Resurrection
By Torrent
The truck driver was almost in tears.
"I told you, I don't know where she came from," he said to the two
police officers. "The sky was just getting light, but I still had my headlights
on. And suddenly there's a woman in the middle of the road."
"A naked woman," said the older cop, a big, red-faced man.
"Yeah, she was naked, and she had some kind of collar around her neck
and, like, big metal bracelets on her wrists and ankles. Except for that, she
was stark naked."
"So you hit the brakes, but you can't stop in time," said the other cop,
reading his notes in the early morning light.
"Yeah, I hit the brakes hard, which I hated to do because I'm carrying a
load of hogs to Lackanooka. I didn't want them to get all busted up. You know,
hogs got feelings, too. But it's an emergency, so I hit the brakes hard, but I
can't stop in time, and . . . and ...." At this point, he burst into tears.
"Okay, okay," said the first cop, patting the driver's shoulder
reassuringly. "We understand. You couldn't prevent it. But I'm still confused.
You hit her - the truck hit her - and then she just disappears."
"Yeah," said the truck driver. "I heard the noise from the impact - it
was horrible, a big thud - then she flies into the air and she's gone. I figure
she's landed beyond where my headlights reach, or off to the side of the road.
But when I get out and look around, nothing. Not even any blood."
"Okay," said the older cop. "Let's go back to the spot where you hit
her."
They walked from the back of the truck about 150 feet, to a jagged hole
in the blacktop. On the far side of the hole was a car from the sheriff's
department. The deputy had set up a flare, to warn approaching motorists. But it
was still very early, and there wasn't a car or truck in sight.
"Jesus Christ," said the truck driver, "what the hell is that?"
"That's what we'd all like to know," said the sheriff's deputy. He had
long sideburns and a mustache.
"What it looks like," said the red-faced cop, "is something, or someone,
came out from under the road. You can see all the asphalt pushed up."
"Sort of like an exit wound," said the deputy, with an ironic grin.
"You said she had on shackles," said the younger cop. "Well, look down
there." He pointed to a thick steel rod protruding from the exposed rock under
the road bed. Attached to it was a chain about a foot and a half long.
"Here, help me," said the older cop, as he began clearing broken asphalt
and caked gravel from the hole in the road.
In a few seconds, the officers had discovered three more rods in the
rock. They formed a rectangle about eight feet by three-and-a-half feet. Chains
were attached to three of the four rods.
"This is really strange shit," said the deputy.
"Ain't it, though," said the older cop. "I know this sounds crazy, but
it seems our naked lady emerged right here, right from under the road - just in
time to get creamed by this gentleman's truck."
"Sure," said the deputy. "She's chained under God knows how much asphalt
and gravel, for God knows how long, then she gets hit by a truck and walks away.
Give me a break."
"Well," said the older cop, "I'm going to write it up that way. And you
can write it up any way you want. I'm not even sure who has jurisdiction here.
We're probably outside city limits, but I'm not sure."
"Me neither," said the deputy.
"I know where we are," said the younger cop. The others looked at him,
waiting for an explanation.
"We're in the Twilight Zone," he said mysteriously. Then they all burst
out laughing - even the truck driver, whose tears of anguish and guilt had
barely dried.
# # #
SG was flying high enough to avoid being noticed by anyone on the ground
but not so high that she couldn't make out the features below. It was great to
be airborne again - just to be exposed to the air at all, for that matter. But
she was disoriented and confused. She vaguely remembered being put into that
hole in the road. They had shackled her arms and legs. And someone had stuck
something - something big - into her . . .
She shuddered and pushed the memory out of her mind. What happened that
day didn't matter, at least not for the moment. There would be time to
reconstruct - and to get even. For now, she needed to find a safe place to land,
somewhere she could finding clothing and get rid of these steel shackles, and
the chain attached to the one around her left wrist.
A flash of light caught her eye. It was the Lackanooka River, reflecting
the morning sun. At the sight of it, she realized she was terribly thirsty. She
spiraled down slowly, scanning the ground below to make sure no one was looking.
A car passed under her, on a road that ran next to the river, but it was quickly
gone. The scene seemed quiet. This was a sparsely populated area. She landed
softly at the top of an embankment that sloped down to the river. An abandoned
railroad bridge was just a few yards away. She could go under it to drink, safe
from any observers on the road.
