Debauchery Falls Ch 11

*** Disclaimer ***

FAIR WARNING: This particular chapter involves incest and rough humiliating sex. While I try to moderate it in manageable doses, some might find it a little much.

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 11

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"You brave beautiful bitch," Graver laughed to himself as Lucy coasted the Jeep into the neighborhood. There were no barracks close by, no hospitals, no large parking lots, and no good pickup points. For miles outside of Jasper Falls stretched uneven treacherous wooded terrain.

...Except for a newly constructed development of half-million dollar homes. The people here had some money and the houses were beautiful. Angela Morgan had turned a cul-de-sac in 'suburban-hell' into her personal landing pad. The helicopter sat silently in the middle of the circular street. Most of the lights from surrounding homes were on-- several people were peering out of windows or standing on porches wrapping their arms around themselves and looking uneasy after the rude awakening from the chopper rotors.

Captain Angela Morgan was a leggy blonde woman with a cold humorless face, pretty features, and the intense blazing eyes of a sharpshooter. She had been the pilot on the ill-fated trip that had broken Quinn's back and left his spine fused, ending his career as a trooper. An ex-Army aviator, turned prostitute after her discharge, until Halley had befriended her and found a better use for her talents. Now she served as Halley's unofficial 'standby' pilot. Halley's firm made good money, but not enough to buy a helicopter. It was a back-room deal with the State Police to occasionally borrow their 'copter. Morgan flew for the 'Staties'-- mostly for med-evac, traffic surveys, and the occasional police chase. Under certain conditions, Halley could borrow her. It was a special arrangement.

Morgan was sexy, dangerous, and wildly damaged. That was why she'd been the first person that Graver had contacted when he and Lucy had left the dead zone and their phones were able to call out. The State Police were coming, but they were going to be slow.

Right now, Morgan was leaning against the med-evac chopper and picking her nails. Those sharp eyes of hers were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses that illustrated her indifference toward the shaken neighbors and their sleep that she'd disturbed.

As he and Lucy approached, she snapped smartly to attention and gave Graver a sharp salute.

He returned it. "Captain Morgan."

"Captain Jack," she replied, making both of them smirk.

Technically Morgan's rank of Captain was just as honorary as Graver's now that she was a member of the civilian world. But it was the rank she had held in the Army. And they both enjoyed the subtle exchange of their names whenever they could.

Graver liked Morgan. She had always been a bit of a rogue, preferring isolation over hanging out with the group. But there was a respectable professionalism to that. Her exterior was hard, and her demeanor intense-- making Galloway and Halley seem like kittens by comparison-- but she was well intentioned. He knew he'd be in good hands when he called her.

"Ready to go?" Graver asked.

"Always ready," she responded.

Graver took a moment to admire the helicopter. It was a rotund black medical evacuation bird with bright blue and green stripes. "Nice wings."

"It's the minivan of helicopters," she scoffed and pulled open the pilot's door. "I brought you a gift."

He slid the rear cabin door open and spotted the munitions boxes. A stack of ammo and several firearms. On the floor was a well-oiled rifle. Somewhere, hidden behind the plastic, scopes, and gadgets was the body of an M14. His personal favorite.

"How did you know?" he feigned delight, but his voice was grim. There was nothing light about the situation in which he'd have to use it.

"Consider it an early wedding present," She commented, climbing in and toggling switches.

As the helicopter powered up, Graver turned to Lucy. "I guess you already figured that you're sitting this out."

She smiled up at him, her features glowing but her eyes seemed very different from the helpless innocent girl she'd been at the start of this adventure. "No chance you need me to back you up again?"

He shook his head. "It's not your fight anymore. Your night's over. Everyone will be coming, just as soon as the Staties can rally up. Go on home. I'll see you back at the HQ building. Thank you for everything."

She continued to regard him. "No. Thank *you*, Captain." And she planted her feet and offered him a salute, mirroring Morgan's exchange with him. There was no hiding the adoration in her eyes. He returned the salute, and as soon as he did, she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. He hugged her right back, savoring each other for several moments as the helicopter rotors whined to life. The engine cranked them into motion. Then they caught and started to spin, whipping wind and dirt outwards in a circular cloud. The residents who had been watching the exchange retreated into their homes to avoid the gale. Graver and Lucy's hair seemed to come alive in the wind-- whipping about them as they released their embrace.

