Flight of the Golden Harpy (38 page)

“Damn, Gus, you killed it,” Lester said and examined the lifeless body.

Gus grabbed the tiny body. “I didn’t even use a full shock.” He dropped it on the floor. “It was only worth five thousand.”

“Hey, Gus, you better have a look at the golden,” said Bert. “He don’t look so good.”

Gus leaned over the cage, and the golden harpy pathetically shook his head as if impaired. “Shit. He must’ve smashed his head against the bars. See if there’s any blood.”

Bert opened the cage and turned Shail’s head, looking for an injury.

Shail came alive, his nails raking the man’s face.

Bert jerked away. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he screeched, holding his face. Blood ran through his fingers and onto his shirt.

“Let me see,” Gus said. Bert lowered his hand, and Gus looked at the claw marks. “He almost got your eye. That’ll take some sealin’ at a hospital.” He turned and stared at Shail, who glared and seethed at the men. “Mollie said the lil’ fucker’s smart. He faked that head wound to get us close. We’ll finish with him tonight after Bill goes home.”

The men left, and Shail stared through the bars at the dead fledgling. His only soothing thought was the men dying under the swarms.

*   *   *

Through a small high window, Shail saw the light fade to dark, and the hunting range became quiet, its employees leaving for home. After some time, he heard Gus and the other men’s laughter, and he jerked his head up. Gus entered and stared down at him, and Shail smelled his whiskey breath.

“We can’t hurt him too much,” said Gus, “’cause Bill will be pissed, but he can take a good ridin’.” He opened the cage and grabbed Shail’s wing, pulling it away from his nude body. “Look at that tight little ass. There’d be a long line at the prison for this virgin.”

Bert’s face was bandaged. He reached in and fondled the harpy’s rear. “He’s rather pretty, prettier than my last woman.”

“Fuck, he’s better looking than any women you’ve been with,” Lester laughed.

Trying to pull his wing down for cover, Shail snapped and hissed at the gawking men who touched his body.

“Before we get him out, we need to tie down his wings and gag him. Don’t want to get bit,” Gus said. “Bert, get some oil out of the kitchen, and we’ll lube him, so he’s not tore up. After we’re done, he’ll be a man-killer.”

“Stuck in prison and then the jungle, I’m ready for a good piece of ass,” Lester said, and stretched the harpy by the wrist chains so it couldn’t scratch. He bound the wings while Gus grabbed the harpy’s hair and jammed a rag in its mouth.

Gus took a sip from the whiskey bottle and chuckled. “I can’t wait to see Mollie’s face when she finds out we fucked her prince.” Bert returned from the kitchen with the cooking oil.

“When we unfasten his chains, I’ll get the legs, and you two pull each arm,” Gus said. “We’ll chain him over the top of the cage.”

Shail tried to kick and fight when the men hoisted him out of the cage, but he was overpowered and restrained. Lester and Bert pulled each wrist, stretching his arms across the top bars and fastened them down. They did the same with his ankles, spreading his legs and chaining the ankles to the bottom bars. Next his wings were unbound and elongated across the bars and retied, giving them full access to his naked body. Shail lay draped across the bars and totally helpless and exposed. Unable to hiss because of the mouth rag, he breathed hard with stress.

Gus looked at the vulnerable slender frame, sleek with nervous sweat. “Put some loading mats between him and the cage. Don’t want bruises when he’s bouncing around.”

Bert put the mats between the bars and the harpy and poured oil on him. “You want some?” He fondled Shail’s sex organs and prodded his rear.

Shail exploded in the chains, sensing their lust and that he was the target. He tossed against the padded cage to avoid their touch.

Gus pushed Bert out of the way and unfastened his pants. “I’m breaking him in,” he said, and rubbed against Shail’s wiggling body until he had an erection. “That’s a good boy. You just keep bouncing around and fighting me.”

Shail became hysterical when Gus’s penis penetrated him. Horrified, he could barely grasp that another male had mounted him. With all his strength, Shail pulled on the chains, causing his wrists and ankles to bleed, but he couldn’t escape Gus’s crushing body that covered and pinned him against the cage. His eyes watered with the demoralizing pain from the man’s large invading sex organ and the ruthless humping.

“That’s it,” Gus grunted while holding Shail’s squirming hips. “Keep wiggling … almost there. Fuck, this little beauty is good, the best,” he gasped.

