Ashlands: Freedom Fighter
by PJ
http://www.redcherry.com/~pjurado/warning.html
 
    The entire city seemed to be on fire, illuminating Lynda's face, giving her features a hellish
cast.  Lynda's husband Jack secured his kevlar vest before reaching for his shotgun where he had
left it on one of the chairs.
 
    "You can't leave me here!" exclaimed, Lynda, clutching Jack's left arm.
 
    "The city's gone crazy, Lyn!  The chief's calling everybody in!" replied Jack, pulling free of
Lynda and opening the front door.  "There's plenty of guns and ammo, you'll be fine until I get
back!"
 
    "Please stay with me!" wept Lynda, her wide hazel eyes filled with terror for her husband
and herself.
 
    "I'll be back in eight hours!" promised Jack, kissing Lynda warmly on the mouth before
marching out the front door.
 
    Lynda slammed the front door and locked it, blocking out the howls of sirens and the
screams that carried on the hot wind.
 
    Eight hours passed, and Jack didn't return.  Lynda drank from a water bottle, the power
had gone out five hours ago, preventing her from making the coffee she needed. She dropped the
bottle when she heard scuffling noises in the backyard, someone was back there.
 
    Lynda chambered a round into the .45 she had, pointing the barrel up as she raised it in her
right hand.  She rose from the dining room table, approaching the draped glass door that led into
the backyard.  Swallowing the bile in her throat, Lynda slowly pulled away a corner of the drape,
peeking outside.
 
    A lanky man in black leather howled at Lynda, smashing through the glass with a stout
pipe.  Lynda screamed, aiming the pistol.  The punk laughed, slapping Lynda's weapon aside,
wrapping his right hand around her throat.
 
    "You gonna shoot me, bitch?" leered the punk, pushing Lynda onto the floor, aiming the
pistol at its previous owner.
 
    "Please!  Don't hurt me!" sobbed Lynda hysterically.
 
    "I'm not gonna kill you, bitch," snorted the punk, tucking the pistol behind his back.  "I'm
gonna fuck ya!"
 
    Two more punks with shaved, tattooed heads walked through the shattered glass door,
smiling when they spotted Lynda lying on the floor.
 
    "I want to fuck the bitch's ass!" drooled a punk with purple flames across his scalp.
 
    "Then let's get busy!" said the punk leader, reaching down to grab a fistful of Lynda's long,
straight, brown hair so he could drag her kicking down the hallway to the master bedroom.
 
    The third, short punk went to the kitchen first, retrieving a warm beer out of the
refrigerator.
 
    The leader pushed Lynda onto the large, king-sized bed.  He crawled on after her,
unbuckling her jeans, his left hand roving up and down her right thigh.
 
    Lynda kicked and struggled, angering the leader enough that he slapped Lynda across the
face twice to make her more tractable.  He ripped open her red blouse, then yanked off her pink
lace bra.
 
    "She's a hot bitch!" smiled flame skull, tugging off Lynda's jeans while the leader sucked
on her tits, his drool covering her tender, brown nipples.
 
    "Give me some sugar, baby!" snarled the punk leader, kissing Lynda hungrily, violating her
mouth with his wriggling tongue.
 
    Lynda tried to turn her head away, she could feel flame-skull removing her panties,
caressing her bare, slender, white legs.
 
    The leader took out the gun he had taken from Lynda.  He aimed it at her right temple,
unzipping his tight leather pants with his right hand.
 
    "Suck it, slut!" ordered the leader, holding his hardening cock in front of Lynda's disgusted
face.
 
    "No," refused Lynda, glaring up at the punk.
 
    "Suck it or I put a cap in your brain!" spat the leader, clicking back the hammer of the
pistol.
 
    Lynda gazed up at the punk, slowly placing her lips on his cock head.  The punk smiled
victoriously, pushing his prick deeper into Lynda's mouth, grasping the back of her head with his
right hand so he could pull her face into his crotch.
 
    Lynda moaned softly, flame-skull burying his mouth in her pussy, sucking loudly on her
clit.
 
    The leader's cock filled Lynda's mouth, thrusting back and forth, Lynda's drool gleaming
across its surface.
 
    Flame-skull slipped his tongue up and down Lynda's cunt, probing her asshole with his
right index finger.
 
    The punk leader's cock stabbed deep into Lynda's throat, she gagged, the stench of his
unwashed pubic hair filling her pert nose.
 
