The Predator

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Before choosing the ascetic life of plainswoman and hunter, Luda, then known as Mary Astor Cabot, served as a nurse in the great civil war. She did not have to, having been brought up in a wealthy Boston family and afforded the best in education, including being one of the first females admitted to Harvard Medical School.

But war has a curious effect on the young. An idealistic Mary could not sit in class while loyal men fought and died on her behalf. She dropped out after two years and joined the medical corp of the Massachusetts regiment.

Having seen the results of much action, the pure and romantic became jaded and cynical. Mary witnessed not only the brutality but also the utter stupidity and waste of battle. Humans used as pawns, lives given up in a futile game of chess, one that resulted in nothing more than death, disease, dismemberment.

Shortly before the war ended, Mary received word of her mother’s death. So when the conflict ended, Mary decided not return to Boston. Her friends and relatives considered her decision to refrain from completing her studies as another misfortune of war. Instead Mary would wander. She would abstain from all contact with civilization, so called civilization, and live without dispute over territory, governance, culture. She desired seclusion. But with the building of the transcontinental railroad, Mary knew that time was limited. The railroad would be the crack in the dam, first allowing a trickle, and later a flood of people... the ‘cultured’ masses who she had witnessed turning each other into cannon fodder... those she desired to avoid... would flow into the territories of isolation which she chose to explore... to search.

Mary wanted to be a nomad, to greet no one, see no one, rely on no one, or even see the land scarred by evidence of their existence. She would hunt... fish... forage. But she would not interact with man.

With notice of her decision making the society pages of the Boston papers... after all the Astor in her name was the Astors... Mary changed her identity. The telegraph had radiated her ‘human interest’ story afar. So Mary became Luda, and though her six-foot frame was quite distinguishable, chopping her hair and donning nothing more than animal skins disavowed everyone she encountered of the notion that she was an educated woman from Boston society.

No, when Luda journeyed into frontier villages for occasional supplies... new knife, cooking pot, ironware... no one even guessed her gender until she spoke. And then the last expectation would be that she at one time was matriculating at the nation’s finest medical school.

Though her occasional appearances in the Dakota Territories made her somewhat of a legend, no one attributed her presence to the voluntary disappearance of Mary Astor Cabot. Luda was a plainswoman.

And so as Max is dragged from the teepee, little is he aware that the cruel modifications to his flesh are initiated by a woman who, according the Boston society page, was well on her way to becoming an accomplished doctor. Yes, Max will be transformed to beast, but without fear of infection or disablement.

With the morning light providing better viewing, Luda will perform the more intricate procedure of ringing Max’s ankles. There will be times when Max is not to move, and what better way to hobble a beast than to pierce and ring the ankles at the Achilles tendon. The ancient Romans found the procedure to be quite effective for rambunctious slaves, for the slightest pressure on such a piercing causes the calve muscle to cramp, obviating the slightest motion when such a penetrating ring is secured to rope or chain.

So with Max once again staked belly down on the grass, Luda works to bend his knee and restrain his left foot in mid air. In that position she can carefully work, slowly spearing the ankle just behind the bone and cognizant of assuring that the resulting opening will be between bone and tendon. For in that precise location, the ring will best hobble.

Max’s loud screams seem to disappear into the softness of mile after mile of grass. The flat terrain affords no echo and the turf seems to muffle all. So as Luda slowly works a hot needle through the upturned ankle, her look of complacency impresses. Hours and hours of battlefield surgery have made her aloof to the vocal pleas and protests. And here, after completion, Max will live. Perhaps not in the manner he desires, but he will live and walk... and serve. So many times in the surgical tent the patient of Mary Astor Cabot died, or perhaps worse, went home to a lifetime of cruel immobility, leaving a limb behind.

So there is no compassion for Max. Max is here to survive and serve. And he will. Most obediently.

Having set the first needle. Luda switches, allowing the left foot to return to the ground and securing the right foot where she can work. She is methodical, exacting and calloused, a machine. Yes, Max begins to realize he has been tossed into a giant machine from which he cannot escape and by which he will be strangely altered. Nothing stops her, no words or beseeching cries for mercy.

With the second needle set, Luda releases Max from the stakes and restrains his wrists behind his back utilizing the copper tubes. He remains lying in place, exhausted by his own screams and gasps for air.

“You may rest, Max. But I suggest you limit your movements until your muscles are acclimated to the piercings. Don’t try to stand.”

Luda stands over Max as he lies trying to relax his cramped leg muscles. As Luda full well knows, his reaction to the foreign objects penetrating his ankles will initially be excruciating. He will have to learn to relax his muscles and with all the duress it is most difficult.

Max looks up at his tormentress standing over his head with arms akimbo. She towers above and as he ascertained the prior evening, when she sat on his backside, Luda is nude beneath her furs, the hem ending at her upper thigh. Thus her trimmed pubes flashes, providing the wounded Max with another glimpse of that which most men would take advantage. Yet with his agony he can only look. And besides, he has come to realize that any s****l advance to this superior woman would undoubtedly result in retribution, harsh retribution. He wonders how Doodie came to his ignominious fate.

“Ever been to Chicago, Max?”

Max waffles, as he did in denying the possession of the purloined jewelry.

“No, Miss Luda,” Max’s voice quavers in exposing his lie.

“Interesting,” a reflective Luda notes, knowing that it is fruitless to confront one of such limited veracity.

“When you’re more relaxed, I’ll put in the rings. Your nostril binding is last, but that’s relatively painless.

“Meanwhile the endless hunt must continue. Steel and I will bring back food. Doodie will watch over you. You’re to obey him in my absence.”