The bank was slippery, and she skidded down it, ending up knee-deep in
the river. She laughed at her own clumsiness, then waded under the bridge
and leaned over to drink.
"You're awfully brave, drinking out of the Lackanooka," said a voice
from behind her. She turned to see a dark form approaching in the shadow of the
bridge. "It's polluted, you know," said the voice. Then the speaker was close
enough for her to make out a man of 40 or so, in ragged clothes and badly in
need of a shave. And a bath and mouthwash. He was still several feet away, but
she could smell his stench.
"The Lord has been good to us, sending us a beautiful naked lady," he
said, smiling broadly.
"He shore has," said another voice. A second man, younger but just as
disheveled, came out of the gloom to join the first.
"Here, let me help you up," said the first man, reaching out to her. She
cautiously took his hand. He pulled her onto the bank, then stepped back to
examine her.
"Yes, a very beautiful naked lady," he said softly, "and she comes with
a collar and handcuffs, like some kind of sex slave."
"And just in time," said his partner, "since we ain't had no pussy in a
month of Sundays."
SG sighed. So, it was going to be another of those encounters.
"Well, it's going to be a millennium of Sundays before you get close to
this pussy," she said coldly.
"Goodness, I've offended her, Jake," said the older man. "What can we do
to make amends?"
Jake, who was behind SG, said, "This!" and slammed a rock into the back
of her head.
SG's knees buckled, and she would have fallen had the older man not
grabbed her and pressed her against his body.
"Oh, yes, the Lord hath looked with favor upon us," he cried. "He doth
shower us with blessings."
"I'm going to shower this cunt with my blessings," said his partner,
untying the rope he used as a belt.
"Age before beauty," said the older one. He dragged SG up the embankment
until they were on a level spot just a few feet below the underside of the
bridge. He had already pulled out his prick and was stroking it to get it hard.
"Too bad you're asleep," he whispered to SG. "I think you would enjoy
this."
"Not as much as this," she hissed, swinging her arms together. The steel
shackles smashed into either side of the hobo's head.
He gasped, wide-eyed, then fell on top of her, blood gushing from both
ears. SG rolled him off of her, then sprang at his partner.
They tumbled together down the embankment and into the river. She sat on
his chest in the shallow water, her hands around his throat. He tried
desperately to break her grip or unseat her, but she was much too strong. After
a few seconds, bubbles began pouring from his mouth and nose, and he lost
consciousness. SG held him down until she was sure he was dead.
Then she stood and began trembling. She had killed. Many times she had
beaten up the bad guys, broken their bones, sent them to the hospital for long
stays. Now she was sending two men to the morgue - assuming anyone discovered
their bodies in this godforsaken spot. She buried her face in her hands and
wept.
# # #
SG wandered along the road to Lackanooka, oblivious to everything but
her own overwhelming feelings of desolation and guilt. Every now and then a car
approached, slowed down so the occupants could get a closer look, then sped
away.
One car, with two old ladies headed into town, stopped briefly, and the
driver cried out, "Shame. Shame. What's this country coming to?" A few minutes
later, a pickup truck stopped, and the driver, a large young man wearing a
baseball cap, said, "You need a ride, honey?" When SG didn't answer, he yelled,
"Well, go fuck yourself, cuz if you don't someone else will." Then he roared
away.
She passed the electrical transformer factory and the slaughterhouse,
and workers whistled and jeered. Then she was on the highway bridge into town. A
car that was headed her way slowed, and the driver said, "Get in. You can't just
walk around like that. People will think you're crazy. The cops will arrest
you." SG came out of her daze and looked at him. He was a plump middle-aged man
in a suit and tie. He had a kind face.
"Come on, get in," he said. His voice sounded reassuring. She opened the
passenger side door and climbed in.
"Where are you headed," he asked.
"I don't know," said SG. "Maybe Marston College. Yes, Marston College."
"Are you a student there," the man asked, watching the road but stealing
occasional glances at her.
"Yes. Well, no. I mean, I was."
"What happened to you? Who took your clothes?"
