Doomsday Warrior 02 - Red America (19 page)

“So nasty, Rockson. And I heard you were so polite. A defender of maidens and dogs.” The KGB colonel said, his personal bodyguards standing on each side of him, their pistols aimed at the prisoner.

“Polite to normal humans, murderer, not barbarian Red savages.” His words seemed to enrage Killov who couldn’t maintain his cool under the influence of the mood-altering drugs.

“Guards, spray the stun gas in there,” the colonel commanded. Two KGB officers advanced to the edge of the cell and sprayed an aerosol spray at Rockson. He gasped and passed out.

When he came to again, he was tied to a post in another room. He glanced around the room quickly and saw its nature: posts, whips, nooses hanging from poles. Rock heard a sound to his right and turned to see Killov heating an already white-hot poker in the flames of a coal-burning stove. The KGB commander had his jacket off and his skinny arms of pale dead flesh held the burning steel up every few seconds to check its heat. Rockson pretended to still be unconscious as he watched the guards around the room and Killov himself, preparing to begin the torture of the Ultimate American.

At last Killov decided that the poker was at the perfect torture temperature. He lifted it from the flames and walked toward Rockson, holding the white steel up toward the captured freefighter’s face. With the speed of a panther, Rockson kicked up at the glowing steel, catching it just at the tip. The metal spun up and out of Killov’s hand and slammed into the KGB commander’s right cheek, searing it instantly with the sound of sizzling human flesh. The colonel screamed and threw his hands over his face.

Two guards rushed at Rock, their pistols out, and prepared to blow the brains out of the man who had dared attack their leader. Rock looked them in the eye. This was what he wanted—death before torture. He had gotten in one last blow for freedom.

“No!” screamed Killov, his hand covering the four inch long bright red slash that ran from his eye to below his ear. “Don’t kill him. That’s what he wants. We will have our fun later. First psychological torture then the pain. Give him the drug,” Killov ordered. A KGB man walked over to Rock and jabbed him with a needle he described mysteriously as an aphrodisiac. For what purpose Rockson couldn’t imagine. Though he quickly felt his loins burning with a strange intensity.

The KGB officers took Rock back to his cell and left him there chained up again after slapping him around for a while. Rock sat on the floor again quite satisfied with himself. He was still alive and he had given Killov a scar he would never get rid of—something to remember Rock by long after he was gone. He wondered what they meant by psychological and what the injection had to do with it. He heard the voices of guards outside his cell and then the sound of a female voice in the cell next to his. The guards went into her cell and pulled back the sheet that separated the two prisoners. Then they left. And Rock knew what they meant by psychological torture. For there in the next cell, illuminated in the dim slip of the moonlight from the narrow window overhead, was the most beautiful woman Rockson had ever seen.

The milky rays of the moon bathed her long golden tresses, this lovely ample daughter of America, barely out of her teens. Silky flesh raised on milk and butter and honey, with upturned erect nipples, that lithe turn to her thighs, that flushed rosy-cheeked face. Rock felt his loins swell and throb with desire. Desire that would have been overwhelming anyway, but now with the powerful aphrodisiac injected into his bloodstream, it was unbearable. Desire turned to torture.

The most beautiful girl he had ever seen and she was stark naked, perfectly proportioned with crystal green eyes. He stared at her and she looked shyly back.

“My name is Kim,” she said softly. “You’re Ted Rockson. I heard the guards talking about you. I—I—’ve heard so much about you. Every American has. I—I—don’t know what to say.” She looked down at her naked body, hands and feet chained to the wall.

“Well, I must confess, it’s not a usual introduction. Please don’t feel embarrassed. The Reds want to play with our minds.”

“Are you seriously hurt?” she asked with concern, looking at the gash on the side of his head, from which blood dripped slowly. Rock shook his head no. He felt a pain in his left rib cage. The Reds must have really worked him over. He didn’t remember it. He was shackled by the hands to a chain about six feet long. He rose and was able to nearly reach the bars separating the two of them, the chains stopping him about six inches away.

“I’m afraid we meet at an inopportune moment,” Rock said, looking through the thick steel bars. “How did they get you?”

“I was with my father, Mr. Rockson,” the vision of beauty said nervously. “Michael Langford and we—”

“The
Michael Langford?” Rockson gasped. “Every freefighter knows of his endeavors to politically organize America. Why I met him myself about three years ago. A great man. Is he—” Rock suddenly had the chilling vision of perhaps the most important man in America being tortured by the Reds.

