Strange Queens Ch. 03

All in all, life seemed more or less perfect in the Paulo household, and no one, not Albert, his girlfriend Tiffany, Paulo or his sexy slave Chelsea, saw any reason for that to change.

Not now, not ever.

* * * * *

Rachel ran. She ran hard, she ran low, and she ran fast. She kept her head down and her legs pumping, doing her best not to lose footing and fall in the wet. It was pouring down, drenching her already sodden clothes. Her hair, long and winding, flew behind her and strung across her face, but she wiped it away and kept on moving.

Behind her, hand tightly clenching hers, was a younger girl in a cute blue and white skirt. Her own hair, also long, also wavy, was dripping wet, and she was doing her best just to keep up with her sister. In her arm she clutched a small bear, his own lovely coat damp from the rain.

Rachel wound them around corners and bends, making their way as best they could through tight alleyways behind various businesses and apartments. It was late, very late, and the dark was mixing the smoke and the rain together and forming a dangerous and terrifying haze before them that threatened to swallow them up if they made a wrong turn here or a wrong move there. Behind them, they could hear the sharp, grunting shouts of men chasing them, occasionally catching flashes as their torches glinted off fences and bins.

Deep in the low profile, lower society units and buildings of the Russian suburbia, houses and shops crammed closer and closer to each other as though attempting to find warmth in their companion's grasps. It was a small community, a sprawling area of one or two story buildings, the business of work mingling with the day to day life of homes in an attempt to keep funds moving regularly enough to pay the bills. The result of it all made for a tight network of corridors and alleyways through which the girls now ran, a continuation of access laneways turning on to rubbish lanes, long, loping power lines and dusty phone cables hanging like a great spider's web over their heads. One moment they would be running past the backs of houses, the next a large warehouse would be looming over them.

And Rachel led them both through it all, sprinting, her old sneakers pounding, one side missing a lace and squeaking, her sister doing all she could to keep up beside her, her little legs pumping madly.

Rounding a fence bent horribly under the weight of a large tree, Rachel saw what she'd been dreading to find since she'd made the decision to take the alleys. A dead end. Stacked high with bins and rubbish, she could see a solid fence blocking any passage through to whatever was on the other side. A huge, malformed tree hung over their heads like the spider in its web of wires, it's long, bare branches forming the illusion of the arachnid's legs. Turning on her heel, she saw a glint as a torch shone around the corner, and she knew in an instant that they'd find them here. Looking up, she flinched as the rain pelted her eyes, forcing herself to look past the water, trying to judge the height of the branch above her leaning out from the deformed tree beside them.

'Stay right here, okay, don't move.' She said to her sister, her guttural native tongue sharp and firm. Stopped by her leg, one hand on her shirt, her sister's warmth seeped through their sodden clothes. She steadied herself, scraped any excess water from under the soles of her boots and jumped, reaching for the damp bark above her. She clapped her hand on the side of the wood but found no purchase on the slick wood and slid uselessly off. Cursing, she tried again, but the wet timber wouldn't grant her enough friction to sport a handhold.

Looking down, Rachel found no younger sister by her side, and she started. But just as she did so, she heard a small cry, and looked up to see her sibling stepping up to the rows of bins left along the length of the fence. She pelted quickly up to her and crouched down by her side.

'Didn't I say to stay with me? You can't wander off in this danger. You'll get caught. What are you thinking, little one?' she said, scalding her and investigating what had caught her attention in the one sentence. She pointed at the bins and mouthed, "Climb?" up at her big sister. Far from dismissing her, Rachel considered the option. Her sister was never one for childish games or time wasting as it was, and she was smart for her young age... But she may have done the math, as it were, on an option that Rachel had already dismissed.

'I don't know, big girl, they're not stable, and they're dripping wet. We don't know what's on the other side, either...' She mused, half talking to her younger sibling. A crack from behind her made her snap her head around, and her heart flew up her throat. She could see nothing, but the voices hadn't stopped. They'd have to be getting close by now. No time to think any further.