SG didn't answer. Who did take her clothes? She couldn't remember. It
all seemed so long ago. She watched the cars coming and going. They looked so
different from what she remembered. They were bigger. And the one she was in had
so many knobs and dials on the dashboard.
She looked outside and saw O'Malley's Malt Shop, only it wasn't a malt
shop anymore. It was called Revolutionary Records, and the window was full of
record albums with colorful covers and faces she didn't recognize. Most of the
people on the street seemed to be women, in funny looking blue jeans with wide
bottoms. Then she realized that many of them weren't women at all, they
were men with long hair.
"You can let me off here," she said. "I can walk over to the campus."
"With no clothes?" said the man. "No way. I'll take you to my place.
Some of my ex's outfits are still in the closet." "Okay," said SG wearily. She
was too tired to think of an alternative plan.
They pulled into an apartment complex, and the man said, "We'll go in in
a minute. I just wanted to do this first." He leaned toward her and slipped his
left hand between her legs. With his right, he grabbed her collar and pulled her
head toward him.
Her first impulse was to punch him in the face. Then she thought of the
hobo whose skull she had crushed.
"Please. Let me go," she said hoarsely.
But he didn't let her go. He kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue
into her mouth. Meanwhile, three fingers were deep into her vagina. She felt
herself getting wet. The old lust was still there, the hunger for rough stuff
and humiliation. She had to overcome it.
She pushed him away. "No. I'm getting out," she said.
He held onto her collar but he removed his left hand from her pussy and
opened the glove compartment. She saw the gun just as his hand closed on it.
"You're not going anywhere, bitch," he hissed, "except up to my
apartment. I'm going to fuck you over and over, and you're going to like it.
Then you're going to lick me clean."
She grabbed the gun, and it went off with a noise that was deafening in
the closed car. The bullet hit her in the belly, and she bent over from the
pain.
The man recoiled in horror. "Jesus Christ," he said. "I didn't mean to
do it. Oh, my God."
SG straightened up and looked down. She had the gun in one hand and the
spent and flattened bullet in the other. And she had a smear of black on her
belly, from the burnt powder. But there was no hole. She had lost many of her
powers, but it still would take a lot more than a slug from a .38 to kill her.
She stuffed the gun back in the glove compartment.
"You should be more careful with this thing," she said. "Someone could
get hurt."
Then she got out of the car and began walking toward where she thought
the campus should be.
# # #
She left the street and ducked into an alley. She hoped that by sticking
to alleys she'd find someone's wash hanging on a backyard clothesline, something
she could steal to cover her nakedness. But there was nothing hanging out to
dry, even though it was a lovely late summer day. Maybe people didn't hang their
clothes out anymore, she thought.
Her sense of direction proved accurate. Soon she recognized the campus
neighborhood. From the alley, she could see a sorority house across the street.
An American flag hung from a pole that projected diagonally from a column on the
front porch.
Could she steal a flag? Heck, she had killed two men today. Stealing a
flag didn't seem like much a crime compared to that.
She dashed across the street and pulled down the stars and stripes. A
young woman opened the front door and cried, "Hey, what're you doing?" But SG
was gone in a flash.
She hid in some bushes next to the performing arts building and wrapped
the flag around her like a towel. It was barely big enough to cover both her
nipples and her crotch. Oh, well, it would have to do.
Now what, she thought. She had wanted to come to Marston because it was
where she was living before she was buried under that road. But she didn't know
how much time had passed since then. Would she recognize anyone? She wanted
revenge, but were Dean Tooperman and her lesbo sister still around? And that
bastard Louie? And those mobsters who raped and humiliated her the last night
before her premature burial?
Some students passed a few feet from where she was hiding. They wore the
same kind of clothes she had seen on Druid Avenue. Funny looking blue jeans, and
what looked like buckskin vests. Necklaces with strange symbols. And headbands.
Everyone seemed to wear a headband.
They didn't look anything like the Marston girls of '56.
She wanted to stop them and ask them a thousand questions, but she
realized she probably looked as strange wearing the flag as she had when she was
completely naked.
Then a side door of the arts building opened a few yards away, and two
girls rushed out laughing. SG decided to make her move. The theater was in that
building, and there would surely be costumes somewhere behind stage. She'd
surely find something more suitable, and less noticeable, than the American
flag. She ran to the door and pulled it open, just as someone inside was coming
out. It was a sweet-faced blonde in a flowery dress.
