CHAPTER 1
Chapter 1
It was a muggy night for late June in Nashville. In spite of the air conditioning in the house, Jill lay naked on the bed. This was one of Jill’s normal habits. She had slept unclothed since she was a teenager. She just felt more comfortable without the binding clothes. Since being on her, own Jill had expanded the habit into lounging around the house in the same manner. Though always with the curtains drawn and the shades pulled. She still had her modesty, even to the point of appearing prudish. The clothes Jill generally wore outside of the house consisted of very classy dresses and skirts. Delicate blouses topped the skirts, always cut high at the collar. A business lady, Jill wanted her successes based on her talents rather then her body.
For the same reason, Jill made it a policy to never date anyone from the office. For that matter, she rarely dated at all. She chose instead to concentrate on her career, and her own life. Jill prided herself on being an independent person. She carefully monitored her investments, making sure that whatever happened she would always have something to fall back on. Jill had hated having to depend on her parents for money during high school and college. It seemed there had always been a string attached or some commandment of theirs to obey. Of course, she had obeyed her parent’s wishes. But she promised herself that once she got out of college, she would never put herself in a position to be dependent upon another, not even a husband.
Jill felt she had done well for herself, graduating from college a year early with a degree in business management. She landed a job in downtown Nashville at a major corporation, starting at nearly 100,000 dollars a year plus bonuses. Now at age twenty-three, she held a sizable stock portfolio and owned her own home in east Nashville. Jill was a gracious giver also. She being of liberal democratic beliefs donated heavily to the Democratic Party, national handgun control groups and major college funds for black Americans.
Jill believed in her causes, her yard was constantly adorned with signs bearing anti gun slogans, and campaign posters for democratic candidates. She had even been present in downtown Nashville as candidate Al Gore faced his sorrowful supporters, after the voting in 2000. She had wept for her hero along with everyone else in the crowd.
Jill had even purchased her home with the problem of deforestation in mind. The home built mostly of masonry construction a two-story home built several years previous. While her home was designed with a secure safe room. She had not seen a need to bar the windows and doors as nearly every other neighbor on her street had. Jill believed in humanity.
The alarm sounded at the bedside table startling Jill. Groggily, she rose to sit on the bedside, clicking the alarm on the radio off. As she stood up to walk to the bathroom, her long black hair falling across her shoulder, the slight curls caught in the breeze as she walked. Jill was in excellent physical condition at 5’6 and 115 lbs. She was lean, her tummy flat, and her behind shapely, upturned and held just enough fat to allow a slight jiggle when she walked. Jill felt fortunate to have a smaller chest. Her breasts while still firm fit loosely into a B cup. Any larger and she felt they would have been awkward.
In the bathroom, she stepped into the shower. After setting the water temperature she lingered under the spray allowing the water to flow over her body. After shampooing her hair, she rubbed the bar soap over her dark toned skin, reviving her. Before stepping out, she used the razor to run over her legs and then her pubic area. Jill disliked pubic hair on her body. It felt “dirty” to her. She enjoyed the clean fresh look.
Once out of the shower Jill dressed in her blue polyester skirt that came to just below her knee and a white ruffled blouse. Thinking the thin material would feel cooler. Slipping into a pair of blue high heel shoes she stood in front of the mirror to check everything over careful that her bra did not show through. Even as hot as it was outside Jill always wore a bra. Sometimes she chided herself for being to reserved. Before heading out the door, she threw on the usual light make up. Then, on the way out she locked the knob on the door.
Jill owned a late model Nissan Maxima but she rarely drove it to work. Jill preferred to walk down to the corner to catch the bus instead. Another of her beliefs, she did not wish to contribute to the smog problem unless she had to.
Outside, the city was beginning come alive getting ready for the day. The sounds of horns honking, the cars on the interstate behind her house drowning out the chirping of the birds. Jill studied her neighbor’s homes as she walked by her heels clicking on the sidewalk. It was a quiet little neighborhood. Jill could not understand why so many homes had bars over the windows and doors. Some even had decorative fences that served to both beautify and protect.