“No, he escaped. We were in the mountains heading from Casperville to Fantown. My father is in the process of organizing a Re-Constitutional Convention to elect a congress and a president so that the Free Cities can evolve politically as well as militarily. We were attacked by a KGB Commando Death Squad. My father and his men managed to shoot their way out but I fell off my damned hybrid and when I came to, I was—here.” She began crying softly, obviously ashamed of showing her fear but unable to hold back the tears.

“Don’t cry, sweet woman,” Rock said, touched by her vulnerability as well as her beauty, though he couldn’t offer her a reason not to.

“They plan to use me tomorrow. The officers are going to—” She couldn’t finish but the intention was clear. Rockson groaned inwardly. He could feel his anger rising by the second.

“I’ve heard that you bring luck, Rockson, wherever you go. Maybe my fate is not sealed yet.”

“I’m afraid my luck—except meeting you—has fallen off as of late,” Rock said, holding up his manacled hands.

She looked at him from the other end of her cell about ten feet away where she stood stretched to her full five foot two inches, her legs spread apart, feet chained. Her expression was strange, curious, fearful, and—something else. “Rockson—I—I am a virgin. They will—I didn’t want it to be this way. I may be dead by tomorrow night, but first they will rape me, many of them.” She looked down at the cold floor barely able to continue. But her own desires were stronger than her feminine shyness. She raised her head again and this time her eyes were bold, flaming. “I want you!” She said directly. “To make love to me.”

“I—I—” Rock stuttered over and over, tongue-tied for perhaps the first time in his life. “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to. Don’t get me wrong, but we’re not exactly in the best setup to . . .”

“I have my own secrets,” she said. “Watch!” She squirmed in her chains, pulling her feet and hands this way and that, wriggling her extremities like writhing snakes. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began pulling free from the shackles. First her right foot came free, popping out suddenly. She looked across at Rockson who stared in absolute amazement. Kim smiled and continued to move her hands this way and that, first fitting the upper part of the wrist, then the blade of the hand through. Within two minutes she was free. She looked at Rockson and started toward him.

She walked right up to the bars of his cell so her body was about eight inches away from his. He felt the ice-hard erection swelling under his zipper as her fingers traced down his waist to the clasp of his pants. Rockson pulled himself as far forward as he could, holding his manacled hands behind his back and stretching the lower portion of his body as far forward as he could. She opened the zipper with trembling fingers and the engorged member burst forth. She kneeled down in the other cell, her rising nipples pressed tight against the cold steel of the bars. She reached her head through the eight inch wide spaces between the bars, and with her marshmallow soft lips engulfed his manhood. She moaned with innocent erotic delight.

“They never thought of this, Rockson,” Kim said, taking the stiff pole from between her moist lips. “The Reds thought only to prevent you from reaching me—their women never want it—they have lost their sex drive generations ago and are mere chattel for the men’s pleasure.”

“Come to me,” Rockson said, his eyes melting at her smooth perfect body. She pressed forward and rubbed her breasts against his waist and then his organ, so large and stiff. She swooned with the power of her desire for this man as she felt her burning hot sex wet and ready for him.

“Do it,” she said. “Please Rockson, put it in.” She gripped her hands around the bars and put her legs up on the cross bar about three feet above the ground. She pressed the wet lips of her moist furry triangle forward until it met the swollen head of Rockson’s manhood. She was wet, very wet, and she pushed her hips forward, spasmodically reaching for him. Tomorrow she would be dead, she thought. And my life, my love, all my body is for this man tonight.

“Do it, get it . . . in!” she pleaded. Rockson guided the probing staff in by moving his hips. She reached down with her hands and put the head between the opened petals of pink flesh. “It’s . . . hard . . . it hurts.” A single tear fell down each of her alabaster cheeks. He pushed with all his might to penetrate her, and she gasped and rolled her eyes heavenwards as the organ moved suddenly, cleanly into her. She waited a second, getting used to the newness of it all. Then she began moving, slowly at first, up and down on the long shaft, then with increasing vigor and jerking motions, holding onto his hips, her nipples squashed against the firm bars. It slid in and out in stronger and stronger pumps, filling her stomach. She moved on him like a knife cutting into deep velvet, like a girl/woman who has realized her dreams at last.

“Rock—oh—Rock,” she groaned again and again. “It’s so good . . . it’s . . .”

“Don’t talk,” he said, “they’ll hear us. But I know it’s the same for me.”

