This is the last of the three interludes that I've inserted between the main chapters of the War of the Pussy Snatchers serial. I hope you enjoy this short story that expands on the world I've created. I strongly urge you to have read the entirety of the Invasion of the Pussy Snatchers series as well as the "War" series up to this point before you begin. The recommended reading order for "War" is as follows:
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Intro
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Interlude One
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Act One
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Interlude Two
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Act Two
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Interlude Three
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Act Three
War of the Pussy Snatchers: Conclusion
DISCLAIMER: This story may not be for everyone. It contains the following sexual scenarios: Lesbian sex, heterosexual sex, nonconsent/reluctance, oral sex, anal sex, fisting, mature/age-gap sex, and some scenes of violence. If you are offended by any of these subjects I suggest you stop reading now as this story clearly isn't for you.
War of the Pussy Snatchers Interlude Three: One-Winged Angel
540th Day After Contact
Zoey huddled in the corner of the stoneblock cell while explosions sounded from all around the compound. Small pieces of debris fell from the ceiling to dust the floor after as the building's foundation resettled with every shake and tremble of the earth. Zoey's entire world vibrated and churned as each deafening noise left her ears ringing. Okay, that last one was close. Zoey could hear screams from above. Scattered bursts of gunfire. How the hell had her life come to this?
The other women imprisoned with Zoey whimpered or moaned with fear while they sat and rocked back and forth in fetal positions. But not Zoey. She had already lived through two warzones, the first her hometown in Pittsburgh and then again in Detroit where she'd fled to after the Steel City fell. Zoey had watched helplessly as her family members were killed in the crossfire of a battle between the military and Soulless forces. She'd spent the last few months living in a true hell on earth with the most fiendish devils terrorizing and torturing her. It would take a lot more than machine guns and a few rumbling explosions to shake her resolve.
The combined forces of the U.S. and Canadian armies shot indiscriminately into the crowd of women, not bothering to discern Soulless women from human before opening fire. Zoey watched as her mother and both her younger sisters were cut down in this fashion before she was "rescued" by the victorious Canadian force. The shocking images of blood and gore from Zoey's family spraying all over her while the whizzing bullets that tore their fragile bodies apart miraculously avoided Zoey's nearby person would never leave her brain. She revisited those horrid visions in her nightmares every single night.
Zoey's family tried sneaking over the border into Canada with a large group of like-minded women who feared Detroit's brutal occupying force that comprised of remnants of the former U.S. military equally as much as they feared the dead-eyed women who kidnapped girls in the night. Rumors spread that Soulless were hidden amongst their caravan and a joint military brigade arrived soon thereafter to prevent their crossing over the border. Despite their barbarism, Zoey granted that the ambushers were proven correct in their assessment that Soulless had indeed infiltrated the caravan. When the migrants were stopped at a border checkpoint and started being harassed, women throughout their caravan produced secreted weapons and within seconds gunfire was exchanged between the two groups before any innocent bystanders could hide or flee.
Once the dust from the skirmish cleared, unsympathetic soldiers tore a devastated and screaming Zoey away from the bullet-ridden corpses of her family and stuffed her into a cattle car with several other women. She spent time at several different camps throughout the next month while the embattled Canadian government decided what to do with the American refugees. Finally they were transported to an internment camp in far northern Canada. This was not exactly how Zoey expected her first visit to a foreign country would ensue.
The conditions at the camp weren't great to begin with and they only degraded further as the war dragged on. Food and fuel grew scarce as supply lines became disrupted by the war and priority for all supplies was given to the soldiers and guards stationed at the camp before the prisoners. The women interred there were allowed no contact with the outside world and the food and clothing they were provided would have been barely adequate during pristine weather conditions let alone during the dead of winter.
Zoey shared a small room that was enclosed in depressingly gray cement walls, ceilings, and floors with eleven other prisoners who were only given skimpy, ragged uniforms for clothing and flea-ridden blankets to lay over their cot for bedding. The dozen women shared one communal toilet and sink between them but with the constantly freezing pipes they often had to resort to using a sickly stained pail left in the corner of their cell. With no privacy separating them Zoey became intimately familiar with the sights and smells of women making their toilet over the next few months.
The remote prison camp located deep in the Northwest Territories turned absolutely frigid during the long and bitter winter. Zoey and her fellow captives were eventually forced to share their cots so each party could benefit from combining their body heat. The thin, verminous blankets they were provided for warmth were an absolute joke at fulfilling their intended purpose. Zoey shivered and itched all the time, her breath always escaping as a mist with the cold ever-present in the prison her life had become.
Zoey experienced her first lesbian sexual encounter a couple months ago during the coldest and most desperate weeks of her stay here. Cellmates often came to a certain arrangement when they agreed to share beds and the large, black, somewhat mannish-looking woman named Leslie insisted her demands be met before she agreed to share her blankets and her warmth with Zoey.
The experience actually wasn't as bad as Zoey feared. She had been happily straight during her old life but the realities of captivity hardened Zoey into accepting that while certain acts might be indecent or unsavory they were sometimes necessary for the sake of survival. Zoey couldn't just give up, it wasn't in her to quit. She would come through this somehow.
A few days before that fateful night when Zoey first slept with Leslie two women imprisoned in another wing weren't so lucky to have cellmates. In the midst of a powerful blizzard that knocked out power to the entire complex, those poor women froze to death in their rooms after no guard checked on them for several hours. No, Leslie's pillowy breasts, her soft and most importantly warm body, and the squishy wetness inside her pussy felt just fine to Zoey when she considered death by freezing or starvation as the alternative.
Zoey had been a somewhat important person in her old life. She had been a stockbroker and a financial analyst with an annual salary on the high end of six figures. With her shaggy, neck-length dark hair, a pale, beautiful face with naturally red lips, and a short, slim, almost elfin figure, Zoey made herself very attractive to the opposite sex by wearing clothing, jewelry, and makeup that highlighted her understated beauty and what curves she did possess.
Zoey dated extensively but enjoyed playing the field and engaging in casual sex so much that she remained an unmarried and unashamed bachelorette through her early thirties. There would be plenty of time left for her to settle down. Zoey simply hadn't found the right one yet and frankly had no idea where to begin looking. She firmly believed she would know instantly when she met the one. Zoey would just have to keep searching until she found him.
Zoey had led a pampered existence up to now. She never knew discomfort, never lacked for money or any luxury. None of that mattered now. That was a different life; the old Zoey was dead and best left forgotten. Nothing she did back then held any more relevance. In the last few months as she was relocated from prison to prison Zoey shared cells with celebrities and women even wealthier than she just as often as with prostitutes and drug addicts on the lower end of the social ladder. Titles and status no longer counted for anything in this dangerous new world.
"Ughhh, fuck me good, bitch," Leslie intoned as she rocked her cunthole against Zoey's pointed fingers. "Just like that, I love it."
Two of Zoey's fingers were deep inside another woman's vagina and moving in and out of the wet squelching opening at a rapidly increasing pace. Leslie's fat thighs were spread wide apart and lifted in the air to unblock Zoey's access to Leslie's private parts.
Zoey wasn't exactly opposed to sex with others females but the whole notion was something the old Zoey honestly never considered as a legitimate possibility. The new Zoey was surprised at how much she didn't mind it. It was almost pleasant in its way. She never felt like she was being taken advantage of. Zoey needed something, Leslie needed something. They came to a mutual agreement. Everyone was leaving here feeling satisfied.