"Polly and Wes" (closed)

Polly Simms had been running for her life for nearly three weeks. Her route through central Nebraska had taken her north, west, east, south again, and finally north as she knew she needed to go to reach her destination.

Even before these last three horrific weeks, though, her life had been one hell after another. She'd been travelling with a man who had at first been a good provider and protector, only to ultimately turn her into little more than his poorly fed, poorly treated sex toy.

She'd gotten away from him when she'd relayed her plight to the militiamen at a check point and her abuser was gunned down. Polly thought she was saved, only to end up in the militia's brothel for the next two months, paying off her debt for her rescue.

She escaped that imprisonment only after leaving the heavily guarded brothel to fulfill a special request for the militia's Commanding Officer. She killed him even while he was still enjoying the euphoria of orgasm, sticking an ink pen in his neck, then fleeing out the window and into the night.

Polly had hoped the horror might be over. It wasn't. She stumbled into a small community of extremist religious nuts who viewed women as little more than servants to their male masters. She was involuntarily wed to one of the community's Elders, a man 66 years old for whom she had to perform hand and blow jobs whenever he demanded them. In addition, her husband's two sons fucked her a couple of times a week, and one of these men forced her to introduce his own son, then only 14, to his own manhood.

After nine months of this abuse, Polly finally convinced three women to escape down the river on a raft she'd been secretly building during bath sessions, which where the only times one or more men weren't watching them. For these last three weeks, she'd been barely ahead of them as they chased her down with dogs. The other women and the children they'd brought with them had already either given up or been caught.

Polly was exhausted, dehydrated, hungry, and beaten by Mother Nature. She had finally used old, still standing road signs to figure out where she was and set her path for her original destination. Then Mother Nature took another swipe at her when she'd been trying to catch a rabbit she'd injured with a stone and was instead bitten by a snake.

Oh, it didn't kill her, but she was so weak she wasn't able to walk far before collapsing at the edge of an old, abandoned dirt road. Night fell, and in the darkness she could hear some animal moving closer and closer. All she had to protect herself from whatever predator was coming to eat her was a sharpened stick.

As it appeared in the dark, bathed by the light of the nearly full moon, a disoriented Polly pointed the stick at it and hollered, "You can't eat me! You can't eat me! Get away...!"

Wes

"When things go bad, they go really bad," Weston McCann thought, " and they go really bad FAST." Not that things had been great before he'd left Detroit to get home...they world had always been crazy for as long as he could remember, but over the past year or so, things had gone from crazy, to fucking psychotic.

Weston McCann, also known as Wes by his former friends and family, was currently looking down at the rusted old 4 wheeler that he'd drove halfway across the state of Iowa, and into Nebraska, trying to make it home. He currently stood in the middle of a large Nebraska prairie, watching the engine of the 4 wheeler gasp and smoke.

"Shit," Wes said quietly to himself, not even realizing anymore that he was speaking out loud, "the engine's shot. Guess I'm on foot again."

He looked around...it was getting dark. "I suppose this is as good a place as any to set up camp for the night."

As he unpacked the 4 wheeler, and began to start a campfire, he found himself, thinking about how he'd ended up here. When he'd initially left Nebraska to head to college, he'd been an shy, overweight eighteen year old kid. He'd been accepted at an art college in Michigan. Even back then, things in the US were deteriorating, but he'd barely noticed back then.

During his junior year of college, he'd lost his virginity to a girl he'd met in a bar. She'd been a volunteer firefighter, and had talked him into trying out. He'd started out just wanting to spend time with her...but after awhile, he found he really enjoyed the work. This part-time job had lasted longer than their relationship. At that point, he knew being a firefighter was something he wanted to do full time. He enjoyed helping people...it was fulfilling in a way he never would have guessed. Of course, he had to get into better shape in order to pass the exam, but he'd set to the task, and lost over one hundred pounds, and gained in muscle mass. Once he'd finished college, he went out for the exam and passed the first try.

He ended up assigned to a fire station in Detroit, working as a firefighter for almost 4 years. He'd also began training as an EMT at that point, but circumstances had stalled his progress. By then, the economy had been near collapse, and the COVID-47 pandemic had been in full swing. The casualty rate had been astronomical, and the spread of the virus was out of control. Then, the bombs dropped. People were looting stores and then locking themselves away. Riots were happening all over the city. It was pure chaos.