Lucy retreated to the Jeep.

Graver strapped in, leaving the cabin doors open and letting the warm wind ruffle his hair and clothing. He pulled his headphones down and checked his rifle.

"All set?" Morgan's voice took on a note of artificial electricity in his headset.

"Ready to rock and roll."

His stomach lurched. The ground dropped away beneath them as the helicopter rose into the night. The large 'McMansions' shrank to resemble little dollhouses. Lucy, with her upturned face, grew smaller and smaller. Graver looked out at the darkness below. He could see lights of distant towns and cars for miles.

The rain was still slashing, but the thunderstorms had passed. Graver chambered a round into his rifle. Now he and Morgan were the storm. The helicopter banked, then steadied. Then they were heading northwest... back to Jasper Falls.

***

"I know you're listening to this," Halley spoke into the radio for the first time since the RV exploded and the cultists had made off with some of her team. She knew the radios had to be compromised. Unless he was a complete idiot, Abernathy would be listening.

"I want my men, and I want the two civilians you took from the tavern. You understand me?" She seemed to be speaking to dead air.

Her team was carefully positioned throughout the house, ready to destroy the radio at a moment's notice. They didn't know if Abernathy's powers could transmit through the speaker of the walkie, but they were taking no chances.

They had scrambled about the schoolhouse for the better part of an hour repairing barricades and sliding heavy furniture in front of the doors. They'd blocked off the windows with boards and scrap, mindful to leave pill-box slots to fire out of.

Unable to really walk, Brubaker had done an ammo inventory. Five of them. One rifle for each person, plus pistols. Quinn had the foresight to grab up additional gear from the men in the bar fight. It wasn't great, but they could mount a decent stand if they had to.

Galloway had given Andrea a crash course in weapons, shooting, and fighting. Andrea was more than eager to learn how to use her new rifle. Her blood lust was up. She wanted her family back, and she wanted to put that asshole in his place for taking them.

Quinn had gone around, collecting any type of bags he could find-- pillow cases, sleeping bags, shopping bags, luggage, etc. He'd gone outside and used the loose dirt that the lawn tractors had excavated, and filled them all with dirt. Along with bags of cement, plaster mixes, and potting soil from Emily's renovation, he stacked them high and deep in the hallway choke point halfway between the living room and the kitchen. Nothing stopped bullets the way that dirt did, and he had built them a sandbag bunker to retreat to, in case the house was breached.

That was as good as things would get, given their limited resources and time. They made for a motley bunch-- half naked Galloway, a sneering goth teen, one soldier with a broken leg, one with a former back injury, and an emotionally rung out investigator. But all things considered, it could be worse.

All that was left was one final chance at diplomacy. That was when Halley had called Abernathy on the radio and demanded her men and the Tanners back.

The dead air seemed to extend forever. Quinn began to make a cutting gesture with his neck. "He won't answer. Cut the radio before something happens."

That's when Abernathy's voice responded. Hollow, and sinister. They could sense the burning hatred in his words. "Your men are dead." He said very matter of fact. "I ran out of use for them. You can find them hanging from the lamp posts."

Halley's hand tightened around the radio receiver. Galloway frowned and spat.

"As for the girl's family..." Abernathy continued. "They're here in the church. They belong to me now... but if--"

"Then we'll see you real soon," Halley interrupted him and switched off abruptly. Not taking the chance that he say anything to damn them.

"Contact!" Quinn called from the front window.

"Battle stations!" Galloway barked.

"Come and get us," Halley whispered, her expression hard and her words determined.

***

Andrea's heart was pounding as she took up her shooter's position by the window.