On the next block, Jill passed the home of her opposite. She had never met the man only saw him getting into or out of the pickup truck parked beside the garage. Jill regarded the man as a “Redneck”, the most unsophisticated sort. She hoped she never had to confront him or even a cause for conversation with him. She knew such an event would likely prove disastrous. The man’s home sported a huge ugly radio tower that often times she found a confederate flag flying from. The yard of the house sported all sorts of pro gun signs and political statements such as “Vote Freedom First“ and “Close the Border.” On the garage door, there hung several targets the type with a silhouette of a human being and each were unmercifully shot full of holes.
Around the home was a protective fence of awful chain link. The neighbors had complained to the zoning board to have the fence removed. However, the board had refused because the man had used the green vinyl coated type of fence. The zoning board felt that the fence was the proper height and the green color would blend with the grass of the lawn, the board could do nothing.
That was before the awful looking barrels appeared. Disguised as planters, the heavy concrete barrels stood in a line, just inside the fence and across the length of the front porch. She knew they were there to stop the bullets and the cars of attackers. Added to this, a pair of German shepherd dogs patrolling inside the fence, Jill had concluded the man was suffering from paranoid delusions.
Jill made the bus stop on time, then all the exchanges, on the way downtown. While riding the bus, Jill made a habit of studying the faces of the other passengers. In the two years of riding the buses, she had had a few incidents occur. Usually minor things once or twice men have grabbed a ’feel’, once a wino had tried to kiss her. However, once, after a hard day, she had accidentally fallen asleep. She awoke to feel a gruff hand massaging her labia, through the material of her hose and panties. The man had bravely reached beneath her skirt. She had slapped him so hard it left a fiery red handprint on his cheek. The force she had used surprised her, she never thought she could be prone to violence. It puzzled her. She finally chalked up the slap to a primal reaction.
However, this morning’s ride proved uneventful. Jill sat looking out the windows, her mind reviewing the latest news events. The Supreme Court had heard a case that involved the Second Amendment, another question of the interpretation. This was a case to determine if “the people” intended a collective or an individual right. The final decision was to be announced at any time, as the justices had taken the matter under advisement some week’s back.
Today the justices were hearing the final arguments on the slave reparation case. Blacks were demanding the federal and state governments, those that had the keeping of slaves, pay a regular amount to the descendants of the slaves, for compensation of the labor and suffering of their ancestors.
Jill knew both of these cases were emotionally charged cases. Many people were worried about the outcome and the reaction of the people. There had been calls by the Blacks and the Gun owners alike, for violence should the verdicts not go well for them. “Today.” Jill thought, “Might prove interesting, maybe I should have driven.”
Once at the office, Jill’s cares seemed to fade away as she allowed herself to melt into the tasks of the day. She soon forgot about the turmoil of the day. Jill seemed happiest when she were shuffling papers and crunching numbers. Her mind even drifted into making plans for the weekend.
Suddenly, Jill realized she was hungry. Checking her watch she realized why, she had worked through lunch. She picked up her purse, and made her way to the ground floor. A neat little cafeteria there served some great sandwiches.
Deciding to have a ham and cheese hoagie, a bag of chips and a coke, Jill took her meal to a booth. After sitting down, Jill looked up to see the TV tuned to a headline news channel. On the screen the Supreme Court building showed in the background, the reporter spoke rapidly, almost urgently.
Jill listened as the harried reporter tried to speak over the chanting and noise of the protesters. Apparently, the justices had ruled on the slavery issue immediately, and then released its decision on the Second Amendment case. Jill listened intently as the reporter gave a synopsis of the rulings and the reaction of the people around him.
As she listened, Jill became aware of someone speaking to her, distracting her from the TV report. Turning she saw Bob Jenkins standing by her table. She knew Bob from another agency in the building. He was a heavy, muscular man of 50 with very gray hair. A traditional businessman, he wore gray dress pants and a gray tweed jacket. “Hi Bob. Have a seat I was just watching the verdicts.” Jill said smiling.
