After Read online

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  Excessica Publishing

  www.excessica.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Varian Krylov

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  PART I: EVA

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PART II: NIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ABOUT VARIAN KRYLOV

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  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Varian Krylov

  After © 2008 Varian Krylov eXcessica publishing

  All rights reserved

  After

  By Varian Krylov

  PART I: EVA

  ~

  YEAR THREE

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER ONE

  They have been waiting, and she is the first.

  Wary, creeping closer. A girl or young woman. Something catches her eye. Furtive, she looks around. Then slow, cautious, she approaches a fruit tree. Out of place among the dense stand of cedars and maples until a wider view reveals a poorly kept old orchard.

  Fat apples sag the branches of the smallish tree. Skittish, the girl looks about her once more, then reaches up and plucks one heavy green fruit. Mouth stretched wide, her teeth puncture the bright, specked skin, tear into pale flesh, release clear juice. Devouring the crunchy flesh she has taken into her mouth, she raises the maimed fruit to her nose and draws in the sweet-sharp scent. In seconds there is nothing in her hand but a whittled core, already browning. She tosses it down in the sparse, tall grass and tugs another apple from its branch and begins devouring it with the same fierce relish. By the time she hears a rustle of grass, the crunch of earth, it's too late.

  Men. Three men in military fatigues. She runs, dropping the half-eaten apple. But she is slow, and they are fast. The one who catches her smiles as his fingers lock around her arms. He touched her first, so he gets her first. They worked this out long ago, hoping but not believing that eventually they would see a woman again. His smile fades. Its birth, life, and death pass in the span of a second.

  He throws her to the ground and is on her. She screams. An animal howl, terrifying and loud. She hits him hard in the face. He hits her back. A second man is there, now, pinning her arms, eager to help so his turn will come sooner. The one on top of her rips open her jacket. The sound of thread snapping. Hands yank up her shirt and bra.

  "Get him,” the one on top of her growls.

  The other lets go of her wrists, boots thumping over hard earth. Seconds later he is back, the muzzle of his gun nuzzled into the neck of the third.

  "You're staying here with us, kid,” the one on top of her says. “And you're taking your turn, when it comes."

  The one with the gun makes the runaway take his place, holding her wrists. The one on top of her is pulling down her pants, tugging at her underwear. She is sobbing. Convulsing with sobs.

  Then a horrible dull impact sound. And again. Something is wrong with the one on top of her. Blood runs in a stream over the stubble, down his temple, dripping in a sticky warm rivulet onto her face. Then a boot flashes into and out of her frame of vision and the man on top of her arcs backward. He is off of her. They are all off of her.

  A shadow passes over her, and a figure looms between her and the sun-smeared sky.

  He stands over her, panting, face fierce, body rigid. Her eyes follow wide shoulders out to thick arms down to large hands, one closed in a fist, the other clutching a blackjack, the end gory with blood and hair.

  She tugs at her sweater, covering herself, scrambles to her feet. She does not take her eyes off him as her trembling hands struggle to do up her pants, then as she crosses her buttonless jacket and then her arms defensively over her chest. He watches her, then scans the men littered about them. One is unconscious, another is hunched over, cradling his bleeding head. The third—the unscathed runaway—is watching. The man with the blackjack is considering something.

  He steps toward her, reaches for her. She makes a hopeless little noise and turns, runs from him with all her strength. But it isn't much strength. He catches up and catches her, a big forearm clamping down across her waist, trapping her against him. She thrashes. It's futile. He lets her struggle and beat at him until her tiny store of strength and hope is spent and she gives up, sobbing. He grips one of her thin biceps in his huge hand and begins dragging her off somewhere, the eyes of the two conscious men following them.

  She seems resigned until the walls of a compound come into view, and then a gate. The sight of a destination renews her terror, and she begins struggling once more, fighting to wrest her arm free. He tightens his grip. They are almost to the gate. She will no longer walk, so he drags her. Her struggle is tiring him. He stops and looks down at her. He speaks in a low, stoic voice.

  "If you won't walk along cooperatively I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you in."

  She lets him march her through the gate.

  Soldiers are posted inside the gate, and others stop working in a field near the path up to a large building looming ahead. None speaks or leaves his post, but they look at her like a fabled creature whose reality is not to be believed.

  The big man takes the girl into a squat, square building. Dim light from the small windows is unaided by electric lights. Their steps echo down a long corridor. At a door the man halts and knocks. A voice says enter. He turns the knob, draws her through the door, and closes it behind them.

