Nevada Red
Chapter 8

Copyright© 2010 by Ronbry

Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 8 - If you thought Nevada was only sand, whorehouses and gambling, you are selling 1,998,257 (2000 Nevada State Census) of the nicest people in the world short. Join us as JD, our apprentice Redneck, learns his trade at the knee of Pinky, the friendly ghost. Watch as he develops his skills in the wonderful world of ranching and how to stay alive doing it. Who knows, there just may be a little romance along with all the action.

Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Extra Sensory Perception   Mystery   Paranormal   Interracial   Safe Sex   Oral Sex   Anal Sex  

We pulled out of the parking lot and onto the paved highway that ran through the town. Thinking of the episode we had just experienced with Cynthia, I let out a deep breath, and said, "Holy Shit. Does that woman go with the job?"

Sal finally lost control. "My God JD, you should have seen yourself. You looked like a chicken trying to stare down a fox that had broken into the hen house. I wish I'd had a camera. I won't get jealous if you want to give her a run in the sack."

"Sal, that's not nice. She was just bragging about her part in designing the rig. She's quite proud of this thing. I don't think she was serious about the rest of that stuff. She was teasing me."

"Yeah, she was serious about getting you in bed. That woman would fuck anything with a dick, including animals.

"She hasn't a clue how bad a waste of money this thing is. It's almost as big a waste as that discount boob job she had. You could almost lift the Empire State Building with those winches, and the color makes the Polly-Anna-mobile look sedate.

"We don't have the manpower to use all those electronic control devices. This fucking thing has fifteen command channels. Counting you and me, we have four people in the sheriff department."

"I'm surprised they had this thing set up so quickly."

"JD, she set up this thing six months ago for Bob, but he wouldn't get caught dead in it. They just cleaned it again this morning."

The highway ran through a desolate and seemingly endless expanse of light gray/brown nothing. The heat was already generating those silvery mirages that make the road ahead look like it was under water. I could imagine how intense the sun was outside the protected cocoon of the oversized H1 Hummer's tinted, armored glass.

We had been doing about as fast as our kidneys could handle for about thirty five minutes when Sal stirred. She pointed to the side and shook her head.

"Up ahead, take a right on the next gravel road," Sal continued. "We need to be careful through here. The Foresters are not a friendly bunch on a good day, and at times they're down right nasty. It doesn't help any that we're showing up in this gaudy monster, but I don't know of anything without all wheel drive that would get through this road."

When we made the right turn, the road quickly became difficult to navigate. After a short, much slower drive, the scenery started to change. The long gravel public road ran through a valley with high bluffs on one side and large rolling hills on the other. Sage grass and other desert flora was lightly scattered across the valley floor.

"That's their drive up there. It looks like a dirt path," directed Sal a while later.

I turned onto the path and slowed down even more. This was no place to be in a hurry. We drove for about a couple thousand yards before Pinkie yelled in my mind, "Look out! Turn left!"

As we topped a ridge, the road suddenly disappeared into a six foot deep trench that looked as if it was a purposely dug tank trap. I slammed on the brakes and turned the SHIT to the left. I held my breath as the rear wheels broke loose, spraying sand over the edge into the ditch.

In my adrenalin rush, time slowed to a frightful slow motion as we powered through a hard ninety degree turn. It seemed as though the Sheriff High Integration Trick was only beginning to change direction when the right rear wheel slid into the open air over the edge of the ditch. Before I could react, control of the rig was taken from me. The vehicle's drive computer free wheeled the wheel with the lost traction and sent all power to the remaining wheels. The heavy combat lug tires truck pulled us to level ground to complete the turn. The SHIT came to a shuddering stop, and I stopped to grab a few gulps of air.

Sal looked at me and sighed, "I guess I owe Cynthia an apology. Maybe some of this junk was needed. Nice save, JD. I would have wrecked us."

"The rig saved our asses, not me. I don't think that trap was put there as a welcome mat."

"You may have a point there. Looks like Herman got the backhoe working. He sure wouldn't dig that by hand."

A rough track ran along the edge of the twenty yard long trench, went around the end and ran ahead to rejoin the original driveway. We proceeded another thousand yards until we came to a compound of buildings that set off mental alarms. My law enforcement training from Texas immediately flooded through me. Was I glad the AC in those rooms was set low enough to keep me awake through the class!

My mind went on full alert as the world around me again went to slow motion. As the dust from the rooster tail the SHIT had thrown up slowly settled, Sal and I scanned the compound for any signs of human presence. I saw a hawk end its dive and grab some small rodent in slow motion. What I did not see was any sigh of human occupancy in the compound. The place only needed a couple of tumbleweeds rolling through the compound for it to look like a stereotypical Hollywood ghost town.