    Flame-skull stuck his tongue inside Lynda's vagina, caressing the walls of her hole, tasting
the honey beginning to form over the pink folds.
 
    The leader knelt on Lynda's outstretched arms, keeping them pinned to the bed while he
fucked her mouth, his groans filling the young woman's ears as her lips unwilling caressed his
meat.
 
    Lynda heard flame-skull unzip his pants.  Her eyes widened when she felt the punk's cock
slide inside her pussy, driving deep into her tight vagina.
 
    "She feels good!" groaned flame-skull, pumping between Lynda's outspread legs, his crotch
slapping over hers.
 
    "Yeah, she's a hot little whore!" grinned the leader, squeezing Lynda's neck as he thrust his
member inside her mouth, running it over her slack tongue.
 
    The leader shot his load inside Lynda's mouth, filling her throat with his cream.  Shivering
with bliss, the leader relaxed his grip on the pistol, let it fall away from Lynda's temple.
 
    Lynda spat out the mouthful of cum, ramming her forehead against the leader's crotch.
The punk howled, falling back onto his fucking comrade.  With her arms free, Lynda snatched the
abandoned pistol and shot the leader in the crotch.  The leader screamed now, blood spurting
between his clutching fingers.  Lynda shot flame-skull in the forehead, then blasted the astonished
beer drinker in the chest.
 
    "You're dead, bitch!  You're fucking dead!" groaned the punk leader, rolling on the bed
holding his bleeding crotch.
 
    Lynda hopped off the bed.  She aimed the pistol at the moaning leader while wiping drops
of his cum from her chin.  She emptied the pistol into him, turning his face and chest into a bloody
ruin.  Staggering in a daze, Lynda went to the bathroom to wash up. *****
 
 
One year later...
 
    Lynda roared down the empty highway in her black mustang, the wind whipping at her
neck length brown hair.  She glanced down at the fuel gauge, the mustang was almost running on
fumes now.  In the distance, Lynda saw a group of bikers standing around a blue van, smoke
curling up from the van's engine.  Lynda drove off the road, slowing to a stop, climbing out of her
car to approach the scene on foot.
 
    A young girl screamed, the men laughing cruelly as they looked into the van's interior.
Lynda hid in a narrow crevasse, detecting the sound of at least one man grunting inside the van,
probably fucking the girl.  Lynda reached for her right hip, drawing her pistol.  She pulled free her
revolver with her left hand, gently pulling back the hammer.
 
    There was a loud grunt from the van, then a man staggered out, smiling broadly while
another biker climbed inside to take his place.
 
    Taking a deep breath, Lynda jumped onto the road, leveling her guns.
 
    "What the fu...?" growled the first biker to notice Lynda before she shot him in the face.
 
    Bikers spun around, clutching for weapons.
 
    Lynda fired on all of them, methodically picking her targets, aiming for vital head or heart
shots.  The surviving two panicked, fleeing the van and running down the highway, the pants
around their ankles nearly tripping them.
 
    Lynda calmly reloaded her automatic pistol, then shot both bikers in the back, watching
their fallen bodies twitch before death claimed them.
 
    Lynda holstered her revolver, put kept her auto in hand as she peered into the open van.
 
    A fourteen year old girl laid naked on a filthy, cum-stained mattress, semen still wet on her
pussy and mouth.  Lynda climbed into the van, taking a thin blanket and covering the trembling
girl.  Lynda stroked the girl's lank, blonde hair, waiting.
 
    The girl eventually sat up, hugging Lynda tightly.  Lynda held the girl, then broke away,
peering into the girl's wide, blue eyes.
 
    "Where do you live?" asked Lynda.
 
    "Providence," murmured the girl.
 
    "I'll take you home," offered Lynda, standing up.
 
    "My..my parents.  We need to bury them," whispered the girl, fat tears sliding down her
pale cheeks.
 
    "Alright," nodded Lynda.
*****
 
 
    Providence rested within a valley, steep, rough walls of rock rising up on either side of the
town.  The highway ran directly through Providence, but the townsfolk had positioned an armor-
covered bus to serve as a gate, a wall of large stones surrounding the rest of the hamlet.
    Lynda stopped her car in front of the barricade, watching as the young girl named Stacy
climbed out and waved at the guards standing along the stone wall.
 
    The bus was moved aside so Lynda could drive into town.  A crowd gathered around the
black mustang, some admiring the vehicle while others encircled Stacy to hear her story.
 
    "This lady saved me!" smiled Stacy, pointing at Lynda who stood near her car.
 