Bob only nodded as he sank into the booth opposite Jill. Right away Jill noticed a look of grave concern on his face and asked, “What’s wrong Bob?”
Bob shook his head nervously as he unwrapped his sandwich. Jill gave him his time. Finally, Bob seemed to get disgusted, his hands flinching upwards away from the sandwich “These damn verdicts will break up the country Jill. This country is at a turning point in history.” Bob replied.
Jill smiled and said cheerily, “It can’t be that bad, Bob sure they’ll both stomp and whine for awhile but they will soon see it’s no use and accept the verdicts.”
Bob looked at her as if she was a naive child. She hated that look. He said, “No they won’t Jill there’s going to be hell to pay, you watch and see. The blacks already had that money counted and spent in their heads.” Bob paused to look at the screen a moment then looked Jill in the eyes and said “And us gun owners, we will not give up our guns.”
Jill seemed shocked “Bob? You have a gun?” Jill asked incredulously.
Bob nodded his head and took a bite of his sandwich letting that sink into Jill’s mind. Then he continued, “Jill I fought in Vietnam to protect the freedom of the constitution and the bill of rights. I killed all those communists that stood in the way of my freedom. Well guess what Jill; all those communists had guns. Now I will not be able to have guns! Does that make sense to you?”
Jill now wore a look of utter disbelief. “Bob its just guns. It is not worth a revolution for. Good grief Bob they kill people, they’re dangerous!” Jill exclaimed.
Bob stared at her face his eyes piercing. “It’s not just guns it’s a principle Jill. That our founding fathers and every person that ever fought for this country has fought to protect. Furthermore, no gun has ever killed anyone. The guns were used by someone to kill someone.” Bob stated flatly.
Jill did not reply they finished their lunches quietly and watched the TV. When they had finished, Bob stood up to leave then turned to Jill and said, “Look, things could get bad. Be careful. If you need me, you know where to find me. And if I hear anything I’ll let you know.”
Jill felt his statement seemed over dramatic but said, “Sure Bob thanks.”
Bob nodded in reply as he turned to walk away.
Jill sat at the table awhile longer, thinking. On the one hand, she felt a victory against guns. On the other, in the pit of her stomach she felt coldness, a fear of what might happen. “ I didn’t think it meant that much to them,” she thought. “It had all seemed like a harmless game, send in money, get pamphlets and a letter proclaiming ‘your’ victory.”
Shaking off the thoughts Jill got up to leave, as she turned away she heard leaders of the blacks calling for riots and retribution. “Show whitey how it feels!” the speaker, exclaimed.
Jill turned finding several black faces in the crowd of the lunchroom. Jill saw their faces contained fear, extreme anger, and denial. “Even here?” she asked herself. Jill quickly dumped her tray and walked to the elevator. An uneasy nervousness fell over Jill on the ride up. Fear crept into her. She mentally slammed the door on it. Next, she felt the guilt, “You were part of the cause,” she thought. Somehow, the guilt lingered.
Once back at her desk, Jill was able to immerse herself into her work again. The fear forgotten, the nervousness ceased. She felt secure in her work, but the guilt remained. Her mind tried to deny the guilt, to pass it off, but still it remained.
The door to her office burst open startling her. Bob was suddenly in the office with her, he was sweating, and looked wild and scared. Jill became alarmed. Bob said, “Haven’t you heard?”
Wide-eyed Jill could only shake her head “No”.
Bob caught his breath and gasped, “They shot him!”
Jill waited for Bob to continue, when he did not, she asked, “ Shot who?”
Bob looked astonished then replied “That guy Al Muhammad, the black leader, the one that was going to run for president!”
“Who shot him?” Jill asked, disbelieving.
Bob replied, “ They don’t know for sure, he was speaking in Atlanta. He was at the podium, shots were fired, nobody knows from where. But the pro-gun whites were rallying nearby.” Bob paused to catch his breath.
Jill seemed angry at the pause, anxious for more information.