I looked from an empty, broken down corral to a relatively new barn to a fourteen by eighty foot trailer home setting on blocks. On the other side of the square was a large machinery shed. Next to that was a freestanding open pavilion with several picnic tables in neat rows. Adjacent to that was an oddly shaped white block building. Still, I saw no movement at all.

We parked in front of the trailer house and Sal started to get out. "Sal, you follow me. Remember our deal? Take the shotgun."

I put my hand on my pistol and knocked on the door. "Hello inside. This is the Sheriff Department. Mrs. Forester, are you home?"

I waited a moment and knocked again. "Mrs. Forester, this is JD Barton and Sal Jackson. Your boss was worried when you didn't show up for work and asked us to check and see if you were okay."

I heard a faint groan from the inside the trailer. I turned the knob to the front door and pushed it open. "Sal, cover my back. Someone is in there, and it sounds like they're hurt. If the two bothers are in there, it could get nasty."

The door opened into the combination kitchen and breakfast area which filled the full width of the end of the trailer. From what I remembered of the Foresters from our little encounter at Sander's club, I was expecting a science experiment of mold and decay. I was wrong. Everything was neat and clean. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn this was a sales model on a sales lot.

Sal looked at me in shock. "I've never see this place clean, much less spotless. Something is going on here."

We slowly moved to the back of the house, clearing each room as we went. At each door, I opened it. Sal covered from the hall beside the doorway and I checked the interior. The first door opened into a small bedroom with a single bed and a chest of drawers neatly arranged and clean. The carpeted floor was clean and in excellent shape.

The next, a bathroom was spotless and well maintained. The two lavatory sinks and fixtures were state of the art, and the toilet shined. New towel sets were hung on bars attached to the walls. A conventional shower stall was in the corner, and in the center of the room was a whirlpool tub combination. The entire bath floor was covered by an Italian like marble. Someone had put some bucks into this room. There was a second door that likely opened into the master bedroom.

The hallway door to the master bedroom was locked, so we went back into the bathroom and into through the 'en suie' door.

The master bedroom was as clean as the rest of the house except for the king sized bed in the center of the room. The bed was covered with blood soaked sheets. On top of the sheets was a frail naked woman. She appeared to be semiconscious.

She looked as if she had been ridden hard and then put away wet and beaten savagely. Her eyes were swollen shut and her nose lay flattened to one side. One arm was bent at a strange angle. Red welts covered her ribs. Her breathing was labored and irregular.

"Sal get an ambulance out here now. She needs a hospital ASAP."

Sal paused for a moment to fully understand the condition in the room. Then she turned and rushed to the SHIT to call for help.

I turned back to the victim and continued to look for more injuries. I couldn't figure where all the blood came from. From the amount of blood on the sheets she should have been bleeding out, however when I pressed my middle two fingers to he throat, her pulse was solid, but rapid. So much blood, yet no visible wounds. The bed looked like the killing floor in a slaughterhouse.

Trying not to move her any more than absolutely necessary, I inspected her vaginal area, her anus, and any other area I could think of that would hide the kind of wound that would generate that kind of bleeding. There was no apparent damage there apart from bruising and several small abrasions, scratches, and other small surface cuts ... It didn't look like rape or sexual abuse. Her facial and bodily cuts and wounds weren't THAT bad. Where did that much blood come from?

I gently rechecked her arms. I still saw no source for the blood. I checked her mouth. Could she have thrown up the blood? Her abdomen wasn't swollen or hard which indicated no internal bleeding. No, it didn't come from there. I couldn't find a source for the blood. Where did it come from?

Sal entered the room. "I checked the rest of the trailer. It's spotless. I can't believe Rachel actually cleaned this place up. Seeing her in public, I would have thought she lived in a pig sty. Where in the hell did all this blood come from?"

"I don't know. I can't find a wound that would cause that much bleeding. She's covered in t and so is the bed, but there isn't much on the sheets underneath her except what has soaked in from around her. I don't think it came from Rachel. It almost looks like she was painted in blood or it was poured over her. Got any ideas?"

"No. It makes no sense. There's so much that if it's human there's like to be one or more dead bodies around here somewhere. Could it be animal blood? Maybe it's some sick cult thing."

"Would you stay with Rachel while I do a little walk about? I want to see if there's anyone else around. I've got to find the source of all that blood. That is critical. You're right about the amount of blood. There could be someone else badly hurt."

I went into the smaller bedroom, pulled the blanket off the bed, and brought it back to the master bedroom to cover Rachel. The trailer had a back door off the hallway that I had noticed when I gone into the bedroom. The door opened onto a small rickety porch with two steps built of old cinder blocks that lead down to a path to the large barn. I stepped carefully onto the rickety back stairs and looked around again.

"Pinkie, are you around here?"

I didn't hear a word. He's usually hanging around and getting in the way, but not now. I would have thought that strange if everything else wasn't so screwed up. I followed the path to the outbuildings with a feeling of dread.

 
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