunatics were following. They weren't talking, weren't shouting, or cursing. They were only shooting, although their shots were wild and inaccurate. A few times Galloway swore she could hear the patter of their running feet in pursuit. But now she had much more confidence in their concealment.

She used this opportunity to radio for help, although it was probably unnecessary. No doubt their gun fight had alerted the whole damn valley. "Galloway to all units, shots fired, shots fired! We are taking fire from unknown assailants. Approximately a dozen or more unidentified individuals. I've got men down. Requesting assistance!"

Her voice carried throughout the field... the only voice. The fact that they could barely hear their attackers called forth a blind terror from deep down in their cores. They'd all seen the haunted impossible look on Emily Tanner's face. Their fate could very well be worse than death. Delacruz had figured that, which was why he'd opted for the option that he had. His final exercise of his free will...

The five of them fled for their lives. Grasses slapped at their faces. Galloway fired a few shots over her shoulder. It was blind fire, meant to keep their pursuers back.

A few shots answered. Stems of grass were cut down, flying in different directions. But the shots weren't close to hitting them.

Quinn ran beside her. He was huffing and puffing with the effort.

Up ahead, Brad's shirt billowed like a parachute. Andrea and Foster were blurs. Her bare legs like beacons in the darkness. Her pleated skirt fluttered, giving everyone behind her a view of her ass, but that was the furthest thing from her mind right now. Who cares who saw what now?

"Keep going," Foster called, trying to be encouraging. He took a deep breath and spat his wad of tobacco into the grasses, needing to clear his mouth to breathe.

Andrea was softly sobbing as she ran. Tears were streaming down her face. Why were these people trying to kill her? Why? What had she ever done to anyone? Now she was being chased like a rabbit fleeing from vicious dogs. She had never been so scared in her life. When she was young, she had played games-- tag, and hide and seek, and foot races. All of them involved running and physical exertion. As an adult she had frequented the gym and gone for runs around the neighborhood to keep in shape. But she had never actually run for her entire life before now. She had never let fear power her legs and her lungs. It was exhausting and petrifying. Her heart felt like it was going to explode. She couldn't breathe deep enough to keep up with the pounding in her chest.

"Foster... Foster... I'm scared," she couldn't help but gasp out.

"I know," he shouted back. "Keep going. Just keep going."

Behind her, she felt a hand on her back nudging her forward. "We'll watch out for you," it was Galloway. "Just keep running. Don't stop. We'll worry about the rest."

More gunfire came at them, zinging past their heads. Each shot put an extra spring of panic into Andrea's steps. Quinn pointed his shotgun toward the source of the shots, and fired twice blindly. He was rewarded when he heard a scream of pain.

The ground tilted downward. They picked up speed as they dashed downhill.

"Why..." Andrea panted. "They can't see us... Why... Why don't we just hide, and... stop moving?"

Galloway frowned and shoved her onward. Andrea, in her fright, was trying to justify reasons to stop running. To quit. Now wasn't the time.

Overhead, a glowing object streaked across the sky, emerging from somewhere in the fields to their right.

Quinn whimpered softly as he recognized it. A home made molotov of flaming liquor.

The bottle crashed somewhere to their left. The flames spread throughout the grasses. They flared up quickly, even with the saturated ground and the driving rain. Flames hissed steam into the air.

"The grass is wet, it won't spread fast," Quinn shouted above the perpetual roar of gun fire. He fired another shot, then dug into his vest for shells, needing to reload. Galloway watched him fumble two and drop them while running before getting several back into the magazine tube. Some small detached part of her brain made a mental note to add that to the training regiment-- practice running and reloading.

Two more molotovs streaked overhead, shattering along the path of trampled grass that the group had carved out. The grasses burst into flames. The flames licked skyward, lighting up the night. Thank God the rains had soaked everything. If those fields had been dry, the fire would spread faster than they could run. They'd never make it out alive.

