Chapter 1

The truck driver was almost in tears.

"I told you, I don't know where she came from," he said to the two police officers. "The sky was just getting light, but I still had my headlights on. And suddenly there's a woman in the middle of the road."

"A naked woman," said the older cop, a big, red-faced man.

"Yeah, she was naked, and she had some kind of collar around her neck and, like, big metal bracelets on her wrists and ankles. Except for that, she was stark naked."

"So you hit the brakes, but you can't stop in time," said the other cop, reading his notes in the early morning light.

"Yeah, I hit the brakes hard, which I hated to do because I'm carrying a load of hogs to Lackanooka. I didn't want them to get all busted up. You know, hogs got feelings, too. But it's an emergency, so I hit the brakes hard, but I can't stop in time, and... and..." At this point, he burst into tears.

"Okay, okay," said the first cop, patting the driver's shoulder reassuringly. "We understand. You couldn't prevent it. But I'm still confused. You hit her — the truck hit her — and then she just disappears."

"Yeah," said the truck driver. "I heard the noise from the impact — it was horrible, a big thud — then she flies into the air and she's gone. I figure she's landed beyond where my headlights reach, or off to the side of the road. But when I get out and look around, nothing. Not even any blood."

"Okay," said the older cop. "Let's go back to the spot where you hit her."

They walked from the back of the truck about 150 feet, to a jagged hole in the blacktop. On the far side of the hole was a car from the sheriff's department. The deputy had set up a flare, to warn approaching motorists. But it was still very early, and there wasn't a car or truck in sight.

"Jesus Christ," said the truck driver, "what the hell is that?"

"That's what we'd all like to know," said the sheriff's deputy. He had long sideburns and a mustache.

"What it looks like," said the red-faced cop, "is something, or someone, came out from under the road. You can see all the asphalt pushed up."

"Sort of like an exit wound," said the deputy, with an ironic grin.

"You said she had on shackles," said the younger cop. "Well, look down there." He pointed to a thick steel rod protruding from the exposed rock under the road bed. Attached to it was a chain about a foot and a half long.

"Here, help me," said the older cop, as he began clearing broken asphalt and caked gravel from the hole in the road.

In a few seconds, the officers had discovered three more rods in the rock. They formed a rectangle about eight feet by three-and-a-half feet. Chains were attached to three of the four rods.

"This is really strange shit," said the deputy.

"Ain't it, though," said the older cop. "I know this sounds crazy, but it seems our naked lady emerged right here, right from under the road — just in time to get creamed by this gentleman's truck."

"Sure," said the deputy. "She's chained under God knows how much asphalt and gravel, for God knows how long, then she gets hit by a truck and walks away. Give me a break."

"Well," said the older cop, "I'm going to write it up that way. And you can write it up any way you want. I'm not even sure who has jurisdiction here. We're probably outside city limits, but I'm not sure."

"Me neither," said the deputy.

"I know where we are," said the younger cop. The others looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

"We're in the Twilight Zone," he said mysteriously. Then they all burst out laughing — even the truck driver, whose tears of anguish and guilt had barely dried.

SG was flying high enough to avoid being noticed by anyone on the ground but not so high that she couldn't make out the features below.

It was great to be airborne again — just to be exposed to the air at all, for that matter. But she was disoriented and confused. She vaguely remembered being put into that hole in the road. They had shackled her arms and legs. And someone had stuck something — something big — into her vagina.

She shuddered and pushed the memory out of her mind.

What happened that day didn't matter, at least not for the moment. There would be time to reconstruct — and to get even. For now, she needed to find a safe place to land, somewhere she could finding clothing and get rid of these steel shackles, and the chain attached to the one around her left wrist.

A flash of light caught her eye. It was the Lackanooka River, reflecting the morning sun. At the sight of it, she realized she was terribly thirsty.

She spiraled down slowly, scanning the ground below to make sure no one was looking. A car passed under her, on a road that ran next to the river, but it was quickly gone. The scene seemed quiet. This was a sparsely populated area.

She landed softly at the top of an embankment that sloped down to the river. An abandoned railroad bridge was just a few yards away. She could go under it to drink, safe from any observers on the road.

