Route Seventeen
This story is intended for adult readers over the age of 18. It contains descriptions of rape and violence inappropriate for younger readers.
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ROUTE SEVENTEEN
The heat wave had been brutal, taking hold of the city by the throat and viciously tearing at it for nine days straight. The power grid was stretched to its limits, and rolling brownouts had become routine. Everyone complained, but there was little that could be done. Nature was nature. You either accepted this fact, or you moved to cooler climates. Those who did were oft times the kind of furs who would be complaining about the cold come winter.
Nancy sat in the shade of the bus bench, patiently waiting for the number 17. She glanced at her watch. It read 6:32 pm. Three more minutes, then she would be able to relax and enjoy the ride home, curling up with the latest Val Tempest adventure novel in one of the back seats of the bus.
At twenty-two the young mouse girl was more than just pretty. She stood about 5'1" and was perfectly proportioned for her height, weighing in at a slight ninety-six pounds. She was curvaceous and her body was well toned, something that was a source of pride for the hard working girl. Her fur was a sandy brown color and had recently been curried and trimmed down for the summer heat. Her hair was blonde and also had been trimmed so it reached just below her shoulders.
Normally, Nancy would have worn more formal attire to the office. Today however, she was dressed in a light summer frock that left her arms, back and shoulders free; save for a single strap that wound its way behind her neck. It was decorated with a gauzy floral pattern and was almost, though not quite, translucent. Her informality was a direct result of her boss having recently reset the office thermostat to 84 degrees. As a compromise with his employees, he then relaxed the dress code. Hawaiian shirts and light clothing had become the order of the day.
Nancy looked up in time to see her bus pull free of the line of traffic and wend its way up to the curb. She stood, brushing out her dress. Even with her recent currying job her fur generated enough static that the light fabric tended to cling. It was a problem none of her male co-workers complained about, especially since they could just make out the shape of her nipples beneath the dress. Her lack of a bra didn't help matters much, but then, this particular dress didn't need one. Her thin, flexible tail uncurled itself and arched in a most fetching manner as she searched her purse.
The bus doors slid apart and Nancy stepped up to the driver's platform, dropping four quarters into the fare box. A voice like a velvet foghorn greeted her.
"Evening Nancy... You're looking nice, as usual. I especially like the dress."
"Evening Burl. You sure its the dress and not what's in it?" she teased.
The elderly canine grinned from ear to ear. "I'd have to say it's six of one and half a dozen of the other." Burleigh, or Burl as everyone called him, was her favorite driver. He had a smile for every stop and a hundred quips for everyday on the job. He was a mix breed, with short, wiry gold fur, dark eyes and black hair that was graying along the temples. When people asked, he always replied he was half Terrier, half Labrador, and half Leprechaun. The last was a reference to the green driver's uniform he wore. Unlike many other drivers, he was always impeccably dressed, from his well- polished work shoes to his neatly pressed tie with its official gold clip and insignia.
Age, he admitted was catching up with him. Despite his best efforts, he was developing a bit of a paunch. He told one young lady who teased him about it that he was growing love handles so women couldn't be bounced out of bed by the vigor of his love making. Burl was the only person Nancy knew who could get away with that kind of "politically incorrect" statement. His humor and the twinkle in his eye were a nearly perfect defense.
Burl had been driving the number 17 for more years than even he cared to remember. His riders seldom had any complaints. He was almost always on time, even in the worst conditions and handled his bus like it was an extension of himself. It was uncanny how he could gage the ebb and flow of traffic around him and maneuver the wheeled behemoth as smoothly as a dancer.
The bus was two-thirds full, so it was not difficult for Nancy to find an empty seat near the back. She was lucky. It wasn't always the case. During the last several months the rising cost of fuel had forced many commuters to give up their cars and turn to public transportation. This had in turn put a bit of a strain on the various bus and rail lines and they were trying to play catch-up. The 17, being a main route through the business district, was now often full.
Nancy set the timer on her watch for forty-five minutes then settled back with her book. It was a fifty-minute trip to her small, eastside apartment. Reading always helped the time pass quickly. In some ways, she enjoyed the ride because she could completely relax. It was an enforced pause in the normal daily grind. The trip was always smooth and Burl made sure the bus' air conditioning was cranked high enough to guarantee everyone's comfort.
As she read, the bus wove its way through the city. Passengers came and went and Burl greeted each with a smile and a wink. It all became part of a background rhythm. About twenty blocks from home, that rhythm was suddenly disrupted.
The 17 was passing through a part of the city known as the downside. Politicians often referred to it as an economically depressed zone. Here the homeless rubbed shoulders with runaways, drug dealers, prostitutes, pimps and street thugs. The area was known for frequent turf wars between rival gangs. Few of the passengers stopped here, and even fewer bothered to board.
There were still about twenty or so riders on the bus when Burl pulled over to pick up a young coyote in a cheap suit. Nancy happened to glance up. The coyote looked around intently as he stepped up to the fare box. As always, the driver smiled and greeted the new passenger. The welcome died in his throat when he saw the gun pointed at him.
"Keep your hands on the wheel," the coyote ordered, "and don't try anything funny." He gave off a loud, high-pitched whistle. Four figures dashed forward from a nearby alley and boarded the bus. They quickly spread out and positioned themselves among the passengers. "Nobody tries anything and nobody gets hurt. Understand!"
The coyote reached down and snatched a small pager from Burl's belt. He switched it off and tucked it in his own shirt pocket. Nancy had ridden the bus often enough to recognize it as the driver's panic button. "Okay, now drive! Take the next left turn and get on the freeway." Burl did as instructed, pulling smoothly away from the curb and merging with the on ramp.