'Right. Up we go, Missy!' She said, hoisting the little girl up and on to her shoulders in one swift move. Her sibling, for her part, loved piggy backs, and knew how to hold on instantly. She wrapped her arms tight around Rachel's neck while her legs hooked round her waist. Her big sister took a moment to collect herself. Then, it was time to move. Taking a step back, she put her hands on the lip of the bin and leapt up, swinging her legs up under her. As her feet came down, the treads on her right shoe gave way and her foot slid back off the slippery plastic. Rachel gasped, but her weight was on her left leg, and so she regained her balance quickly. Composing herself, putting a hand to her sister's, she saw the fence. She was going to have to take it moving and hope that there was a safe landing on the other side -- the corrugated iron wouldn't give her enough purchase to hold them both on, and it was too high to see all the way over, even from up on the big bins. As an angry shout echoed from the inky greyness behind them and a glinting, flashing light swung over their exposed position, she sized it up, raised her hips, and, throwing a last prayer to the winds, leapt forwards.

* * * * *

Taking a moment to look about, her free hand shielding her eyes from the bright, uncontrolled light, she felt a strange damp squishiness under her feet. Looking down, she saw -- something that delighted her more than she'd have thought it would -- grass. Freshly wet grass, dewy, as through it had recently rained, its short blades reaching up between her bare toes and cushioning her feet gently. As relaxing, and invigorating, the sensation was, she wasn't safe. She had to get out, and get out fast. She had to think of Jordan.

Looking around, Rachel saw a dark shed off to the left, adjacent to the large grey cement building she'd emerged from. Twisting her neck to look past the limp abdomen of her friend, she could see the corrugation of the shed's roof and walls. But it wasn't its looks that had brought her attention to it; in its side, a small door had flown open, a garage style pedestrian door, and black clad guards were emerging from it. Several were replacing balaclavas, thick goggles or helmets variously back on. One or two seemed to be hurriedly replacing their pants or shirts, and one, a thick, muscular man with dirty brown hair on his chest, had no shirt on at all. Rachel watched as, almost comically, he realised his error and spun on his heel to retrieve the missing garment.

The guards must be coming back from lunch, Rachel thought. And then she realised what that meant -- the guards were coming back. They'd be back in the building, back at their posts, back blocking the way to their friends in moments. Rachel's heart pounded, she had to find a place she could put Jordan, and fast. Spinning, she scanned the horizon, the brightness and colour of the world still dazzling her, and she saw it. A row of black painted vans sat parked along a wall some hundred metres away, sitting beside a tall, evil looking grill gate locked firmly shut. Rachel rebalanced her friend on her shoulder and tested her knees, preparing to move and move fast. She gave herself a moment, took a breath.

Then, she was off. Pounding forwards as fast as her vastly out of shape legs could go, wobbling slightly, her muscles barely used to walking, let alone running. Although not going fast, she was moving with speed, and that mattered. As she reached the line of vehicles she found a shady line of neatly trimmed bushes growing against the high brick wall, so she dropped painfully to her knees and carefully laid the limp female down, butt on the dirt, head to one side. Jordan would be alright there while she found a car she could use.

It was as she came back to the clearing, through the space between two of the diagonally parked black vans, that Rachel saw something that made her blood chill.

Behind the black clad guards, the last of them leaving their shed now, stumbled someone. A girl, Rachel saw. A girl clad only in the shining silver cups and chains of one of the other imprisoned women from inside. As she peered closer, the girl stumbled, her knees pointed inwards, one arm trying it's best to bring up her hand so she could shield her eyes from the glaring sun. Her chains held her hand back, and her back was stooping terribly, the light obviously irritating her terribly.

But it was the way she walked, her second hand, and the black gloved hand on her arm that really made Rachel's jaw drop. Because this girl had been coming out from the guard's shed, the same guards shed out of which the black clad people were now coming. And Rachel knew she wouldn't have just been in the shed for drinks and snacks.

She'd been... No. No, it wasn't possible.

No, it was very, very possible.

She'd been inside, being used by the guards.