It was at this point, Wes began to plan to head back to Nebraska. He was worried about his family. By then, however, there was no way out of the city by vehicle. The roads were gridlocked with people trying to escape. Rather than go that route, he'd put on his hiking boots, and left on foot.

Wes traveled, doing odd jobs, always in small towns in low populated areas...first, a week as a handyman in Wisconsin, and then three weeks as fry cook in Minnesota, all in order to keep him with food in his belly, a roof over his head, and the chance to gather what he needed before going back on the road.

When in Iowa, when he'd spent a month working as a farm hand, for a couple in their mid-fifties. They had a daughter about his age living with them, along with her five year old son. Her name was Vanessa. She had lost her husband to the pandemic. He got set up in the barn, and was shocked the first night when he awoke to his new boss's daughter unzipping his fly, and stroking his cock, while kissing him. They'd fucked that night, and every night thereafter for almost the full month he was there. The first few weeks her face would be wet with tears, and she'd sometimes cry out her dead husband's name during sex. He figured she was working through her grief, and although he sometimes felt guilty, he was willing to go along with it, just to be close to someone himself. It was comforting.

When he was ready to leave, this last job netted him a mode of transport...the old farmer gave Wes his old 4 wheeler to help him get home, in thanks for Wes helping with his harvest. Wes thanked him, and after giving Vanessa a final hug and kiss on the cheek, he'd left.

Keeping enough gas to keep the 4 wheeler running was problematic, but he was able to make it back to Nebraska. He'd had an unrealistically naive idea that, once he got home, things would finally be OK. That his parents' house, his neighborhood, his small town where he grew up...they'd all be untouched by the ravages of the chaos going on all over the world.

Reality was forced upon him quickly once he'd gotten there. He'd made it to his parents' place, only to find that his childhood home was totally burned to the ground. The two dead bodies found in the rubble were that of his parents.

He'd traveled aimlessly around the town, finding multiple houses in the same condition. Apparently, things had gotten so bad, that rather than attempt to save those that were sick from the latest round of the pandemic, someone had gotten it into their heads to lock the sick and dying into their houses, and then burn them down around them in order to prevent the spread. He'd learned this later on from his friend Shane.

He'd next gone to his younger sister Willa's apartment across town, but it was abandoned. She was seven years younger than him...he was twenty-eight, and she had just turned twenty-one not long before he'd began his long journey home. Not knowing where else she could be, he began searching. She'd worked as a bartender at Flanagan's Pub, a small Irish bar in town that his friend Shane's dad had once owned when they were kids, and now belonged to Shane.

Shane had barely recognized him, almost not letting him inside, until he'd convinced him who he was. When he'd left Nebraska, he'd weighed over 350 lbs. Now, he weighed about half that much. When asking where Willa had gone, Shane had mentioned something about Willa telling him about somewhere safe about one hundred miles or so north of here, and that she was going to check it out. This had been a few weeks ago, Shane had said.

Before leaving, Shane gave Wes a Desert Eagle 50, as well as the 12 gauge shotgun from under the bar, and ammunition for both guns. Shane had always been a big of a gun collector...he had dozens of them and everyone around town knew it...which was probably the only reason why his place had been left untouched and unlooted.

Wes couldn't think of anything north of town that might be a safe haven. As far as he knew, it was just prairie land and a few farms north of town...but if Willa had gone that way, he'd try to find her.

Wes's reverie was broken, when he heard a cry in the dark. The sun had set while he was lost in thought and memory, and full darkness hd fallen. Again, he heard something or someone cry out, and he realized, it was coming from the rough, grassy hillside behind his camp. Reaching in his pack, he pulled out the Desert Eagle, as well as a flashlight.

He topped the rise, and saw the other side of the hill was thick with undergrowth..he began to slowly work his way down, when he heard the cry again, this time making out words.

"You can't eat me! You can't eat me! Get away...!"

It wasn't Willa's voice...of that, he was certain...but it was a woman's voice, hoarse sounding, and terrified. He figured he'd best call out now, rather than get too close. She might have a gun down there.

"Hello?" Wes called out, "Hello, Ma'am...are you ok? Is everything alright?"

He heard sobbing as he approached, and when he saw her, he couldn't help but stop, his eyes wide with surprise. She was shakily holding a sharpened stick. She looked weak...and looked as if she hadn't eaten in days.