The coyote nodded to one of the other thugs who took over covering the driver with a wicked looking k-bar. He then reached above his head and reset the bus' electronic routing sign. Now, instead of reading 'Tenth and Vanguard,' the interior and exterior display read 'Express.'
Without warning Nancy's watch suddenly started beeping. The coyote leveled his gun at her, striding forward and pointing it straight into her face. She squeaked in fear and pointed to her wrist. "It's my watch... my watch!"
"Shut it off, NOW!" She fumbled at her wrist for a moment and the sound stopped. He turned his attention back toward the passengers. "Listen up, and listen good. I will shoot the first person I see reaching for a cell phone. Now, my friends are going to pass some plastic bags around. I want you to each, one at a time, give me your wallets, your purses, your rings and jewelry, your watches, your cells and anything else of value you might be carrying. Do not hold out on me. If you do, you WILL regret it."
As the bus accelerated along the freeway the passengers complied. They were all patted down to ensure they weren't holding out on their hijackers. One middle-aged weasel neglected to hand over his money clip after dripping the wad of cash into a bag. The young wolf that was collecting from him immediately pistol-whipped the weasel, knocking him unconscious.
The gang slowly moved down the bus. They reached one passenger, a middle-aged fox and paused. Nancy watched as he was forced to stand. Unlike the others, he still held a small briefcase in his left hand. It took her a moment to realize that it was handcuffed to his wrist. The coyote walked up to him and smiled. "Key!"
"I don't have one," the fox replied.
The coyote nodded to a heavy-set ram who strode forward, pulling a large, wicked machete from inside his coat. "Either I get the key, or I take your hand. You choose."
The fox quickly fumbled at his trouser pocket and produced a small packet. The coyote tore off the end and a steel handcuff key dropped into the palm of his hand. Using it, he quickly undid the handcuffs and took the case. The handcuffs he handed to a cat who was standing next to him. The passenger was made to sit down and the coyote cuffed him gently on the side of his face. "It's so nice to deal with reasonable people, don't you think?"
The thugs continued moving among the passengers. Nancy was the last approached because she was sitting towards the back. The feline holding the bag eyed her hungrily as she dropped in her purse, earrings, watch and a small gold locket
"Stand up," he ordered.
She obeyed, grasping a handhold above her to keep from falling over. The cat pawed at her as he clumsily searched her for any other items. His hands slid beneath her dress and felt out both her breasts, tweaking her nipples. Nancy's ears flushed scarlet and she screwed her eyes closed in shame and embarrassment.
"The little mousy likes that, doesn't she," he said wickedly. His hands continued to roam over her body until they finally reached her underwear. He slid two fingers across the front, then pushed the panties aside and rubbed his hand against her mound. The girl responded by suddenly turning and slapping him sharply across the face. The thug backhanded her, knocking her to the floor of the bus. A thin trickle of blood dripped from her nose pad.
The cat reached down and grabbed her by her hair, yanking her back to her feet long enough for him to backhand her again. She fell dazed into a nearby seat. Another passenger seized the cat's wrist as he reached once more for the girl. He was immediately bludgeoned by the wolf. Everyone on the bus froze when the heard the click of a gun's hammer being pulled back.
"Enough with the games, people. Our next hero gets a bullet through the head." The coyote looked over at the cat. "Stop screwing around and collect our loot."
The feline hissed angrily, then picked up the dropped bag from the floor and rejoined his companions. An elderly doe sitting in front of Nancy passed her a small white handkerchief, which the mouse girl pressed against her nose pad.
"Okay," yelled the coyote. "Now that everyone understands the situation, I want you all to lie down on your seats or the floor. Keep away from the windows." The passengers quickly complied.
For thirty minutes the bus continued along the freeway, heading east out of the city and passed the suburbs.
Nancy and the others could see the sky outside darkening as the sun set. The bus unexpectedly slowed and the passengers could feel it lean into a turn to the right. It stopped for a moment, the engine idling tiredly, then swung left. They continued for about fifteen minutes before making a series of turns. Looking up, Nancy though she could make out the shadowy forms of trees as they passed the window.
The bus slowed again, turned left then began bouncing heavily. After less than a minute it shrugged to a stop and the engine died. "All right, people," came the coyote's voice. "I want everyone up and out the door, one at a time. The passengers were herded outside and forced to line up next to the bus, their hands on their heads. "Stay in line and keep your heads down. Don't look around, just look at the feet of the guy in front of you."
Shuffling forward, the passengers were guided from a patch of uncleared forest onto an abandoned farm. The buildings were aged and run down. Several had partially collapsed. The hijackers led them into a dilapidated barn. The smell of dust and rotted hay filled the air. There was something else though, another smell hidden by the first two. No one seemed to notice other than the bus driver. One of the thugs, a broad shouldered wolverine, went ahead of the group and pulled on a rope, lifting the trap door to which it was attached.
With Burl leading the way the passengers were forced into the cellar. When they were all inside, the trap door was lowered into place. Everyone could hear the heavy snap of a padlock. It became suddenly quiet. The bus driver looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight that filtered in through the openings between the slats.
"Is everyone okay?" he whispered. Murmurs and nods of assent greeted him. "Right then. All we need to do is stay calm and keep quiet. The bus has a low-jack tracker on it. Once the depot realizes something has happened, they'll be able to trace the signal here."
