Resistance
3. Sunday
Robert hung his head in exhaustion. His shoulders ached badly due to the way they had his arms cuffed behind his behind him as he sat in the interrogation room.
“I don’t know how many different ways I can say this. We’re barely scraping by and we thought we could make some money selling medicine on the black market. That’s it. There’s nothing else to tell.”
The bright light shining in his face, Robert could only see the silhouette of his interrogator in front of him, sitting impassively.
“Your daughter says differently.”
“Yea? What does she say?”
A heavy blow came across his face from the guard at his side, a pimply, short private who couldn’t have been older than twenty-three.
“We ask the questions here.”
Robert swallowed the coppery blood, satisfied, if not precisely happy. Good girl. If Meghan had talked, they would have offered proof, so he would know it was futile and start talking too. But they didn’t know the truth and answering him would only reveal their ignorance. So it was a punch in the face instead.
No one had mentioned Christine at all either, which meant that she was likely in the clear as well. He was very glad he had sent her off while waiting for Meghan to return, her alibi solidly established.
“Speaking of my daughter, you hit just like her,” Robert said, mildly, addressing the pock-faced private.
“I’ll show you—” The soldier started forward, then halted in his tracks, as the interrogator held a hand up.
“No, Riggs.” The other man rose to his feet, stretching languidly, before stepping forward into the light. Robert could see now that he was quite a bit older than the private, with a steely hard face. This one might be trouble, he thought.
“Let’s not show him, Riggs,” the interrogator said. “Let’s show his daughter.
“Bring her in.”
Casting Robert a baleful look, Riggs stalked out of the room. The interrogator settled back into his seat, his features hidden again from view. “Last chance, before things start to get ugly. We’ve been at this long enough.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Robert repeated.
“Ok,” the man said, casually. “Have it your way.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, before it gave way to the sounds of approaching footsteps. Meghan appeared first in the doorway, arms restrained behind her as well, Riggs, just behind, holding her by the chain of the handcuffs.
“Get in there!” Riggs said savagely, roughly shoving Meghan into the room. Unable to break her own fall, she went down onto her side, hitting the floor between Robert and his questioner, her tear streaked, frightened face brought into sharp relief from the harsh light overhead.
Robert felt his jaw clenching, but held his tongue. There was probably only going to be one way out of this for Meghan, and he needed to keep his cool.
“Are you OK, honey?” he asked.
Meghan looked up at him. “Dad,” she said, in a trembling voice. “I’m scared...”
“Shh... it’s fine, honey,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “It’s going to be fine.”
“No, it’s not,” said Riggs, with a smirk on his smarmy face.
“No, it’s not,” repeated the man in the shadows. Robert could hear plenty of confidence in his voice. “Last chance,” he said again. “Start talking.“
“There’s nothing to tell!”
The interrogator gestured towards Riggs. “Go ahead.”
The private pulled his pistol out of his side holster, and pointed it down, straight at Meghan’s head.
“Dad!“
Robert sprang out of his chair quickly, turning his shoulder into Riggs’ arm, deflecting the gun away from his daughter. In the next instant, he drove his head forward into the private’s face, and felt a sickening crunch as Riggs’ nose broke and the man howled in pain.
A second later, Robert found himself back in his seat, choking for air, the interrogator’s steely face inches from his own, as he held Robert’s throat in a vise-like group, easily crushing his windpipe with one hand.
“Ackk... Ack... OK...” Robert choked out as black speckles began to appear in his peripheral vision. He felt the pressure on his throat loosen slightly and he sucked what little air he could into his burning lungs. There was no choice; he’d have to play his one card and hope it was enough.
“I worked... I worked on...Legacy Project...” he gasped. His throat was released immediately, and he greedily took great gulps of air, wishing his hands were unbound so he could massage his bruised throat. The man gazed down at him intently, brow furrowed before backing up slowly and sitting back down.
Riggs was struggling back to his feet, both hands covering his face, blood leaking heavily between them. “I’m gonna rip your fucking head off!” he yelled in a muffled, nasal voice.
“Riggs,” the man spoke sharply. “Leave.”
“Wha..?” The private whirled around, still holding his face.
“Get out. See the medic and put your ugly face back together.”
Riggs stared at the man for a few moments in apparent disbelief, and then it was clear that what he saw written on the man’s face meant business; he backed down like a pack wolf to the alpha.
“...fucking bullshit...” The muttering private sulked from the room.
On the floor, Robert’s daughter wiggled into a sitting position, then scooted backwards to lean up against his legs. The interrogator slid his chair up, closing the distance between them.
“Now, " the man said, his impassive face gazing intently. “Let’s really talk.”
Meghan pressed her legs back into her father, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the scary man. The hours leading up until now had been simply boring; sitting around in a locked room by herself. But things here were happening with frightening speed.
“I’m Dr. Robert Anderson, and I was head of the Viral Delivery Team for the Legacy Project.”
She looked over her shoulder back up at her dad as he spoke. Why was he using a fake name..?
“That’s all I’m saying until you let my daughter go. Let her go, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. And you know there are plenty of things I know that you want to know.”
“You know we can’t do that.”
“Why? Because she was outside of Quarantine? Look at her. She’s not infected. It’s been hours.”
The man didn’t respond.
“Stand up, honey, " her father said without looking at her.
Meghan got to her feet, awkwardly and off balance without the use of her arms.
“You know how it is. It takes only minutes, if that. Look at her, “ her father said, gesturing toward her with a jerk of his head. “She’s easily 15 pounds overweight.”
“Dad!” Meghan whirled around, mortified despite the situation.
