Chapter 8: Non Futuis Nobiscum

At around 100 paces, I slowed down, and dropped the packs. Creeping along, I finally saw the woman, huddled as if she was in a pile, hearing her weep before I saw her. Emily, to her credit, was a bit distant, standing with her back against a tree, head on a swivel. Her handgun was in a low ready, and, from the look on her face, I certainly did not want to be the soul who fucked with her.

I stopped, and whistled. Emily, even more alert, turned to me. I waved a red kerchief from behind my own tree.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” This woman knew who she was, and what she was about. And, from the tone of her voice, she was not about to be trifled with.

“It’s me, Mark. I’m back from my look see.”

“Show yourself, hands empty, and away from your body!”

No fool, I did so.

“Oh, Mark! Thank God you’re back! I’ve been startled by every little noise! What did you find?”

I turned to our guest. “Is she alright?”

Emily considered. “Well, she is bruised, she is terrified, and I don’t know if she has been assaulted, or if that was the next on the dickheads’ plan, but other than that, she doesn’t seem too bad. She keeps crying about Martin. Any clues?”

I knelt down next to the woman. “Ma’am? We’re friends. I’m Mark, this is Emily, and we’re trying to get home. Your captors picked our campsite to drop you.”

She regarded me through red tearful eyes. “I’m Lucy Mortensen. Martin is my husband. This is our woodlot. Those men broke into our home, and dragged me and Martin out into the yard. There, they ... they shot Martin, and left him to die! Then, they dragged me back into the trees. They stripped me along the way. I just knew that they were going to ... to ... use me, and then ki ... ki ... kill me. You two saved my life.”

I looked at Emily, and she looked back at me. Her gaze was steely, quite the difference from a few days prior. Confident, determined. She turned to our guest. “Lucy? Here, let me help you get dressed. Mark saved some of your clothing, and I brought my scrubs along.”

Lucy stood, and I allowed myself to appreciate her. She appeared to be in her mid twenties, around Emily’s age, and blond. Her wrists, and ankles, had red marks from her bonds, and her breasts, firm with large areolae, were starting to show bruises, likely from slaps and blows her captors had inflicted. She had a trim waist, and a neatly trimmed pubis. Round, firm appearing hips tapered to toned legs.

Emily tut-tutted over the damage done to her clothing, eventually discarding the panties and bra as beyond use, handing Lucy the rest. She slipped her jeans on, and shucked the sweatshirt to slip Emily’s scrub shirt on. It appeared that Emily had a larger bosom than Lucy, as the scrub shirt draped loosely over her bust. She tucked the scrub shirt into the waistband of her jeans, tied her shoes, and stood.

“I cannot go back there, all the nice memories of my life with Martin, well, I’ll never forget that look on Martin’s face, when they shot him, and he realized that he couldn’t protect me. I don’t think I’ll ever go back!”

I asked, “Do you have any idea who those guys were? Did you get any clue how they’re getting around?”

“Yeah, that one guy, the first guy you shot, he had done some work around the house for us. I felt he was creepy, and so Martin never hired him again. Looks like I was right! They just kicked in the front door, and swept in, before we could do anything! It was like the door was some thin sort of wood, and the frame had been tacked together! The frame, it splintered, and the door cracked, and then they were pointing guns at us, and they marched us out the back door into the yard. That’s where they shot Martin, and then they started stripping my clothing from me, dragging me into the woods. They stopped to tie me up, and then they dragged me to that clearing.”

Emily contributed, “So, you didn’t really see much of anything, did you? They could have had friends waiting outside, or cars or something, and you wouldn’t know, right?”

Lucy nodded. “Actually, it all happened so fast, I hardly had a thought in my head, until after you two killed all three of them.”

I didn’t see any particular further threat, but did not think that the attention that all the noise would bring, could possibly work to our advantage. “Emily? I think we ought to return to our hide site, see if our late guests left anything we can use, and then find someplace else to be. Lucy? You have anyplace reasonably safe to go to, from here? I don’t think a solo woman is going to fare all that well, in these times.”

Lucy spoke up first. “Martin’s family is all from Indiana. My sisters, and their families, are all in Tennessee. I have nowhere to go.”

Emily spoke up. “Mark? Can she come with us? You have done a great job of protecting me, so far, I can’t see you failing Lucy, here.”

“I’ll think about it. Now, let’s see about up arming you. If you had carried a rifle, you could likely have put your guy down with one or two shots, and likely connected with more of them as well.”

We slinked back to our recent hide site, approaching the last 30 or 40 meters at a dead crawl. We heard nothing, and saw no suspicious activity, but were, unsurprisingly, thoroughly spooked by the afternoon’s activity.

Our visitors had not moved, and there was no sign that they had been disturbed. I bade Emily to search through their stash, seeking a serviceable rifle and ammunition. I provided over-watch, until she returned with a lever action, ammunition, and another pistol.

“Here! They had a .30-30, and what looks like two dozen bullets. I found a pistol that looks like yours, and a couple of clips, besides.”

I took the rifle, emptied the magazine, and assured myself that the chamber was empty. It cycled smoothly as I levered each cartridge through the chamber, indicating that the previous owner had maintained it regularly. I retrieved my rifle cleaning kit, and threaded the cord through the bore, drawing it through with no hesitation. Identifying no bore obstruction, I reloaded it, and handed it and the extra shells to Emily.

The pistol appeared to be the next size up from my own Glock 19. A full sized service sidearm, this was commonly issued to deputies in Michigan’s rural counties, and, best of all, could donate magazines to my own pistol. Similarly, I dropped the magazine, cycled the chambered round clear, and locked the slide back. Pointing the muzzle skyward, I peered into the chamber, reassured by the bright light illuminating the inside. I seated a magazine, chambered a round, and handed it back to Emily.