Chapter 44

Lauren knew that her right arm wouldn't move even though she issued all the right commands. She had more luck with the other. The carpet was there, warm, silent, pushing against her knotted stomach. Her heart beat furiously and further inventory revealed a headache of mammoth proportions. She turned her head slowly, her neck screaming abuse as her nose rubbed into the carpet. Skin.

Smoke. She coughed painfully, the sound inside registering but traveling nowhere. Her heart leapt, adrenaline pumping furiously with nowhere to go. She touched the skin, warm and smooth and a distant rumble came from the darkness. She moistened her dust- encrusted lips, her tongue dry and swollen, a bland, thick taste in her mouth that reminded her of summer fields. She felt dizzy, swirling, crushed, the pain in her head throbbing mercilessly. Her temples ached and as she brought her hand close to her face to determine what may have happened she lost consciousness for the third time in the past ten minutes.

Jamie cowered behind his bed, parting the curtains less than an inch as he watched the two soldiers dragging the bodies across the driveway and hauling them into the back of the truck. Both soldiers laboured slowly, wincing in pain, stopping occasionally to re-tie tourniquets around each other's limbs. Their blood-spattered uniforms were tattered, hanging off their shoulders. Once the three bodies were loaded, he stared transfixed. Ceremoniously, almost reverently, they removed their comrades' shoes, measuring them against their own before exchanging them, grabbing ammunition and rifling through pockets. Pieces of the radio were thrown onto the truck, resting beside the bodies as though someone might need to contact them.

He knew what had happened because of the eerily silent crescendo of the two jets as they shot over the house moments before the explosion. The windows had rattled as the noise built up, the air vibrating with it's announcement of impending doom. But he could not remember the tell-tale high-pitched whine that often occurred in films as bombs are dropped from aircraft. He did remember however, the warmth that had burst into his room as the deafening roar of the explosion threw him to the ground.

The truck pulled away slowly, lumbering down the drive. The feet of the dead soldiers kicked comically up and down as the truck negotiated the new holes in the roadway. He let the curtain slip back to its usual position, silently hoping they all died a slow, painful death in the near future. His head hurt, especially around the cheek where he had been beaten with the rifle. The dried blood on the palm of his hand confirmed that he had been cut, although the flow seemed to have abated in the past hour. The dull pain in his legs and back reminded him of the kicks he had taken as he laid on the floor, naked, curled up like a baby, squirming to avoid their heavy boots.

Gripping the window sill he pulled himself up to a standing position, legs trembling with the pain of the beating and lack of food, and slumped onto the bed. More blood covered his sheets, although he had no explanation of how it had got there. He surveyed the room, noting that his clothes were where he had taken them off and hung them over his chair at riflepoint. His room was largely intact but something told him that the remainder of the house was a mess. He jerked as he thought of Emma and Lauren. He twisted on the bed in an attempt to see if they were on the truck, but it had long gone.

Several minutes later, he turned and struggled to sit upright, his belly aching from blows and his head still reeling from the beating it had taken. Disorientated, he stood and fell to the floor, crawling with deliberation across to his clothes and struggling to pull his pants up to his waist. A pair of sneakers lay by the door and, pleased with his foresight, he pulled them on, prepared to find the world collapsed outside his bedroom.

The door creaked unusually as he crawled like a dog out onto the marble corridor. Nobody was in sight. He clawed against the wall and pulled himself to a standing position, resigned to the fact that if he encountered any more soldiers there was nothing he could do. Dust and debris littered the floor. Walls bulged and cracked with plaster peeling, pictures hung at any angle except the horizontal. He wondered if the haze was smoke or dust as he cautiously rounded the corner into the lounge.

Smoke. Rising from the shrubbery around the pool and the garden furniture. The patio windows were gone, their frames twisted, one wrapped around the overturned piano. Glass crunched underfoot as he made his way into the room. The television stared blankly at the plasterboard that hung from the ceiling while a small chandelier hung dangerously from the joists and exposed electrical wiring. Remnants of ornaments littered the floor and he saw his own face staring happily out from underneath the brick and plaster that concealed the carpet. He kicked the photo, exposing Emma as well, her arm round her brother.

Both halves of the sofa were overturned, thrown against the wall, material hanging off them just like the soldiers' uniforms. He thought he would have found the two girls in the lounge. He knew the screams had come from the room. The muffled sound of Lauren crying quietly as the soldiers cheered haunted him, the lack of knowledge of her ordeal compounding his own imagination and torture at the hands of the soldiers. He turned and made his way to the kitchen, suprised to see that the utility room now existed without a wall while the kitchen itself was almost unscathed. Shaking badly, he opened the fridge and pulled out a yoghurt.

