Savage Survival Read online

  Lyda could see past her father, out into the front yard. At the edge of her vision before the doorjamb blocked it, she saw the leglike appendages of one of the spider things. Then the whole thing moved into view. It was much larger up close than it had looked on the screen, even when there had been humans visible for comparison. It glinted in the late morning sun like the outside paneling of the new building in downtown Lufkin, featureless and simply reflecting the light.

  Dad slammed the door and saw her still standing behind him. “Go to your room!” He shouted. “Hide under the bed!"

  Reluctantly, Lyda hurried away while Dad ran toward the den. She knew he was going for his shotgun. Before he even got there, the door crashed inward with a resounding noise like someone had dropped a tray full of dishes at a restaurant. Lyda whirled and saw something she recognized, the tips of two of the mandibles from one of the big spiders. It hooked in under the top of the doorframe and pulled up. A part of the front of the house peeled away with a loud ripping noise.

  “Run!” Dad shouted at her. He had found his shotgun and was rushing toward the entrance; the weapon already pointed and ready to fire.

  Lyda couldn't make herself move. She watched, mesmerized, as a bluish band of light sought out her father and engulfed him. He sparkled, like a cartoon character being electrocuted, then suddenly, he was flung against the wall. His body spattered through the sheetrock and broke the two by four studs in the wall into jagged splinters. One of them gouged a hole in his throat that immediately began gushing bright red blood. Lyda never heard the shotgun fire, nor did she have time to think about it. She felt her mother's arms go around her in an attempt to drag her away just as she saw a smaller spider fill the entrance. A blue universe of pain engulfed her and tore at her senses like a ravenous virus. She tried to shout a cry of defiance and that was the last thing she remembered until she woke up in the desert.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lyda opened her eyes. She stood on wobbly legs and looked around, squinting through frighteningly strong sunlight at a surreal scene of horror. In the distance, mountains grew from a brown landscape, solid and timeless, but nearby were two mutilated bodies. She quickly averted her eyes from them. One of them had been a young woman. She was naked. Blood seeped from between her thighs. The other body was that of a man, sprawled out in an awkward position. His skull had been crushed and caved in above one of his eyes. The eye lay on his cheek like an obscene colored ball on a thick white string.

  Beyond the bodies, men and women milled around, some gathered in throngs, some alone. Most of them wore dazed, frightened expressions, like the ones she had seen on some of the dogs when her class toured an animal shelter. Just like some of the dogs, a few were defiant and their faces and attitudes promised savage reprisal should a chance come their way. She saw a man dressed in dirty jeans squatting by a cactus. He had hacked off one of the flat pancake-like outgrowths and was trying to scrape the needles off it with the little file on a fingernail clipper, cursing as he did. Was he trying to get water from it, or planning on eating it?

  Lyda thought of her parents. Where was Mom? She couldn't remember anything after she saw Dad being flung and crushed against the wall and that blue light engulfed her. Was Mom here? Or dead, like Dad? She was sure Dad was dead; she had seen how his throat was torn open by the broken studs in the wall. But she didn't know about Mom, nor did she know anyone to ask. She began walking slowly, looking around, trying to define her situation and trying not to cry. The ground of the desert was hot and gritty under her bare feet, not at all like she had imagined a desert would be. She thought she remembered slipping into her flip-flops when she shrugged into her jacket, but if she had, they were lost now. Tiny stones gouged at the soles of her feet, bringing numerous little hurts. There wasn't much she could see, only the gritty dirt that passed as sand, larger rocks and even larger outcroppings of stone rising from the desert floor like old shelters, petrified by time. Occasionally, she passed tufts of greenish brown grass of some sort and more cacti, some very large and growing in clusters like flattened houses in a village. There were a few large bushes with spindly limbs and thin leaves, but no trees anywhere.