Bob continued “The Black militant group, the ones that always protest with the assault weapons opened fire on the white pro-gun rally. It is mayhem there. The police, the blacks and the pro-gunners are all firing at each other. ” Bob had to catch a breath then exclaimed “My God Jill, it looks like Beirut, Dublin or Saigon.”
Jill sat down hard in her chair her eyes stared straight ahead unblinking. Bob snapped her out of it by saying, “Jill! I think we better leave now before it breaks loose here.”
Jill just stared at Bob, shaking her head then said, “ Bob are you sure it will happen here? I mean Atlanta is three hundred miles away.”
Bob excitedly said, ”Jill, there are bodies in the streets there it will only spread.”
Jill sat quietly in thought, finally she looked at her watch 4:30 PM, “Past quitting time anyway,” she thought. She sighed and said, “Well I guess it couldn’t hurt to be safe.”
Bob seemed relieved, smiled and asked, “Where are you parked?”
Jill seemed shocked for a second then replied, ”I took the bus to work.”
Bob seemed agitated and said, “Damn, me too. Look, we both live on the East Side, we had better stay together. We‘ve got the projects between here and home.” He paused waiting for Jill to respond then suddenly said, “Hey, we better get moving are you ready?”
Jill nodded her head “yes”. Then got her purse from the desk drawer on the way out.
On the street they decided to hail a cab for a direct route to save time. After a dozen cabs passed them carrying passengers. Bob muttered to Jill, ”Everyone is getting out of downtown.”
A city bus passed them it appeared to be loaded to standing room only. Bob sighed and said, “We’ll be lucky to get out of here now. Let’s start walking.”
Jill agreed, But secretly she thought, “ I won’t get far in these heels.”
They made their way through near panic crowds, as they worked their way down the hill toward the river. There was heaviness in the air, the crowds were moving about with a determination, everyone hurrying to get to their homes.
Then Bob spotted two people stepping out of a Music city cab 50 feet away. “Let’s get it before anyone else does.” He exclaimed.
They ran toward the cab like it was home base, Bob knocked one person down on the way, The man jumped to his feet screaming obscenities. Bob grabbed the door handle and yanked it open just ahead of another businessman. Bob shouted, “I got this one buddy!”
Jill came from behind running in her heels. Bob held the door for her as she slid into the seat quickly. Then Bob jumped in and slammed the door. Bob, out of breath gasped gruffly to the driver, “East Side, let’s go!”
The driver turned in his seat to face bob and stated flatly, “Can’t do it buddy, haven’t you heard the news? All hell broke loose across the river.” For the first time, Bob and Jill looked at the horizon, instead of the crowds. Through the drivers windshield they could see plumes of smoke rising above the buildings across the river.
Jill’s mouth fell open in surprise. Bob’s eyes and head darted back and forth thinking at hyper-speed. Finally Bob asked, “Can’t we get through? I’ll give you a hundred dollar bonus.”
The driver chuckled and said, “I wouldn’t live to spend it if I did try it. The Blacks across the river will kill any white they find. Besides the cop‘s have the bridge blocked to protect the capitol. The only way is south or west. ”
Bob smacked the seat disgusted. He exclaimed, “Damn!”
The cab driver suggested, “I could take you as far as Harding Place, you could rent a car. But that’s as far as I go. I need to get back to get the people out. ”
Bob glanced at Jill, who sat quietly observing. Jill said, “It’s up to you Bob.”
Bob seemed to get a determined look and said, ”Just take us to the bridge we’ll get across on foot, It can’t be that bad.”
The driver cocked his head to the side and said, “Your funeral.” Putting the car into gear he pulled away from the curb.
The traffic was so bad, it took 35 minutes to make the eight blocks. At the bridge the driver said, “No charge I just want to get gone from here.”
Bob and Jill stepped out looking at the police barricade. Jill guessed that there were 50 or more officers stationed there with rifles and shotguns. Looking across the bridge they could see a mob of blacks, she guessed there must have been thousands. The mob carried signs, with anti-racism slogans. Some were shouting angrily, some seemed to be discussing something, occasionally glancing nervously at the officers on this side of the bridge. The situation seemed very tense.