Burleigh wished he could be as confident as he tried to sound, but the subtle background scent had him worried. He looked around, trying to get a head count. There had been twenty-five passengers plus himself on the bus when the hijackers had taken over. Now, he could only count twenty-four other furs. He searched their faces, his concern growing rapidly. "Where's Nancy?"
At the moment, the young mouse was wondering the same thing about everyone else. She had been the last in line and was following the others when the feline had grabbed her in a chokehold and pulled her aside. "Not there, mousy," he whispered. With his arm wrapped around her throat, he had pulled her back onto the bus even as she silently struggled and kicked, unable to breathe let alone yell for help.
Once inside, the cat relaxed his grip and Nancy gasped desperately for air. From his pocket he removed the handcuffs he'd been given. Working quickly, he then locked her hands tightly behind her; the chain from the cuffs wrapped around one of the bus stanchions. The thug reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a first aid kit. Opening it, he unwrapped several thick gauze pads, which he quickly jammed in Nancy's mouth. He then bound her muzzle shut with a roll of medical tape. Reaching around her neck, the feline undid the strap of her dress and pulled her top down, exposing both breasts. Tears welled in her eyes and her ears blushed.
"My," he said, his voice dripping with lust, "what nice titties the little mousy girl has." He bent over and kissed them, then gave each one a hard, sharp slap. "Sorry, but the fun has to wait until later. Don't go anywhere."
Nancy watched the cat as he walked up to the driver's station, shut off the interior lights and left. For about five minutes she thought she heard someone working underneath the bus, then everything became quiet.
Sitting on the floor, she quietly hoped the other passengers were okay. She felt her hands slowly going numb. Whether by accident or intent the thug had put the cuffs on way too tight. In the silence and darkness, the young mouse suddenly realized the scope of her predicament. Despite the warmth of the evening, she began shivering. For the first time ever, she was truly afraid for her life.
* * * *
The cat walked over to the small farmhouse and found three of his compatriots seated around an old table with a small oil lamp turned low. He tossed a small, grease covered electronic box on the table. "There it is. Sucker wasn't hard to find either. The lazy bastards at the yard mounted it right next to the oil pan."
The coyote picked it up and looked at it. "You sure it's deactivated?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. Boosted enough cars to know what I'm doing. So what time does the man get here?"
"Eleven P.M. Meantime, one of us walks the yard to make sure nothing happens." He looked over at the wolverine. "Our wheels set?"
"Yeah, we're good to go. Got it parked in the bushes behind the barn. As soon as we get our money, we're outta here."
"Speaking o'which," the wolf asked, "how much beer money we take?"
The coyote tossed several plastic bags on the table. "I'd guess about fifteen hundred total. We'll keep the cash and dump the rest. It's too easy to trace and it'll be plenty hot."
"Wait a second," said the cat. He fished through several bags, finally coming up with a small gold locket. "I want a souvenir." He slid the small gold chain around his neck "Something I can show my little mousy."
"Damn it, Kyle. Did you cut that girl out of the passengers we stashed?"
"Don't worry man, I've got her trussed up on the bus like a Thanksgiving turkey. She ain't going nowhere. We're gonna dance some later while we wait for the man."
The coyote shook his head. "You know, if you weren't such a good mechanic, I'd have cut you free of this job a month ago."
The wolf looked at his boss and shrugged. "It's a little late now. You might as well let him have his fun. Hell, I might wanna do a little dancing myself later. Help pass the time, you know?"
"First dibs," the cat said.
"Fine... fine," muttered the coyote, "but when you're finished she goes back with the others. I don't want any loose ends."
* * * *
Nancy tried pulling against the stanchion yet again. As before there was only a little flexing of the metal, then nothing. If she were stronger or had more leverage, she thought, she could have bent the metal tubing enough to pull it out of its base. Such, unfortunately was not the case. Another wave of dizziness hit her and she slid to the floor.
She was having a hard time breathing. The gauze and tape made it impossible for her to breathe through her mouth, and her nose was half blocked by dried blood. Add to this the heat and there were moments she thought she would suffocate. Lying on the floor, she craned her neck looking for anything that might help. The only things she could see were the open first aid kit and a small toolbox under the first seat. Neither of these could be reached from where she was.
A sound from outside drew her attention to the door. As she watched, a figure carrying a sawed-off shotgun stepped up onto the driver's platform. Nancy immediately recognized him as one of their hijackers. The goat slowly walked up to her and bent over, using the muzzle of his gun to force her head up. He studied her for a moment or two. "Well, I've got to admit, Kyle may be crazy, but he knows how to pick em. Bet with a small mouth like that, you'd give real good head."
Nancy turned her head away, trying not to look at the thug. "You know," he said, his voice getting thick with excitement, "having your mouth taped like that must be damned uncomfortable. You think if I untaped it, you might be willing to return the favor?" He pulled her up to her knees, forcing her to look up at him. "You want to suck me off?" When she didn't respond he took his hand and grabbed the end of her muzzle, blocking her only airway. Panicked, she thrashed her head about trying desperately to breathe, however the goat's grip was much too strong
He held her for about thirty seconds, then let go and let her take several breaths. "So... Did you think about it?
Tears in her eyes, the mouse nodded.
"Well, that's fine," he said as he reached over and slowly unwound the tape from her muzzle.
Once her mouth was freed, Nancy spit out the gauze and took a series of deep breaths. The dizziness she had felt vanished quickly but her mouth and throat felt horribly dry. "Water," she rasped, pleadingly.
