Chad swung the axe and watched with satisfaction as the blade chopped the log cleanly in half down the middle. He added the halves to the steadily growing cord of firewood before propping another log atop the big stump he was using for a chopping block. The screen door screeched open and flapped shut behind him. He turned and saw Allyson emerge from the rear of the building Jack Paradise referred to as the “mess hall.” She came bearing two brown bottles of beer, one of which Chad accepted with a grateful nod. They were enjoying an unseasonably warm patch of fall weather here in the mountain country of east Tennessee, and the dripping bottle of beer looked like the nectar of the gods as the glass reflected the shining afternoon sun.
He gulped Budweiser and looked at Allyson. Clad in cutoff denim shorts and a dirty white blouse tied off at her sleek midriff, she bore little resemblance to the trendy suburbanite she’d been a month ago. Chad felt a stir of lust as he looked at her long and slender legs. Then, as was nearly always the case lately, he thought of the sheer number of people-men and women-who had been between those legs during Allyson’s time in the adult film industry and his ardor waned. They’d had sex exactly once during their month at the compound, a brief and awkward coupling that easily ranked among the most unsatisfying encounters of Chad ’s life. They hadn’t talked about it much, but it was obvious Chad had developed a mental block in the aftermath of Allyson’s tawdry revelations.
She noticed his scrutiny of her body and smiled. “Got something on your mind, Chad?”
Chad frowned and looked away. A huge red ant crawled across the dry ground at his feet. “Not really.”
Allyson moved closer, sidling up against him to whisper in his ear: “Is there anything you ever wanted to do to a woman but didn’t have the guts to ask?” Her breath was hot against his ear. Her soft lips brushed the lobe and sent a pleasant tingle through his body. “Anything you want, you can have. Anything.”
The tip of her tongue flicked lightly against his ear, and Chad ’s cock twitched as she moved a soft palm over his bare, sweat-covered torso. These physical ministrations were exquisitely pleasurable. The heat of her body and the feel of her silken flesh against his made his heart pound. Allyson was so very skilled at making a man feel good. Too good, maybe.
Chad pushed away from her and said, “Maybe later,” the words emerging as a halfhearted mumble. “Got work to do.”
He set the bottle down and raised the axe again. Allyson watched him in silence as he split several more logs. Then she departed without a word. Chad kept working as he listened to the sound of her retreating footsteps, not stopping until he heard the screen door flap shut again. When he was sure she was gone, Chad slammed the axe blade into the old stump and pic ked up the beer bottle. He retrieved his flannel shirt, pulled it on, and left it hanging unbuttoned. Then he walked away from the mess hall and moved across the sloping, green grounds of the compound toward the little cluster of cabins where most of the inhabitants of “ Camp Whiskey ” had their quarters.
Men attired in green camos patrolled the wooded perimeter of the compound, some out in the open, others lurking behind the line of tall trees. They carried machine guns and had walkie-talkies clipped to their belts. These were serious, stern-faced men. Many of them were former U.S. military. Recruited and commanded by Jack Paradise, they were the compound’s main line of defense against the enemy Jim seemed so certain would come for them one day.
He approached the door of the nearest and largest cabin and the armed-and heavily armored-guard stationed there stepped aside to allow him entry, acknowledging his exalted status at Camp Whiskey with a single, terse nod.
Chad remained a hero to the other survivors of Below. They all remembered well the instrumental role he’d played in the House of Blood revolt. Which was fine. But the deference with which they treated him made him uncomfortable.
This was the only place he ever felt truly at ease anymore.
So Chad knocked on the wooden door once and loudly announced himself. Then he opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark inside, the windows covered with a heavy dark canvas material. The only illumination was courtesy of the glow from a red bulb in a wrought iron floor lamp and a handful of flickering candles. Little wisps of smoke were visible around the heads of the people seated at the table in the center of the room. Chad smelled cannabis, tobacco, and bourbon. Soft sitar music emanated from the tinny speakers of a small boombox propped atop a crate containing rifles.
Jim acknowledged his arrival with a lazy wave. “ Chad. Join us.”
Chad nodded and approached the table, pulling out a wicker chair opposite Jim. “I see you’re deep into the day’s meditations.” He settled into the creaky chair and set his beer bottle on the dusty wooden table.“Uncovering any new universal truths today?”
Jim’s eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but a lazy smile slowly formed at the corners of his mouth. “What we’re doing, Chad, is engaging in the ancient ritual known as getting fucked up beyond all recognition.
You should join us.”
Jack Paradise lifted a glass containing two fingers of brown liquid and chuckled before taking a drink. “Jim’s getting fucked up. Me, I always indulge at a slow maintenance level.” He stared at the glass cupped between his large hands. His eyes had a haunted look. “After all, the shit could hit the fan at any time.”
Jack was seated next to Jim on the opposite side of the table. Directly opposite Jack was Wanda Lewis, formerly known as “Wicked Wanda” during her time Below. Wanda’s dark hair was drawn back in a ponytail. She wore form-fitting dark clothes. A thin brown cigarette smoldered between two fingers of her right hand. She looked at Chad with a soft, druggy smile and said, “And I wouldn’t exactly say I’m fucked up, but I ain’t quite sober either.” She laughed and leaned back in her chair, bringing her hand to her mouth to puff at the brown cigarette. “Could be me and ‘fucked up’ will be having a rendezvous sometime in the near future.”
Chad noticed a simple plastic bong at the center of the table. It was the sort of thing a frat boy might buy for fifteen bucks at a campus head shop. Next to it was a.45 automatic, a clip for the.45, and an open box of ammunition. As Chad watched, Jim picked up the empty clip and fed bullets into it. He did this slowly and with much deliberation, clearly determined to perform this task with precision despite his high level of inebriation. Then he flipped the safety on and set the gun back on the table.
Jim removed his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirt’s front pocket. He leaned across the table and regarded Chad with eyes that were bloodshot but somber. “So what’s on your mind, friend?”
Chad picked up the Budweiser bottle and twir led the long neck slowly between his fingers without taking a drink. “Things are still weird between Allyson and me. I don’t know what to do about it. And I keep wondering whether bringing her to this place was the right thing to do. Maybe I was wrong about that. A girl like Allyson was made for life in the city. I can sense her getting restless already.”
Jim’s expression grew more intent even as he reached for the bong. “You need to have a serious talk with that girl, Chad, regardless of whether things are ‘weird’ between you.”
Chad leaned back in his chair and let the Bud bottle hang by his side. “Yeah, I know, okay?” He watched Jim fire up the bong and wondered whether a hit or two of the potent weed might improve his mood.