Not ready, Kyle hollered at Eric, “No, don’t!”
Gunshots ripped through the doors striking Eric in the neck, shoulder and chest. He stumbled back, tripped over a chair and fell into the coffee table. He immediately pressed his hand to the wound in his neck to prevent the blood from pouring out but it wasn’t helping as the blood oozed through his fingers.
Cal came to his side. “Oh, no, no.”
“No fucking time, he’ll be dead in a minute,” Kyle said callously.
“You don’t know that,” Cal said applying pressure to the wound on his neck.
“Trust me, he’s been shot through the jugular. He’s dead,” Kyle said.
Eric coughed and gargled volumes of blood before expiring with a gasp.
Cal stopped administering first aid and looked over at Kyle, “You’re an asshole. I hate you.”
“I hear that a lot, now are we going to accomplish what we came to do?” Kyle asked.
The backdrop of heavy gunfire from the hallway and doorway hadn’t subsided.
“How you doing Tommy?” Kyle asked.
“I need some ammo, there’s a shit load of people up here.”
Kyle ran up and handed him two fully loaded thirty round magazines for his AR. “This is all I can spare.”
Cal came up and gave him more, “These were Eric’s.”
Not lifting his head from his rifle, Tommy said, “Fellas, I’m not liking the odds right now.”
“We’ll be fine, Tommy boy, remember that time in Compton when we were beat cops?” Kyle asked.
“No time for reminiscing, go get Barry,” Tommy replied.
Kyle looked at Cal and said, “This time we do it my way.”
Cal nodded.
They went to the door.
“I’m going to blast the door handle while I want you to spray some rounds through the door. That’ll get them to retreat away from it…I hope,” Kyle chuckled.
Cal nodded, his anxiety was at an all-time high.
“On the count of three; one, don’t you love this shit, two, remember don’t kill Barry, and three.”
One by one the women were either taken to be raped or butchered and consumed, except for Portia who remained tied up. Each time a Generate came towards her, the Generate leader would chase them off and warn that she was his. What that meant was unknown to her.
Portia had heard of these ceremonies but found calling it that was inappropriate, it was more an orgy of blood and decadence. It was no surprise after all she had witnessed that Generates weren’t even considered human anymore. How could a human do such a thing? The barbarism, the pure evil of what they did was so shocking that no one could ever understand if you explained it to them, the only way to truly comprehend was to witness it with one’s own eyes.
Weary, she waited for the moment the Generate leader would come for her. Each time he’d approached she wondered if this was it, was she now going to suffer everyone else’s fate. Nancy lasted longer than Earl, she was still alive up until he plunged his knife into her chest and pried it open. Portia hadn’t known her long and in that short period of time found her to be annoying and clearly a thief but she did feel sorry for what happened to her. Like her, Nancy had been a resident of The Collective and diagnosed with a terminal disease, solely because they needed fresh slaves to sell.
Many Generates howled as they feasted while others openly had sex with their females for all to see. The Generate was a clear example of how humans could devolve and become something horrible. To Portia it was like they were soulless.
The Generate leader sauntered towards her.
Portia watched him and again wondered if this was her time.
He stepped in front of her and smiled. His teeth were blackened from the blood and grinded to sharp points with small chunks of flesh stuck in between. His chin, cheeks, neck and chest were covered in blood.
“Is this it?” she asked calmly.
He removed his knife and leaned towards her.
Resigned to her fate, she closed her eyes. Suddenly the pressure on her arms behind her lessened. She opened her eyes to find him putting the knife back in his sheath.
“Get up,” he ordered.
“Huh?”
“Get up,” he repeated.
He had cut her free. She rubbed her wrists and gave him a long stare.
Impatient, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. “Get up.” He drew her face close to his and said, “You’re mine. Time to go fuck.”
“Why me?” she blurted out, shocked that she even asked a question.
He ignored her question. He tightened his grip and pulled her along.
A single shot cracked in the distance.
The Generate leader stopped and looked around. Near the fire one of his tribe dropped dead.
Another shot rang out.
Again, another Generate fell.
The Generate leader tossed her to the ground and cried out, “Run! Go scatter.”
Portia fell to her knees and watched as the Generates began to run in different directions. The Generates were fierce when dealing with captives but it was widely known they weren’t great fighters if up against a superior force.
The single gun fire became a barrage of bullets coming from all directions.
In order to protect herself, Portia crawled towards a ditch and rolled in. The second she hit the bottom she regretted the hiding spot. It was a mass grave filled with the skeletal remains of their victims. The smell of rotting flesh and decay was too much, Portia began to throw up. There was no way she’d be able to stomach this, she crawled out and just lay on her back. If she was going to die by gunshot, fine, at least she wouldn’t be skinned alive.
Some of the Generates had managed to get to their dwellings to get firearms but a large number hadn’t. Whoever was shooting at them were accurate and the Generates were taking heavy casualties.
Portia lay for what seemed like an eternity. The screams of the Generates were like music to her ears. She didn’t know who was attacking them but whoever it was they were like guardian angels.
The gunfire ceased. She rolled over and looked around, Generate bodies lay scattered everywhere. An eerie silence washed over the encampment save for the crackling fires and muted moans from wounded Generates.
Figures began to emerge from the shadows. They split up and began to assess the carnage. Any surviving Generate was killed immediately.
Portia didn’t move for fear these people could be as bad as the Generates, if that was possible. The sounds of heavy footfalls behind her sent chills down her spine. She thought about running, but where would she go?
“I’ve got one here,” a man said towering over her.
Portia began to crawl away frantically.
“Look at it go,” the man laughed as he pursued her.
She jumped to her feet but didn’t get one step as he grabbed her by the back of her shirt and threw her to the ground.
“Time to say goodnight, Generate,” the man said holding an axe above his head.
“No, please, don’t, I’m not a Generate, I’m not a Generate, they captured me, please don’t hurt me,” Portia begged holding her hands out in front of her in a defensive manner.
The man hesitated and looked at her closer. “Were you from that slave truck?”
“Um, yes, the slave truck, please don’t hurt me.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” he said offering his hand.
Portia looked at him then his hand and thought she didn’t have anything to lose so she took his hand.
He lifted her to her feet and said, “Anyone else alive?”
She looked around and replied, “I don’t know. I know some of the women were taken to huts over there but you guys were shooting I just ran and hid in that pit but when I found out it was…” She stopped herself once she noticed she was rambling. “Listen, I don’t know.”