Apocalypse Slaves Pt. 11

Part 11 - Big Jim and Elsa

***

Author's Notes: I've been asked before why I don't do any ethnic or interracial. Well, here's my first attempt at such. A lot of the situations in here have been inspired by actual photo sets that I've seen across the internet. I'm sure I'll probably be burned in effigy for even trying this, but here it goes. Once again, if you're easily triggered, then just stay away from my stories since I go through a whole variety of topics. Non-productive feedback, especially flaming and harassing comments, can and will be deleted just on the sheer fact that I don't want to deal with drama here.

Model Inspirations:

The Ladies: (all Adult Models and Performers)

Elsa - Elsa Jean

Zoey - Zoey Monroe

Melissa - Melissa May

Chanell - Chanell Heart

The Shooters: (all Adult Models and Performers)

Big Jim - Nat Turnher

Isiah - Isiah Maxwell

Davin - Davin King

Jason - Jason Brown

Jax - Jax Slayher

Chapter numbering continues from previous part for continuity sake.

***

"Uptown got it's hustlers, the bowery got it's bums.

42nd street got big Jim Walker he a pool shootin' son of a gun.

Yeah he big and dumb as a man can come but he's stronger than a country hoss.

And when the bad folks all get together at night

you know they all call Big Jim 'Boss', just because... and they say...

You don't tug on superman's cape.

You don't spit into the wind.

You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger

and you don't mess around with Jim."

-Jim Croce, "You Don't Mess Around With Jim" (1972)

***

CHAPTER 106: The Vault Opens

"Big Jim" Walker could count on one hand the number of times a vault had opened up in his lifetime. That number had doubled from the one that he'd heard about opening up way out west near the Seattle Hab some ten years ago. Now he was fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time with another vault, being dubbed the Lincoln Vault outside of that old Midwestern town, opening up. Jim ran the 42nd Street Shooters from the Chicago Hab and was down south visiting their sister gang, the Corning Crusaders, when the call came in that a vault had been discovered and survivors were trickling out.

That got every gang, raider, and bandit within a hundred miles descending upon the place.

Jim and his five crews were the third group on the scene. They parked their trucks in a line just to the east of the gentle hill rise that signified the vault it was covering underneath. Damn, man... he thought, running an ebony hand over his bald head to wipe the sweat off as he hopped out of his truck, his thick muscles rippling under the sleeveless T-Shirt and tactical vest that he wore. How many times have we driven past this damn place with a fucking vault here the entire time? Already there were shots echoing from out of the main entrance where his brother raiders from Corning had already gone in. "Head's up, people," his smooth, velvet voice called out in warning. "Y'all be careful and expect heavy fightin' down there." He brought his assault rifle up, an old military M-16 that he'd refurbished over the years.

History had also taught everyone that vault survivors tended to cling to backwards ways in that they had some misguided notions on how to live and survive in today's cruel world. He'd heard the stories as to the men in vaults fighting to the last to protect their weaker members, namely their women, instead of brokering deals or agreeing to join up with gangs to live another day and learn the new way of life. Inwardly, Jim sighed as it seemed like this vault was going to be no different. Then again, the Crusaders had a habit of being a bit rash and crass when it came to anyone travelling through their territory. Jim had hoped to have his Shooters teach them a sense of refinement and diplomacy one day before he'd have to face the Crusaders in battle to teach them some respect and humility.

Jim led his men into the vault and was greeted by a hail of gunfire which caused them all to scatter for cover. The two crews of the Crusaders that had got here first were pinned down. Already there was a white chick in an equally white wedding dress being hauled out by one of the Crusaders while her hubby, Jim surmised from the black tuxedo, was dead over by the far wall. Unable to help himself, Jim crawled over and cuffed one of the Crusaders' crew leaders upside the back of the head. "You responsible for this mess, dumbass?" he demanded, pointing to the dead man and the vault guards that were holed up beyond.

"Fucker wouldn't give us his wife," the Dumbass complained. "We even allowed him a cut of the tabs if he handed him over!"

Jim belted him upside the head. "I wouldn't have given you my wife if it'd been me, you fucking idiot! I keep telling you assholes that you have to coax it outta them, not fucking demand."

Dumbass snorted. "Why do you care?"