  Behind a big metal desk, a man rises from his seat. He is t
all, slim, and something in his look and his bearing suggests the eagle. He shows no sign of shock. A cool smile that barely curves appears. The girl is stood before the desk, her captor's hands rest possessively on her shoulders.

  "I'm Major Smith,” the eagle says, his tone cool. Polite.

  She goes on, trembling in silence. Major Smith looks to her captor.

  "Who's your friend, John?"

  "I don't know."

  "How did she come to be in your company?"

  "Riggs and his men had her out by the old orchard."

  "They didn't ... hurt her?"

  "Looks like one of them punched her pretty hard."

  "John."

  "Rape her you mean?"

  Smith gives John a challenging look. John is silent.

  "Did they?"

  "No. But if I hadn't come—"

  "All three of them?"

  "Yes."

  The eagle's fair face darkens. He turns from John to the girl.

  "I'm sorry for how my men have treated you. I assure you they'll be severely disciplined. What is your name?"

  After a long pause she answers. “Eva."

  For some reason the eagle looks pleased.

  "That's a lovely name.” Then, after a wistful pause, “Are you hungry? You look like you've had it rough for a while out there. I'll have some food brought in."

  He picks up a phone and tersely orders a meal brought to his office.

  "Which direction have you come from, Eva?"

  "From the north."

  "How long since you've seen anyone?"

  "Months."

  "How have you been surviving?'

  Eva shrugs her shoulders.

  "Well, you'll be well looked after here. We're most of us army, what's left of the soldiers stationed here. But John here is civilian, and so is Jake. You'll meet him in just a bit. There's plenty of food and water here. Don't worry, we won't induct you,” Smith says with a teasing smile, “we just have a strict set of rules that everyone must comply with, to ensure order and everyone's safety. But we can go over all of that a little later."

  A knock at the door. A man enters with a tray of food.

  "Well here's Jake now, one of your fellow civilians. Just leave the tray on my desk. Jake, this is Eva."

  Jake wilts, all of the air let out as he stares at her. “Hello, Eva,” he finally says, just audibly.

  "Thank you Jake. You may go."

  Jake wrenches his gaze from her and leaves the room.

  "Don't be shy, Eva. Eat up. We've already had our lunch."

  With the look of a dog expecting a kick she begins devouring the food before her. When she finishes the major speaks.

  "I'll have a room made up for you, Eva. In the meantime, you can use my room to shower and have a rest. I imagine it's been a long time since you've slept on a proper bed. You can go, John. I'll get her settled myself."

  John does not move, but stands statue-like just where he has been all this time, right behind Eva. Unable to see John, she watches the eagle. His expression calcifies.

  "You're dismissed, John."

  John quietly leaves. Eva's whole body seems to soften slightly.

  "Come along, Eva. I'll show you to my room."

  And like that, the softness is gone. Rising, the major, goes to the door and opens it, gesturing for her to step into the hall. She looks apprehensive, but she stands and steps out the door. Together they go down the corridor, her arms tense and ready for battle, he with his hands clasped leisurely behind his back. They leave the office and the cluster of austere military buildings and cross the campus to another building. It looks like an old mansion on a southern plantation—a strange and stark contrast to the squat and square buildings adjacent. They pass through a formally appointed foyer to a wide staircase. At the top are several doors. The major opens one, revealing a large, sparsely furnished room. He enters. She follows, staying close to the door.

  "I'll get out of your way in just a moment, so you can get cleaned up and have a rest.” Smith is using a quiet, careful voice, miles away from the voice he has used with John and with Jake. “Before I go, though, I need to ask you a few questions. About what happened this afternoon. It will help me in deciding on disciplinary measures."

  She nods. He gives her a reserved but reassuring smile. He asks things, she answers, her body stiff, her answers terse. No tears. No talk of fear or anger. Just information. Naked facts. Three men. One taking the lead, giving orders. One who ran, came back at the point of a gun, held her down. The other's gun holstered. John's blackjack and jackboots.

  While he deposes her, Smith pokes and prods at her statements with due interest, but it's her that has him curious; it's obvious in the way he cocks his head slightly, the way his sharp eyes focus on her hands, hanging at her sides but kept still with visible effort. On her eyes that constantly seek his, never evading his gaze.