The thug obligingly took out a small bottle of water he had in his hip pocket and uncapped it. He held it just above her head and smiled. "Open wide." He slowly upended the bottle letting the water trickle out slowly, forcing the mouse to crane her neck and open her mouth wide to catch the thin stream. More than half the water splashed uselessly against her face, matting her fur and hair, but enough got into her mouth to quench the burning in her throat.
"Done?" the goat asked, recapping the bottle and tossing it on a nearby seat.
Nancy reluctantly nodded.
"Well then, let's have some fun." He quickly unzipped his fly and pulled out his penis. "You can start with a little kissing and licking," he said.
The mouse had to push herself up on her knees in order to reach his cock. She slowly, tentatively began licking at it and giving a few, hesitant kisses. Shame and disgust filled her and her tears flowed freely. She hated herself for being so weak, but there was nothing she could do except comply. The goat frowned, unsatisfied by her efforts.
"Shit. You're no better at this than a high school virgin. He grabbed her lower jaw and forced her mouth open wide, then slid his cock in all the way to the back of her throat. "Start sucking," he ordered, "hard. And if you bite me I'll have you sucking on this gun."
Frightened, Nancy started sucking for all she was worth. The goat smiled and began moving in and out of her mouth, slowly at first, then faster and faster. "That's the way... Yeah. Just like that. Keep it going, cunt." The word stung at Nancy, almost more than what she was being forced to do. She felt dirty and used; a thing for someone else's pleasure, yet she continued, more afraid of the gun, more afraid of dying than anything else.
Above her the goat started huffing. Short, gasping breaths of air passed through his teeth. He suddenly hilted himself, grabbing the mouse by her ears and half-choking her. His cock went rigid and began pulsing. Thick, greasy tasting jets of cum exploded in her mouth She swallowed at it desperately, unable to breathe, trying to keep up with the volumes of it pouring down her throat. She gagged and some of it dribbled out of the corners of her mouth to land on her tits and the floor. By the time he had finished and pulled out of her mouth she was on the verge of passing out.
Nancy gasped for air, whimpering like a child who'd just been spanked. The goat looked up in time to see Kyle and the wolf come out of the farmhouse. He frantically looked around. Spotting the handkerchief the mouse girl had been using earlier, he picked it up off the seat and hastily wiped the cum off her tits and the corners of her mouth. He wiped himself off, then poured a little more water into her mouth and rewound the medical tape around her muzzle.
"Not a word, understand?" the goat warned. "Kyle's the jealous type and he doesn't like sharing his toys." He stuffed the handkerchief into a pocket and casually strolled off the bus. Nancy was left alone in the dark again, head bowed, her sobs muffled by the tape.
* * * *
Burleigh searched the cellar floor, looking for something, anything that might help him and the others escape. Nothing. He stood and looked at the passengers, most of whom were sitting dejectedly on the floor. An elderly doe focused on the bus driver. "Why are they doing this Burl? What's going on?"
He shook his head. "I don't know, Stella. It doesn't make much sense to me, but then, there are a lot of things in this world that don't make sense."
"You could ask him," responded another passenger, pointing to the fox. "He had something chained to his wrist. Something these guys wanted."
Burl went over to the fox and looked at him. "Do I know you?"
"I'm not one of your regulars, if that's what you mean."
The driver stood silently for a moment, studying him. "Courier?" he asked.
The fox nodded. "Until today."
"So what were you carrying?" When he didn't answer right away Burl nudged him with his foot. "Come on man. It's not like someone doesn't already know. At least you can help us make some sense out of all this."
The fox stood and brushed hay off his clothing. "Diamonds," he replied. "Almost ten million dollars worth of small, unregistered gems."
Everyone's mouth dropped open. A few of the passengers started raising a protest until Burl shut them up. He looked back at the fox. "You want to explain why?"
The fox shrugged. "It's part of a shell game. Several couriers go out using different routes and different means of transport. No one knows who has the real stash until just before walking out the door, and only the operations manager knows the routes."
"How long have you been playing this shell game?"
"Several years now," the fox replied. "It's all legit, and it worked like a charm, until today that is."
"Yeah," muttered Burl, "until today." He looked around the cellar once more, and then carefully studied the slatted trap door above them. Turning he gestured to a couple of the stronger looking passengers. "Give me a boost."
* * * *
Nancy stared vacantly at the floor of the bus, having lost all track of time. Her hands were so numb and stiff she could barely move even a finger. A shadow blanked out the few slivers of moonlight that filtered through the windows.
"So how's my little mousy doing."
The putrid sound of the cat caused her to start trembling again. She tried desperately to control it, but couldn't. Fear danced through her like an icy wind, freezing her ability to think, but not to feel. The thug noticed her shaking and smiled.
"Aw... Is the little mousy girl scared? Maybe I should make you more comfortable." He pulled her to her feet and unlocked the handcuffs. Needles of pain lanced through her hands as the circulation was restored. She scooted back from the feline, trying to gain some distance, and then instinctively bolted for the rear door. The thug moved with lightning speed, kicking Nancy's feet out from under her. She crashed heavily to the floor, stunned, the wind knocked out of her.
"Not so fast, mousy," the cat snarled. He lifted her by the scruff of her neck, holding her off the floor while he reattached the handcuffs, suspending her from an overhead stanchion, her toes, mere inches from the floor of the bus. She tried catching her breath but couldn't. Spots danced before her eyes and she passed out.
When she finally awoke it was obvious that some time had passed. The cat had remove the tape binding her muzzle as well as the rest of her clothes. Her shoulders burned from supporting her weight and her hands felt even worse than before. Looking up, she saw the feline sitting in a nearby seat, watching her, a pistol held loosely in one hand.
