“Shine it here,” she said, tucking the shotgun under one arm.
Doing as directed, Justin flipped on the light and, following her gestures, pointed it at what he now saw was a door set into the wall of metal, secured with a stout chain and a combination lock. In the bright light, he could see that she was as beautiful as he’d remembered from their previous encounter; indeed, despite the traces of grime and oil and whatnot—or maybe because of them—she was, without a doubt, the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. High cheekbones above a firm but not overbearing jaw, a thin, perfectly tapered nose, huge, lustrous eyes, almost black in color, and a thick-lipped, almost exaggeratedly sensuous mouth. And this crowning a body so perfectly curved and proportioned as to be almost maddening in its perfection. Just being this close to such a wonder of female human beauty made Justin a little lightheaded. Either that, or the huge contusion to his skull.
“What you gleepin’ at, meat?” she said, and Justin hastily looked away, trying not to blush. “Just hold that light. And don’t look!”
Turning his head to the surrounding underbrush, he waited until he heard the lock snapping open and the chain being moved. Somewhere nearby, something made a rustling noise as it moved through the bushes, but he couldn’t see anything to account for it. Probably another rabbit.
“OK, c’mon,” said the woman, and Justin turned back to see that she’d opened the door and was now motioning for him to enter. “In here.”
Warily, Justin walked across the threshold and into the pitch-black space, finally stopping when he bumped into something with his shins. He turned back and saw Teresa, limned by starlight, shut the door behind them. He was about to say something about light when she flipped a switch near the door and took care of it.
As far as converted sheet-metal shipping containers went, Justin had to admit that this must be one of the nicest he’d ever seen. Furnished haphazardly but comfortably with a bed, a couch, a table and two chairs, plus a tiny kitchen set-up and a curtained privy, lit by several old table and floor lamps and floored with old carpet remnants, it had a distinctly female cast to it, despite the incongruity of the concept, and was clean, smelled slightly of something lemony, and reminded him oddly of the tiny Japanese flats he’d seen on TV and movies. Yes, for an old shipping crate, it was, if a bit girly in décor and rough around the edges, decidedly homey.
“Is this your place?” he asked, looking around.
Teresa didn’t say anything. After unloading the shotgun and stowing the shells in the bag at her side, she stowed the weapon in a convenient cubbyhole by the door and then slung her bag, a bulky messenger’s pouch, plus his own satchel, across a peg on the wall. With a shrug, she also took off her jacket and hung this over the bag. When she turned back to him, Justin saw that her top, a skimpy thing like a leather bikini, barely contained her perfectly round, jutting breasts. He tried not to stare, but suddenly he got the feeling that it didn’t much matter if he did or not; either she wanted him to look or she simply didn’t care if he did. Abashed, he looked away and tried conversation again.
“It’s very nice,” he said, nodding at the surroundings. “Did you furnish it all yourself?”
Again, she said not a word and he waited for a good minute before finally looking up. She was just standing there, hipshot, arms lax at her sides and absolutely ravishing, staring at him. Then she took two steps forward, threw her arms around his neck, ground her hips into his, and kissed him so ardently that he almost came in his pants, right there on the spot. And then they were on the bed and it was all arms and legs and soft, wet pressure.
Looking back on it, Justin would never be able to say for certain one way or another if he’d been raped. In some ways, one could certainly make the case because, technically speaking, he was kidnapped and forced to have sex. On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly what he could call unpleasant. After all, this was a very beautiful, very sexy young woman and if she was perhaps a bit rough for his tastes as far as love-making went, well, she was also the most vigorous and imaginative lover he’d ever had, bar none. Hell, she was a damned goddess. But still, the idea of her simply taking him like she had, giving him no choice… In the end, he’d usually decide that it just didn’t matter if he’d been raped or not; with a woman like Teresa, you took what you could get, and you loved it.
In the immediate aftermath of their first heated coupling though, sweat drying on his chest, the girl’s leg thrown across his thighs, he didn’t give it much thought. Next to him, Teresa stirred and, propping herself on one elbow, stared into his eyes. Again, he was struck, almost physically, by her beauty.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said, her voice husky. “I din’t hurtcha, did I?”
“Um, no,” said Justin meekly, flexing a few bruised muscles. “Not really.”
With a sigh, she lay back. “Din’t wanna wait,” she sighed. “Been’a while, heh?”
Unsure of what to say, he said nothing and waited, inhaling her scent, and stared at a framed poster on one wall for Pox Populi, the ultra-punk band. He recalled that they’d had one big hit, just before the Fall in the 60’s, called We’re So Sick. Crazy kids.
He also couldn’t help but think of the others back at the MedCenter, and what they must be doing and thinking. He was supposed to be back before dawn, whether he’d found the cache or not. What would the others do when he didn’t show? And what would happen to Lampert? Naturally, he wanted to ask his captor about her plans for him, but decided against it, at least for the time being; no sense in aggravating the one person upon whom his life depended. Besides, even if it was a somewhat guilty pleasure, it was terribly easy to forget his troubles and fears, however imposing, in the presence of such sensuous abundance. For now, he let things be and just lay back and breathed her in.
“So what New Atlanta like?” asked Teresa suddenly. “Ya got bangers there?”
“Gangs?” said Justin. “Oh, yes, plenty of those. Not like your group, but similar, I suppose.”
“Yeah? An’ what my group like, then?”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know exactly…” he said haltingly. “But to answer your question, yes, there are bangers in New Atlanta.”
“Heh, thought so,” she said sadly. “Guess that jus’ the world now. All bangers. Ever’where.”
“Not necessarily,” said Justin. “There are still places.”
“Like where?”
“Well, there’s the California Confederation,” he said. “And the New Hampshire Free State, from what I’ve heard. Possibly others, as well.”
“An’ they don’t got bangers? None at all?”
“That’s the idea,” he said, feeling very tired all of a sudden. “As a matter of fact, that’s where we’re headed. To California.”
“What for? Justa get away from alla bangers?”
“No,” he said slowly. “We have a mission.”
“Whassat mean? What kinda mission?”
He paused, recalling the Old Man’s harsh critique of his common sense and it occurred to him that he should watch what he told this woman; who knew what kind of tricks she might be up to? Maybe her fellow gang members were just waiting, maybe right outside, for him to say or do something stupid. Then again, if they really wanted information from him, they’d have gotten it already. The hard way. Finally, feeling her huge black eyes on him, he shrugged.