The bank was slippery, and she skidded down it, ending up knee-deep in the river. She laughed at her own clumsiness, then waded under the bridge and leaned over to drink.

"You're awfully brave, drinking out of the Lackanooka," said a voice from behind her. She turned to see a dark form approaching in the shadow of the bridge. "It's polluted, you know," said the voice. Then the speaker was close enough for her to make out a man of 40 or so, in ragged clothes and badly in need of a shave. And a bath and mouthwash. He was still several feet away, but she could smell his stench.

"The Lord has been good to us, sending us a beautiful naked lady," he said, smiling broadly.

"He shore has," said another voice. A second man, younger but just as disheveled, came out of the gloom to join the first.

"Here, let me help you up," said the first man, reaching out to her. She cautiously took his hand. He pulled her onto the bank, then stepped back to examine her.

"Yes, a very beautiful naked lady," he said softly, "and she comes with a collar and handcuffs, like some kind of sex slave."

"And just in time," said his partner, "since we ain't had no pussy in a month of Sundays."

SG sighed. So, it was going to be another of those encounters.

"Well, it's going to be a millennium of Sundays before you get close to this pussy," she said coldly.

"Goodness, I've offended her, Jake," said the older man. "What can we do to make amends?"

Jake, who was behind SG, said, "This!" and slammed a rock into the back of her head.

SG's knees buckled, and she would have fallen had the older man not grabbed her and pressed her against his body.

"Oh, yes, the Lord hath looked with favor upon us," he cried. "He doth shower us with blessings."

"I'm going to shower this cunt with my blessings," said his partner, untying the rope he used as a belt.

"Age before beauty," said the older one. He dragged SG up the embankment until they were on a level spot just a few feet below the underside of the bridge. He had already pulled out his prick and was stroking it to get it hard.

"Too bad you're asleep," he whispered to SG. "I think you would enjoy this."

"Not as much as this," she hissed, swinging her arms together. The steel shackles smashed into either side of the hobo's head.

He gasped, wide-eyed, then fell on top of her, blood gushing from both ears. SG rolled him off of her, then sprang at his partner.

They tumbled together down the embankment and into the river. She sat on his chest in the shallow water, her hands around his throat. He tried desperately to break her grip or unseat her, but she was much too strong. After a few seconds, bubbles began pouring from his mouth and nose, and he lost consciousness. SG held him down until she was sure he was dead.

Then she stood and began trembling. She had killed. Many times she had beaten up the bad guys, broken their bones, sent them to the hospital for long stays. Now she was sending two men to the morgue — assuming anyone discovered their bodies in this godforsaken spot. She buried her face in her hands and wept.

SG wandered along the road to Lackanooka, oblivious to everything but her own overwhelming feelings of desolation and guilt. Every now and then a car approached, slowed down so the occupants could get a closer look, then sped away. One car, with two old ladies headed into town, stopped briefly, and the driver cried out, "Shame. Shame. What's this country coming to?" A few minutes later, a pickup truck stopped, and the driver, a large young man wearing a baseball cap, said, "You need a ride, honey?" When SG didn't answer, he yelled, "Well, go fuck yourself, cuz if you don't someone else will." Then he roared away.

She passed the electrical transformer factory and the slaughterhouse, and workers whistled and jeered. Then she was on the highway bridge into town. A car that was headed her way slowed, and the driver said, "Get in. You can't just walk around like that. People will think you're crazy. The cops will arrest you."

SG came out of her daze and looked at him. He was a plump middle-aged man in a suit and tie. He had a kind face.

"Come on, get in," he said. His voice sounded reassuring. She opened the passenger side door and climbed in.

"Where are you headed," he asked.

"I don't know," said SG. "Maybe Marston College. Yes, Marston College."

"Are you a student there," the man asked, watching the road but stealing occasional glances at her.

"Yes. Well, no. I mean, I was."

"What happened to you? Who took your clothes?"

SG didn't answer. Who did take her clothes? She couldn't remember. It all seemed so long ago. She watched the cars coming and going. They looked so different from what she remembered. They were bigger. And the one she was in had so many knobs and dials on the dashboard.

