Gabriel would be given no such opportunity.
The queen came forward, walking slowly toward where he lay. “I shall do all this,” she said, “all these deeds of blood and calamity, I shall reave your world till none are left to cry for mercy; with no remorse shall I do these things, unless you give me what I require.”
She lifted one hand to her hip and drew open the knot holding the fur wrap closed around her waist. It fell to the ground, leaving her bare beneath. Then she did the same with the fur top she wore, releasing her heavy breasts. The decorations of polished bone had been removed and in their place, hanging from the points of her engorged nipples, were circlets of tarnished metal. As she came closer, Gabriel recognized them as the lightning-bolt epaulets from an SS uniform.
“You will give me my heir now,” she said. Planting one foot solidly on either side of his torso, she lowered herself to her knees, straddling him. She leaned forward, her breasts hanging above his chest. The warm metal of the SS insignia scraped across Gabriel’s skin. Then he felt the wet length of the queen’s tongue run along his neck and the underside of his chin.
She reached behind her and took him in her fist. He bucked forcefully with his hips, arching upward, but she held on, squeezing hard with her knees against his sides like a bull rider. He twisted and bucked again, and this time she fell forward against him, chest to chest, her face landing next to his. “You are strong,” she said. “And vital.” Her voice rose exultantly. “You have more fight in you than the old man. And more of this—” She reached back and took hold of him again, in a grip that was almost painful. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, perhaps the feel of her lithe young body pressed against his, but he was, to his dismay, miraculously still tumescent.
She reared up, raised herself half a foot in the air using her knees for leverage, and plunged down, taking him deep inside her. “Now,” she said, “you shall fill me with your strong, vital American seed.”
He watched her lift the stone knife from where it lay beside the fifth stake. He strained to resist the climax he felt building in him. But it was hopeless. She held him clenched tight with muscles as thoroughly developed as those of her powerful arms and legs; he felt them squeeze rhythmically as she rocked upon him.
She threw her arms wide and he saw the blade stroke against the taut rope, fibers parting as it passed. He shot a glance over her shoulder, toward where Rue hung by her wrists in one chute and in the other, Velda—
But Velda wasn’t in the other.
The rope that had held her wrists dangled empty.
Had that one swipe of the blade been enough to release her into the maw of the machine? But no—he’d have heard it if she’d fallen, would have smelled the ozone stench.
“Now, Gabriel Hunt!” the queen shouted, raising the knife with one hand and pressing down on his belly with the other. “Now!”
And she would have gotten what she wanted, had not a pair of hands hauled her off him by the throat at that very instant.
The queen’s headdress tumbled from her head as Velda hurled her to the ground.
For just a moment, Velda locked eyes with Gabriel. He saw the depths of pain in them, the inconsolable rage contorting her features. “Get me loose,” he said quickly. “We have to free Rue before that rope breaks.” A glance to the side showed that the rope was fraying rapidly, the twined strands snapping one by one as fewer and fewer remained to bear her weight.
But Velda didn’t look at the rope or stoop to untie him. She strode the other way, away from Gabriel and toward Uta.
The queen was trying to rise to her knees. “That old man,” Velda growled, her voice low and savage, “was my father.” Velda laid her out with a vicious kick to the throat. Then she drew back her leg for another, but the queen snagged her ankle and pulled her down to the ground.
“Rue,” Gabriel called. “Hold on!” He strained to reach the fallen headdress, which lay on its side just inches from his right hand. He could feel the tip of one of the crimson feathers between his fingers. It took three tries before he was able to get a good enough grip on it to draw the headdress toward him, one slow millimeter at a time.
But eventually he had it—and rotating it between his fingers, he brought one of the sharp teeth with which the headdress was studded into contact with the rope. He began sawing.
As he did, Velda and Uta rolled past, clutched tightly in each other’s arms, both of them sweat-streaked and dirty and naked as the wild animals their struggle made them resemble. Gabriel saw Velda grab a fistful of platinum hair, wrenching it hard to the left; he was surprised Uta’s neck didn’t snap from the force. But it didn’t, and the queen responded by streaking a long-nailed hand across Velda’s throat, which erupted in furrows of blood.
Velda raised Uta two feet in the air with a kick to the stomach that sent the queen sprawling. An instant later, she was up again and slashing at Velda with the stone knife. Velda leapt back, out of the blade’s reach—and at that instant, the last knot around Gabriel’s right wrist parted. He swung his arm over and began tugging at the knots around his left. They had tightened from his struggles, but he could feel them begin to come apart as he worked at them.
He shot a glance at Rue and then at the dwindling rope holding her up. She was trying to wedge herself in the chute using her knees and heels, but it wasn’t working—she kept slipping. And her efforts were making the rope part faster. “Stay still,” Gabriel shouted. “I’m coming.”
He saw Velda throw a punch at the queen. Uta dodged, twisting out of the way and bringing the knife up to slash at Velda’s knuckles. Velda hissed and jumped back, shaking blood from her hand. She came back in with a low kick and the queen responded again with the knife, this time slashing at Velda’s calf. Velda swore, feinted right and then slipped in on the left, catching the queen by the wrist and disarming her with a brutal twist against the natural bend of the joint. The knife dropped from her grip.
Velda made a dive for the fallen knife and the queen instantly fell on her from behind, knocking Velda to the floor. She wrapped her legs around Velda’s chest, pinning Velda’s arms to her sides, then took hold of Velda’s hair and began bashing her face into the dirt. Velda managed to wrench one arm free and elbowed the queen in the kidney. She made another grab for the knife, but the queen brought her fist down, hard, on Velda’s wrist. Velda howled with pain.
Both women staggered to their knees, then unsteadily to their feet, but the queen lurched forward, butting Velda in the back with her head. Velda fell, landing at the edge of the fire pit. The queen dropped to the ground beside her, taking a fistful of hair and forcing her face toward the smoldering coals. Velda threw back a flurry of desperate elbows until finally one connected, knocking the queen to one side, but Uta came barreling back and shoved Velda onto the coals. Velda rolled across the burning surface, sending sparks flying. The queen spun, reaching for the fallen knife.
That was when Gabriel finally got his left arm free—and the last strands of the rope holding Rue up snapped.
With a lightning-fast lunge, Gabriel swung over toward the stake, grabbing at the rope as it sprang into the air. He caught its end and held tight. Rue’s weight yanked him to a standing position as she slid down the chute. He heard her moan when her feet came to a stop within inches of the deadly lens. Pulling hard with both hands, he dragged the rope toward him, coiling it around his fists. The muscles of his arms bulged with the effort. One more pull—