    "We owe you a debt," said a man with brown-grey hair and a thin beard. "My name is
Henry, I'm mayor of Providence."
 
    "I need gas and food," said Lynda tersely.
 
    "We could use another good fighter in Providence, you could make a home with us,"
offered Henry kindly.
 
    "No thank you," replied Lynda, shaking her head.
 
    "As you wish.  I'll have fuel and food brought to you, then you can go," said Henry,
leaving Lynda to talk some more with Stacy.
 
    "It's Ironmonger!" shouted a man guarding the wall.
 
    Townsfolk fled back to their homes, a few curious souls climbing up the wall to watch as a
group of bikes and cars howled down the highway toward Providence, led by an armored car with
a machine gun fixed to the roof.
 
    Lynda ascended the wall, the wind ruffling her silky brown hair.
 
    The armored car ground to a halt, flanked by the bikes and smaller autos. A hatch opened
in the armored vehicle's roof, allowing a tall man with long, black hair to stand up and face the
defenders of Providence.
 
    "Some of my men were killed not far from here, do you know who did it?" demanded the
tall, leather clad gang leader whispered to be Ironmonger.
 
    "No, we heard nothing about it," answered Henry from the roof of the bus.
 
    "There was a van on the road, it looked like one of your vehicles," frowned Ironmonger.
"Did some of your people try to leave the valley?"
 
    "They attempted it without my knowledge.  I know the law," shouted back Henry.
 
    "A leader is responsible for all those under his charge.  I demand compensation!"
 
    "What?"
    "Two young girls, ten barrels of gas, and enough food for a month."
 
    "I can give you the fuel and food, but not the girls!" retorted Henry.
 
    "This is not negotiable!  You will meet my terms or I will destroy your town!" swore
Ironmonger, his men howling with anticipation.
 
    "Do it, Henry!  He'll kill us all if we don't!" hissed one man.
 
    "You can't have my daughter!  I'll kill anyone who tries to take her!" snapped another man.
 
    Henry stood in thought, his aging face anguished.
 
    Lynda watched Henry, then drew her auto pistol.  She aimed at Ironmonger, firing three
shots at him.  One bullet grazed his right leg, another slapped into his right shoulder.  Ironmonger
fell onto the roof of the armored car, his men growling in confusion.
 
    "Are you insane?" demanded the man who had called for compliance. "They'll attack for
sure now!"
 
    "Let'em!" declared the protective man, nodding respectfully at Lynda.
 
    "The stranger is right!  We should fight rather than give up our children!" declared Henry.
"Everyone with a weapon!  Man the walls!"
 
    Townsfolk armed with knives, hatchets, and poles climbed onto the wall, watching the
gang mill around their fallen leader.
 
    Ironmonger sat up with effort, pressing his left palm over his bleeding shoulder.
 
    "You are fools if you think this is my only town!  You will all beg for death before I am
through with you!"
 
    The townsfolk shouted back insults at Ironmonger as he slipped back inside his armored
car.  There was a loud clacking sound from the machine gun, it swivelled toward the people
guarding the wall.
 
    "Get down!" shouted Lynda, diving behind the wall.
 
    The machine gun roared to life, spitting fire at the wall guards.  Men and women screamed
as bullets tore into them, hurling them from the wall top.  The machine gun maintained its fire until
the wall was swept clean, only the dead sprawled across its length.
 
    "I will return in two days!  You have that long to prepare yourselves for oblivion!" shouted
Ironmonger through the armored car's PA system.
 
    The bikes and cars roared back to life, following Ironmonger's vehicle out of the valley.
 
    "We're dead!" moaned the compliant man, stumbling back to his home.
 
    Lynda looked toward the wall, where the protective man lay dead, his body riddled with
bullet wounds, his pretty young daughter crying over his corpse. *****
 
 
    "Your car is re-fueled and we stocked you up with fresh food," said Henry as he followed
after Lynda.  "Our debt is paid."
 
    "Thank you," replied Lynda, opening the driver's side door.
 
    "We really need a fighter like you," begged Henry.  "What would it take to keep you here?"
 
    "You can't give me what I want," said Lynda flatly, climbing into her car.
 
    "Please, help us," murmured Stacy from the passenger side window, her eyes terrified and
desperate.
 
    Lynda stared hard into those eyes, eyes that matched hers on one fateful night of fire and
death.
 
    "I'll take care of Ironmonger," promised Lynda, starting her mustang and blasting through
the open gateway into the desolate night.
*****