"I care because now it's my men who are in danger instead of just yours!" Jim yelled at him. And my people in the Chi-Town hab that need fresh blood more than you all... "We could've talked to them, for once, and maybe avoided all of THIS!" he swept his muscular arm out to indicate the dead groom, couple of dead guards, and the dead Crusaders who obviously dropped in the first exchange when the guards woke up. "Now we're going to have to clear them out, level by fucking level!"

"You know... if you weren't a goddamn ally of ours..." Dumbass ground out.

"You'd what? Do this?" Jim fired into his chest point blank, killing him at once. The other Crusaders looked at him with a mixture of shock, fear, and outrage. Jim glared at them. "If you assholes have one lick of sense in ya, you'll do what I say and do what I do and you might live through this. Dumbass, here, died fighting the guards. Get me?" There were nods all around as Big Jim stared them all down. Nobody wanted to mess with him at 6'6" and 220lbs of ripped muscles. It was times like these that he felt like the Mighty Caine, able to sway men with a single glance and woo women just by showing them his massive big black cock.

As much as he'd like to muse on that further, he had a job to do. "HOLD YOUR FIRE! HOLD YOUR FIRE!" he yelled at the guards. "We just wanna talk and help y'all adjust!"

"Fuck you!" the heated response came back. "You've already shot civilians and taken some hostage! The police will hear of this when they get here!"

"Ah man..." Jim shook his head, glaring at Dumbass' cooling corpse and suddenly wishing he could've made the man suffer. "Look, that was a different guy. He's gone. I'm here now and we can come to an agreement that'll help us all out."

"Boss, why do you even bother?" one of his guys asked.

"Cause sometimes talking gets you things, that's why," Jim glared at him. "Remember the agreement we reached with the Amazon Gang three years ago? Now shut the fuck up and let me work." He turned his attention back to the guards who were holed up at the security checkpoint just beyond the lobby where he was dug in with his men. How the hell could he make them see reason as to how the world had changed from their day? "Look..." he said in a clear, loud voice, "there ain't no police. There ain't no army. No one but us is here to help you. They're all gone. Everything that you knew has changed!"

"LIAR!" another guard, this one sounding young, shouted. "Your boy out there said that you were going to take the women!"

"Give me a break here, guys!" Jim called out to them. "I told you that guy is gone. I'm here now. Yeah... we need the women because we're an endangered species now. But we need you men too to work with us and help defend them and you'll get your own women from our Habs to be with. It'll be an even trade!"

"Sounds like slavery to me!" a third guard said. "And that's illegal!"

"Not since the Thirteenth Amendment got repealed and the Breeder Act went into place!" one of Crusaders shouted. "Of course that was back when the States even mattered!" Jim gave him a withering look that told him that he wasn't helping.

"Well, fuck that!" a fourth guard shouted, bringing his rifle up and firing.

Swearing under his breath that negotiations had failed, Jim ducked down. Seeing more of the Crusaders pull up outside, he was left with no other choice. He had to take the vault with as minimal casualties as possible for the human race to flourish once again. "Isiah!" he yelled at his second in command, jerking a thumb in the direction of the checkpoint. "Take care of it!"

"You got it, boss!" Isiah shouted from his position in the back of the pack. He was Big Jim's heavy artillery in addition to being his right hand man. He brought the grenade launcher up over his shoulder and sighted in on his target with the flip out reticle. His dark fingers squeezed the trigger and there was a 'Poomf' sound as the grenade went flying. It exploded right on target, taking the four guards out.

Jim motioned for the crews to rush. The Crusaders took point, eager to eradicate the guards who'd gunned down their brothers with Jim and the Shooters hot on their heels. They cut through the hapless guards like a harvester going through a wheat or corn field. They were now in the vault. "Head down to two! We'll take this first level!" the Crusaders shouted out as they piled into the first cryo room, gunning down anyone who looked like they were going to resist, namely the men.

Sighing and shaking his head, Jim muttered under his breath. "Y'all gonna get killed for this one day and I hope that I'm the one to do it." Nevertheless, he led his men down a level to the blast doors housing the second cryo room. They spun the wheel that'd unlock it and pushed it open. It moved only a foot and then stopped. "Da Fuck?" he asked as he looked it up and down. Then he jerked his thumb and more of his crew to push against it.