Bob said, “Lets go talk to the officer in charge, see if we can get across.”
He began walking that way without waiting for a reply from Jill. Suddenly Jill grabbed Bob’s arm yanking him to a stop. “Look!” Jill exclaimed and pointed across the bridge.
Suddenly the officers took cover aiming the weapons across the bridge. Bob looked across, saw that the mob had formed up and had begun to cross the bridge. The police supervisor screamed at Bob and Jill, “Get out of here! Take cover!”
Bob stunned that this was happening, stood frozen. Jill looked around, they were suddenly alone, no cars, no people. Thinking quickly she grabbed Bob’s arm and said, “Quick, the bushes by the bridge!”
Jill and Bob ran through the grass to the bushes that bordered the embankment that dropped down to the river. At the edge of the bushes they had to scramble on their hands and knees to move into the thickly grown underbrush. Hidden in the scrub oaks, they watched the bridge.
The marchers in the lead walked with grim determination, anger could be seen on their faces. The police maintained position. The police supervisor that had told Bob and Jill to take cover picked up a bullhorn. Putting the bullhorn to his mouth he screamed across the bridge, “Do not approach the barricades, return to the East Side.” His voice seemed to boom above the noise and confusion of downtown.
The marchers kept walking, the lead being followed by throngs of others. On the other side the mob still formed lines squeezing onto the bridge, it seemed almost as fluid draining, the bridge as the drain pipe. As the marchers approached the halfway point, the police supervisor hoisted the bullhorn, to his mouth again, “I’m warning you, do not approach the barricades. We have clearance from the governor to fire. Turn back now!”
Jill realized it was a desperate attempt to defuse the situation. “Would they actually fire?” she wondered. She began to survey her surroundings to find something to get behind in case the bullets did start flying. She saw a large chunk of long square concrete left over from building the bridge. She decided that was where she would go. From there she formulated an escape route down to the river.
Bob sat transfixed staring at the bridge, glancing from the police to the marchers and back. At the three-quarter mark Jill heard the police weapons being worked, loading live ammo. The sound of the bolts and slides slamming metal to metal carried to her. Suddenly the lead marchers dropped to the pavement on hands and knees, crossways on the bridge. The second line dropped to one knee, and produced guns that they aimed across the backs of the lead marchers, forming an instant human barricade.
Neither Bob nor Jill knew which side fired first. There was a sudden eruption of gunfire from both sides. Jill grabbed Bob by the arm again, jerking him toward her, “Follow me!” she yelled. Jill began to crawl quickly on hands and knees to the concrete, kicking away her high heel shoes as she moved. Bob came along close behind her.
Jill scrambled behind the chunk of concrete on her hands and knees. Bob came in beside her. The gunfire never stopped its constant rattle, only slowing some after it started while the empty guns were reloaded. Jill peeked above the concrete just as a stray bullet snapped through the tops of the bushes above her. All she could see was the heads of the police and the marchers above the bridge railing. A heavy cloud of gun smoke hovered above the shooters. The firing from the marchers seemed to stay steady, while the police fire seemed to steadily slow. Jill could now smell the biting gun smoke in her nose. She began to hear shouts from the police barricade. A desperate request repeated over and over, “Ammo?” Soon the supervisor screamed, “fall back!” At that Jill saw the blue uniforms scurrying for their cars, heard doors slamming and engines being revved. Fear struck her as she realized they were being left unprotected.
From the bridge, there came victorious screams and shouts of glee. Jill watched as throngs of black faces began running across the bridge. She knew the area would soon be filled by a riotous mob. She again grabbed Bob and whispered, “This way!”
Jill led Bob down a small trail toward the riverbank. She scrambled over the ground trying to avoid the cans, bottles and broken glass that littered the overgrowth. Halfway down she turned to the right, moving along the embankment toward the bridge. Being very quiet moving carefully trying not to disturb the trees, shaking the leaves would attract the attention of the marchers.
