MM 6. The Stakeout (Barb 3)
Zelda and two other enforcers marched Pat and me down the long tunnel, through the mine entrance and out to a gravel pit some distance behind the mine office shed. We were to be punished for fighting with the boss girls over food. Jake had called our punishment a 'stake out'. It wasn't very hard to imagine what he meant by that.
On reaching the gravel pit, we were ordered to sit down. While we sat side by side, knees pulled up under our chins, Zelda produced a key and removed our shackles. The two enforcers scurried around us, using mallets to pound 6 wooden stakes into the ground.
"Lie down ... on your backs, between the stakes!" snapped Zelda.
We shifted our positions to comply. As I lay back gingerly ... the stones were sharp ... I glanced up at the sky. There was not a cloud in sight ... the sun was rising quickly ... the long summer drought was promising to deliver another dry heat-scorched day.
"Spread your legs and hold out your arms," ordered Zelda, kicking at my ankles for emphasis. I opened my legs and threw out my arms, the movement caused the grit and sharp stones beneath me to dig uncomfortably into my bare ass and back.
As soon as we had done so, Zelda's helpers busied themselves binding our wrists and ankles to the stakes with strips of leather. When they had finished, we lay naked and spreadeagled. Our bindings allowed just enough slack to move or flex our limbs a bit, but little more than that. We were helplessly and hopelessly exposed to the elements.
"Ok, 1491 and 1492 ... let this be a lesson to you! Have a lovely day," chirped Zelda, flashing a wicked smile. "We'll be back to get you when the day shift is over."
I raised my head to watch her go, then lay back as the harsh rays of the sun beat mercilessly down from above. I tugged experimentally at my bonds, adjusted my position slightly and turned my head to look helplessly at Pat, who just shook her head resignedly before lying back and closing her eyes.
The temperature in the gravel pit rose steadily as the day wore on. The sun beat down relentlessly. By high noon we were literally baking. My body was sheened in sweat. My lips were parched; my throat was dry. I desperately wanted something to drink.
From time to time, I would raise my head in the hope that someone ... George, Zelda, anyone! ... would come to our aid ... at least to bring us a little water to wet our mouths! I would squint through the shimmering heat waves, but there was nothing to see but rock, gravel, sand and clear blue sky. Defeated, I would once again throw my head back, close my eyes, and suffer on.
And as I laid there I listened to Pat's breathing. At first she was panting heavily, and if I turned my head I could see her chest rising and falling, sweat-covered and glistening in the harsh light. But after a time, her breathing became shallower, and she began to make croaking sounds with each breath. I began to fear that we would both die of heat stroke.
To add to our misery, the leather thongs that bound our ankles and wrists to the stakes became moist with sweat and began to contract in the heat, digging painfully into our flesh. Smears of blood had appeared on my wrists beneath the abrading leather.
By mid afternoon ... the absolute heat of the day ... the air in the gravel pit had become stiflingly hot. We were caught in an oven. It was unbearable and I began to panic. I raised my head to call out, looking down between mounded breasts at my sunburned body. I opened my mouth to shout for help, but all that came out was ragged croak. My head fell back. Feeling woozy, defeated, I closed my eyes.
A little later, Zelda returned. I was only half conscious by then. She poked me in the ribs with the toe of her boot. When I didn't respond, she kicked me hard. I winced and opened my eyes. The mean bitch was standing over me holding a jug of water.
"I'll bet you two are powerfully thirsty," she said with a look of false concern on her face. I nodded feebly. Pat stirred beside me.
"Then watch this," she said, as she poured the contents of the jug on the ground between our heads, raising a little cloud of dust and spattering us with specks of wet sand and gravel. I turned my head and opened my mouth pathetically, straining at the neck, but the stream of water was just beyond my reach. She laughed, tossed the empty jug aside, and walked off.
Hours later, after on and off periods of drifting in and out of consciousness, I was vaguely aware of people standing over me. Slowly I opened a swollen eye lid. A face drifted in and out of focus. I strained to make out its identity. It was George, and behind him two of his enforcers.
"Untie them and get them inside," he ordered.
)
I will watch with interest. My mind will start working properly again presently. I should not write now.