"Oh, groovy," she said when she saw SG. "I'd have never thought of
that." She turned to a group of young women busy making placards in a big room.
"Tina, get a load of this."
The room fell quiet, except for music from a radio on the far side. A
tall, auburn-haired woman with an attractive but hard face came forward.
"Ain't she a trip, Tina," said the blonde girl.
Tina said nothing. She looked long and hard at SG, then reached for her
hand and pulled her into the room.
Now the others approached. SG had never felt more the center of
attention, or more embarrassed by it.
"Genius," Tina said at last. "Sheer fucking genius. The flag. The
shackles. The chain and the collar. Absolutely perfect."
SG smiled hesitantly. Tina seemed to be the leader here, and Tina
approved. It was a good start.
"Who sent you?" Tina asked.
"Sent me?" said SG. "No one sent me. I just . . . well, I just came in."
"Naw," said Tina, "you didn't dream this up by yourself. Come on, who
sent you?" She began naming what SG took to be people or organizations. The
words and acronyms meant nothing - snick, mobe, SDS, Yippies.
"I just came here," SG said quietly, looking down.
Tina slipped her hand under SG's chin and lifted her face. "And you're
beautiful. That makes it even better."
She turned to the others. "Okay, a change of plans. Our new friend will
be at the head of the protest tomorrow. We climb the steps of the administration
building, and our little heroine - what's your name, honey?"
"Sallie. Sallie Gale."
"Fine. Sallie raises her arms, so everyone can see her shackles, the
shackles of oppression and ignorance. The TV cameras will love that. Then she'll
whip off this flag, symbol of the unenlightened patriotism she has now outgrown,
and she'll throw it to the ground and stomp on it. Then we soak it with lighter
fluid and toss a match. What a great piece of political theater!" "Light a
match," said SG. "You mean, burn the flag?"
"Of course," said Tina. "Unless you've got a better idea. We could smear
it with shit, or shred it, or we could all squat and piss on it. But I don't
think anything makes as powerful a statement as burning it."
SG was about to object, but Tina embraced her tightly and said, "You're
going to be wonderful." The she whispered into SG's ear, "And we're going to be
wonderful together. You're staying in my room from now on."
"Come on, Miss Liberty," said another woman, taking SG's hand. "You can
lead the parade, but everyone here works. Start stapling these placards."
SG spent the afternoon working with the group. She didn't understand
what they were talking about. She didn't understand the politics and the music.
She didn't understand why Tina snapped, "Turn off that crap," when someone on
the radio began singing about love and peace. "We're running a revolution, not a
fucking ashram."
One of the girls whispered to SG, "Tina's such an asshole sometimes. She
hates George Harrison because she says his music leads to apathy. All she really
likes is Cuban stuff."
"And theme songs from those blaxploitation movies," added another girl
who had been listening in.
"Yeah," said a third, "it's all Superfly and Super Fidel."
This triggered a bout of giggling, and SG pretended to join in, but she
was completely mystified.
"What about Superman?" she asked shyly.
"That fascist bastard," snorted one of the girls. "Defender of the
oppressors. What about him?"
"Nothing," SG said softly. Superman a fascist? She had never thought of
her cousin that way. Sure, he was stuffy and sanctimonious, but did that make
someone a fascist?
She became even more confused when someone began talking about Watergate
and Vietnam, and how one grew out of the other, and both were manifestations of
"Nixon's paranoia." She screwed up her courage and asked, "You mean Vice
President Nixon?"
The other girls looked at her blankly.
"Vice President?" said one. "He isn't Vice President. He's President."
"But he used to be Vice President," said another.
Tina, who had been directing others on the wording of slogans, overheard
the conversation and came to SG's defense.
"Okay, Sallie hasn't been paying much attention to politics," she said.
"But the Trickster used to be Vice President."
"Yeah, but that was back when we were all still in diapers," said a
girl, and everyone started laughing.
Tina knelt next to SG and said softly, "Where have you been, girl? I
really don't understand you at all. But I hope I will soon."
(To be continued.)
