EXTRACT FOR
County Slaves
(Fiaine Cluiun)

One



Bethany cursed as her car groaned and protested, lights flickering on and off on the dash. "No, not today. Come on, we can make it, but not if you play up. This isn't the time to take a break." The words more of a prayer than demand. She smacked the steering wheel, but it didn't help as another whine filled the air. "Come on, baby. Just a few more miles. Then you can rest." At least, she hoped that's all she was facing. After the way the GPS had given out she couldn't be certain.

Over the last few years, since the first in a series of upheavals, satellite-based services such as GPS had become less than reliable as one faction, then another, took control or attacked various satellites and other equipment. She'd discussed the situation with Sheila a dozen times until things began to spiral out of control. The latest round of riots in the cities had been the final straw and Bethany had finally taken up her old friend's offer of a safe place to hide out until the world returned to some form of normal.

Normal. Hah, as if that was on the cards anytime soon. One upheaval led into the next, small rebellions, riots, storming of state capitols, calls for the country to split into different factions, and throughout it all the rich just kept getting richer and the rest of the country struggled along doing whatever they could to keep their heads above water.

The car spluttered, made it a dozen more yards down the minimum maintenance road, spluttered once more and died. She tried twice to restart the car, but the dead click click sound made it clear it wasn't going to work. The car was dead. Done. Toast. And to make it worse she still had no signal and no GPS. No means of tracking where she was, or what time it was or anything else that might be useful considering her current circumstances. Instead she was left sitting in a vehicle that obviously wasn't going anywhere. Nor were there any signs of life except for the occasional sign with a string of numbers on them. 

Fire identifications, or something of that nature, but she couldn't recall the real name for them. Having spent most of her life in the cities she'd never had a need to try and learn such things, but now all she could recall was the numbers, the signs, indicated an entrance or driveway leading to a home, barn, something emergency services might need to find the right place if there was a call out for a fire or medical situation. 

The sun had long since set but she had a flashlight and with luck the sign wasn't that far behind her. 

If it existed at all.

Wind whipped around her as she stepped out of the car, grabbed the flashlight from the back of the car, along with her backpack and wallet. She glanced down at her feet; grateful she'd had enough sense to pull on trainers instead of fancy shoes or fashionable boots for the trip. The other things she'd brought with her could wait in the car until she actually needed them. For now finding help, or at least shelter, was a priority.

She'd taken a dozen steps away from the car when she rushed back, slipped inside, wrote a note and placed it in the window. There, at least if the police did come along and find her abandoned car they'd know where she was, or at least have a decent idea about where to start looking for her. With the vehicle now secured and her hands stuffed into her pockets as she couldn't find her gloves, she trudged her way back to the sign.

Wind and snow battered against her as she trudged through the snow. Her feet protested quickly as did her calves as snow soaked into her trainers and jeans in equal amounts. She couldn't do anything about the problem currently, and her time pushing through the snow would come to an end as long as she kept going.

One foot in front of the other. It wasn't such a hard thing to do, but each new step pulled on her sapping strength and stole a little more of the precious heat her body desperately needed.

Maybe it would have been better, safer for her to remain in the car, but with no lights, and no signs of life or even fresh car tracks in the snow, who knew how long it would be before someone discovered her. She could freeze to death without ever being found. At least if she made her way to a building, be it a home, or something cruder, she'd have a better chance of starting a fire and keeping herself alive. She had extra clothing with her, in the backpack, though the majority of her clothing was in the trunk along with other things she'd brought with her that she might need during her stay.

Now, with the weather closing in around her, wind picking up snow and sending it lashing against her face, she had only two choices. Find shelter or return to the car and hope she'd survive through the night.

She slogged through the snow and ice building up on the remains of plant life around her. She reached the metal post with the sign, barely taking notice of the numbers. All that mattered was finding a place to shelter, maybe even a fire. Food was something she might not be able to find unless there was life at the end of the road. But she had some chocolate buried in her pack, along with high protein bars she'd stocked up on before the first wave of riots had struck the cities. 

She wasn't a prepper, not by a long shot, nor would she ever be, but having emergency supplies backed up that had a long shelf life had been a simple thing she'd had drummed into her from childhood. You didn't always know if you'd have enough money to buy fresh, but when you had extra cash it made sense to buy in a few extras to see you through lean times. 

The wind sliced through her, ignoring the clothing and she cursed herself for not pulling on another coat or wrapping a blanket around herself before leaving the car. She glanced back at the distant shape but pushed back the idea of returning to the now cold vehicle. She'd already opened the car twice since the engine had died, stealing any lingering warmth her body now craved.

She moved, slowly, each step now filled with pain as her muscles and bones screamed in complaint, pausing five minutes further down the road as she spotted another sign. She frowned as she brought the flashlight out and shone it on the orange sign.

Trespassers will be punished.

She blinked and stared at the snow marked sign. Punished? Didn't they mean prosecuted.

Had to be a joke sign, she'd seen ones where unattended children would be given a coffee, three shots of espresso and a puppy. 

Bethany swept the flashlight around, searching for any signs of danger but the wind picked up and she turned it off, shoving it back in her pocket along with her pain wrapped hand. Of course the sign was a joke, what else could it be?

Her foot caught on something beneath the snow, even though she tried to follow the ruts in the layers of crisp white snow and ice. She stumbled, yanking her hands from her pockets but not fast enough to prevent her hitting the ground full force. Snow flew into her face, up her nose, down her throat as she coughed and tried to shake it off as she forced herself back to her feet. 

She had no idea how long it took but by the time she reached the end of the road, she couldn't feel her fingers or toes. Her feet were cold to the point of pain, her calves burned in protest, but there, ahead of her, with a flicker of light in the window, stood the most welcoming sight she could want.