She looked outside and saw O'Malley's Malt Shop, only it wasn't a malt shop anymore. It was called Revolutionary Records, and the window was full of record albums with colorful covers and faces she didn't recognize. Most of the people on the street seemed to be women, in funny looking blue jeans with wide bottoms. Then she realized that many of them weren't women at all, they were men with long hair.

"You can let me off here," she said. "I can walk over to the campus."

"With no clothes?" said the man. "No way. I'll take you to my place. Some of my ex's outfits are still in the closet."

"Okay," said SG wearily. She was too tired to think of an alternative plan.

They pulled into an apartment complex, and the man said, "We'll go in in a minute. I just wanted to do this first." He leaned toward her and slipped his left hand between her legs. With his right, he grabbed her collar and pulled her head toward him.

Her first impulse was to punch him in the face. Then she thought of the hobo whose skull she had crushed.

"Please. Let me go," she said hoarsely.

But he didn't let her go. He kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. Meanwhile, three fingers were deep into her vagina. She felt herself getting wet. The old lust was still there, the hunger for rough stuff and humiliation. She had to overcome it.

She pushed him away. "No. I'm getting out," she said.

He held onto her collar but he removed his left hand from her pussy and opened the glove compartment. She saw the gun just as his hand closed on it.

"You're not going anywhere, bitch," he hissed, "except up to my apartment. I'm going to fuck you over and over, and you're going to like it. Then you're going to lick me clean."

She grabbed the gun, and it went off with a noise that was deafening in the closed car. The bullet hit her in the belly, and she bent over from the pain.

The man recoiled in horror. "Jesus Christ," he said. "I didn't mean to do it. Oh, my God."

SG straightened up and looked down. She had the gun in one hand and the spent and flattened bullet in the other. And she had a smear of black on her belly, from the burnt powder. But there was no hole. She had lost many of her powers, but it still would take a lot more than a slug from a .38 to kill her.

She stuffed the gun back in the glove compartment.

"You should be more careful with this thing," she said. "Someone could get hurt."

Then she got out of the car and began walking toward where she thought the campus should be.

She left the street and ducked into an alley. She hoped that by sticking to alleys she'd find someone's wash hanging on a backyard clothesline, something she could steal to cover her nakedness. But there was nothing hanging out to dry, even though it was a lovely late summer day. Maybe people didn't hang their clothes out anymore, she thought.

Her sense of direction proved accurate. Soon she recognized the campus neighborhood. From the alley, she could see a sorority house across the street. An American flag hung from a pole that projected diagonally from a column on the front porch.

Could she steal a flag? Heck, she had killed two men today. Stealing a flag didn't seem like much a crime compared to that.

She dashed across the street and pulled down the stars and stripes. A young woman opened the front door and cried, "Hey, what're you doing?" But SG was gone in a flash.

She hid in some bushes next to the performing arts building and wrapped the flag around her like a towel. It was barely big enough to cover both her nipples and her crotch. Oh, well, it would have to do.

Now what, she thought. She had wanted to come to Marston because it was where she was living before she was buried under that road. But she didn't know how much time had passed since then. Would she recognize anyone? She wanted revenge, but were Dean Tooperman and her lesbo sister still around? And that bastard Louie? And those mobsters who raped and humiliated her the last night before her premature burial?

Some students passed a few feet from where she was hiding. They wore the same kind of clothes she had seen on Druid Avenue. Funny looking blue jeans, and what looked like buckskin vests. Necklaces with strange symbols. And headbands. Everyone seemed to wear a headband.

They didn't look anything like the Marston girls of '56.

She wanted to stop them and ask them a thousand questions, but she realized she probably looked as strange wearing the flag as she had when she was completely naked.

Then a side door of the arts building opened a few yards away, and two girls rushed out laughing. SG decided to make her move. The theater was in that building, and there would surely be costumes somewhere behind stage. She'd surely find something more suitable, and less noticeable, than the American flag.

She ran to the door and pulled it open, just as someone inside was coming out. It was a sweet-faced blonde in a flowery dress.