Behind her, Galloway could see dark shapes carving out paths. The men who were bold enough to chase them. She fired at one of them. It stopped coming. But she had no idea if she'd hit the pursuer.

"I see something," Foster finally shouted.

In another few steps they burst out of the grassy field. The valley opened up before them. They were along the eastern edge of the town. Jernigan Creek was burbling off to the left. The water running white with foam and rapids.

"Where do we go?"

Galloway took the point. She led, moving fast along the rocky outcroppings of the stream. Directly south was a footbridge that crossed the rapids. Galloway already had a plan forming to cross the bridge and head east. Beyond the bridge was a short field, and past that, trees and mountains. It would be an ugly getaway. But the woods would be safer than the fields. They could play cat and mouse with this group, all the way across the Appalachians if they had to.

"Stay low," Galloway instructed, more for the benefit of the Tanners. They ducked their heads and followed as the three soldiers in black-- their guardians-- led them across the sloping hillside toward the creek.

Behind them, the fields of grass were burning. Not wildly-- the rain was keeping that from happening. But in random patches that lit the night with hellish flame and sent boiling steam rolling through the air like a foggy battlefield from a veteran's nightmares.

Andrea's legs were rubber. It was a hopeless, desperate fear that she'd only experienced one other time in her life-- when she'd gotten the news about her mother. It rolled throughout her body, making her feel clumsy and awkward in her own skin. She managed to keep up with Foster, who was taking deep breaths and spitting wads of saliva into the brush. Quinn was grunting, his big frame his burden, as he was lagging behind the rest. Only Galloway looked like she could run for days.

They came upon the stream and started toward the footbridge, keeping to the banks, keeping low.

But their pursuers were relentless. The bullets chased them. She almost imagined how they might burn when they would dig their way into her back.

They reached the bridge and Foster groaned. Andrea knew why, because her blood ran cold. The bridge was destroyed, like it had been hacked apart with an axe or a chainsaw. Only a few supports, and the slender handrail remained. A dozen feet below, the muddy waters surged over jagged rocks.

"No fuckin' way," Foster said.

Quinn and Galloway were taking up firing positions behind a mound of earth, trading gunfire with the advancing men. But they were rapidly losing ground and they knew it. They were outnumbered, the men were spreading out and keeping to cover-- crouching behind trees, rocks, houses, and cars.

"Boss?" Quinn said.

"I know," she replied, honestly not having the first clue where to go from here.

Several gunshots peppered the dirt mound, fired from the attackers. Galloway and Quinn hunkered lower. Galloway returned fire before rolling onto her back to reload.

When she did, she caught sight of Foster staggering.

Her eyes widened. "Man down, man down!"

Foster dropped to his knees, hands on his stomach.

Quinn fired several times at the mob, hoping to keep them back. It wasn't working. They were still coming, knowing they had the numbers, especially now. These people came like they had nothing to lose. Just blind devotion.

Galloway, Andrea, and Brad all grabbed Foster to support him. He dropped his rifle. The shots were in his abdomen. He was coughing blood.

"It's not bad, it's really not," Galloway was trying to assure him.

Andrea felt terribly young. She was holding onto a man who'd stood in front of bullets for her-- someone that he didn't even know. Now here he was, dying in front of her and there was nothing she could do.

Foster was grunting, blood running out between his bottom teeth as he slouched back against the railing of the bridge. He shook his head, trying to push Galloway's hands away from his body. They didn't have time for this and he knew it. He handed her his rifle.

It was the last thing he did before his vision faded and his head thumped back against the post. That fast, he was gone.

"Kate," Quinn was calling. "I need your help!" He had to shout to be heard over the rumble of the shotgun. He was slowly backing toward the bridge. They were cornered.

They had nowhere to go. The alternative was to take their chances in the water. The mob was pointing guns at the little cluster. Galloway lined up her rifle, picking the person she was going to take to hell with her.