  And people. There were people as far as she could see, standing, sitting, lying on the ground. She thought some of them must be dead, simply by the way they lay unmoving with limbs twisted under them or flung out in unnatural positions. There were other children among them, some being held by adults; others free to move about under the watchful eyes of their guardians. Quite a few of them looked to be as lost and vulnerable as herself. The people were dressed in everything from suits to borrowed shirts tied around the waist by some who must have been caught naked. Lyda was glad she had her clothes on. She spotted several men and women who wore no garments at all. They looked entirely different than the nude bodies she had seen in the material passed around by the kids at school, as if someone had hosed them down and washed part of their color away. She wondered why that was.

  At first, Lyda wasn't really fearful; she was sorrowful about Dad and worried about Mom but beyond that, she was curious. How did she get here without remembering? How long had it taken? What was going to happen next? Was there water and food to be found? Why were the awful spider things bringing their captives here to this desolate waste? In the distance, she saw one of the giant transport craft descend and land as silently as clouds bumping together. She wondered how it was powered. It couldn't be a rocket, could it? There was no noise. As she walked, some men or women glanced at her, but most ignored her as if they had too many problems of their own to care about an eleven year old girl walking around by herself.

  When Lyda grew thirsty, she decided to ask someone about water. She picked a gray-haired woman who resembled Grandma, though she wasn't dressed as nicely.

  “Ma'am, do you know where I can find some water?” Lyda asked the old woman politely.

  “Girl, you need a protector to get water around here. Where's your folks?"

  “I ... I don't know,” Lyda told her. She didn't want to tell anyone Dad was almost certainly dead and Mom ... well, she had been trying to protect her, too.

  “Then you better find someone quick, lest you ... ah shit, leave me alone.” The woman covered her face with her hands and began sobbing.

  Lyda went closer, wanting to comfort the old woman but she was shrugged off. When she tried again, she was pushed forcefully away. Puzzled, Lyda left her alone and began wandering again. What was a protector? Well, probably someone like a parent, she thought. Where would she find one?

  One found her, one who had watched and listened, a tall grungy man in his forties with a two day beard and a gleam of desperation in his eyes. He was wearing the remnants of a suit and had a sweat-stained tee shirt wound around and over his scalp to protect his bald head from the sun.

  “Hey, girl!"

  Lyda turned toward the voice. Before she could back away, she found herself being gripped by the upper arm.

  “I can get you some water, girl. What's your name?"

  Lyda didn't answer. She didn't like his looks. She glanced around, looking for help. The few nearby adults turned away. One man started toward them, but stopped when he saw the grungy man show a large pocket knife with the blade open. He turned away.

  “Come on, girl. We'll both get some water."

  “I don't want to go with you,” Lyda said, trying to wrench her arm away. That only made the man grip her tighter.

  “What's your name, girl?” he repeated, squeezing her arm so hard, it was painful.

  “Lyda,” she said reluctantly.

  “Okay, Lyda. I'm Boris. Come on, let's go get some water. Maybe some food, too.” He began walking, pulling her along by her arm. His long-legged stride forced her into a half walk, half run in order to keep up. His breath was heavy and gasping, with a wheeze to it like his throat was dry, the same as the gritty desert sand. He led her through and around small groups of people for what she thought was somewhere aroun
d a half mile and halted beside a large outcropping of rock that provided shade for a scruffy looking gang of men and women.

  A big dark-haired man stepped forward, holding a sharp, pointed rock in his fist. He also wore a two, perhaps three day day beard. “What we got here?” he asked. His question was asked in a pleasant tone of voice that contrasted with his feral appearance. He reminded Lyda of wolverines she had read about, only bigger.

  “Something to trade,” Boris said deferentially to the big man. Now he was holding Lyda by both arms, forcing her to stand in front of him.

  Lyda began to grasp what was going on now. There was a pile of supplies being guarded by this group. Each man held either a rock or a pocket knife in his hand. Several of the women had armed themselves as well. She could see what looked like red bricks stacked in piles beside open tubs of water. The tubs were made of some gray material. While she stood there, a woman leaned over one of the tubs and cupped water in the palms of her hands and lifted it to her mouth. She did this several times, then stood up. The woman was closely accompanied by a man wearing jeans and holding a rock in his hand. He grinned at the woman like she was a prize he had just won from the coin toss at a county fair. He reached out with his free hand and squeezed one of her breasts. The woman winced, but stood stoically. Then he led her around the stone outcropping, his hand already sliding down under the waistband of her slacks.