He quickly holstered his gun, and raised his hands in a non-threatening manner. "I'm sorry if I scared you, miss. Wasn't trying to do that...do you need some help? My camp is just over the rise here. I don't have much, but I do have some food and water I can spare."

"I'm sorry if I scared you, miss," the voice in the dark said. "Wasn't trying to do that...do you need some help?"

Polly maintained her threatening grip on the stick, shaking it as best she could in her weak, trembling hands.

"My camp is just over the rise here. I don't have much, but I do have some food and water I can spare."

She was disoriented, barely able to understand the man's words. Understand them she did, but trust them she didn't. Thrice before in recent times, more actually, men had said they were going to help her, only to turn her into their sex toy.

"Stay away from me!" Polly demanded weakly. Having realized the intruder was a human and not some wild animal, she abandoned the don't eat me portion of her threat, instead just sticking with, "Stay away, or I'll kill you!"

But within seconds of making her threat, the stick fell to the dirt beside her, and Polly was unconscious.

"Stay away from me!

The woman before him glared at him threateningly, pointing the sharp end of her makeshift spear towards him.

"Stay away or I'll kill you!"

He backed up slowly, about to repeat to her that he meant her no harm, when her eyes suddenly rolled back in their sockets, and she slumped over, her weapon thumping as it hit the ground.

"Oh shit," he breathed, and then rushed forward. The first thing he did was check her pulse. It seemed weak and thready, but it was still there. He checked her airway, and sighed in relief when he found she was still breathing, albeit very shallowly. He quickly shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping her up to keep her warm...he had no clue how long she'd been like this, but the cold night definitely made shock a possibility.

"She needs water," he thought, not seeing any sort of canteen or water source, "She's most likely dehydrated..."

He quickly scooped her up, carrying her back to the campfire. He had a sleeping bag, he'd wrap her in, and then, where there was more light, he would check for wounds...blood loss was always another concern that could result in shock, and he had a few bandages in his pack if she needed them. He laid her down atop the sleeping bag, and then felt her forehead, placing his wrist upon it. Again, he sighed in relief...she didn't feel feverish. That would have been one of the first warning signs of pandemic.

Looking her over for wounds, the only thing he found was two seeping punctures in her ankle. "Snake bite," he concluded, "not sure what type of snake, or how long ago she was bit, though."

He decided to err on the side of caution. He pulled out a pocket knife and made a small slit from one puncture to the other, causing the lady to moan in her unconscious state.

"Easy, now Ma'am," he tried to whisper comfortingly, and then bent down, raising the wound to his lips, and attempting to suck out any venom that might be there. After a minute or two, he spat the blood in his mouth away. He had no clue if this had helped...he'd never studied snakebites in EMT training...but he'd watched enough old Western movies, and prayed what he'd done had helped.

He pulled a needle and thread from his makeshift first aid kit, and stitched her up as best he could, and then bandaged the wound. Once done, he bundled her in the sleeping bag, and, with a final sigh of relief sat down nearby, leaning over to lift her head slightly and pour a dribble of water past her lips from his canteen. She reflexively swallowed the water.

After a few tiny drinks, he stopped...he didn't want to make her choke, or sick it up. He backed away from her, not wanting to suddenly startle her if she woke, and sat cross legged by the fire, keeping a vigilant watch over her.

Polly was only semi conscious through the stranger's care for her. Deep down she must have understood he was trying to do right by her. Once she began feeling better, after an hour or more being warmer and more comfortable and of her savior rehydrating her, Polly didn't feel the pulls of fight or flight nagging at her.

"Are you from Underneath?" were her first words to the stranger. "Are you a friend of Alice?"

She'd been told by her friend never to speak the name of that place out loud except after she'd reached the bunker. But Polly was so out of it. And she knew she was under 2 miles from her destination, so it only made sense to her that this man was from there.

Polly slipped into unconsciousness again without hearing his answer. The next thing she knew, the morning sun was trying to force its way through her eye lids. She turned her head away from the brightness and caught side of the man without him yet seeing her.

She studied him a long moment. Her was handsome, ruggedly so, and both tall and well built. If she could stomach the idea of having a man inside her again, this was the kind of man Polly would chase down.

Suddenly she realized he was staring into her own staring eyes. She smiled embarrassed, saying only, "You saved me, I think."