"Hey," Galloway tapped Andrea. "We've got this." Galloway gave her a reassuring wink and held out her fist. Andrea reached out her hand and bumped it with hers. Even though Galloway looked absolutely ridiculous half naked, in combat harnesses-- like some sort of bombshell model for a magazine like 'Guns and Ammo'-- Andrea couldn't help but feel reassured by the woman. She'd been through a lot tonight-- losing her friends and teammates, being shot at, and being used as the fuck toy to a bunch of lunatics and escaped prisoners. Yet none of it seemed to rattle her. She'd rallied and jumped right back into the fight each time.

Andrea fed off of that confidence, even now with possible death approaching.

Galloway took up a spot at the windows across the room, by Halley. Quinn was at the one beside Andrea. The other guy, Brubaker was posted-up in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the back entrance.

They watched from the windows as the shadows moved and darted among the tree line, picking the right moment to cross the open ground in front of the house.

"You know," Quinn said, "Not everyone in those hoods is an escaped loon. Some of them were the town's people."

That thought had never been lost on any of them. But it was Halley who spoke up, cradling Jessup's rifle with a frown on her face. "If you want to lay down your gun and end up dead... or worse-- spend the rest of your life as their fuck-puppet, be my guest. Our goal is to survive. Theirs is to kill us. So do what you have to do. All of you. We'll live with the guilt later," she said.

In the grand scheme of life, Halley Hargrove had never considered herself a good person, or a bad person. She'd always been indifferent, but had tried to be on the right side of things-- morality, the law, and human decency. But Jessup dying in her arms had taken its toll and darkened her mood quite a bit. Whoever the people in the hoods were (or had been), they hadn't spared that young officer. She wasn't about to go soft on them now, when they were shooting at her.

"Contact, contact!" Galloway shouted. Andrea saw them. Men emerged from the trees, walking against the rain, carrying guns. Both types-- the hooded and the scruffy barbarians alike. Galloway's rifle barked. The shots were loud in the living room stronghold. The threats dropped. But more were coming behind them now.

A deafening shotgun blast from Quinn added thunder to the night.

Through the window, Andrea spotted a shadow turn and dart back into the tree cover. Then she saw a muzzle flash in the grass to her left. The gunshots returned in force, peppering the front of Emily's home. Andrea ducked for a moment, then straightened and pointed her rifle at the blinding flashes. She fired once. The rifle kicked in her hands. Not hard. Enough to give her a sense of the weapon, then she was no longer afraid of it.

The flash stopped. A second later, she spotted a man darting away. She'd missed.

Quinn fired several more times. The shotgun was devastating on their ears.

Movement from her peripherals. Andrea counted four or five now-- in jeans and boots and t-shirts, running among the trees-- closing in.

They shot at the house. The boards above Andrea's head splintered. She fired once, blindly into the night, then ducked. Quinn and Galloway took over as she hunkered down. Shotgun cracking louder than thunder.

"Cover me, I'm reloading," Quinn said. Andrea nodded and scanned around with her rifle.

Quinn was up on his knees as he fed fresh shells into the gun, while trying to spot targets for Andrea. "Holy shit, Molotov!" he shouted.

Andrea pivoted and spotted him to the left-- a man at the top of the driveway. She recognized one of the scruffy 'sheriff's deputies'-- a convict pretending to be a cop. Several others were gathered around, helping him to light the flaming bottle of liquor. Men with bulging necks and arms. The wick caught and the 'deputy' raised the bottle high above his head, reeling back to throw it.

Quinn fumbled another shell home. Andrea was already centering her sights on the man and fired. Her rifle jumped. Police imposter staggered, a bullet wound appearing in his gut. The bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground. The flames engulfed him like God, Himself, had just intervened. They licked upwards, consuming him as he screamed.

Andrea caught sight of his face. Twisted in rage and agony. Then it was gone. The fire spread. Men fled from the destruction, several of them catching fire and screaming as they rolled on the ground.

"Damn girl! Nice shot!" Halley remarked, having witnessed it.

Andrea didn't share in the jubilation. Her mind a mix of rage, horror, guilt, and satisfaction, and she no idea which of those was appropriate. She'd have to sort that out later.

"Got another one!" Galloway shouted from her end of the room. She and Halley opened fire at the same time. Their rifles cracking in unison. They heard a scream and Andrea could see the flames flickering outside.

