Chapter 3: Saturday, November 17th, 2012 - 1200

"This little Nissan Sentra just wasn't made for these dirt roads," Cherie Jackson thought to herself as she bounced through another rut and the little car careened to the other side of the road. She glanced at her daughter's white knuckled grip on the door and thought for the hundredth time in the last hour, "I have got to get control of myself, for my baby."

Cherie and her 14 year old daughter, Mary, had been invited to spend the weekend with Cherie's Aunt Nancy and Uncle Frank at their beautiful cabin in the woods north of Show Low Arizona. Her uncle was her mom's youngest brother and the three of them always had fun when they got together. There was less than a ten year difference in their ages and the good natured ribbing between the 'old folks' and the 'kid' was always welcome. Cherie and Mary were only about half way through the latest production on Mary's iPod that she had loaded before they left Phoenix when they arrived at the cabin. They arrived to a grim faced aunt and uncle and the news about a bombing in Washington DC. Friday hadn't been any better when they woke to the news that the newly elected president had been assassinated.

"I think you should stay here for a few days," Uncle Frank told Cherie Friday afternoon. They had been listening to news reports of rioting all across the United States.

"But I have a test in algebra," Mary protested. "I have to be in school Monday."

Cherie had to smile because she knew that Mary was more concerned with a new boy friend than she was about missing a test. "Honey, I don't think school will be open Monday," Cherie said gently. "I think Uncle Frank is right. We need to stay here and see what happens."

It seemed like a good idea at the time. It seemed like a good idea until about an hour ago.

A pickup had pulled up in front of the cabin with three men sitting in the cab and three more in the pickup bed. They didn't say anything as they climbed out of the truck and started toward the house.

Uncle Frank walked down the steps and called, "Can I help you?"

"Sure can," one of the men called back as they continued walking unhurriedly toward the house. He was about ten feet from Uncle Frank when the stranger pulled a gun and shot him twice.

Aunt Nancy screamed and ran out the door to help Uncle Frank but I could see the red on Uncle Frank's chest. I knew he was already dead.

The strangers gave a coarse laugh and pulled Aunt Nancy off of Uncle Frank. Two of them held her while another ripped her dress down the front. Another grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed hard.

"Take her in the house," one of the men ordered. "We might as well be comfortable while we enjoy ourselves."

Cherie grabbed Mary's arm and pulled her out the back door. "Quiet," she hissed to Mary angrily. Mary was crying but her life depended on her being quiet so Cherie couldn't be gentle with her daughter. Cherie dragged Mary around to the side of the house as quietly as she could while the young girl tried to stifle her sobs. She watched from the corner of the house with Mary behind her, pressed against the side of the house. Cherie could see all six of them around Aunt Nancy pinching, squeezing and grabbing whatever they could reach. Two men were squeezing her breasts and a two more had their hands between her legs from the front and behind. Aunt Nancy was suspended between the strangers by their grips on her breasts and crotch and they laughed as her arms and legs wind milled ineffectually trying to reach Uncle Frank. They carried her up the stairs in their obscene grasps and into the house. Aunt Nancy's clothes had been ripped or cut away and were left in the yard like a desolate memory of another time.