"Is the mousy awake?" he taunted. He stood, placed the gun on a nearby seat and stepped over to her, hooking a finger under her jaw. "It wasn't nice for the little mousy to try running like she did, not nice at all." He extended his claw and drew it across the bottom of her chin, leaving a stinging welt behind. "If the mousy isn't nice, then she won't get any presents." He reached under his shirt and drew forth Nancy's own locket. Slipping it off, he then draped it around her neck, pulling her hair aside so it rested between her naked breasts.
"There now, a gift from me to you," the feline purred. "I hope the little mousy is grateful." His voice became a little harsher. "Are you?" he hissed. "Are you grateful little mousy?" He ran both hands down Nancy's chest and stomach, kneading at her fur as he went.
The girl shuttered, fear flooding her senses. "Please," she squeaked. "Please... don't. Please let me go."
"Let you go?" the feline asked. "But don't you like me? Don't you? You have to... I gave you A GIFT!" He raked his claws brutally across her right hip. Nancy gasped in pain as blood began dripping down her thigh. "You have to like me! I know you do, and you're going to give me a gift too, aren't you?" He pressed a hand against her mound, rubbing a finger up and down along her slit.
Nancy squeezed her eyes shut as the tears began flowing again. She shook her head back and forth, bouncing slightly as she dangled from the stanchion. "No... No... No... Noo... Nooo!" she wailed, sobbing.
With her eyes closed she didn't see the thug unbuckle his belt and drop his trousers and shorts. He stepped out of them and pushed them to one side before pressing his barbed penis against her sex. "NOOOOOOO!" she screamed. Angrily, the cat grabbed her by the muzzle, effectively muffling her outcries.
"I don't like that word, mousy," he hissed. He grasped a flap of skin where he had clawed her and pulled, tearing it further. The mouse whimpered and tried unsuccessfully shaking his hand from her muzzle. "Don't EVER tell me NO!"
He pushed forward with his cock. Nancy crossed her legs, frantically trying to protect herself. The cat responded by digging the claws of his free hand deep into her back and slowly pulling downward. Muted cries sprang from her vocal cords. The pain sent her legs flailing allowing the cat to position himself easily.
There was no preliminary movement; no effort to make sure she was ready. The feline simply thrust as hard as he could into the mouse, impaling her on his cock. The girl bucked, not in pleasure but in pain as he tore through her hymen and lanced the walls of her vagina. Her muted shriek was just loud enough to be heard by the wolf standing watch in the yard.
He walked over to the bus and tapped on the side with the shotgun. "Hey, take it easy in there. Leave something for the rest of us."
"Fuck off," the cat hissed
"Asshole," muttered the wolf as he turned to resume his patrol. He took two steps, then went back and leaned against the side of the bus, listening excitedly to the muffled cries of the girl.
Blood dripped from the girl's sex, soaking her fur and trickling slowly down her legs. The feline smiled. "Didn't know you were a virgin, mousy. I guess you really did have a special gift for me."
Tired of holding her mouth closed, he pulled out long enough to tape the girl's muzzle shut again, then began shoving himself vigorously in and out, using his claws to hold her in place. The barbs on the cat's penis ripped incessantly at the walls of her vagina. Pain sliced through her with each thrust, causing her to writhe and sob uncontrollably. The cat smiled as he pounded into the girl; each moan sending a thrill of excitement through him. It seemed to go on like this for an eternity. The cat was in no hurry to cum. Eventually though her screams began to fade as she slowly became numbed to the agony.
Sensing this, the thug scratched at Nancy, trying to get her to scream or buck. Blood leaked onto the floor of the bus from dozens of claw marks. At one point she passed out, causing the feline to scowl.
"Come on mousy. Don't go to sleep on me, the fun's just starting." The cat took hold of her tail and savagely crimped it. The snapping vertebrae woke her, causing her to wail and buck afresh, much to his satisfaction. In that moment the bus doors slammed opened and another fur stepped into the dim moonlight. "Get away from her, you fucking bastard!" it commanded.
Angry at the sudden interruption the cat turned to confront the intruder. His eyes snapped open in surprise. "You?"
* * * *
Burl hung suspended from one of the trapdoor slats, his hands protected by a thick jacket. On the first two attempts he'd discovered that the wood, though old, was still resilient. Using his weight to bounce up and down wasn't enough. This time however, four of the strongest passengers held onto his legs. He started bouncing again and on his whispered signal they jerked downward. There was a loud snap and the board broke in two places.
Everyone dropped to the floor and listened. No guard appeared. Something must be keeping them busy. "Okay people," whispered the canine, "Let's go for two." Again he was lifted up. He wrapped the coat around his hands, grabbed the next slat over and they repeated the process. It broke on the first try. They waited anxiously for almost a full minute then held a whispered conference.
"I'm going up for a quick look around," Burl said. "If I can get to it, there's a toolbox on the bus with a tire iron in it. I can use that to break the lock on the door and get us all out."
"Why don't we all go out through the hole you just made?" asked the fox.
Burleigh shook his head. "Look around you. Some people here are too old to climb. Our best bet is to exit up the ramp with everyone helping each other."
"So why should you scout ahead?"
"My bus... my responsibility." He looked over at a tall equine. "Give me a boost, will you?" The passenger quickly complied. Moments later, Burl was wiggling through the hole they had made in the trap door. Looking down he nodded to the others. "Give me five minutes," he whispered. "If you don't hear anything, send out another scout."
