The Mariner

The Mariner watched as the Alpha pushed both her legs apart, her muscles spasmodic with terror. He had his hand on the Mauser now, it would take less than a second to draw it and put a stop to this horror. The Alpha too reached for his weapon, eyes fixed on Rebecca’s buttocks as she struggled under the gangs grasp. Just like the Mariner, Alpha’s was primed and ready to use. He took Rebecca’s underwear in hand and tore it to the side. The item didn’t fall free completely, but hung around her waist, misshapen and loose. The whole gang watched intently as the Alpha moved his erection between her legs, ready to penetrate.

Now! Whilst they are distracted! No-one will notice. Put the gun to their heads and shoot! If he acted, it may just be in time.

Alpha pushed his hips forward.

Rebecca’s scream found new depths of agony.

The Mariner watched as the beast enjoyed himself, goaded on by his accomplices, each relishing the thought of their own turn. Rebecca still screamed, but now through gritted teeth. It was difficult to see the precise expression upon her face through the mask of blood, tears and snot, but the Mariner could guess. It was one he was sure he’d seen before.

Why hadn’t he saved her? He’d wanted to, what was happening was monstrous, a crime beyond comprehension, but he’d been unable to act. Was it the drink? Could he blame the bourbon? No, that would be a lie. Some part of him had wanted to put a stop to the rape, but another part, a far bigger part, had wanted to watch. The same part that now enjoyed the show, just one of many other leering gargoyles.

With a grunt the Alpha ejaculated, his body going rigid as he emptied himself inside her. The act seemed to jolt the Mariner into action. Unnoticed, he stood, striding forwards, closing the gap. Alpha’s sweaty head only turned slightly when the cold barrel was gently placed against it.

The gun did not jam. Six quick blasts sent hot lead through the heads and throats of each member of the pack, blood showering the bar behind in wide crimson arcs. The flashes of the gun lit up the room, showing seedy faces the Mariner was sure had looked just like his own.

Shocked silence descended upon the den, broken only by a vague murmuring from one of Rebecca’s rapists. He lay on the floor, the top of his head broken open by a passing bullet, and muttered senselessly as his life departed. Visions unknown to the rest haunted the dying man’s vision as his eyes read invisible books.

Using his free hand the Mariner pulled Rebecca up against his chest, trying to support her limp body. He swung the gun wildly, making it clear he wouldn’t tolerate any movement. His action served another purpose too, it kept his crotch away from the girl, afraid the hardness hidden there would give away his darkness inside.

“Open that fucking door,” the Mariner growled at the barman, who raised his arms in surrender. He trembled, but made no move towards to exit. The Mariner, in no mood to be resisted, shot the man in the face. His body, head caved in where the nose used to be, jolted back till it hit the wall and then slowly slid to the ground, twitching erratically.

“You,” the Mariner said, pointing the Mauser at another shadowy spectator. “Open it.”