"That ought to make them think twice about burning us out," Galloway sneered.

Return fire peppered the front of the house, forcing them all lower. All of them were crouched low on their knees beneath their windowsill positions.

Halley shouted down the main hall. "Brubaker! How are you?"

"I'm good," he reported casually-- almost bored. He had knocked over the kitchen table and used it to barricade his end of the hall. He was crouched behind it staring at the back door. "Feel free to let one or two sneak past you. I wouldn't mind a piece of the action."

"Be careful what you wish for, gimpy," she slid back to her window. The flames were dying down now and the men outside growing more brazen.

Halley counted three that dove behind the lumber pile before she could draw a bead on them. She tried to monitor the pile, but there were other targets creeping up on the house. They were slowly gaining ground. "Galloway, I got three behind--"

"I know," Galloway said. "Keep them down, I'll scan for--" she interrupted herself as she fired again.

Across the room, Andrea and Quinn were doing a little better. The woods were dark, but there wasn't much for the men to hide behind. Just vegetation and that didn't stop bullets.

Her heart was pounding, but her eyes were focused and her hands were oddly steady. She kept catching movement in the trees, but couldn't get a shot that she was confident in. "I can't see anything," she shouted.

Quinn didn't reply. He was tracking them too.

Suddenly someone came charging up the driveway at them. Oh shit, oh shit. Her mind said like a slow-moving pulse.

Quinn fired. The man fell and didn't get back up.

Two more came up fast. She watched them duck behind the tractor nearby. She couldn't get a shot off.

BOOM! From somewhere outside a shotgun rumbled. The wooden boards above Quinn's head exploded splinters, buckling inward.

He cursed and rolled away. Several more of the convicts dashed up the driveway-- resembling savage animals instead of men. Andrea counted maybe four. She fired. One of them fell. The other three shot back, then ducked out of sight. They were closing in.

Deep in her brain, a little needle of fear began to build-- a feeling of becoming overwhelmed. A feeling of inevitability. These men would never stop coming. Whatever Abernathy had done to them, they were blindly devout-- beyond any capacity for rational thought, or fear, or pity. That scared her deeply.

Quinn kept struggling to resume his window position, but the men outside had focused on his spot. Gunfire kept erupted. The plywood barricades were disintegrating, and Quinn was pinned down.

Across the room, Halley and Galloway were firing faster and more closely together. Both women wore expressions of concentration.

Andrea's reflexes weren't as fast. One of the men outside had grown brave. He ran up to the house and disappeared out of sight, having reached the front door before she could draw a bead on him.

They could hear him pounding-- relentlessly throwing himself against the door like a rampaging bull. His single-mindedness was at a lunatic level. The barricade shook against the furniture piled in front. "Anyone have a shot on him!?!" Andrea shouted.

The girls switched positions, but nobody could see him.

Andrea turned her face away from the window for just a second and felt a hard tug at her rifle. Another lunatic had reached the house. He had managed to reach through the window and grab the barrel of her rifle. He was fighting to yank it out of her arms.

She held on, fought with him for a second.

He wretched hard but the rifle stuck on several of the boards. The barrel leveled right at his face. Andrea pulled the trigger and the gruesome mess that had once been a man fell away. She had seen his face for just a second-- patchy beard and long hair that reminded her of an evil hippie. The Charles Manson cult came to mind.

The firing team had fought to keep them back, but more and more were getting through the onslaught, finding blind spots between windows to charge up to the house. More and more men were bashing at the front door now. And those that weren't were shooting into the windows, peppering the walls around them, and raining plaster throughout the room.

"Kate! We got problems!" Quinn shouted. Hands appeared in his window, ripping eagerly at the boards, trying to tear down the barricades. It reminded Andrea of a zombie movie. There was no thought to these men any longer. Just one single suicidal goal. Quinn fired. Buckshot peppered one of the hands, blasting it clean off.

"So do we!" Galloway shouted back. The front door was being beaten in. The furniture that was stacked in front was rocking violently.

Halley was forced to duck as her window exploded in a shower of splinters and glass. A shotgun slug from outside punched a huge hole clean through it.