"Someone's gotta be pushing it or barricading it from the other side, boss," one of his guys grunted.

Jim frowned. They were all proud sons of Chicago; tall, muscular, black, and burley. And yet, they were being stopped by someone from the other end. "Open up in there!" He shouted. "We're here to help!"

"Those gunshots say a different story!" a man shouted from the other end.

Swearing under his breath, Jim looked around. He didn't have time for this since the Crusaders were already heading down to the third level. "Isiah! You and Jason take your crews down to four. Davin! Take your boys down to five! Convince them to surrender. Shoot only if you have to. The rest of us are staying here to get these guys." He shouted his orders. Isiah, Jason, and Davin led their five men apiece down the stairs in the wake of the Crusaders and Jim turned to his two crews that remained. "You three, go through those doors and try to find a side door in. You three, go the other way. Get them to lay down arms if they have any.

"You got it boss!"

"Yes, boss!"

Jim turned back to his new friend on the other side of the doors. Maybe he could convince them to open up before the Crusaders' heavy handed tactics cost them all some very valuable breeding stock. His orders from Governor Obama, descendant of the famous 44th President himself, up in Chicago were clear; the Hab needs men and women both from the outside to increase the genetic diversity inside. Go out into the world and obtain at any costs. His men knew their orders well and knew what was at stake. He just hoped that he could beat the Crusaders on the claim to some of the people in this vault.

*

The cryo pod hissed open and Elsa fell out onto the metal grating floor, coughing and gagging as the red goo was expelled from her ruins. "Yuck..." she complained, wiping her angelic face and matted blonde hair as much as possible to get the stuff off of her. In the pod next to her, her best friend and sorority sister, Zoey, was doing the same. Their eyes locked and they looked at the other pods with the same unspoken question; did anyone else make it? They were both members of the prestigious Tri-Delta sorority at UNL. Not only were the going to get a top-notch education from getting a rare slot at the University, but they'd been guaranteed spots in the cryo vault just outside of Lincoln by beating out a very tough selection of hopefuls. They went into Tri-Delta knowing that they'd only have each other once the apocalypse finally hit the earth, quickly bonding with the other women that they'd survive into the future with knowing that they'd be paired with the Tri-Lambda fraternity who came into this pod floor with them.

One by one, her sorority sisters came out of their bods, hacking and coughing just like she'd done. They saw Barbie and Melissa come out of their pods, both of them looking shell shocked. But not all of them were coming out. Shouting and banging caught her attention and she turned to see some of the Tri-Lambs all barricading and pushing at the main vault door that they'd come in not, what, minutes... hours... ago. Elsa looked around to get her bearings and noticed that the huge countdown digital clock on the wall had since gone off and was covered with dirt. A shiver ran down her spine and she hugged her bare arms as fear gripped her. How long had they been in there for? The spaghetti strapped white dress that she was wearing when they got the order to evacuate matted to her damn skin and did little to warm her. She'd have to change soon.

Zoey crawled over to her and they embraced, helping each other up. "You okay?" she asked. Elsa nodded. "Good, let's see who else made it."

As they guys were keeping whoever it was on the other side of the doors out, Elsa and Zoey checked the pods that wouldn't open. "SUBJECT EXPIRED" appeared on twelve out of the fifty that had been assigned to Tri-Delta. Twelve of their friends, despite everything that they'd all been through, had still died. Tears welled up in their eyes and Elsa clamped a hand over her mouth as she leaned into Zoey and cried. Zoey shared her sorrow. They were both Juniors at UNL and knew each and every one of them. The others of their sorority all came together and comforted each other in their grief. They'd have to get past this together, if nothing else to honor the memories of their fallen sisters.

Elsa noticed that there were only about thirty or so of the Tri-Lambs out with fifteen of their pods remaining closed. She looked back down the line to the other hundred pods on the far side of the bunker and saw that the sorority and fraternity down there were having similar problems. It seemed like one in every four didn't make it out.

Before anyone could recover enough from their sorrow and grief to do anything, there were six black men with very wicked looking guns swarming in from either side of the cryo bay. "DOWN! DOWN!" they were all yelling. A couple of them fired shots into the air to punctuate the point. "DOWN ON THE FLOOR! NOW!"

