Early thirties, blonde, green-eyed, dressed in expensive but badly torn clothes, and filthy. ‘I’m not a soldier,’ I said, guessing that she might have been a victim of the rape squads, ‘Besides, I’m too old for that sort of thing.’ I smiled. She calmed a little, her fists unclenching, but immediately stiffened as a distant string of automatic rifle fire drifted in from the wasted streets. ‘That’s too far away to worry about,’ I whispered, listening for any other sounds. Nothing. I changed the subject, trying to get her to relax, ‘Have you found anything to eat in here? I’m awful hungry.’ She revealed a can of peaches that she had hidden behind her, held it up, ‘I can’t open it,’ Her voice was lifeless, unemotional. ‘I’ve got an opener,’ I said standing up, ‘Let’s move into the back, away from the street.’ She shied away, but her eyes didn’t show fear now. Anger? I fished the can opener out of my rucksack, held it up to show her. She looked at the enticing picture of the sliced. There's a light shining above, and the chair is placed in front of her. Stacy realizes she's tied up; arms behind her back, helpless. A rope around her waist hoists her a few good inches off the ground, so that her feet are just dangling off it. Stacy struggles to free herself, but all it does is make her swing back and forth, to the sound of amused laughter from the shadows. "What's going on?" she calls out fearfully. "Let me go! Please!" Out of the shadows step the group of guys who kidnapped her from the store. They seem to have sobered up considerably, and they look upon Stacy with a clearer, more deliberate lust in their eyes than they did when they first saw her. Duke comes forward first, licking his lips in an almost hungry fashion as he gives her a meaningful once-over. Stacy asks why he and his friends are doing this, asks them to stop and to let her go. She promises not to tell the police or anyone else. "Mmm-mmm!" is Duke's only reply as he walks around behind her, gazing.
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