When daylight had crept over the horizon, Wes crouched down to unpack some food. He'd been lucky enough to find a canister of oatmeal a few days back, taken from Willa's abandoned apartment. Along with some honey in one of those containers that looked like a little bear, it'd make a passable breakfast.

It was then he heard his "guest" move around slightly, and turned to get a good look at her. In the morning light, he saw she was a pretty little thing. She looked a bit younger than he was...maybe around Willa's age. Her features were petite and dainty, her blond hair picking up the sunlight and giving it a golden hue. Her most striking feature was her eyes...almost a cornflower blue, with a dash of greenish gray. However, those eyes currently looked tired and haunted, as if she'd been through some terrible ordeal.

"Haven't we all," he thought to himself. He was sure his eyes most likely had that thousand mile stare as well.

"You saved me, I think."

She smiled weakly, her tone showing a bit of chagrin.

"Glad to be of help," Wes replied, returning her smile. "All part of the job description. I am...err, I mean I USED to be a fireman." He chuckled a bit and continued, "No fires to put out, so guess I have to find other ways to help out."

"Fireman," Polly murmured as she rose to a sitting position, grimacing at the pain surhing through her entire body from the less than lethal yet still agony causing dose of venom. "I didn't even know there were any of those any more."

She listened to what her might or might not want to say about his past career, then asked him his name. She told him, "My name's Pauline, but everyone calls me Polly."

She had caught the smell of food cooking even before she opened her eyes, and now, literally licking her lips, she asked, "What's a girl gotta do to get a little of that."

Polly was honestly expecting Wes to say something along the lines of suck my cock or hands and knees, pull down your panties. She couldn't remember the last time someone had shared their food with her without first getting a little something from her.

And honestly, after over a week since her last meal, which had been some wild, yet to ripen berries and a little lizard, Polly would have let Wes partake of all three of her holes for half of what he had there.

"Fireman...I didn't even know there were any of those anymore."

"Well," he replied, "I suppose you could say my job has become kind of obsolete. Most people seem like they would rather watch the world burn, than make things better anymore." He paused before adding, "At least the first aid training is always handy. You had me pretty worried last night. You were in rough shape. I'm glad you're feeling better."

She sat up, wincing a bit in pain, before continuing to introduce herself.

" My name's Pauline, but everyone calls me Polly."

"Well, nice to meet you, Polly," he replied, smiling, "I'm Weston, but I just go by Wes."

She closed her eyes a moment, seeming to enjoy the smell of the oatmeal cooking, literally licking her lips with hunger, making Wes wonder how long ago it'd been since she'd last eaten.

"What's a girl gotta do to get a little bit of that?"

He crouched down, retrieving a bowl and spoon from his pack. "Sorry...I wasn't expecting company, so I only have the one bowl and spoon on me. Guess we'll have to share."

He scooped up a heaping portion of oatmeal into the bowl, and then handed it to Polly, smiling at her. "Here you go, it looks like it has been awhile since you've had a good meal. Eat up. I'll eat once you're full. Just try to take it slow and easy...if you eat too fast, you may get sick. Your body needs to adjust to having food again."

He watched as she began to eat, and then asked, "I'm not sure if you remember this, but last night, you were saying some strange things about something being "underneath" and asked if I was friends with someone named Alice. Was that like, an 'Alice in Wonderland' kind of reference? Or is there more to it than that?"

He reached into his wallet, and pulled out a picture of Willa, showing it to Polly. "The reason I ask, is that the whole reason I am out here, is because I am searching for my sister..."

Wes warned her about eating too quickly, yet at soon as she touched the oatmeal to her tongue and both felt that it was not too hot to burn her and wonderfully flavored with the honey, she began to shovel it into her mouth as quickly as she would chew it up.

He warned her and again, and Polly slowed down, listening to his review of what she'd said in her semi-conscious state the night before. She wasn't about to confirm anything about Underneath or about her friend, but when Wes pulled out the picture of Willa, her eyes involuntarily grew with surprise.

She'd seen this girl, there was no doubt about it. Oh, she was much younger in this picture, by years. But the girl's face hadn't changed a lick from between when the image had been taken and when Polly met her at the Underneath rendezvous back in February, six months ago.

"I can take you to her," Polly said boldly. She studied the picture a moment longer and asked, "Willow, right? Like the tree?"