Rule Number One Is to Survive
Chapter 5

Copyright© 2013 by harry lime

Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 5 - All of a sudden, it is like the world has come to an end. The enemy has launched fearsome missiles at American cities. The ex-Marine decides it is time to take some evasive action and packs his family up for a safer place than the middle of Los Angeles. His wife is a bit reluctant to leave the proximity of the shopping mall and his children are less than happy at losing all of the electronic goodies they have come to depend upon. Still, he knows they are a lot luckier than almost everyone else.

Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Consensual   NonConsensual   Coercion   Slavery   Heterosexual   Post Apocalypse   MaleDom   Spanking   Rough   Light Bond   Humiliation   Violence  

Mike was relieved to see that the clearing between the stream and the rocky slope to the cave entrance was boringly undisturbed. Ginnie had followed his instructions to not leave anything about that could indicate the cave was occupied. He told Wesley to stay posted down by the stream to make sure no unwelcome visitors were heading in their direction from the Henderson farm.

The women were all a twitter over the vacant-eyed Hispanic girl called Maria. He was glad she was keeping silent about the bad stuff back at the farm because he did not want the other females to get all in a dither over the dangers posed by the marauding looters running amuck in every direction. Heather caught his eye and gave him a look that told him she knew the score without a single question.

After a lunch of baked beans from a can, Mike took Tom with him back to the first farmhouse where he had told him the root cellar was hidden under the ground. It was only a short distance from the barn, but he could see how it could be easily overlooked when hidden by a thin layer of dirt and small pebbles on top. They stashed some of the food stores in the empty packs on their backs and headed back to the cave.

Wesley wanted to go back to the Henderson's farm, but Mike figured it was probably better to lay low for a couple of days hoping the looters would get bored and leave. His son was unhappy with that decision but didn't make an issue of it. Mike figured he was happy with the status quo as long as he and Heather were keeping each other entertained at night.

Maria was still pretty quiet but seemed willing to talk about innocuous subjects providing they didn't come back to what had happened on the bank of the little river.

The very next day, he got them all busy on cutting and carving some pretty mean-looking "punji" sticks to set up in irregular patterns between the stream and the edge of the clearing. Everyone was clued in on the exact locations and warned to be careful about not injuring themselves on the sharpened stakes. He even set up a double sided trap that fell from the tall trees in the deep brush next to the water. His only worry was that one of their little band might accidently might trip the trap and wind up injured or even dead.

When he was satisfied with the booby traps slowing down or even deterring any assault from the stream, Mike started to slowly explore the tunnels leading down into the mountain to see if there might be an escape route if they ever came under siege. It was slow work because he was not very confident with the safety of the tunnel ceilings. They did come across some old rusty implements with broken handles but the metal was just fine for use if they carved a new handle. The pick axes would be great for breaking up the rocky terrain near the cave entrance.

Ginnie was all caught up in tending to Maria. Mike was glad she had something to occupy her mind. It kept her from dwelling on their new lifestyle at any great length. He saw that Maria's wrists and ankles were lined with bruises and slashes from the restraints the looters had used on her. His wife had done a good job taking care of them and they were mending nicely. The young girl had taken to following him around like a shadow but he didn't say anything to discourage her because he knew she was still feeling insecure and scared about a repeat performance of looter violence.

On the third day after their expedition to the Henderson farm, Mike and Wesley headed back to the farm to check on any new developments. He told Tom to "keep an eye on things" while they were gone and to make sure the females were cautious about making too much noise and attracting unwanted attention.

They made their way up the fast running stream and paused near where they had buried the victims of the looters raid. The burial place was still undisturbed by small animals. It was probably because they had used a lot of heavy stones to conceal the bodies buried beneath. The only thing that drew attention to it was the scent of death. Fortunately, the overhanging branches had discouraged carrion birds. At least the area was stable and far enough away from the stream to keep it from being contaminated. The water was an integral part of their existence further downstream. There was no indication that the looters had returned to find their missing companion. It was a confirmation of just how disorganized they really were.

They scoped out the farmhouse a long time before leaving the cover of the forest. The nicely fenced fields were looking a bit abandoned but the crops were moving along at a good clip due to the heavy rainfall in the past few weeks. If it proved to be safe enough, Mike saw that the corn and the potatoes could be stored up for the winter with only the nuisance of hauling it in from the field and down to the cave. He saw two dead cows outside the barn with swollen bellies from gases. Somehow a goat had escaped the knives of the looters and was happily munching on the tall grass in the front yard. He had visions of milk and cheese if the goat was cooperative enough. It would have to be put up inside the cave and the smell might offend the womenfolk more than reasonable to expect.

They moved in with a pincer approach from two different directions. Mike got to the front door first and saw it was still open. The unmistakable stench told him what to expect. The interior was all a jumble with dirt and trash. The old lady was rotting in her bed upstairs. According to Maria, she had died from natural causes and heightened fear when the looters started to show up just after dark on the night of the attack. It was apparent that almost everything of value was carried off by the mob from the nearby small town. He did locate the pair of .45 caliber automatics that Maria told him her father had hidden under the fake tree in the hallway vase. They were wrapped in her underpants and still well-oiled and clean. The ammo was loose and in two long thick socks that she used to wear to school. One full magazine was in each handgun. He wished there were at least two other magazines so there would be a backup when reloading. The guns were both familiar and a welcome addition but he knew none of the others with the possible exception of Wesley could handle the weight and the kick of the weapons. He would try to adjust one of the guns to use less trigger pull and maybe even disengage the grip safety to give Wesley more of a chance of hitting what he was aiming at. He estimated 100 to 150 rounds in each sock so they would have to careful to use them only in a final line of defense when painted into a corner.

 
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