"No one has a watch, how will we know when five minutes have passed?"
The driver tiredly shook his head. "Count to three hundred...real slow!" Burl carefully pushed the broken boards down and tossed some loose straw over them. Through the open door of the barn he could see one guard leaning against the side of the bus, as if listening. Shadows he couldn't quite make out could be seen moving around inside the vehicle. The canine kept low, crawling on his belly through the hay. Old memories and habits quickly resurfaced as he scuttled across the barn.
Against the far wall he found what he'd smelled earlier. Five jerry cans filled with kerosene. They were new, unlike the rest of the farm, and were obviously there for a deadly purpose. He made his way to the back door. Like many old barns in the area it was a Dutch door. He studied it for a moment then slowly, carefully unlatched the lower half and tried pulling it open. It started to creak. Glancing toward the front door, he carefully stood, unzipped his fly and pissed on the two lower hinges. The creaking stopped and he quickly ducked through the now open door then zipped up his pants.
A thick stand of brush stood only a few feet from the rear door of the barn. Burleigh ducked into it, intending to use it as cover as he circled through the forest and approached the bus. To his surprise he found himself crouched next to a four-door sedan that was hidden in the brush. Finding it unlocked, he immediately modified his plans. He cautiously reached under the driver's side dash and popped the trunk. Moving swiftly he searched the trunk but found nothing more than the standard accessories. He pulled out the tire iron and ducked back into the barn.
Crawling across the floor, Burl worked his way back to the trap door. "Listen up," he whispered. "I want you to count thirty, then start banging on the trap door for about ten seconds."
"But what...?"
"Never mind," he ordered quietly. "Just do it!"
The fox gave him a quick thumbs up and Burl scrambled out of sight behind a rotted bail of hay. From his vantage point he could see the wolf still leaning against the side of the bus listening to something. Burl had a sick feeling he knew what it was. On cue, the passengers started hammering on the trapdoor. The wolf looked up, annoyed and began striding toward the barn. The canine ducked low and waited until the wolf was standing in front of the trapdoor.
"You were already told to stay quiet," the hijacker threatened, waving his sawed-off shotgun. "Do you need an example?" The wolf's instincts suddenly kicked in and he started to turn, but it was too late. The tire iron caught him on the side of his head and he went down.
Burleigh glanced toward the farmhouse but saw no movement. He quickly rifled through the wolf's clothes and came up with the shotgun, half a dozen extra shells, a pair of sunglasses and a Marine Corps k-bar. The knife felt comfortable in his hand, like an old, long lost friend. He pulled the wolf out of sight and covered him with hay. He then went back to the trapdoor and used the tire iron to pry the latch off.
"Listen carefully," he hissed. "I want everyone here to make your way out the back door of the barn and duck into the woods as quietly as possible. Hold hands and stay together. Don't stop until you're at least a mile past the tree line. Wait there until morning, then go north. An hour's walk should bring you to a major road. By morning this will be all over and you'll be safe."
"But how do we find north?" whispered the fox.
"Weren't you ever a boy scout?" snuffled the elderly doe. Just look for the moss."
"You tell 'em Stella, " the canine grinned. "Stay together; stay safe."
"What are you going to do Burl?"
"Find Nancy and create a diversion. Now go... all of you, and stay quiet." The bus driver opened the trapdoor and watched as the passengers made their way out the back of the barn and into the woods. He counted to three hundred to give them a head start and went out the back door. He stopped long enough to slash the tires on the car with the k-bar then worked his way toward the bus. Approaching, he could hear the muffled cries of a female, confirming what he had earlier feared. He kept low until he was in position along the right side of the bus. He snapped open the shotgun and checked to make sure it was loaded. He slid the k-bar out of his belt, holding it at the ready position as he'd been taught all those years before. The girl's cries faded for a moment, then he heard the hissing laugh of a feline.
"Come on mousy. Don't go to sleep on me, the fun's just starting." There was a pause, then a sharp crack like a twig being broken. The girl's muted wail cut through Burleigh like a hot iron. He pushed the bus doors open and reached the driver's platform in only two steps. He saw Nancy, dangling helplessly from an overhead stanchion two thirds of the way down the bus; the shredded remains of her clothes hanging in tatters from her naked body. Next to her stood a powerful looking black-furred cat, his cock imbedded halfway up her sex.
The canine could smell the thick coppery scent of blood in the air, and in that horrific moment he realized it wasn't clothing he saw hanging in shreds from the young mouse. "Get away from her, you fucking bastard!" Burl commanded.
The cat looked at the bus driver, his eyes opening wide in surprise. "You!" he hissed. He pulled out of the girl and turned to face the canine, his eyes tracing a path to the shotgun. The thug smiled.
"So, hero... didn't think this through very carefully, did you? You fire that scattergun and you'll hit both me and the little mousy. On top of that the noise will alert my friends." The cat glanced at the pistol sitting on the seat only two feet from him. "So what are you going to do...? It's decision time."
In her haze of pain time had slowed down for Nancy. She watched, confused as the cat grabbed a gun off the seat and leveled it at another figure standing at the front of the bus. In that same instant the other's arm had snapped out. Something spun through the air, imbedding itself dead center in the thug's chest even as he brought the gun level. The feline gave a coughing gasp. Shock and disbelief flooded his eyes as he slowly collapsed to his knees then flopped backwards onto the floor. Blood seeped from around the knife's hilt and mixed with her own. The mouse looked down at the body of the cat. Dazed and befuddled as she was, seeing him lying dead at her feet gave her an odd feeling of... satisfaction. She wondered why, even as she once more slipped from consciousness.
