Chapter 5: Katrina's Run

Katrina slid down the knotted rope and landed, bare foot, in the cobbled yard of Ma Butcher's pig farm. Her palms smarted with rope-burn. She saw the shadow of her stepmother briefly as Helen retrieved the rope and closed the bedroom window. The teenager looked around, uncertain as to which way to go. It was a warm, cloudless, night. The moon had not yet risen. There was a noise from the pig-shed and Katrina froze, before moving quickly away from the sound in the direction, she hoped, of the road.

Minutes later, breathless, she felt the smooth tarmac of the highway beneath her feet. Looking back she could see the bulk of the farmhouse, in which she had been imprisoned and serially raped, as a dark blot against the star-scape. There was a light from a downstairs window but no sign of pursuit. The road ran roughly north-south. To the east was open farmland, to the west, she could make out a thin belt of woodland and an expanse of water. Either a lake or a reservoir, Katrina thought. Sticking to the left-hand side of the road, where the trees promised quick concealment if necessary, the teenager headed north. Katrina knew she had to alert the authorities to the criminal activities of the Butcher family, and quickly, if she was to save her father and stepmother further degradation, humiliation and an untimely death.

Katrina had been travelling for over an hour when she heard a car approaching from behind her. Her first thought was to try and stop the vehicle and get help, but then it occurred to her, if she'd been missed by the Butchers, it could be driven by Spike or Patrick. She flung herself into the ditch at the side of the road as the car sped past.

In the next hour she hid from two other cars. Each time she crouched in the ditch her fear of recapture grew. So it was with joyful relief when she saw, by the light of the rising moon, a large Mac truck pulling a twenty-ton trailer motoring towards her from the south. She stepped into the road and waved her arms wildly. The truck slowed but was going too fast to stop immediately. Katrina had to jump into the side of the road to avoid being hit as the juggernaut hissed and slid to a standstill some twenty paces up the road. She ran to the side of the cab as the driver opened the door and looked down on the dishevelled young woman.

"Please... please help me!" gasped Katrina.

"I damn near killed you," growled the driver. "Standing in the middle of the god-damned highway, at night, dressed in black!"

"Blue," said Katrina. "Please, I need a lift to the nearest town."

"Yeah?" The driver regarded her through slitted eyes. He was a balding, broad shouldered, man. Katrina could see only his upper body. He was wearing a singlet and his well-muscled arms were covered with a mass of multicolored tattoos.

"Where are you from, kid? What are you doing on this backwoods track in the middle of the night?"

"I... I was abducted," Katrina said, reluctant to explain further. "I need to get to the nearest town. The police..."

The driver snorted in disbelief. "Abducted? By aliens, eh?"

"Please," she said, "It's true. By these men..."

"What men?"

"They... they live nearby."

"What really happened, Kid? Your boyfriends turned nasty?"

Katrina nodded. She looked at Al. He smiled. It wasn't a sympathetic smile. Katrina felt chilled.

"Did they fuck you?"

Katrina nodded. The driver looked her up and down. The blue dress, wet from her frequent hiding in the ditch, was plastered to her figure. It was clear she wasn't wearing a bra.

"How old are you, Kid?"

"Eighteen."

The answer decided the issue.

"Jump in. What's your name?"

"Katrina," she replied as she scrambled into the high cab.

"You can call me 'Al', Katrina. The nearest town... that would be Butchersville. Ten miles up the road. Right?" He eased the big truck into gear and started it moving.

Katrina nodded again. She had no idea where she was but hoped she was at last on the road to freedom. As the truck picked up speed, she was able to get a good look at the driver, her "rescuer". Katrina was not at all reassured. He was an ugly man. Old, she thought, but fit. What hair he had left was close-cropped. His nose had been broken and his ears were lumpy. The tattoos she could see were of luridly violent subjects.

The biggest tattoo, closest to her, on his biceps was of a wide-eyed naked woman on her back beneath a goat-legged man with a huge erection. The tableau moved every time he flexed his arm making it look like the satyr was raping the reluctant nymph. Katrina shuddered involuntarily. Al noticed and gave a short barking laugh. "Kinda cute, ain't she?" he said.

He took his hand off the gear lever and stroked Katrina's thigh just above her knee.

"Is that what your boyfriends did to you, kid?" he laughed. "Wouldn't take, 'no', for an answer?"

"They were not my boyfriends. I was abducted and raped!" Katrina protested.

Al tightened his grip on his passenger's soft thigh.

The young woman winced and froze. Al's hand slid up her tense leg. It pushed the hem of the dress before it.

"Raped you, did they? Well, you won't mind putting it out for me."

"Please... please don't," whispered Katrina, as his fingers found the thin elastic-lace band of her white cotton panties and probed beneath. He squeezed her puffy labia, still sore and tender from the brutal attentions of Patrick Butcher, before removing his hand to change down a gear.

"Can't do much while we're rolling," grinned Al. "But there's a layby a mile short of Butchersville. You can pay for your ride there, sugarplum."

Katrina pulled her dress down. She thought of jumping from the moving truck. Al, grinned at her. He had surprisingly white, regular, teeth. "Central locking," he said. "You're all mine until I let you go." He unzipped his fly. His penis, white and floppy, fell forward like a dead fish. "For now, you can play with my cock." Al snarled. "That should keep you occupied until we reach the layby."

Katrina tried to squirm away from Al. He reached for the back of her neck and, grasping it, he forced her to the floor of the cab.

"Use your hands, cunt," he ordered. "And, when I tell you, suck."

She reached out and grasped his barely tumescent cock. With a sob born of helplessness Katrina began to massage his flaccid member.

"Good," he grunted.

What happened next filled Katrina with terror. From her position on the floor of the cab she was aware, because of the flashing of lights and the repeated noise of a horn, that the truck had been overtaken and was being forced to slow down and stop. Al wound down the window and let loose a stream of abuse.

"What the fuck d'ya think you're playing at you stupid son-of-a-bitch! I oughta blow your fucking head off your pig-ignorant shoulders!" From the side pocket on the door of the cab Al produced a sawn-off double-barrelled shotgun. He poked it out of the cab window.