A log cabin.

Protected from the worst of the wind by a thick barrier of trees, evergreens and deciduous formed a windbreak that would help keep the home from sinking into the winter cold. At least it wouldn't be as bad as being out in the open, or in the car. If there was someone inside, which the small light suggested was a possibility, then she'd be safe for the time being. No one would leave her out in the cold to die, they'd at least let her warmup and maybe call for help.

By the time she reached the covered porch she barely had the ability to stand up. She shook, shivering, as she rapped on the door and listened.

There was a light on, there had to be someone there. 

No one came. 

She pounded on the door and waited, but nothing happened. No one moved within the house, from what she could see, and in desperation she tried the door.

Nothing. 

Locked, of course it would be locked, what else did she expect?

Desperate she looked around, seeing if there was an open window. Then shook off the idea. Who'd leave a window open during this weather, or time of year? Shivered she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to move them to stimulate some level of warmth. 

Would there be a key somewhere?

She stepped back as she looked around, desperation fueling her actions as she started to check for loose stones, fake bricks or rocks, and stumbled over the key by accident more than design as she knocked a now empty planter to the side. 

There, in the small circle of stone untouched by snow, the key sat, offering her the hope she needed. With numb fingers she snatched it up, her bare skin screaming in complaint as she forced herself to keep a firm grip on the metal. It took three tries to get the key into the lock, but the door opened with a soft creak, and she hurried inside, knocking the snow off her shoes and legs before closing the door. A second door stood in front of her, but she wasn't worried. If there was a key needed, she'd find it, if not she could shelter in the mud room or whatever they called it. At least she was out of the wind and there was a small amount of warmth filtering into the sheltered area. 

Here she'd have a chance of surviving until someone found her.

She rubbed her hands together, after slipping the key into a pocket, working the warmth back into them. She hissed in pain, heat and cold met in a violent reaction that had her struggling not to cry out. If she could get into the main house then she'd be far safer than out here, and would anyone be upset with her when she was doing this as a means of surviving the storm?

Bethany tried to recall what she'd been taught about taking shelter in someone's home during a storm or other emergency. Make as little mess as possible, offer to pay for any damages, breakages or items used, and be grateful for the safety their home provided the stranded traveler. 

She tried the door, not expecting it to open but as the door swung open, she couldn't help but sigh in relief. She could have managed it in the mud room, but inside it would be far warmer than out here. She took a deep breath and entered.

A single lamp offered illumination in the kitchen come dining room she first entered, closing the main door behind her. She took a deep breath as her limbs started to recover from the cold she'd been battered with. It was a pleasant enough place, a large wooden table, four chairs though there was room for more, and the decoration suggested a woman's touch. 

She didn't move at first, giving her body time to recover enough where walking wouldn't be as painful. A coffee pot sat in one corner of a wraparound counter. Oven, range, fridge freezer, cupboards that might hold food or dishes. A normal home, one in current use from the cleanliness and the lamp. Who would leave a light on for more than a day? It wouldn't happen, not unless you'd thought you'd return fairly soon.

Tempted though she was, she didn't investigate the drawers and cupboards, but she did take a peek into fridge. She wouldn't go hungry if she was here for a few days and no one turned up. Calmer than she had been before she made her way into the living room. A large old fashioned fireplace, with a neat stack of wood close at hand though not where a spark might land, and a metal bucket with kindling and paper away from where a casual spark might cause problems, beckoned her with promises of new warmth and the ability to dry off some of her clothing. Her jeans needed to come off once she had a place to set them, same with her shoes and socks, all of them soaked through the skin.

She toed off her shoes and socks, then skinned out of her jeans, pulling out a clean pair of sweats from her pack. They weren't anything she'd want to be seen in but they would do the job, she tugged on clean, dry socks, grateful for the way she'd had the basics of a travel or emergency bag drummed into her, then settled herself in front of the hearth to tackle the job of getting a fire going. 

Ten minutes later the first full flames licked at the log after it had burned its way through the kindling. She added two more logs before she made her way to the sofa with its hand knitted afghan and curled up under the blanket. Exhausted, trembling and at last able to relax she couldn't help it when her eyes drifted close with the fire adding flickering shadows across the room. 

All she knew was the warmth and safety her body so desperately craved.

How long she'd been asleep she had no idea but the harsh prod against her temple snapped her out of the dreamless sleep she'd been enjoying.

"Wake up, bitch. Now."

Her eyes focused and narrowed on the shotgun pointed at her, then at the man, and a woman behind and to the side of him, before she forced herself to speak.

"I'm sorry, I broke down and needed shelter. If I've damaged anything, I'll pay for it, I promise." She didn't move, didn't dare as her mind rapidly adapted to what was happening. "I'm on my own, there's no one else with me."

"Who are you?" Asked the woman.

"Doesn't matter who she is she ignored the signs." 

"Did you see the signs?" The woman leaned in.

"The numbers, that's how I knew there would be shelter down here, either a house or a barn, something I could huddle down in overnight."

"No, not that sign, stupid cunt. The warning sign?" 

The harsh tone in the woman's voice struck like a slap. "Warning?" Trespassers will be punished. Was that the sign they meant? "The joke, about punishment."

"There you have it. She saw the sign. What happens next is on her own head." The man laughed and jerked the shot gun. "Up. Now."

"I don't understand." Bethany trembled as she struggled to obey. Her legs caught in the afghan as she forced herself to her feet. "I would have died out there, surely you can understand that?" 

"You knowingly entered a home where the warnings were clearly laid out. You admit to seeing at least one of the signs. What happens to you now is your own fault." The man jerked the shotgun. "On your knees, slut. You've just become property, as punishment for your unlawful trespass on my lands."