"YOU! FOOLS!" the lead one said as Elsa and her sorority sisters all shrieked, put their hands up on their heads, and hit the floor submissively. "HANDS UP AND DOWN ON THE FLOOR!" he shouted at the guys from Tri-Lambda. "STEP AWAY FROM THE DOORS! NOW!" he barked. Behind Elsa, she glanced and saw that two of the men with guns were also putting the others on the ground two, firing warning shots at anyone who looked like they might resist.

"What the fuck, man?" one of the Tri-Lambdas shouted in challenge, getting the butt of a gun to his gut for his trouble. Elsa recognized him as Greg, one of the Varsity Football players. He clutched his stomach in pain as he doubled over and was forced to his knees.

"Boss! Come in! We got 'em!" the lead man in called out to the main doors. They parted open and the tallest and buffest man of the gang walked in as if he owned the place. With all of the guns that they had, he pretty much did now.

*

"Good Job, Jax," Jim patted his second crew leader on the shoulder as he walked in. "I heard the shots and feared that you might have had to shoot someone." He motioned for the rest of his men to head down the bay to help the two at the end secure the rest of the vault survivors. Jim did a quick mental count. There were two hundred pods and only about a hundred and fifty out and now kneeling on the ground with their hands on their heads... more women than there were men. "My name," he said loud and clear, "is Big Jim Walker from the Chicago Hab, 42nd Street Shooters, which is where you all will be going so long as you cooperate," he told them.

"You men," he said, gesturing to the group of young adults who looked like they'd been sports players of some sort, "will be assigned jobs according to your skills. You women," he gestured at the ladies, "will be either paired off with men or auctioned off for the express purpose of breeding. If you cooperate with us, you will be treated well," he explained. "If you resist us, you will be punished. If you resist us too much, we reserve the right to shoot you which is more of a chance than you'd get with the Crusaders." He looked around. This vault being this far down south meant that there were a bunch of white boys and girls. There were a couple of Asian, Latino, and Blacks in the group here and there, but not too many. Either way, it was more genetic diversity for the good of the Hab.

"Hey, fuck you!" one of the jocks shouted at Jim from the left. "You're talking slavery and we're not..." he got cut off when Jim punched him across the jaw with a savage right hook. The jock went down, out cold.

"Let me be perfectly clear here," Jim said evenly, flexing his hand, "whatever you thought life was like back before the Flare is gone. All that exists now is what our reality is. While you've been sleeping away the years, the rest of us have been carrying on trying to keep humanity from going extinct." Jim turned to two of his men. "Get up top and get all the bindings you can find and the hoods. We're going to be going out over capacity on each of the trucks. Hustle because I want these guys all rounded up and loaded before the Crusaders get down here." They nodded, saluted, and hurried off.

Jim turned back to his charges and watched them all warily as he made his next set of orders. "Men; take off your coats and your shirts, we'll let you keep your pants, shoes, and socks on. Women, just strip. Keep your shoes and socks on, though. You won't need clothes where you're going." Just as he thought, that set off five of the jocks as they'd been muttering and trading looks with each other. They stood up as one and charged. Jim and his crew were ready for any such signs of resistance. They gunned down the five jocks without a second's thought or hesitation. Down at the other end, three more men were similarly executed when they made moves to fight. "You can walk out or you can be left down here to rot," Jim announced once the din of gunfire stopped echoing. "Your choice."

Watching eight of their own get blown away did it for the women. Seeing their women take off their clothes in acquiescence prompted the men to do as Jim had ordered. "Line up," he told the men who were sane enough to comply. "You, second to last, take your undershirt and tie the hands of the guy behind you and then present your hands forward to be tied as well. Then you, in the back, put your hands up on his left shoulder and put your head down." Jim calmly ordered them. "DO IT! NOW!" he then shouted. That got the guys working to secure themselves up until the lead man, where one of the Shooters took over that job. "Now make no mistake about this, men," Jim told them. "If you resist we will shoot you and the man next to you. I don't want to and you could've gotten our esteemed brothers from the Crusaders here who'd just summarily execute you to avoid the hassle..." a couple of gunshots from below punctuated his point. "Sorta like they're doing now. So I suggest that you take your chances with us."