No Sanctuary

The second stave broke free from its moorings. Rick tossed it away and forced himself through the gap. He’d made it! Rushing forward he flung himself at the slobbering, quaking figure jerking up and down on top of Bert. It was shoving, panting, making small whimpering noises.

Rick fought back vomit as he landed on top of them.

God, the bastard’s doing it. He’s raping her.

Rick wrenched the jibbering preacher away from Bert and threw him off her.

Angus’s back hit the ground hard. He grunted and whimpered with the shock of it. Eyes, wide-open, bulged out of his head, and his slack, slobbering mouth worked behind the blood-flecked beard. Rick stared down at the emaciated body. Still writhing in some kind of ecstasy, glistening with the exertion. The wormy penis was a thin, sharp spike, refusing to lie down. A long stream of semen slimed from it to Bert’s bare leg.

“Aaarrgg!”

Released, Bert rolled away from the conflict, tears of revulsion streaming down her cheeks.

The crud tried to fuck me ...

But be didn’t make it in.

Nearly did though.

God. How did me get into this fucking nightmare? Why aren’t we in some expensive hotel in Maui? Why are we here in this... this stinking hell-bole?

The preacher’s breath came shouting out in snarls and pants as Rick slashed him across the face with the back of his damaged hand. White hot pain seared Rick’s knuckles. But he couldn’t stop. Again and again he brought his fist back and forth across the bony skull.

Blood, his and the preacher’s both, clotted the filthy beard and spattered the ground around them.

Slowly, Bert stood up, dragged up her panties and fastened her shorts. Then squirmed as she saw the semen on her legs. Plunging her hand into her shorts pocket, she found a wad of tissue and rubbed vigorously at the mess. First one leg and then the other.

Satisfied she was as clean as she could get, she tossed the soiled paper and turned her attention to Rick.

“He’s gone, Rick. You’re only hurting yourself more. Let’s go. Jesus, Rick, just let’s go.”

She saw tears of rage and revulsion falling down Rick’s face. He looked up at her. “Christ, Bert. We didn’t need this. The sicko tried to fuck you, Bert. I mean, how did this thing HAPPEN?”

Nursing his shattered hand, he rose to his feet. She wrapped an arm around his waist and they turned to go.

Rick staggered and fell from a terrific blow from behind. Bert nearly went with him.

Regaining her balance, she whipped around and came face to face with a cougar. White muzzle, dark mask, pale golden eyes. Up so close she saw the spittle drooling from its teeth and felt the heat of its rancid breath.

Jesus. A big one. Granddaddy of them all.

A group of maybe four tawny bodies milled around the compound. The roughly made barred gate had swung open. The cats saw it and filed through at a trot.

Coming their way.

Rick stayed on his knees. No choice, the cat’s front paws were holding him down. He felt its steaming hot breath in the nape of his neck.

A wet, flashy tongue investigated his ear.

Bert’s heart sank faster and she felt sweat ooze from her armpits. Ob my God, she panicked. What sball I do? I Should know, but I can’t tbinit straigbt ...

Then, like watching an old movie, a childhood memory reeled through her mind. She saw four lions sitting upright on big round drums in a circus ring. A fat ringmaster in red coat and white breeches faced one of the lions. He held a . whip which he kept flicking at the beast. The lion pawed the air, trying to grab the whip ... The other lions grumbled, became restless. Angry roars broke out. She remembered her ten-year-old self thinking what a goddamn stupid thing to do...

IDIOT. This is not a traveling circus.

This is for real. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the hungry way the cat was nuzzling Rick’s neck. Do it, girl.

Do it.

She did it.

Bending quickly, she grabbed the bloodied stave from the ground. Momentarily distracted, the cat growled and lunged for her. But she had the stave now, held like a spear, above her head. She leapt out of the cat’s reach and did a little war dance, to keep it distracted.

She gained its full attention.

The cat reached her easily in a single bound.

As it roared and swiped at her, she thrust the stave deep into its gaping maw. The cat fell back, shaking its head, gurgling blood. Sprays of it spurted from its mouth. Drenching her hair, face, body and legs. As it shook its head, more red spurted onto her—and all over Rick.

The cat pawed the ground, withdrawing from them, padding backward, uttering strangled, whimpering noises. Still shaking its head, trying to free the stave.

Its paws worked at the wood but the stave didn’t budge. With a final roar, the cat twisted over and lay panting on its side. The stave had gone through the throat and was poking out the other side.

“Come on!” Bert shouted.

Momentarily, the other cats had retreated, watching, lynx-eyed, from a distance. But they were really excited now. Creeping forward, they sniffed and butted the head of the fallen cat—then, one by one, smelling fear in the air, their noses lifted. Their interest in Rick and Bert was swift, sudden.

They closed in for the kill ...

Bert gripped Rick’s arm.

“The knives, Bert,” Rick panted. “They’re around here someplace.”

“Oh, leave them, Rick.” Frowning, she looked around in the darkness. By some miracle there they were, close to her feet, belt buckles glinting in the moonlight. Where Angus had thrown them.

She bent down, hooked them up and grabbed Rick’s good hand. Why she snapped her head around at that moment, she couldn’t say. But she did, and saw a head, half buried in the dark clumps of grass. It was a woman’s head with tousled brown hair and an eaten face. Most of the face was gone, but one eye remained. Wide open. It stared at Bert.

Swaying with shock, Bert clung tightly onto Rick’s hand. They both legged it through the cabin door and slammed it shut behind them.

For a moment, they leaned back against the door, acutely aware of the roaring cats on the other side. The door shook as heavy paws pounded and tore at the wood.

Kicking the Indian blanket out of his way, Rick made a grab for one of the wooden chairs and stashed it against the quaking door.

Angus!

Bert reached up for a quick peek through the small window in the door. It was misted with grime but she could still see the preacher.

Alive. Only just.

He was on his back, his bare, spindly legs curling against his chest. His arms were up, vainly shielding his head.

Come sun-up, you’ll have the biggest breakfast you’ve eaten in a long time ...

A strong-looking cat, a young male, was taking powerful swipes at him, rocking his body back and forth, moving him around like a rag doll. The other cats were spiteful, restless; prowling around impatiendy, swiping at each other. A couple pushed their noses in, but instinct kept them from going for the kill. The big male would take his share first.

The cat nosed around the man’s upturned butt and sniffed its way through the slowly cycling legs. Then gave