Body Shrine (Savage Erotica) by Amanda Close Page B

the cab and cocked the hammer, though just before she could fire a shot rang out and she fell to her knees. The two ghoul passengers were thrown from the vehicle as it tipped, though the power of the thirster’s blood coursing through their veins kept them alive, even if battered and bruised.  A bloody hole had been punched through her left thigh as the two ghoul passengers appeared on the other side of the truck, working the actions of their own revolvers to spit more rounds into their lone adversary. Cassandra brought her right leg up and rose into a painful crouch as she started firing, fanning the hammer to cycle through the bullets of the single-action revolver. The first two rounds went wide, though the third and fourth thudded into the chest of one ghoul, then another miss, then the last round into the guts of the second ghoul. Tough as the thrister’s blood made them, thought Cassandra in relief as she slid the empty pistol back into its holster, it doesn’t make the ghouls bulletproof.
     
    Cassandra caught her breath and drew the wickedly sharp bayonet from the scabbard on her thigh. It was a relic of the old world, some long forgotten war fought by the ancients, though it was made of good steel and held an edge like no other blade, making it the perfect tool for carving up her enemies. As Cassandra stood and limped back to the driver side the door exploded outwards, the hinges sheared off by the raw force of the blow from inside. The thirster emerged from the opening and with near superhuman speed climbed out to charge Cassandra. The young warrior assumed a fighting stance as best she could, despite her wounded thigh, determined to fight to the last. With a cruel smile the thirster advanced, heedless of the deep gashes Cassandra painted across his chest and abdomen with her blade. He tackled her off of the truck, their bodies airborne for a moment as they plummeted to the hard road beneath. Cassandra was dazed by the fall, having taken the brunt of the impact, though her finely tuned fighting instincts guided her to use the momentum of the fall to throw her uninjured leg high and bring it around to the front of the thirster’s neck. She grabbed the hand that held her throat and torqued her body upwards and left, successfully rolling the thirster onto its back with her on top. She pushed the bayonet’s tip into the thirster’s throat, though before it could go more than an inch the creature’s hand grabbed her wrist and halted the blade’s descent. The thirster, though badly injured, was horrifically strong, and grunted as it overpowered Cassandra’s own strength and pushed the knife upwards and out of its body even as it bucked and threw her off its body.
     
    Cassandra took a hard landing for the second time that day, and her bayonet went skidding across the asphalt as she struggled to stand. She took the few painful steps needed to reach her car, and leaned against the hood, her energy spent and body exhausted, as she fumbled for the backup blade hidden between her shoulders. She questions her motivations then, gravely wounded and down to her last weapons. Was she about to die for a handsome stranger and his daughter? This was the wasteland, and caring about others was a surefire way to get oneself killed. What if he was not the kind of man she thought he was? What if, even now, he lay dead in the temple and his daughter’s corpse rotted in some roadside ditch, violated and drained of blood? The thirster sprung to its feet and turned its gaze towards her, catching Cassandra’s eyes before she could look away, all doubts washed away as the thirster’s mind collided with hers. They stood in silence for a moment, waging a war of minds, as the primal thirst of the creature struggled against the survival drive of the young woman.
     
    The thirster stepped closer and closer to her as their eyes remained fixed upon one another. Cassandra knew that this was the enemy, knew that this creature was using its