Rachel didn't need to be any closer to be certain. The way she walked, one hand trying to clutch between her legs, the chicken-kneed walk, the intense irritation from the sun, and the way the guards held her. The girl had been chosen, probably, picked like a prize from a pool, taken out of her cell, likely drugged up hard on the barbiturate-hallucinogen concoction that fuzzed memory, drained willpower and heightened lust to a dangerous level, and then had been fucked by the guards... For lunch. She would likely have never even known she was being had by them, would probably have welcomed it while she was so horny. Or, perhaps, they'd dragged her in sober and alert and started the assault before she'd been drugged, only shooting her up when she was breaking and then gloating as her will seeped out of her pores and was replaced with only a lusting, groggy arousal.

And that explained something else Rachel had seen, while she'd been over by the kitchen doorway with Jordan over her shoulder. The guards, redressing, strapping their belts back up, their shirts back on. The little fucks had had this girl, defenceless and helpless to stop them, pumped her poor body to hell, and now they were going to toss her limply back into her cell like jizz-soaked tissues in a bin.

Rachel's fist clenched by her side, she felt her heart pound, her blood started to rush through her body. The fucking assholes had raped her... was all she could think. As she watched the last ones enter the building, dragging the sorry form of the barely upright woman behind them, it was all Rachel could do to stop herself from screaming out loud and tearing towards them. How many others had been treated to the same fucked ritual before this poor girl? Had Jordan? Had she?

No. Don't run at them. You can't. Doing that will only get you killed, she told herself. You can't do that, you can't be caught again. If you do, they're all fucked, you're fucked... And Jordan's fucked.

And that last one did it for her. If not her, if not for the other girls, Rachel had to do It for her friend, for Jordan. She'd cared for Rachel. Rachel would look after her, even if it killed her. She promised.

Turning on her heel, Rachel went back to the slumped girl, now mumbling in her sleep, twitching. She crouched down, and began to rummage in the bags she'd taken with her from the kitchen, the bags full of stolen tools and supplies of all kinds. The smell of sex hung about Jordan, and she was glinting with a thin layer of sweat. Already the dirt under her metal framed groin was beginning to stick to the stains of her leakage.

She found what she was looking for, held it up before her, alongside one of the jars she'd taken from the kitchen, and a half-smile cracked her firmly creased lips.

Yes, she thought. This would help. This would help... A lot.

* * * * *

Having been running for their lives, the two sisters, out of breath, sodden, and dirty, slumped to the rough cement of the rooftop they had found themselves and lent on one another. After her make-or-break jump over the fence, Rachel had found a grassy backyard rushing to welcome them, overgrown and unkempt. It had been the perfect cushion for their fall, the long, wet blades scratching past their faces and bodies as they dropped through it.

Rachel took the brunt of their weight, her legs the first to land, catching their momentum like two huge springs. But the fall had been a long one, and with the added weight of her little sister on her back, she had found herself still moving as she dropped into the familiar crouch that anyone jumping from height does. Catching her breath, her arms had flown out and she had done the only thing she could do to keep from rolling onto her back, where her sister clung -- fallen on her hands and face.

Rachel had been alright, but she'd left some large dents -- and a lot of broken grass -- behind her. Her wrists hurt and one hand had discovered a rock buried just below the surface of the damp, muddy dirt and was bleeding, but other than that and the dirt on her face and in her hair, she was alright.

Rachel hadn't cared, hadn't bothered to check herself at all -- the moment she was stable, she was up, on her heels, checking her sister's face, arms, chest and back. She seemed okay, and even had her beloved companion clutched safely in one hand. She gave a brave smile up to her sister, and Rachel had grinned back, giving her sibling a quick but firm hug.

Then it was move time. The voices hadn't stopped behind them, and over the fence she could see torch lights catching on the falling droplets of water. It was only a matter of time before the enemy looked over the fence and saw them. As it was, they were likely to notice the grass, so they would know the escapees had come this way.

But the jump had granted the two young females the break they needed. It would be a whole four minutes and six seconds before the team of burly men came to the bins sitting abandoned at the end of the long dead end alleyway, that time partially invested in a failed attempt to get two men up the slick tree branches above the corner leading into the dead end.