“Honey, please, keep quiet, I’ll explain later. Turn back around.”
Meghan did as she was told, and incredibly, it seemed that the scary man really was appraising her weight. She felt her cheeks burning as the man apparently looked at her mid section, then studied her face, seeming to focus on the pimples on her forehead, prominently displayed in the bright lighting, despite her mousy bangs, his own expression as inscrutable as granite stone. Then suddenly, he spoke.
“Turn around.”
My God, if he’s going to inspect my butt... Meghan thought. But instead she felt her arms being pulled back and then the handcuffs being mercifully released.
“You’re free to go,” the man said without a trace of emotion. She rubbed her wrists, looking at her father, who nodded. “Go, Meghan. Go now.”
“Sector 4, Unit B58.” The man spoke behind her. “We know where you live. We know where to find you.”
But that... that wasn’t right... In front of her, Meghan thought her father gave the smallest, imperceptible shake of the head. She wasn’t even sure.
She turned slowly. “Yes... Yes sir,” she answered in a barely audible whisper. She took a tentative, unsure step towards the door, before turning back to her father, flinging her arms around him with a sob.
“Go straight home, kiddo,” her father said. “I’ll be behind you, in a little while. Don’t leave the house.”
She pulled back, wiping her eyes.
“Take care of things, Meghan.” She saw the look on his face, that said what he could not: ‘Take care of your brother’.
With one last furtive look at her father, she fled the room.
After being escorted through the secured perimeter of the compound, Meghan found herself outside in the cool night air, not far from where they really lived. How did they not know? They knew everything... What secrets had her father been hiding? Fake name, fake address. A mysterious project...
But more important and compelling than any of that, was the last sight of her father, seared into her mind, him sitting bravely in that chair, under the spotlight, hands cuffed behind him, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. She left him behind, still there in that horrible place. Meghan wept most of the way home.
The house was completely dark. It was only when Meghan arrived that she remembered the soldiers had taken everything from her. The entire plan had been for nothing. Her father was detained, she had no medicine for Derek, didn’t even have her house key to get back inside. She resorted to crawling in through the kitchen window.
The very first thing she did was get a tall glass of water and brought it upstairs to her brother’s room. Meghan propped his unconscious body up with some pillows and, with a napkin, she held the water up to Derek’s dry, cracked lips, pouring in small, measured amounts as he reflexively swallowed. She dabbed his mouth clean, and laid him back down, trying her best to make sure he seemed comfortable. She changed out his bedpan, which was nearly overflowing.
Then, she curled up beside him in the bed and sobbed uncontrollably. She had failed. It was as simple as that. She had failed, and now Derek was probably going to die. Her father was arrested, and her mother would be on patrol duty for over a week. It was only her alone, to care for her comatose brother, without drugs and without hope. With those bleak thoughts running through her head, Meghan cried herself to sleep.
She slept fitfully, tossing and turning, pressed up against Derek’s shoulder, dreaming a series of dreams, vague and nonsensical, though tense and ominous, involving soldiers and shadowy men. At some point she found herself back in the same spot outside of Quarantine, witnessing that crazy scene in the alley outside of the drug store unfold all over again: the leather clad police officers restraining the scandalous woman in the red dress over the hood of their cruiser.
Only when she looked more closely, Meghan thought that the police officers looked familiar. And then she was sure that they did. As the police officer shucked the girl’s red dress up around her waist, unzipping his pants and sliding up in her with that complete presumption and ownership, Meghan saw now that he was Zack, from school, his arrogant face lost in pleasure. And now too, it was clear that the female police officer was Crystal, her long blond hair pulled up in a messy bun, hanging underneath the police cap, her beautiful face hidden behind the reflective aviators. Her expression was the usual one of disdain, as she stood beside Zack, reaching around the front of slut in the red dress with both hands, grabbing her huge, bouncing jugs.
And then there seemed something familiar about the slutty whore too, in her tiny skimpy red dress. She moaned like a harlot as Zack pumped in and out of her from behind, pushing her tight round ass back to meet each of his thrusts, her back arched, pressing her tits into Crystal’s slim fingered, expert, massaging hands. Meghan was not sure at what point that she realized that the slut in red was herself, and, equally confusing, she had seamlessly stopped being a witness and instead somehow found herself right in the middle of it, being bent over the car, rammed from behind by her crush, moaning in ecstasy as the hottest, bitchiest girl in school felt up her amazing, massive rack.
It was incredible, better than anything Meghan had ever experienced in real life, more vivid and raunchy than anything she had ever dreamed before. She wasn’t sure if she was even dreaming, it just seemed too real; the intensity of Zack’s hard, throbbing cock, pushing in and out of her tight, wet pussy, the feel of the cheap, slick material of the red dress, sliding across her rock hard nipples, as Crystal pulled the top of the dress down, exposing her heavy, naked tits to the cool air.
Meghan could feel her wetness dripping down her thighs, feel her clit twitching, the climax building inside her, as she panted heavily, excited. She reached back with both arms, grabbing Zack by the head, tilting her head back, pulling him for a deep kiss, their tongues exploring each others’ mouths...
It was just then that Meghan awoke, and found herself back in the dark house, in the middle of the night, pressed up against Derek, kissing her brother Derek, her lips pressed up against his limp, chapped lips, her tongue in his mouth, his dry, sour mouth, his own tongue rough as sandpaper. She sprang up out of the bed in horror and revulsion, instinctively wiping the back of her hand against her mouth.
For a moment, she stared wildly at her brother’s prone motionless body. Then she fled the room.