Burleigh walked down the aisle and began searching the cat. He found the handcuff key in his shirt pocket. He carefully reached around Nancy, trying his best not to press against any of the scratch marks that lined her body. Lifting gently, he supported her weight as he undid the cuffs. These he tossed carelessly on the floor. He scooped the unconscious girl into his arms and carried her to the front bench, gently laying her down on it.
Burl made a quick inspection. Loose flaps of skin hung from her body. Many, though not all, of the claw marks had stopped bleeding. None of them looked too dangerous, though they all looked brutal and could easily become infected without treatment. The canine was worried more about her vaginal bleeding. Blood was slowly oozing from her mound with no sign of let up. He recovered what was left of the first aid kit from the floor and took out a compress dressing. He turned the girl on her side and placed the dressing between her legs, wrapping the ends of it across her hips so her legs continued to press together. He then pulled his uniform jacket off the back of the driver's seat and gently covered her with it.
It was obvious she needed medical attention as soon as possible. Once again, he modified his original plan. He went back and searched the cat's belongings, turning up an extra magazine as well as the nine-millimeter pistol. He yanked the k-bar from the thug's chest and rolled the body out the back door.
Burl had just closed the rear door when a pair of headlights bounced into view. He ducked as they swept across the rear window of the bus and swung toward the farmhouse. The bus driver carefully peeked through the bus window. He watched as the vehicle, a dark colored Range Rover, came to a stop and the lights snapped off. Two figures climbed out and walked brazenly up to the door of the house. Both were armed. In the moonlight the canine thought he could make out a tall leopard and a short, somewhat rotund otter. Instinctively, he knew they would question the lack of a guard.
Returning to the front of the bus, Burl checked his radio. As he half expected the transceiver had been ripped apart to prevent anyone from using it. He lifted the cushion of the driver's seat and smiled, scooping up his set of spare keys. Technically, he wasn't supposed to have a set, but he'd always felt there were some rules best ignored. Going back over to Nancy, he carefully used two sets of seatbelts to secure her in place, and then settled himself into the driver's seat.
The door to the farmhouse opened again and Burleigh saw the goat make his way across the yard. He was heading straight for the barn. It was now, or never. He placed the shotgun and pistol next to him, said a small prayer and turned the ignition key. The engine roared to life. Burl slammed the transmission into reverse and began backing rapidly down the road. Years of maneuvering the juggernaut through city streets enabled him to keep it on the road and avoid the surrounding trees.
The goat froze for a moment, then began running toward the bus, his pistol drawn. He reached the road, then tripped over the body of the cat, falling face first into the dirt. Figures poured from the farmhouse like ants from an overturned anthill. Burleigh slid open the driver's window, grabbed the shotgun and let go with both barrels, one right after the other. He knew his chances of hitting anything were almost nil, but he hoped to force them to take cover. He smiled as they all dove for the ground.
Burl reached a curve in the dirt road and swung the wheel to the left, sending the rear of the bus bouncing around the corner. In seconds he was out of sight. Having driven it onto the farm he knew there'd be no place to turn around until he reached the main road a quarter mile away. Luckily after the turn it was a straight shot. He tapped the accelerator and took it up to thirty miles per hour.
The coyote angrily picked himself out of the dirt. To his left the goat also pulled himself off the ground and started yelling. "Kyle's dead... He's dead."
The lead hijacker turned to the wolverine beside him. "Get to the barn! Check the prisoners!" The thug dashed off. Moments later he yelled back from the entrance of the barn.
"They're gone. I found Tucker. He's out cold."
"Get the car," ordered the coyote. The wolverine vanished from sight.
"FUCK!" cursed the leopard. "They've got to be on the bus. If even one of them gets away it blows our whole cover."
"It's nine miles to the nearest phone," growled the coyote. "We'll catch them before they get even two miles down the road."
"You'd better, or we'll all be in jail by noon tomorrow."
The wolverine ran up, half out of breath. "Car's no good... Bastards slashed the tires."
"GODAMNSONOFABITCH!!!" yelled the coyote. He turned to the leopard. "Gimme your keys."
"What?"
"Your keys; your car keys"
"I can't be connected with..."
"It's too late," the coyote snarled. "You're all ready in this up to your ass and if you don't give me your keys I'm going to fucking shoot you here and now!"
The leopard surrendered his keys. The coyote jerked open the driver's side door and whistled for his two companions. They quickly scrambled into the Range Rover. He looked back at the leopard. "Coming? It's a long walk back to town."
Reluctantly he and the otter jumped into the car, both cursing under their breath for the screwed up mess everything had become. The car spun into a 180, it's wheels kicking up great clouds of dirt as it raced after the bus.
Burleigh hit the main road doing twenty-five. Jamming on the breaks he slewed the juggernaut so it faced back along the route that had gotten them there. He gunned the engine and killed the headlights determined not to make it too easy for the hunters. Moonlight flooded the road ahead. He'd always had a good sense of direction and an eye for detail. If they followed, and he hoped they would, he had a plan. No matter what happened, he had to stay at least twenty seconds ahead of them. He ran several different calculations through his mind. That would be a third of a mile at 60; a quarter mile at 50. He didn't bother with the rest. Anything more would send the bus off the road, anything less wouldn't work.
