Chapter Fourteen: Assault on The Hideout

The inside of the Parsons' home stank of sweat, fear, and sex. Nine naked women and girls were locked in a bedroom, kept there until their captors wanted a meal prepared or sex. Keeping them naked lessened the chance they could escape into the freezing weather outside. Carole Wilson was the tenth captive still alive, and she was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

Carole was a survivor. She alone of the captive women was allowed to wear clothing - currently a long Mickey Mouse t-shirt and nothing more. The thirty-four year old mother of two had convinced her captors that protection while cooking would let her do a better job. Her assertion was lent credibility, because she had appeared willing to perform every sex act demanded of her. Carole wanted to live to return to her children, now safe visiting her sister in Valentine, and sex was just a tool to survive.

Having seen three resisting women brutally raped and killed, she had encouraged the other captives to cooperate when the men demanded sex. If their captors wanted a threesome, she would volunteer and convince one of the others to join. Blow job, no problem, anal - act enthused. Her apparent enthusiasm and voluptuous body put her in demand, even though her face was very plain - not ugly, just plain.

The others listened and reluctantly agreed when she explained. "These guys are killers. They also want sex and to think they are wonderful lovers and irresistible. They won't hesitate to rape and kill us, but if we make them think we like them, maybe we can live long enough to escape. Somebody has to be looking for us."

Her strategy only worked so far. Their captors were less brutal than they might have been, but the women and girls were kept naked and locked up most of the time.

Carole was also in demand as a cook. She considered poisoning her captors but was unwilling to risk killing her fellow captives. In various places around the kitchen and other rooms, she had secreted such items as an ice pick, steak knives, and a hatchet. However unlikely the chance, she was prepared to act if an opportunity presented itself.

Currently, four men were out on a raid, and the remaining five were lounging around, drinking as usual. Dutch was hanging around the kitchen, sipping JD straight from its bottle and eyeing Carole. This was his typical behavior when he was about to demand a quickie.

"Say, Lover, can I have a sip?" Carol spoke preemptively. "Then when I get everything in the oven, maybe I can offer up a little nookie. You know, get me in the mood, mmmm?"

Dutch responded as she expected. Sure he was irresistible, he grinned, grabbed his crotch, and passed her his bottle. "Just can't get enough of old Dutch, can you Sweet Thing? Hurry up with that pan, and then we can rock and roll."

From outside came a shout. "Dutch, Sam, somebody help! I'm hurt."

Dutch ran to the window, pulled the yellow curtain aside, and looked out. Rudy was staggering down the drive, rifle slung over his shoulder, and his left arm dangling. "I'm shot. Help me!" He demanded.

"Sam! Mikie! Go help Rudy." Dutch shouted. "Arnie, Spud! Go out the back door and cover them from the sides. I'll cover from here."

The front and back doors banged as the four exited as directed.

Dutch brought up his rifle and leaned over the sink to watch Rudy, who was now about forty yards up the drive. Sam and Mikie were approaching at a run.

Suddenly, Rudy dove into the ditch running along one side of the drive, yelling, "Ambush! Ambush!"

Shots rang out, one taking Sam in the head - blood and brains exploded - but Mikie managed to drop behind a raised flower bed, apparently unharmed.

Carole sprang into action. She grabbed her hidden ice pick and drove it into Dutch's back, puncturing a kidney. When he stiffened and screamed, she grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Seizing a newly sharpened slicing knife from the counter, she slit his throat. Carole was a strong woman and came close to severing Dutch's head. She heaved his twitching body onto the counter so that most of his blood went into the sink.

Then Carole grabbed Dutch's rifle, ran to the back door, locked it, and placed a chair under the knob. Returning to the kitchen, she stood to the side of the window and looked out.

Sam had not moved, but Mikie was clearly maneuvering for more cover. Knowing the glass might deflect her first shot, she aimed at Mikie, squeezed off a shot, paused, and ripped off three more.

Mikie's body jerked. Ducking below the window in case someone shot at her, she moved to a window in another room. Neither Mikie nor Sam was moving, so she turned her attention to Rudy, still in the ditch.

Rudy wasn't moving, but he still had his rifle. Unwilling to take any chances, and caring nothing for him anyway, she repeated her previous actions and aerated him, too.

Then she went back to the kitchen, found a broom, and tied on a light colored dish towel. Sticking it through the shattered kitchen window, she called out. "Hello the yard. Three dead rapists in the front yard, one dead in the kitchen, and two live assholes sneaking around each side of the house. That's the count! Can you hear me?"

Silence.

Then a piecing scream from the west side of the house, followed by a burst of fire from the east side.

"Oh shit. A fucking arrow." came Arnie's voice. "I'm fucking gut shot." Then moans.

Next, off to the east, a three round burst, followed by a woman's voice. "Got him. He's down. Cover me, Michael, while I check him out."

From the west, another woman, but much younger, "Mine's down, too, but I can't tell for sure how bad. Hey you with the arrow, raise your hands or eat lead!"

Silence. "One, two, three." Two shots rang out.

"Ok, Cathleen, cover me while I check."

Two female voices sounded, almost together, "Mine's dead."

So far, Carole had not seen even one of the attackers, nor a weapon flash. She ran to the prisoners' bedroom and unlocked the door. She yelled over the clamor to quiet them and explained, "All our assholes are dead, but I don't know who is outside. Could be friends or another set of assholes."

She pointed at a tall blonde and an auburn-haired goddess. "Mandy, you and Birdie grab rifles from the den and watch the back of the house." Pointing at another blonde, "Billie, get one and cover me while I try to find out if we are rescued or still in trouble."

The remaining women went in search of weapons while Carole returned to stand beside the kitchen window with her parley flag.

"Hello the Yard. Who's out there?" she called.

She almost wet herself with relief at the reply. "Deputy Marshal Michael James." Michael shouted, still at some distance, "If Rudy gave us the right count, only one body is not accounted for."

"There were five men still here holding us, the rest were with Rudy. The last one is bleeding out into the sink." Carole replied. She grabbed Dutch by the hair and lifted his upper body into view.

"Don't shoot!" Michael instructed, "We're going to check on the three in the front yard. You should see two women approaching from either side of the house."

"Okay," Carole answered, "I haven't seen any of the three move since they were shot, but be careful."

She watched as a tall, dark woman approached from the east and a small blonde teen from the west. The teen carried a rifle, but also had a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder. They each walked towards a body, rifles pointed and fingers on the triggers. When they reached their body, it was clear from their actions that both men were dead. They walked together to Rudy, seemingly unconcerned about his rifle. He, too, was dead.

When all the bodies were laid in a row and stripped of weapons and ammunition, Michael raised his hands and turned to the house. "There are four of us. May we come in?"