  “She's too young,” the big man said, still speaking pleasantly, looking at her, not the couple who had just left. Lyda detected an undertone to his voice, like the trill of a clear mountain stream that held poisonous algae beneath its surface.

  “She's a virgin, Big Bill. Never been had. Ought to be worth something."

  Lyda made a violent effort to wrench herself out of Boris’ grip. She got one arm free. Before she could use her loose arm to try to claw or strike her captor, he had his forearm under her chin, pressing up so hard, she couldn't breathe.

  The man named Big Bill laughed. “She's a feisty one. All right. One brick and all the water you can drink. Then go."

  “But ... Big Bill..."

  “That's all. I could just take her."

  Boris relented. He shoved Lyda forward into Big Bill's arms and scurried for the water tubs. He drank thirstily, got tossed one of the red bricks and was told to leave. He was munching on it as he walked away, not looking back.

  The red bricks are food, Lyda thought. So strange looking, they might be from the aliens. Like the water tubs. But the food and water both should be rationed. This isn't fair! Her mind swirled with conflicting desires; for water, for getting out of the grasp of this man's arms, for a sudden need to find someplace private to relieve herself. And what Boris had said about her being a virgin—did that mean...

  “Come along,” Big Bill said. “May as well get you broke in. There's one in the Rocky Mount gang likes ‘em young. But me first. Ain't never tried one as young as you before."

  Lyda couldn't avoid his meaning now. As he began pulling her toward the back of the rock where the other couple had gone, she reached around and bit down on one of his fingers and tried to yank herself free.

  “Goddamn!” Big Bill shouted, but he kept his hold on her.

  Retaliation was swift. The hand Lyda had bitten grabbed her by the front of her jacket. His other hand swung violently against her head with bruising force, even though he hadn't made a fist. For a moment, Lyda felt only a dizzy numbness. Then the pain hit, like three dentists pushing needles into her jaw all at once. She felt her lip and cheek on one side of her head begin to swell. She licked at the salty blood that began oozing from her mouth and felt tears coursing down her cheeks.

  Big Bill shook her like a dachshund shaking a gopher he had just dug from the ground. “You do that again and I'll beat you so bad, nobody will pay you water, or food either. Hear?"

  Pay? What pay? Lyda's mind swung from thoughts of water to the throbbing in her jaw, to a sudden urgent need to urinate.

  “You hear?” Big Bill repeated.

  Lyda nodded, unable to speak. She wouldn't bite again. I'll wait, she thought frantically as Big Bill nodded and began dragging her along by one arm while sucking on the finger she'd bitten. I'll wait, then I'll hit him with a rock.

  The couple who had gone behind the outcropping was still there beside a pile of the woman's clothes. The man was on top of the woman between her legs, thrusting with his hips, and then there was no longer a way to deny what was going to happen to her.

  Big Bill went about it methodically, stripping her clothes off while never letting her out of his grasp, slapping her twice more to make her obey. She was forced to the ground and then the big man was looming over her naked body, grinning down at her like the Joker with Batman trussed up and helpless before him.

  Lyda didn't want to remember the rest of it, but she knew it would stick in her memory forever. It was so painful, she shrieked; so debasing, she wanted to run forever until no one else could see her shame. Yet, through it all, she kept a part of herself rational. She knew she would live through it and that someday, she might have a chance to kill the man assaulting her. She hoped she would. At the end, she got another painful slap across the face when her bladder let loose and wet the top of Big Bill's pants and the bottom of his shirt.

  He rolled off her and got to his feet. “Damn little bitch, I ought to not give you a fucking thing to eat or drink,” Big Bill said, rubbing a dirty handkerchief over the wet spots on his clothing.