As he sat and ate he realised that the light wasn't working and determined that it had to be fixed. As the food digested, reality returned. Grabbing a carton of milk, he gulped quickly, his belly complaining at the sudden demand. The light was the least of his problems.

"Emma!" he shouted. He shook his head, wondering why he hadn't thought of shouting before, why food been more important than finding his sister. "Emma! Lauren! Hey!" Silence made him wonder if they had been put into the truck before he started to watch, taken to some other place to be further abused. With the milk in hand, he wandered into the dining room, shocked to see the window frames hanging from the walls and the glass cabinet shattered into firewood. Back in the lounge he crossed to the patio doors and peered out, dismay turning to anxiety as he felt his sphincter tighten. He sniffed, trying to hold back his tears. The pool had been filled in as though a comic book illustrator had taken his pen to it. Mounds of concrete were capped by debris from the garden. The water had disappeared somewhere, probably seeping through the wrecked patio. Plants lay tangled and smoldering. He saw the remnants of the sleeve of a uniform where the steps used to be, blood smeared on it. He looked away, frightened that he might encounter the arm that used to inhabit it.

A groan behind him brought him back to reality. He turned, fearful that it might be a soldier. Again, the noise, but no sign of its source. He walked slowly back towards the hallway, guessing that it came from outside the front door or near Lauren's bedroom. Just before the threshold he saw a finger, poking from underneath the sofa. It bled, cut from the glass that was strewn over the floor. Convinced that the owner of the finger and groan were one and the same he bent down, pain wracking his shoulders and head.

"Hey, it's me, Jamie!"

"Help! Get me out! Please!" said Emma, terror in her voice. The finger moved slightly as a wave of relief swept over him. Jamie kicked the shards of glass away from the hand and brushed the dust and filth off the sofa with a cushion before trying to lift. Luckily, it came up easily, pivoting on the edge so that he could hold it while his sister poked her head out into the daylight.

"Ow! Shit!" she screamed, cutting herself. She looked around, searching for a way out. Jamie watched his sister lying on her stomach, naked except for the dirty knickers that stretched around the tops of her thighs. "Oh God Jamie, what happened?" she cried, peering out from under the sofa.

"Wait! There's glass everywhere." he said, bending down to look into the confined space. He considered lifting her but knew that if he dropped her she would be cut to pieces. "I'm going to lower the sofa again and go and get you some shoes. Mind out!" he said, letting the sofa swing back down again. He entered her bedroom and found a pair of slippers but continued hunting until he found a stout pair of outdoor shoes. Raising the sofa again, he watched her swing round until she faced him. The darkness precluded much sight of her, and he was surprised to feel disappointed at not being able to see her naked body. She put the shoes on and gingerly crawled out of the confines of the sofa, eventually standing naked beside him, sobbing, her little breasts bloodied but still young and perfect. He felt her eyes as she looked down at his underpants. Suddenly, Emma turned to her brother and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight as though he would be sucked away by the wind at any moment. He felt her breathing stutter and was sure she was on the verge of tears. His own lips trembled with his love for his sister, a lump hard and unwelcome in his throat.

Releasing him from her grip, she turned back to the sofa. "I think Lori's under there as well. We'll have to roll it over her and then pick her up" said Emma, crying. Within a couple of minutes they had maneuvered the sofa so that it was back towards the middle of the room rather than hard against the wall. Lauren lay quite still on the clean carpet, ringed by debris and dust. Face down, her breathing was discernible. Jamie looked at her filthy body. Dust and small pieces of plaster covered her, sticking especially around her buttocks and the top of the backs of her legs. Blood had clearly oozed from a wound either in her forehead or above the hairline, matting her brown hair and trickling down her cheek. She looked ghastly.

"Pick her up. Come on, you get her feet!" shouted Jamie, lurching to her head. He grabbed her hands and lifted her, suprised that she wasn't as heavy as he had feared. Slowly, they carried her out of the lounge. Jamie glanced up occasionally, again concerned that in a moment of potential danger and terror he should be more concerned with looking at his sister's pussy as she struggled bow- legged along the hallway than with ensuring he didn't drop the girl. "Take her into her room and we'll leave her on the bed!" he commanded, the blood banging against his head almost blinding him with pain. He crashed through her door and just managed to lift her onto the bed before dropping to the floor.

"OK?" asked Emma.

"I feel like shit! What about you?"