Once under the bridge Bob patted her back pointing up to where the bridge met the ground, “Up here” he said.
They climbed up the embankment over large rocks and debris, Jill being very careful where she placed her feet as she was barefooted. Once at the top where the steel bridge girders were anchored, they found a homeless persons cobbled shack.
The shack rested between two of the girders, on the concrete ledge that supported the end of the girders. Plywood wedged into the girders and covered with rags formed the front wall. An opening at one side covered by a heavy fabric curtain served as the door. Jill said, “ I wonder if anyone’s in there.”
Bob said, “We’ll soon find out. That would be a great place to hide out until things calm down and we can get across the river.”
As they approached the door, Bob reached around under his coat drawing a short-barreled revolver, pointing it toward the door as they moved closer. Jill was stunned to see the revolver appear in Bob’s hand. She had never pictured Bob, as one who would carry a gun. Still she followed close behind him. The footsteps of thousands of marchers could be heard on the concrete above them.
At the door Bob reached cautiously for the fabric door with his left hand, the revolver gripped snuggly in his right hand. He quickly grabbed the curtain, yanking it aside, looking into the shack over the barrel of the gun. “Empty!” He declared. Then told Jill, “Come on let’s get inside.”
Bob held the curtain while Jill crawled inside. Then he scrambled in on his hands and knees. Jill looked around in what little light came from the door. The bare steel girders formed the end walls, and the concrete abutment formed the back wall. The concrete floor was entirely covered with rags and trash, Four feet above, the underside of the bridge served as the ceiling. There seemed to be plenty of room for the two of them to move about. But the air inside was dank and smelled of stale sweat and urine. Jill decided it would do until they could leave.
Jill sat with her back against the concrete wall at the rear of the shack. Bob explored around the shack finding a candle, which he lit with his Zippo. The light almost made the shack feel homey and cozy. After lighting the candle, Bob sat to her right his back against the bridge girder. They occupied the back corner of the shack away from the door.
Now in the light, Jill was able to see and assess the damage to her clothing. Her hose had worn through at the feet, the fabric drawing up to stop at mid-calf. She raised her hips, shedding the ruined panty hose tossing them to the side, with a sigh. Her skirt had been torn in several places, the largest a slit up the side, and her bare thigh and part of her panties were now visible. “Nothing I can do about It.” she thought.
Then she became aware that her bra no longer felt snug, She tried refastening the snaps through the fabric of the blouse. Finally she realized the snaps had been pulled from the fabric. With a sigh she unbuttoned the two remaining buttons on her blouse, Reaching in she worked the bra off her shoulders inside her shirt. Pulling the bra free she tossed it across the shack. Then re-buttoning the two remaining bottom buttons. Looking down the blouse, she realized her chest was visible, from her neck down between her breasts almost to her abdomen. “**** it!” she exclaimed. Disgusted, Jill lay her head back against the wall.
After a few minutes Bob began to chuckle quietly. Jill asked, “What have you got to laugh about?”
Bob, still chuckling pointed his finger toward her right breast. She looked down her blouse to see a triangular rip four inches across, directly over her right breast. Her nipple stiff and pert was well visible, along with most of her smooth breast. Jill angrily crossed her arms over her chest, saying a few choice curse words. Laying her head back again she tried to ignore Bob’s chuckling.
They sat that way not talking for over an hour. The footsteps above them had stopped, they began to wonder what was happening outside and above them on the bridge. Jill raised her head quickly, cocking it to one side listening. Bob whispered, “What?”
Before she could answer, the sound of a drink can being crunched under a foot broke the silence. The little revolver appeared in Bob’s hand again. He put his finger to his lips to say, “Be quiet” to Jill. Bob crept toward the door near the girder at the far side of the shack. He sat back on his haunches, with the revolver aimed at the door. They heard more footsteps outside, and then suddenly the curtain was jerked back to reveal a large black man with a large black bladed knife.