Lester and Bert watched and masturbated, waiting their turn. “Jesus, Gus, hurry up,” said Lester. “Save some fight for us.”

As soon as Gus ejaculated and withdrew, Lester leaped in his place and attacked Shail. The man rapidly pumped with quick, rigged jabs. “You like that, baby?” he puffed.

Gus sat down by the cage to recoup. “He does,” he said and took a slug from the bottle. “The prince has a hard-on he’s so worked up. Just like them little boys in prison, rape ’em and they come in their pants.”

Gus pulled a small bottle of pills from his pocket. “Let’s really fuck with his head and overdose him,” he said to Bert. “A few of these and he’ll get so horny, he’ll be itching for dicks and last longer.”

Gus removed the rag from Shail’s mouth, and Bert crammed a pill shooter down his throat. Shail tasted the sickening sweet pills and hissed. His head spun with the burning assault and the emasculation of his soul.

Lester finished, and Bert quickly took his turn. Firmly planting himself in Shail, he reached around his waist and clutched Shail’s unwanted erection. Shail was in a state of total panic as the man tugged on his penis and stroked him within. The stimulating drugs quickly took affect and he lost control of his sex urges and released his seed, seed only intended for a mate. So delirious, he never noticed when Bert finished, and Gus slapped his rear and remounted him. Gus spurred his body to perform and Shail was quickly aroused again.

Throughout the night Shail ignored his wet, aching muscles, the binding restraints, the stabbing rape, and their warm seed that ran down his legs. He fought the pain and fatigue and continued to toss his body to dislodge each rider and stop the attack. Free of the gag, he gasped for breath and inhaled the rank smell of whiskey and human odor. The revulsion caused him to vomit several times on the mat.

Unknowingly, Shail’s struggle encouraged the drunk men. They were determined to outlast the fiesty harpy, and like most rapes, their motivation became one of power.

As the dawn approached, the men won the battle. Shail stopped fighting and lay drained from the relentless all-night assault on his slight frame. But worse than the physical abuse, he lost his strong will to live and fell into the deepest void of depression. All he had been slipped away, leaving him like an empty shell. The men had not only raped his body, but also his soul.

Bert groped and prodded him to act out, but Shail desregarded him and concentrated on stopping his heart while he still had a mind. He was broken, disgraced, and worthless as a flock leader, and with this last defiant act, his worth to men would be reduced to lifeless feathers.

Bert climbed off the limp body. “Hey, Gus, the harpy’s finally given up. He ain’t moving.”

Gus woke and rubbed his eyes. He clamored to his feet and wobbled over to Bert and the harpy. “I’ll make him move,” he said, and hit Shail’s chest with his shock rod.

Shail jumped and began breathing. The high-voltage shock jolted his heart and forced it to beat again. Gus had unknowingly saved Shail’s life.

The three men soon passed out on the floor, and Shail was too far gone to focus on a second suicide. His body twitched and his eyes were fixed and dilated. Shock and the disabling depression owned him.

*   *   *

In the morning Mollie was worried about the harpy, and she hurried through the hunting range and entered the room. Seeing the golden, she covered her mouth. He lay fastened to the cage top with his limbs extended and stretched across the bars. Blood and fluid ran down his legs. Gus and the two men were passed out and rested against the wall. She dashed out and raced to Bill’s office.

“Come quick,” she said to Bill and wiped her tears. “Your goddamn brother…” She turned away and headed back to the room.

“What’s he done now?” Bill followed her. He walked into the room and stared at the harpy and the three sleeping men. He kicked his brother awake. “What did you do? You damn fool!”

“What?” Gus scrambled to his feet. “The boys and me were just having fun. Hey, you wanted him angry. A good raping would make the stud hate men.”

“Just shut up.” Bill watched Mollie remove the harpy’s shackles and ropes. The creature slid to the floor like an inanimate doll, and Mollie forced open one of his eyes. “Is he going to be okay?” Bill fretted.

“I don’t know,” Mollie said. “He’s in severe shock. His whole body has shut down. If he ever wakes, he’ll suffer from harpy depression. Let’s put him in the large display cage, and I’ll start treating him. It’ll take a lot of drugs, and he still might be too far gone. We’ll have to wait and see.” She retrieved the harpy’s sash from the floor, holding it to her face, and watched Bill pick up the lethargic harpy.