"Oh, groovy," she said when she saw SG. "I'd have never thought of that." She turned to a group of young women busy making placards in a big room. "Tina, get a load of this."

The room fell quiet, except for music from a radio on the far side.

A tall, auburn-haired woman with an attractive but hard face came forward.

"Ain't she a trip, Tina," said the blonde girl.

Tina said nothing. She looked long and hard at SG, then reached for her hand and pulled her into the room.

Now the others approached. SG had never felt more the center of attention, or more embarrassed by it.

"Genius," Tina said at last. "Sheer fucking genius. The flag. The shackles. The chain and the collar. Absolutely perfect."

SG smiled hesitantly. Tina seemed to be the leader here, and Tina approved. It was a good start.

"Who sent you?" Tina asked.

"Sent me?" said SG. "No one sent me. I just... well, I just came in."

"Naw," said Tina, "you didn't dream this up by yourself. Come on, who sent you?" She began naming what SG took to be people or organizations. The words and acronyms meant nothing — snick, mobe, SDS, Yippies.

"I just came here," SG said quietly, looking down.

Tina slipped her hand under SG's chin and lifted her face. "And you're beautiful. That makes it even better."

She turned to the others. "Okay, a change of plans. Our new friend will be at the head of the protest tomorrow. We climb the steps of the administration building, and our little heroine — what's your name, honey?"

"Sallie. Sallie Gale."

"Fine. Sallie raises her arms, so everyone can see her shackles, the shackles of oppression and ignorance. The TV cameras will love that. Then she'll whip off this flag, symbol of the benighted patriotism she has now outgrown, and she'll throw it to the ground and stomp on it. Then we soak it with lighter fluid and toss a match. What a great piece of political theater!"

"Light a match," said SG. "You mean, burn the flag?"

"Of course," said Tina. "Unless you've got a better idea. We could smear it with shit, or shred it, or we could all squat and piss on it. But I don't think anything makes as powerful a statement as burning it."

SG was about to object, but Tina embraced her tightly and said, "You're going to be wonderful." The she whispered into SG's ear, "And we're going to be wonderful together. You're staying in my room from now on."

"Come on, Miss Liberty," said another woman, taking SG's hand. "You can lead the parade, but everyone here works. Start stapling these placards."

SG spent the afternoon working with the group. She didn't understand what they were talking about. She didn't understand the politics and the music. She didn't understand why Tina snapped, "Turn off that crap," when someone on the radio began singing about love and peace. "We're running a revolution, not a fucking ashram."

One of the girls whispered to SG, "Tina's such an asshole sometimes. She hates George Harrison because she says his music leads to apathy. All she really likes is Cuban stuff."

"And theme songs from those blaxploitation movies," added another girl who had been listening in.

"Yeah," said a third, "it's all Superfly and Super Fidel."

This triggered a bout of giggling, and SG pretended to join in, but she was completely mystified.

"What about Superman?" she asked shyly.

"That fascist bastard," snorted one of the girls. "Defender of the oppressors. What about him?"

"Nothing," SG said softly. Superman a fascist? She had never thought of her cousin that way. Sure, he was stuffy and sanctimonious, but did that make someone a fascist?

She became even more confused when someone began talking about Watergate and Vietnam, and how one grew out of the other, and both were manifestations of "Nixon's paranoia." She screwed up her courage and asked, "You mean Vice President Nixon?"

The other girls looked at her blankly.

"Vice President?" said one. "He isn't Vice President. He's President."

"But he used to be Vice President," said another.

Tina, who had been directing others on the wording of slogans, overheard the conversation and came to SG's defense.

"Okay, Sallie hasn't been paying much attention to politics," she said. "But the Trickster used to be Vice President."

"Yeah, but that was back when we were all still in diapers," said a girl, and everyone started laughing.

Tina knelt next to SG and said softly, "Where have you been, girl? I really don't understand you at all. But I hope I will soon."

After all the slogan painting and placard assembly was done, the group had beer and pizza at a nearby pub. SG, wearing a borrowed trench coat over her flag, had barely tasted her first bite of pizza when Tina told the others she had a manifesto to write.