Jill screamed loudly, Bob’s revolver boomed twice in quick succession. The booms reverberating inside the shack. The man outside was flung backwards by the shots, the man grabbing his chest as he fell. The curtain falling closed.
Jill was so terrified she was trembling. She had even wet her panties. Her head ached from the loud shots and the blood pounding in her temple. Bob held his hand out palm toward her, “Stay here!” he whispered. Then he crept toward the curtain. Reaching forward with his left hand he moved the curtain to the side, just a crack to peer out. He saw the man lying on his back, in front of the door. Even though it was nearly dark outside, he was sure there had been no one else. He turned to Jill whispering, “He’s dead, stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Jill seemed to want to leap toward him rising up, her back off the wall. She whispered urgently, ”Don’t leave me here.”
Bob calmed her by whispering, “I won’t. I promise I’ll be back.” Then taking a last good look at the nipple and smooth young breast sticking through the tear, he crawled through the curtain the gun leading the way.
To Jill, it seemed like Bob had been gone forever. She sat back against the wall, her feet pulled back against her, and her elbows on her knees, her ripped blouse now forgotten. When she heard a large splash in the river water below, she almost ran out to look. It took all she had to resist doing so.
When she heard footsteps outside the door again her heart began pounding in her chest, the trembling fear returned to her. She had to fight to keep from screaming or crying. When she heard Bob’s voice outside whisper, “It’s me” she relaxed.
The curtain opened and Bob crawled back inside. So relieved to see him, Jill began to cry. Bob crawled to her carrying something in his hand. He took her into his arms hugging her tightly; he rocked her back and forth until she had stopped crying. Jill could feel the object he held in his hand near her face. She struggled a little in his arms until he loosened his grip a little. Jill asked, “What’s that?”
Bob used both hands to pull the knife from its sheath. His right arm still around her, her head rested against his chest like a child. She saw the long black blade appear in front of her face. Bob explained, “That’s what he was going to use on us. It’s a K-Bar, a military fighting knife. I used one in ’nam.”
Jill could see the edge was razor sharp, a fearsome looking knife. Bob slid it back into the sheath. Using his left hand he laid it on the floor. Then looking back at her he explained, “I took it from him and threw him into the river, in case anyone else comes around the body won’t warn anyone that we are here.”
As he said that, Jill became aware that his right hand had found the rip in her blouse, and was now inside her blouse tightly cupping her breast. She looked up into his eyes questioningly; his lips were suddenly upon hers. Even though she had to wonder why, she opened her mouth to his tongue. It was so sudden she didn’t know what else to do, she let him do as he pleased.
Soon she felt Bob’s arms moving her away from the wall, toward the middle of the floor. “Surely he isn’t going to do this to me here, now?” Jill thought.
Bob laid her on her back on the floor his head hovering over hers. Again he lowered his lips to hers. She lay still as she felt his hands pulling up the hem of her battered skirt. “What am I going to do?” she thought. “He’s going to **** me, if I don’t do something.” Still she didn’t move. She felt his hand slipping under the waistband of her panties, sliding across the bareness of her tummy, and labia, still she did not move.
The hand retreated. The thumb hooking the waistband then began to pull down on her panties. Unconsciously, she raised her hips. The panties sprung free down her legs.
The hand gone now, her panties at her knees, his hand slipped into the open part of her blouse where the buttons were missing, began to cup and squeeze her left breast. Jill felt her vagina moistening, a tingling in her stomach, her hips involuntarily thrust upward as if searching for a penis.
Bob’s lips left her mouth, he raised to the side. She could hear the belt being unbuckled, the snaps of the pants popping the zipper ripping open. Then their came the rustle of fabric, she couldn’t look over to him, she was embarrassed. She thought, “He’s twice my age, Why?”
Then she understood, fear. Fear that if she didn’t allow it, that he would abandon her, leaving her in this dangerous situation. Even though he hadn’t said so she still feared he would leave her. He was her protector. She needed him. She would do this to keep him.