  “I couldn't help it,” Lyda mumbled between sobs. She was crying openly now, unable to help herself. Maybe if I tried to talk to him, I could find a way out of this, she thought. Then she remembered something about another gang. It probably wouldn't help to talk. Painfully and bitterly, she got to her feet. She turned her back and began pulling on her clothes, first using the bottom of the legs of her jeans to wipe at some of the blood and other matter stuck to her thighs. She stuck her panties in the pocket of her jeans, hoping she could wash them before putting them back on. All the while, she was trying to think of how she could get away. She didn't think she could stand for this to happen again, not unless they beat her unconscious first. At least she wouldn't have to know when it was happening that way.

  Big Bill pushed her inside the circle of men and women around the food and water supplies so she couldn't run. Lyda didn't want to run, not right now. She wanted to drink; her mouth hurt and was still bleeding inside. Even though she had no appetite, she knew she should eat. She intended to escape from Big Bill's clutches as soon as she could and this might be her last chance for food and water for a while.

  Lyda was made to drink from the tub of water one of the men told her was for hand washing. Then he guffawed as if something was funny when she bent to drink. The water had an odor like a pair of old gym shoes worn too long without socks. Nevertheless, she drank until she was pulled away from the tub. A woman handed her one of the red bricks while avoiding her gaze, as if she were afraid Lyda might plead for help she couldn't give.

  The food ration was surprisingly good. It had a taste and texture somewhat like milk chocolate with other bits that burst when they were chewed and reminded her of the beef jerky she had eaten once on a camping trip with Mom and Dad. That memory brought tears to her eyes. She brushed them away and continued to eat. Already, she was thinking that the idea of a home with parents and police and a cozy bed was something she should put away in a safe place in her mind and not think about again until it was safe to remember.

  She ate half the brick of food, then surreptitiously tucked the rest into the other pocket of her windbreaker, not knowing whether they would take it back if she didn't eat it all.

  Lyda found that she was allowed to walk around, but always inside the cordon of guards watching the food and water. Once when she tried to slip away, she was clouted by a stick being carved on by one of the men.

  “You wait, girl. Big Bill is selling you,” he snarled. He went back to working on the stick, a green limb taken from what s
he had heard was a mesquite tree. It looked as if he were trying to make a knife out of it, one bigger than the Swiss army knife he was using. Lyda eyed the knife—and the stick—but decided there was no way she was going to get either one of them. She circled around the site again and discovered the cess pit by its smell. There was only one guard there, a woman with bedraggled hair and wild eyes.

  Lyda used the facilities, such as they were, nothing more than a simple hole in the ground. She took a handful of sand to try to clean herself by scrubbing away the dried remnants of the previous assault. It worked well enough that she tried it on the inside of her jeans, which were unavoidably soiled from wearing them. She got most of the blood and semen off them, but decided to keep her panties in her jacket pocket for now.

  As nearly as she could tell, it had been noon when she woke up. Now it was nearing the end of the day and Lyda felt her face and hands stinging from sunburn. Fortunately, she had kept her jacket on to avoid someone stealing it. She had already seen several instances of roving gangs attacking smaller groups of people probably just arriving, and stripping them of everything down to the bare skin. As the shadows cast by the big outcroppings grew longer, Lyda kept quiet and observed. All through the afternoon, the shadow of another impending assault hovered over her and she could think of nothing to do to prevent it. She wasn't strong enough to resist, nor did she have a weapon of any kind.

  I'll kick whoever tries it, she thought. She knew where boys were vulnerable from tittered conversations by girls at school. She thought men wouldn't be much different. But what then? Big Bill had talked about ... what? The Rocky Mount gang, that was what he had said. That implied enough members for protection against others—and to do what they pleased with her.

  Lyda almost began crying again, but wiped at the forming tears with her hand. She told herself that crying wasn't going to help, not in this situation. As she walked in the same circular path she had already traversed several times, she stumbled over a piece of rock jutting from the sand and fell to the earth. It drew a laugh from a some adults nearby, but she was close to the ground and saw what they hadn't: the rock was loose. She scuttled over to it and remained seated beside it. Carefully, she worked the rock completely loose from the crumbly soil. It was as almost as big as her fist and slightly longer. She tucked it away in the side pocket of her jeans. It might not be much, but it was better than nothing. That still left her problem, though.