"We'll see you in the morning," she said. She reached for SG's hand but grabbed her chain by accident. One of the other girls blurted out, "Ooooh, a new sex slave," then instantly regretted it.

"Keep your dirty mouth shut," Tina hissed. "You've been the slut of just about everyone in the movement, so don't get smart with me."

Outside, Tina slipped her arm around SG's waist. SG tentatively slipped hers around Tina. She felt in awe of this intense woman — and grateful that Tina seemed to like her.

In Tina's dorm room, the walls were covered with revolutionary posters, and the bed was covered with papers — loose leaf paper with handwritten notes, typing paper with slogans in capital letters, pages torn from books and magazines.

Tina grabbed a corner of the bed spread and swept everything to the floor. Then she turned to SG and yanked away the flag.

"God, what a body," she said softly. "You're so fucking beautiful."

SG blushed.

"Beautiful but dirty," Tina added. "You look like you've been playing in a mud hole. You need a shower."

She stripped quickly, and SG discovered that Tina's body was outstanding, too. She was tall and muscular, and though her breasts weren't as large as SG's, her figure was just about flawless.

Tina moved close to SG and stroked her hair. Then she kissed her softly on the lips. "Follow me," she said seductively.

The bathroom was shared by two dorm rooms, but it was empty. Tina opened the tiny shower stall and started the hot water. After a few seconds, she tested it and declared it just right.

She stepped in. SG held back.

"Come on in," said Tina. "We're going to get clean together."

SG had never showered with another woman. She stepped in hesitantly, and Tina shut the door.

The warm water felt wonderful. And so did Tina's lips, as she kissed the back of SG's neck, then ran her tongue down her back and up again. Tina pulled SG close to her and reached around and fondled her breasts. SG was breathing heavily. Tina slid one hand down SG's belly until it reached her crotch. Then, softly, with more tenderness than SG had ever encountered, Tina massaged her labia and began stroking her clitoris.

"Oh God, I love it," SG moaned.

"Yes, you love it," said Tina. "And I love it. And you're going to be my whore. You're going to be my slut, and we're going to do things to each other that will drive us wild."

SG turned to face Tina, and they kissed as the water flowed over their faces. Tina bent her knees until her mouth was level with SG's breasts, and she began sucking her nipples. Then she knelt all the way down in the narrow stall, and her tongue was in SG's slit, and SG was keening and swaying, and everything went black.

She awoke to see Tina leaning over her.

"What happened," SG asked.

"You fainted. You had a big day, and I guess the stimulation was just more than you could take. I was worried about you."

SG was lying in bed. Tina had pulled the covers over her.

"Are we finished making love?" SG asked.

"That's up to you. Are you finished?"

"No," SG whispered. "No, I want more."

"Then more you shall have."

Tina opened a drawer and pulled out a big, black strap-on dildo.

"Can you handle this?" she asked.

"You mean, can I wear it?"

"No," said Tina. "I'll wear it. Can you handle it inside you? Is it too much for you?"

SG tossed the covers aside, got out of bed and lay on her back on the floor. "Let's find out," she said, spreading her legs.

Tina fucked her hard, almost as hard as any man had fucked her. Twice she had to stop because the strap came loose. Finally, she tossed the dildo aside and rummaged in the drawer. She pulled out an even bigger one, made of stainless steel and with a plastic handle, and went to work on SG.

Then it was SG's turn to be the penetrating partner. Tina wanted it in the ass, and SG gave it to her, hesitantly at first, but then with growing verve.

They spent the night dreaming up new ways to fuck one another and squealing and moaning with delight. The girls in the next room were furious at the commotion, but no one was willing to stand up to Tina the Terrible.

Leslie Gettlayd, reporter for WURM-TV, Lackanooka's only local station, was fluffing her hair and adjusting the collar of her aquamarine silk blouse while a mousy assistant held up a mirror.

"Tilt it up, tilt it up," she said in exasperation.

Nick, the cameraman, a bored young man with a large Adam's apple and a bad complexion, said, "If you're going have something to bring to the boss, you better speed it up. They're getting started."