It was another thirty-three seconds before their leader, a bald, dark eyed man entered the scene. Dressed entirely in black, tight fabric armour -- a kind of hybrid between Kevlar bullet proof protection and solid, carbon fibre and iodised aluminium plating, the armour was a breakthrough because it had the strength of solid plates but the flexibility of a thin Kevlar layer, it could theoretically stop the shrapnel from an explosion from fatally injuring the body, and certainly dissipate the impact from a physical attack -- and from his cool, calculated gaze and belt-holstered Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol, the only gun in the entire squad, he could only be the head of their operation. Tall, built like a rock, and completely relaxed, he smoked a thick, sludgy cigar despite the pouring rain and biting chill. The most obvious part of his whole attitude, though, was his body language. He didn't give a fuck what happened around him, he stayed calm and ready no matter what.

'Where did they go?' He asked simply, to none of the twelve men around him in particular. His thick accent accentuated his deep and booming voice.

A shout came from the end of the alley, and the men furthest from their leader ran immediately to its source. Only three stayed with their captain, arrayed on both sides and behind him, a sort of defensive circle of sorts. A few moments later, the shouter -- a man bent over the edge of the fence, a second holding his belt to prevent him from falling over the high edge -- was over the divide, his allies following him, thick steel toed boots landing solidly in the muddy grass all around the unusual indentations Rachel had left there only five minutes before. Without waiting a moment, they were off, following the trail of bent grass blades leading away from the drop zone and around the building that sat, dark and foreboding, before them.

Rachel and her sister were just regaining their breath when they heard the heavy thump of the first set of boots stepping in a paced jog along the concrete pathway around the warehouse. Backs up against an air conditioning outlet, the two froze, their arms around each other, sharing warmth.

Rachel mouthed a silent "shhhhh" to her sister, who nodded vigorously, and she rose to her haunches, hooking one finger inside the boot of each of her shoes in turn and silently slipping the wet and loose material off her feet. Clad now in socks alone, she padded quietly towards the edge of the roof, avoiding puddles that had formed on the uneven concrete.

As she reached the side she dropped even lower, on her hands and knees, her shirt hanging coldly from her body as she edged her view closer and closer to the side of the warehouse, peering down at the imposing black men stalking barely ten feet away.

She came to the edge and allowed one eye to peek. And she saw them.

A row of people, all men, stretched in both directions down the long, thin path that ran alongside this warehouse building. There were perhaps four of them, about twenty steps apart, torches held firmly forwards or backwards, scanning. More were on their way, moving from the backyard style patch of grass on which they had all landed. As the first man disappeared around the corner of the building furthest from Rachel's spot, the front of the place, another stepped off the grass and onto the concrete path.

Rachel didn't dare breathe. Her body was frozen in place, staring at them, despite the cold never ceasing it's evil biting of every exposed piece of flesh. It wormed its way up her thin shirt and speared icicles through her cleavage. She felt like shivering, like crying out, like doing... Something. Anything.

But she couldn't. She could onlys watch, and prey they wouldn't look up.

Although she knew otherwise, Rachel couldn't help but feel as though she was in plain sight -- as though, if one of them just raised their eyes a touch, just flicked their torch upwards, they'd see her, completely exposed, stranded up here, with nowhere to run. But no one did. None of the twelve men looked up -- maybe it was because of the rain pelting them, or perhaps that they just had no idea this corrugated iron shed was a reinforced warehouse with a stable concrete roof, who knew -- and Rachel had only to wait a few more moments before a shout came from the man who had rounded on the front of the building. Instantly, all the torches below swung forwards, and every man was running, just like that. Within seconds, the last heavily clothed male had turned the corner and Rachel was alone again, in the dark, the only light the dim reflection of the distant city lights off the thick and goopy clouds above.

Rachel knew why they had run. But that didn't matter now. Now, either the girls were safe, safe for good, or there would be twelve wet, angry, and triumphant men surrounding them, ready to cuff them, strip them, and pawn their bodies off to the slave market.