They were reaching that peak called orgasm—a series of quivers were the first signs from her; the relentless buildup of a bull-like sperm, of a Hoover Dam about to burst, sent shudders through his tortured body. Then they came. Like a tidal wave, simultaneously gasping out, and heaving in jerks of ecstasy.

At last they both subsided and he slipped out from her as she choked off a groan of loss. “I love you . . . can I say that, Ted Rockson? Can I say it for just this night?” He stood up looking at this beautiful creature before him.

“Always,” he said as softly as he had ever spoken in his life. “Always—because I love you too, Kim.”

“Tomorrow when they come they’ll find a woman. A woman who has already known love. They can do what they want with me now—I don’t care.”

He looked at her with tears in his eyes. Because he did care. Suddenly he cared terribly what was going to happen. He couldn’t let her die. Which meant he had to save himself as well, no matter what the odds. Rockson had seen perfect beauty and it made him feel half crazy.

Sixteen

T
hey were awakened by the sound of guards in the middle of the night. Two KGB men with the skulls smiling hideously on their sleeves. They came for Kim and seemed quite disturbed that she was no longer in her chains. They looked at Rockson, who stared coldly back, then opened her cell.

“Where the hell are you taking her?” he yelled out, struggling against his chains although the motions were absurdly futile.

“You’ll have your fun soon enough, Rockson,” one of the officers said, grabbing Kim by the breasts and squeezing the nipples hard. “See, this is what we’re going to do, scum.” Kim closed her eyes in pain but didn’t utter a word. She wouldn’t give the bastards the pleasure of seeing her squirm.

Rockson felt insane with fury. The veins stood out in his neck like taut ropes. “Let her go, you fucking bastards. Let her go.” The guards pulled Kim away, grabbing at her ass and breasts, trying to humiliate her. “We’ll have fun with her,” one of the officers said to the other. “She’s a hot fuck.” He looked over his back at Rockson who stared out with the rage of one possessed by demons.

Rock stared after the departing woman he loved and pulled against the chains with every bit of mutant strength he possessed. Nothing! Not even Ted Rockson could snap inch thick steel chains.

He paced back and forth in the six foot area he could move in, furiously trying to figure some way out. Suddenly two more guards appeared at the bars. His break. No matter what, he would escape. The guards opened the door and trained their submachine guns on him. “Out, scum!” one of them said, his black boots shiny as a silver dollar. They led him out and down the corridor. Where was Kim? Every door they passed Rockson tried to sense her, to use his slight ESP powers to feel her presence. He couldn’t. As they turned a corner two bodies were stacked against the wall.

“We caught them trying to get away this morning,” one of the guards said, turning to Rockson. “Friends of yours?” Rock looked closely as they drew close. The Doomsday Warrior could scarcely believe his eyes. He
did
know them. Lying on the floor were the bloody bodies of Dennis Chapin and Dean Keppel, two of Century City’s infiltration experts. Why had they come here to Pavlov City? Poor bastards! Their guts were spilling out from their dissected abdomens. Rock saw something else as well: their F-2 issue boots. He hadn’t been able to wear them into the city because of his disguise, but Rock knew that the boots had several special devices built into the heel by Dr. Shecter’s Special Weapons Section.

“Please,” Rockson said, stopping near the bodies. “They’re men from my city, could I just say a brief prayer over them? It’s their religion.” The guards looked at each other. The taller one said, “Oh let him—he’s chained. Besides I want to see if God answers these American’s prayers.” The guard laughed contemptuously. “Will your fictitious God bring down a bolt of lightning?” He continued, now feeling he was needling Rockson by mocking his dead.

The, Reds laughed and pushed Rock to his knees next to the mangled corpses. Rock began chanting and moving his hands over the dead men, and, as he did so, he managed to turn and snag the heel of Chapin’s left boot. He pulled it quickly into the palm, shielding it from the view of the sneering KGB guards with his back. He pushed the switch that opened the hidden clasp and the heel revealed two small capsules: a small explosive device and a mini gas shell. He broke the seal on the gas and threw it behind him, holding his breath tightly. He waited, continuing to look at the bodies for about six seconds until he heard the two guards hit the floor behind him. Rock held his breath until the last wisp of gas vanished. He took the keys from the guard’s sidepocket and opened his cuffs, rubbing his wrists. It felt good to be free. He lifted the machine pistols from the Red guards and quickly stripped one of them, taking his uniform. Not a bad fit. The black leather garment clung to his body and the dark sunglasses would hide his features. He made a formidable KGB Blackshirt.