“He’s as light as a bird,” Bill said to Mollie as he carried the harpy to the display cage.

“He’s also sensitive like a bird,” said Mollie. “If he lives, I’ll be surprised.”

They came to the high twelve-by-twelve-foot display cage in the large front room, and Bill took two steps up the short ladder and entered the cage. He placed the harpy on the straw bedding and Mollie administered the drugs. “I’ll check back in a little while.”

After Bill left, Mollie gently tied the sash around the harpy’s slender hips and cried. She had never wept for a harpy, but her handsome golden prince was different. Unlike a frightened brown that slunk in a cage, the young male was tenacious and showed intelligence. If he survived, his princely qualities would be gone.

Hours passed, and the harpy did not move. Molly washed him, doctored his raw wrists and ankles, and covered him with blankets. She had some men roll the cage to the outside hunting range and placed it under an extended awning near the door. She hoped the warm, fresh air would revive him, but he was close to death.

Bill checked in throughout the morning. “Mollie, groom his hair and curl him up, so he appears like he’s sleeping. The reporter will be here at two.”

After a few hours the drugs began to work. The harpy opened his eyes but had a blank stare, and his body trembled contantly.

*   *   *

In the afternoon Bill escorted a man and woman from the press out to the golden’s cage. Mollie sat in the straw next to the harpy.

“Right now he’s heavily sedated,” Bill said to the woman reporter. “Of course, you know wild adult harpies are fragile and don’t do well in captivity.”

The woman gazed at the harpy. “My God, he’s absolutely beautiful. Where did you find him?”

“We can’t disclose that information,” Bill said. “I’d like you to meet his handler, Mollie. She can answer your questions about his care.”

Bill grimaced at Mollie, relaying she shouldn’t divulge the events that had left the golden dysfunctional.

“Hello,” Mollie said, and stood, shaking hands with the two people between the cage bars.

“What can you tell us about him?” the woman asked.

“He’s a rare golden harpy,” Mollie said. “From what I read, the yellow-winged harpies once protected the brown-winged flocks, but this is the last one, so it’s hard to know what role he played in nature, but he has exhibited more nerve than a brown harpy.”

“I’ve heard the stories about dangerous male harpies that steal and rape women,” said the woman. “Is there any truth to them?”

“I can’t confirm or deny those old stories,” Mollie said, “but personally, I don’t believe them. I’ve handled a fair amount of male harpies, and they’re always gentle and shy.”

“Mollie is fond of the harpies, especially this one,” Bill said, “but I assure you the golden is vicious and capable of rape. It attacked my brother, and more recently, it clawed another handler, and he nearly lost his eye.”

“I imagine most wild animals fight back when they’re caged,” said the woman. She smiled at Mollie. “I can see why you’re fond of him. I’ve never seen an adult harpy, and he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Staring into those big blue eyes and long lashes, I’m weak in knees.” She giggled and turned toward her photographer. “Fred, get some close up shots of his face.”

The photographer took his camera that hung from his neck and began to snap pictures of the harpy.

“Are all harpies so stunning?” the woman reporter asked.

Mollie looked down at the golden. “All harpies have tall, lean frames and almost a pixie face, but this golden is exceptional. I’ve been calling him Prince.”

“He does looks like a fairy prince,” said the woman. “He’s enchanting, yet so human looking.”

Mollie sat down beside the harpy and stroked his neck. The harpy nuzzled her leg and rested his head in her lap.

“Look how friendly he is,” said the photographer and took a picture of Mollie petting the affectionate creature.

Bill grew anxious with the smitten female reporter and her understanding photographer. An accommodating story about harpies could be trouble. “My employees can hold him and extend his wings for another picture. Most of your readers want to see the wingspan. He’s going to make quite a trophy.”

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Simpson,” the woman said. “Let me be clear: We’re not sport writers doing a story on a game animal. This will be a human-interest article. You claim you’ve captured the last golden harpy and he’ll be auctioned off and killed in your hunting range. Such a thing might concern our readers.”

“The only concern is there are still dangerous harpies on Dora. Your readers dislike the creatures and are glad to be rid of them. Write a sympathetic harpy story, and some important people will be upset with your rag.”

“I believe most people, like me, have never seen a mature harpy, much less have an opinion on the species. I intend to include the old rumors of harpies stealing and molesting women, but the last recorded accusation was decades ago.”