Leslie and her crew were a few feet from a group of about 40 young women who had gathered at the foot of the steps to the Marston College administration building. The women were carrying placards that said things like "Drop Nixon, not Bombs," "Impeach the Bastard," "Peace Now," "Fuck the Oppressors" and "No Term Papers Without Representation."

Leslie, satisfied with her appearance, stood in front of the camera, holding a microphone. The protestors were behind her.

"A group of Marston students are here protesting the war and what they claim is a lack of democracy at the college. This protest is fairly small compared with the anti-war rallies of '68 and '69, but..."

"Tina," yelled a fat student who had overheard Leslie's introductory remarks. "Tina, she's calling our crowd small."

Leslie lowered the mike. Her body stiffened and she turned on the interloper.

"Listen, lard-ass, you're lucky to be getting any coverage at all today. I'm only here because your little fuehrer promised a good show."

At that point, the "fuehrer," Tina herself, arrived out of breath and furious.

"What the fuck's the matter?" she barked.

The fat girl started to speak, but Leslie cut in. "Nothing's the matter, Tina. I was just exercising my First Amendment rights and commenting on the size of the crowd here today — which, I must say, is pretty goddam puny. I mean, there are almost as many cops and counter-protestors as there are protestors."

"Okay, okay," said Tina. "You're right. I'm disappointed in the size of the crowd, too. But just keep your camera on the cluster of girls as the go up the steps. When they spread out, I promise you'll be glad you came."

She hurried back to the closely packed group at the foot of the steps.

"Okay," she said. "We almost lost the media, but they're going to stick around. Sallie, it's up to you to make this work."

SG, surrounded by Marston students, was wearing her flag, and Tina had done her makeup to emphasize her big blue eyes and lovely mouth.

"Let's go, gang," said Tina, and the group surged up the steps.

Nick the cameraman stayed put, using his zoom lens to follow the action. So far, he hadn't seen anything to justify this excursion to the college, but it was better than chasing fires or doing pollution stories. The last time they did an environmental report, he had ruined a good pair of boots.

"They're breaking up," Leslie said. "Who's that in the middle? Holy shit, it's a bimbo in a flag suit. Jesus, you can see almost all of her ass."

"It's getting better," the cameraman said excitedly. "See the shackles?"

"Is that what those are? And what's hanging from her left wrist?"

"A chain, a fucking chain. God, is she a babe! I'd give 50 bucks to see her take off that flag."

The striptease he hoped for didn't cost him a cent. SG unwrapped the flag and waved it above her head. She was naked, and her fellow protestors were yelling and clapping.

"We can't use this," Leslie cried. "They'd never let us. She's completely nude."

At the top of the steps, SG continued to twirl and dance, using the flag as a prop, like a professional stripper.

Tina said, "Great, now hurl it down and stomp on it.'

But SG kept dancing. It wasn't because she wanted the attention. It was because she was afraid of what came next. She had repressed her objections when Tina first outlined the plan, but now she couldn't go through with it.

"Drop the fucking flag," Tina hissed. Several other girls joined in: "Sallie, come on, it's time."

Finally, Tina ripped the flag from SG's hands and threw it onto the stone porch. Another student squirted it with lighter fluid, and Tina lit a match and held it up dramatically. But before she could drop it, SG slapped it from her hand.

Tina looked at her, dumbfounded. Then rage took over.

"You miserable cunt," she screamed. "You're fucking up our protest."

She punched SG in the face. SG stumbled backward, into several other girls, who grabbed her.

"Hold the bitch," Tina yelled. Then she lit another match and dropped it on the flag. Flames quickly engulfed the banner. They grew higher after several additional squirts of lighter fluid.

The WURM crew had pushed their way up the steps and were now only a few feet from the fire. Nick was doing a closeup when he heard several screams and suddenly saw naked feet stamping on the flag.

It was SG. She had broken free and was trying to put out the fire. She even knelt and tried to beat back the flames with her bare hands.

"This is great," Leslie said breathlessly. "Who is this woman?"

But the protestors closed in and pulled SG away. Several began beating her with their peace placards. She tumbled down the stone steps, and while she was lying facedown on the paving, Tina grabbed a placard and shoved the wooden holder deep into her ass.