When she felt him remove her panties completely, she obediently parted her thighs for him.
Panic began to spread across the Nashville area. Workers were beginning to walk out on their jobs. Parents flooded the schools picking up their children. Traffic in the suburbs quickly became snarled as vehicles flooded the main thoroughfares as harried people rushed to get from place to place before the riots spread into their neighborhoods.
In hermitage, Hank Simmons stepped out onto the front stoop of his house. Hank wore
Camouflage BDU"s and a camouflage boonie hat. In his hands, he carried an AK-47. A 30 round magazine hung from the bottom of the rifle. He scanned up and down the street before turning to lock the door of the house.
As Hank walked across the porch to the driveway, Art Dillard his neighbor from the house on the other side of the driveway came out of his house. Art smiled and waved toward Hank before he asked, "Say Hank! What’s with the gun?"
Hank called out to Art, "We're leaving, getting out while we can." As he spoke Hank pulled a remote control box from a pocket and aimed it at the garage door.
While they waited for the door to rise, Art said, "Aw Hank you ain’t worried about all that stuff downtown are ya? They'll call in the National Guard and it'll all be over with before ya know it."
Hank watched as his wife backed the loaded Land rover out of the garage before he replied, "It won't Art, it's too big this time. Things have gone too far. It’s not just Nashville either Art, its nation wide."
Art chuckled at Hank and then said, "I'm not worried, the government will take care of things, you’ll see. I’m gonna stay right here, this is my home." Then as an after thought added, "Say hank, where are you gonna go anyway?"
Hank opened the passenger door of the rover but before sitting down he replied. "We knew this was coming, we prepared for it, we’ve got a few acres in the boonies." Sitting down, Hank glanced over his shoulder into the backseat to be sure that the children were buckled in before he slammed the door and locked it. He positioned the AK standing muzzle between his knees, before the land rover began to move.
As they backed out of the driveway, Art chuckled, waved, and promised to keep an eye on Hanks house while Hank was away.
Hank, his wife and two children made it to their cabin in the country that they had prepared for this occasion. They followed maps with routes marked that had been thoroughly researched and plotted. At the cabin, Hank’s family had stored food, ammunition, weapons and virtually anything that would be needed. They survived the collapse unharmed.
Art and his family weathered the first days of the collapse waiting on the government to intervene. That never happened. One week after the collapse Art's sixteen-year-old daughter, after arguing with her parents that the family should leave the suburbs, left with a boy she knew from school. The two of them headed for the deep woods of a wildlife area. The boy armed with a semi automatic twenty-two rifle defended them and also fed them with the rifle. They also survived.
Two weeks after the collapse, Art was killed by a group of his neighbors who had spotted him leaving a looted out grocery store with a bag of dried beans that he had luckily found where they had been kicked under a shelve. Art still unaccustomed to the ways of the post collapse society had not even bothered to secret his treasure under his coat. Two of his neighbors watched as he approached and called him over. Art naively walked over to them, where they immediately grabbed the bag of beans. Art fought to keep his treasure. The two neighbor men pummeled him to death with their fists.
Arts wife and son remained at the house for another week. They never learned of what happened to Art. Late one night the door to their house being kicked in startled them. A roving gang took both the mother and son. The son was sold to a coffee farmer in Brazil as a slave for labor. The mother was later killed as she was to old to work or employ in prostitution.
I guess I’ll finish up that criminal justice degree or possibly change to something else. 
(Streak I’ve had to fight with) I was concerned about this and pm’d Dennis to ask if it would be OK on a level of what you would find in an ordinary bookstore novel. So without quoting the PM I take it that’s its OK on that level. My friend that helped me proof read it, considers the adult content as less than a “Longarm Western”. I have never read one of those so I can’t comment. 
ccf: As for the sequel, I got 18,000 words into it before the bomb fell. If I can find the time, or that one supervisor leaves, I’ll finish it up and post it here. Until then could I interest you in some nice Algebra equations? 
Such talent
But I keep hoping the story will get finished.