Headlights bounced into the rear-view mirror behind him. They began to grow in size. Too fast! Too soon! Three miles to go! Three minutes! The Range Rover closed the distance. The road curved to the right. The canine dropped down into third and tapped the brakes. The bus danced across the centerline, playing tag with the far shoulder of the road before finding its way back into the correct lane. Burleigh accelerated coming out of the turn and slit the gearshift back into fourth. Traffic was nonexistent on this road at this time of night. That wouldn't be true at the crossroads, but that was still at least seven miles ahead.
The other vehicle closed to within fifty feet, easily negotiating the curve. The coyote hit a switch on the dash and the sunroof opened. The goat sitting next to him unbuckled and stood up in his seat, squeezing his head and shoulders through the opening. He leveled his gun and began shooting methodically.
Burl could hear the bullets ping as they struck the back of the bus. He knew they were going for the tires. Two miles! Two minutes! He wove the bus back and forth across the road, denying the hijackers both a clear shot and chance to pass. A minute forty! He had to somehow gain that vital twenty seconds. He slowed more than necessary on the next curve, holding to the right side of the road. The Range Rover pulled out from behind him and came up on his left side.
The canine counted to five then stuck his left hand out the window, holding the 9mm upside down and back along the bus. He unloaded the whole clip as rapidly as possible. Bullets ricocheted along the road. One glanced off the side of the bus. Another shattered one of the fog lights. Yet a third struck the SUV's front windshield. The safety glass spider-webbed into a thousand fragments, effectively blocking the coyote's view. Cursing, he slammed on the brakes bringing the car to a complete stop. For several long, frantic seconds both he and the goat punched and kicked at the windshield until enough fragments had fallen loose to allow them to see. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped after the bus.
One mile! Sixty seconds! Ahead of him Burl saw the road disappear under a thick stand of trees. He knew they lined both sides of the narrow highway. He glanced into his rear view mirror. They were half a mile behind, but closing fast. The road was straight enough, so the canine pushed the pedal to the floor. The engine whined in protest. The bus started fishtailing. Burl eased up and the speedometer dropped back to about fifty-five. Thirty seconds! The hijackers were closing. Twenty seconds!
The bus disappeared among the trees. Cursing, the coyote punched it, desperate to catch them before the crossroads.
Burl counted to five, then slammed on the brakes. Smoke poured from the tires as the bus rapidly slowed. At the last moment, the canine spun the wheel to the left, slewing the bus until it rested perpendicular to the road. "One, two, three..."
He stomped on the parking break and threw the gearshift into neutral. He grabbed the pistol, undid his seatbelt and leapt from the driver's seat, slamming open the front door of the bus. "Four, five, six, seven, eight... "
Burl moved across to Nancy and swiftly undid her restraints. "Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen..."
Scooping the mouse girl up, he dashed for the door and cleared the steps. "Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen..." Adrenalin surged through him as the raced for the shelter of a nearby tree, its shadow, and the shadows of its companions blocking out the moonlight.
"Seventeen..." He could hear the sound of an approaching car as he ducked behind the tree.
"Eighteen, nineteen..." The sound of the engine was lost in the tortured scream of brakes. The canine hunkered down, protecting Nancy with his own body.
"TWENTY!" For the smallest fraction of an instant there was no sound. Burleigh would later wonder if it was a disconnection in his mind between anticipation and fact.
The world exploded into the scream of a million different sounds as the Range Rover plowed into the bus at more than sixty miles per hour. Over the next twelve seconds the sounds sorted themselves out, first into a thousand, then a hundred, then a dozen different noises until there was nothing left but a deafening silence.
Burleigh slowly looked up and found that both he and Nancy were miraculously unharmed. Placing the girl gently on the ground, the canine stood, pulled the extra clip from his trouser pocket and reloaded the 9mm. Cautiously, he stepped out from behind the tree and approached the bus. Not being the movies, there had been no dramatic explosion or fire, though the effect was not much different that that of a bomb. The frame of the bus was bent and twisted at the point of impact. Parts of both vehicles lay scattered over a wide area.
The canine noticed that the airbags in the SUV had deployed, and might have been effective, if the engine block hadn't, as a matter of physics, decided to occupy the back seat. Everyone in the car lay crushed and broken and silent. Blood leaked onto the road and mixed with engine oil, transmission fluid and gasoline.
Burl spotted the coyote, hanging halfway out the driver's side window. He walked up to the body and checked the shirt pocket. There he found his panic button. The casing was cracked, but when he turned it on, the green ready light glowed brightly. He looked at it for a moment or two then thumbed the switch. The light changed to a pulsing red.
Pocketing it, the canine walked back to the tree where he found Nancy, sitting up, a dazed and lost expression on her face. She looked at him, unable to see anything but a shadow and the expression changed to one of terror. She tried clumsily to crawl away.
"No! Please? No more! No more!" she whimpered, her eyes glistening with tears. "NOOO!"
Burleigh knelt next to the mouse, but wisely didn't reach out to touch her, speaking to her instead in as soft a voice as he could manage. "Nancy... Shhh. It's okay! It's okay! They're gone. They can't hurt you any more."
The sound of the velvet foghorn broke through her panic. She stopped and tried to focus on the figure next to her. "Burl?" she asked, her voice cracking under the strain.
"None other."
The mouse flung herself into his arms, trembling and weeping as she tried to cleanse her soul. The canine carefully wrapped his arms around her and gently picked her up. He walked over to a nearby stump and sat down.
Nancy curled up in his arms; her wracking sobs pulling at his heart. He rocked her back and forth, softly stroked her hair and kept reassuring her that she was safe and that everything would be all right. Secretly though, he wondered.
He was still cradling her when the first police car arrived twenty minutes later.
THE END?