"Dirty, but I think I'm OK. Jesus, Jamie, I'm scared. What if they come back?"

"Let's just get cleaned up and then we can worry about that."

"Shouldn't we do something with Lori first?" asked Emma.

"I've no idea what to do, but without getting dressed we can't do much at all. We should both have showers, get the muck off ourselves and then clean Lori up, I think." said Jamie, not waiting for a reply. They returned to Lauren's room less than ten minutes later, both with wet hair and in dressing gowns and sneakers.

"There's no electricity, you know" said Jamie.

"Yeah, my hairdryer wouldn't work" she replied, carrying the same bowl that she had used before. New cloths were laid on her bed next to her. Jamie helped to roll her over onto her back and then slipped across the bed to the opposite side. Emma dipped the cloth into the warm water and laid it against her forehead. She stirred slightly, moaning as Emma rinsed the cloth and repeated her cleansing.

Jamie looked over her body. Although her face looked dreadful, it would be fine after she had been cleaned up. But what really struck Jamie was that although she would never be a beautiful girl, she had the most wonderful body. Her breasts (presently covered in dust and blood) had the most perfect shape and delicate nipples. Her flat stomach gave way to the dark brown pubic hair that tried in vain to hide the shape of her labia. And he knew just what her long brown legs looked like from the days by the pool. He felt himself moving inside his underpants and made no attempt to take his eyes of her pussy except to watch his sister's hands move slowly from Lauren's face down across her shoulders and over her breasts.

Jamie looked up and his eyes met his sisters. "She's perfect" stated Jamie. Emma nodded and continued wiping her breasts, rinsing the cloth frequently as the grime and dust disappeared from Lauren's nipples. She paused at her navel, looked up and offered Jamie the cloth silently. With only the slightest hesitation, he took the it and moved between Lauren's legs, rinsing and cleaning lower and lower until he tenderly touched her labia with the cloth. He looked up at Lauren, wondering if it would bring her round. With no activity at all, he parted her legs slightly wider and wiped down below her vagina and out along her thighs, cutting through the dust before rinsing again. She had more pubic hair than his sister - a lot more. But nowhere near as much as the girls in the magazines he had under his bed. He liked the way he could see her lips and their wonderful smooth shape. His erection steadied, proud against his dressing gown and quite obvious to Emma. But the look of adoration and wonderment in her eyes as she looked at him gave all the licence he needed.

As he wiped more carefully his fingers strayed from the cloth and felt their way along the soft lips of her pussy. He wondered if all girls' pussy's were so red until he recalled once again the dreadful cries that had awakened him, made him race to his door. He remembered standing with the door opened less than an inch, his heart beating furiously as he listened to her cries. While he knew he should help he had decided that there was little he could do against five soldiers and simply stood there as the rhythmic strokes of the men pummeled her body. He had fled from the door half an hour later when two soldiers tumbled from the lounge, laughing, wine in hand as they made their way to his sister's room, dragging her out, fondling her lewdly as they escorted her to the lounge. The memory of his inability to act made him hang his head slightly as his cock pointed down towards the bed and his actions faltered.

"Let's put her to bed. Try putting some water on her forehead, that might bring her round" said Jamie, slipping off the bed. He helped Emma to pull the covers over her naked body, glancing briefly before her pussy disappeared from view. Emma bathed Lauren's head lightly, washing the final layers of grime from her cheeks and around her eyes.

"She moved! Look!" whispered Emma, grinning widely. Indeed Lauren was alive - as they knew - but not yet kicking. Her eyelids fluttered in recognition and then stopped once again.

"Come on, let her rest." suggested Jamie. "Why don't you stay with her for a few hours and then I'll take over. You do from now 'til ten o'clock, OK?"

"Hmm. Can you get some water for her to drink?"

Jamie left for the kitchen, grabbed some water and ice from the fridge and took another quick inventory of the house. He was surprised that nobody had come running over to see what had happened. Perhaps people were still hiding in their houses, unsure what to expect. His body ached even more now, the bruises colouring his face and arms, Lauren's blood over his dressing gown. He thought again of how she had looked. Serene, dirty yet so pure, perfectly formed, asleep and unaware that he had touched her pussy, had pushed a finger almost an inch inside her vagina. He thought of her breasts, so firm, shaped like a model's. His erection grew again. He reached inside his dressing gown and encouraged it, rubbing his thumb over the hardening purple head, pulling the skin back slightly. His imagination transported him back into the lounge and what she must have looked like as the soldiers had sex with her. The increased heart-rate bludgeoned his aching head.