Jackie Quinn followed the big man's fingers with her eyes, saw the outstretched hand coming towards her, a tentative exploration, not so much a fee! at her well-formed breasts but rather a stroking of her nylon blouse, callouses snagging the material. Pulling at it, grunting.
She did not understand any more than the other did. Her body should have been free, unencumbered; instead it was unnaturally encased, uncomfortable, preventing her from stretching her limbs, displaying herself for the admiration of these males who had come to her. Something was wrong, she should not be imprisoned, shackled in this shameful way. Her skin was itching, screaming out for its freedom.
Now it was her fingers, no longer slim and sensuous, which secured a grip on her upper garment. Buttons were beyond her comprehension, she just knew that she had to rid herself of these garments in the quickest possible way. She pulled, the blouse tore diagonally. Another tug and it was shredded right across; tearing frantically, desperate to free herself.
A gasp of surprise from the tall dark male, stabbing with his fingers again at her tight bra-cups, rubbing in search of the nipples which were hidden from view. Somehow his clumsy fumblings found the strap and the strained elastic twanged, brought a howl of fear from his thick bearded lips as it lashed him. Then he saw the exposed pink firm nipples and his teeth showed in a wide smile. She was female after all.
The tight-fitting jeans posed a problem for both of them, smooth cotton with nowhere to grip. He spun her round, ran his hands down her buttocks, let out a loud sigh. A nod of his head and two of the others stepped forward, the third one already crumpled to the floor still trying to plug his gashed artery.
Help me, for this is indeed a strange woman!
It was sheer combined strength which finally conquered the stubborn jeans, the trouser legs being ripped upwards from the bottom so that the fastener flew open. Further amazement as a pair of scarlet pants were revealed but there was no time for curiosity now. They were torn asunder, flung to one side. A warning growl and the two helpers hastily retreated to join their dying companion. Their leader had picked his woman and it would be a foolish man who tried to contest the prize.
Beneath her coating of fluffy hair Jackie Quinn's coarse skin prickled and she shuddered in anticipation, knew automatically the role which she was expected to play. It was her duty, pleasure came second. A half-glance down at the other's lower regions showed her the solid length of pink flesh protruding from a thick forest of hair. He was ready, she must not delay or else he would become angry, might fly into a rage and kill her. None could deny him his right.
She nodded, turned, and dropped lithely on to all-fours, thighs well apart, buttocks raised. Tensed, waiting.
He fell on her from behind with the primitive eagerness of an animal which has been kept waiting too long, gripping her thighs painfully for support, stabbing at her to find her entrance, hurting her but she did not cry out. She pushed backwards to aid his penetration, braced herself in readiness for his slamming thrusts.
So hard and fast, over almost as soon as it had begun, dragging her upright with him, gripping her arm tightly as he turned to face the watchers. The fleeting glimmer of hope in their tiny eyes died instantly. This time the pleasure was not to be a shared one. Their leader sought more than the delights of mating; he required this strange woman to bear his child, to prepare his food and to tend his needs.
His word was law and none would question it until the day came when his leadership was disputed. And that time was not nigh yet.
Blood dripped steadily into that square hole in the concrete floor, following the slight slope, with a noise like a leaking tap, a crimson lake that would partially empty and then congeal. The man on the floor was dead but his passing would not be mourned. Where there was life there was always death, it was the law of Nature and was accepted without question.
Jackie looked up into the face of her lover, recognised his sheer strength and power and her flesh goosepimpled with pride.
'Jac,' she tapped her breasts and smiled.
His eyes appeared to glaze over for a second, a moment of half-hesitation as though he was trying to remember something but his brain withheld it; a flicker that might just have been fear and then it was gone.
'Kuz.' His reply was forced as though his vocal chords were unused to speech.
There was no more to be said. Between the three of them they lifted her safely through the broken window, climbed after her with more caution than they had shown on entering. Glass was not strong but it was capable of cutting. And killing. They had learned and they would not forget.
Shapes emerged from the wilderness that had once been a suburban garden but in the darkness it was difficult to distinguish between male and female. A silent watching crowd which looked to the one called Kuz for leadership. Where he went, they would follow unquestioningly.
With Jackie at his side he strode off in a southerly direction, striking across the fields, skirting those lines of amber lights, glancing fearfully at them and quickening his pace, obeying an instinctive calling to be away from this place which he did not understand. Ahead lay the hills, a landscape unchanged and older than his own species.
The calling was very strong.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT NEEDED an awful lot of courage to step outside the cottage into a world you had once come to accept and now feared what you might find there. Jon considered some type of protective clothing; there had been a play on TV some time ago about the survivors of a nuclear holocaust. They had donned plastic coveralls to go outside, left them at the doorway when they returned. Fine, but he didn't have any such garments, an oversight which had caught him out. But this wasn't radioactive fall-out, it was micro-organisms of a decidedly nasty species. His working overalls hung in the lobby, Jackie's alongside them.
'We'd better put these on,' he said, 'and leave 'em here when we come back.' 'If we get back!
Sylvia wrinkled her nose in disapproval; a mistress clad in the wife's apparel. Humiliating.
'I'd . . . rather not,' she replied huskily.
'Look.' His tone was sharp. 'You either put them on or else you stay here and wait for me. I ought not to be taking you along anyway.'
Reluctantly Sylvia Atkinson reached down the thin green plastic overalls. There was a rip in the side, the rest plastered with dried mud like a suit of army camouflage clothing.
'They're too big,' she muttered sulkily. 'I can't wear these.'
'You'll have to,' he snapped. 'Roll the sleeves and legs up. You're not going on a fashion parade, after all.'
Reluctantly, petulantly, she obeyed. 'Is that to your satisfaction, sir?'
'That's OK,' he nodded, glimpsed the twelve-bore propped in the corner, wondered if he should take it along. No, it would not be necessary; you couldn't shoot micro-organisms.
He opened the door, went outside, sensed her following him but did not glance back. Suddenly Sylvia was a nuisance, a liability. Jackie would have co-operated, come up with some constructive ideas. As it was, he was lumbered with a passenger, an additional responsibility. Even being alone would have been preferable. Or would it? You wouldn't know about that until it happened, and by then it could be too late.