  When the eagle runs out of questions he thanks Eva for her testimony. Then, his gentle tone giving way to a cold staccato. “You've been outside for a long time, Eva, so I know you understand how dangerous it is out there. John arrived here almost seven months ago. Then there was no one until about two months ago when Jake arrived. Then no one until today, when you arrived. You say you've seen no one in months. For all we know, then, there's no one else left. But the danger is still there. Here it's safe. But only as long as everyone does their share and follows the rules. John and Jake have learned to follow the rules, and I'm sure you will, too.

  "The first rule is obvious. No one goes outside the compound. The only exception is the orchard detail, but that won't be your duty.

  "The second rule is strict food rationing. We have the orchard, and we have planted crops on the grounds here in the campus, but most of them aren't producing yet. One of the bittersweet consequences of what's happened—there were over three hundred soldiers stationed at this facility, and now we're only eighteen, nineteen, now that you're here—we have about a three year supply of grains and canned goods, but that's assuming no additions to our group, and no spoiled food.

  "Third. I'm in charge. Any order I give must be obeyed without question. Most of my men knew me a long time before all this happened, and have learned to trust me and my decisions. It's harder for you civilians, who don't understand military authority and haven't known me as long. But the rule applies to you just as it does to the men. Anyone who disobeys an order goes into solitary for a week, and has their rations cut. The second time someone disobeys an order, they're turned out. To the outside. Do you understand these rules?"

  "Yes."

  "Good.” He smiles, his military stiffness slipping away. “Well. Please, just make yourself comfortable. The bathroom is right through there. You can have a shower. Actually, if you don't mind my saying so, I'd prefer that you did, before you use my bed."

  His smile is amiable. She is filthy.

  "There's a robe on the back of the door you can use. Just put your clothes outside in the hallway, and I'll have someone collect them and launder them for you. You can have a nice long nap. Help yourself if you see anything you'd like to read. I must get back to work. Is there anything you need? Fine, I'll send someone round in an hour to collect your laundry."

  "Major,” Eva blurts as he's about to leave. He halts, gives her his steady attention. “You said before, nineteen, counting me."

  "Yes."

  "And,” she keeps her hands still, keeps her head erect, her gaze steady, but her voice chokes and warbles, “how many are women?"

  "Only you, Eva,” he answers, his voice solemn.

  He leaves, locking the door behind him. Her rigidity seems to soften slightly. She goes into the bathroom, and locks that door. There is a beige flannel robe on a hook. When she catches sight of herself in the mirror she goes still. Stares with curious awe similar to how the men had looked at her as John marched her through the compound. She goes on staring, astonished, as she gets her clothes off, and after. Runs thin fingers over protruding collar b
ones, the corrugations of her ribs, her hollow belly.

  She showers, taking a long time just to shampoo, rinse, and shampoo her hair again, working her fingers into the tangle of thick black curls, scrubbing her itchy scalp. The hot water is pounding her back, and she sways for long minutes, moving the jets back and forth over her skin before taking her time with the soap, massaging and rinsing and doing it all over again and again.

  Turning the water off she towels dry and pulls the robe down from the hook. She smells it. Then she presses her whole face into it and draws in a long breath. Then she puts it on, stroking her arms through the soft flannel, enveloped in it. She finds a comb and, after examining the red welt over her cheekbone ringed in blues and yellows where the soldier hit her, begins the painful struggle of unknotting her hair. Half an hour later she has won, and she goes to the eagle's bed, collapses upon it, and falls asleep, not even getting under the covers.

  Hours later, as evening falls, the eagle knocks softly at the door. She is awake, having slept all afternoon. As he unlocks the door and enters, she quickly backs away from him. He sits down in an armchair and motions for her to sit down opposite him on the bed.

  "Feeling rested?"

  "Yes.” she replies warily. Then, “Thank you."

  With visible effort she manages a kind of smile. The eagle is looking at her intently. She looks away.

  "Forgive me staring. It's just ... Eva, may I ask how old you are?"

  "Sixteen,” she answers after hesitating a moment.

  "So young,” the eagle comments, almost wistfully. Then a faint, mirthless laugh. “I didn't see it before, under all that dirt."

  He looks like he's thinking something over. Then he returns. Becomes present.

  "I know you've been through a terrible ordeal, out there. And today. And there will be times when it's very hard for you, here. But I promise you, I am looking out for you."

  Eva produces another smile and says, “Thank you."

  The eagle rises and turns his back to her, saying, “You're underage. But that hardly seems to matter, under the circumstances.” He opens a cabinet at the base of the built-in shelves housing his small library, and brings out a bottle and two glasses. “You've survived all on your own for the last eighteen months. It doesn't seem you should be treated like a child."