Explosion at Donner Pass

She wanted revenge for all their wrongs.

(Mf, nc, interr)

By: Seasick

 

Sierra Nevada mountains, 1869

Chyou Zhenge and her sister Mulan cautiously made their way along the rocky escarpment and stole their way towards the powder shed. It was a meager structure, hardly bigger then a henhouse and constructed in the same less than stellar manner. Perched high atop Donner Pass in the Sierra Nevadas, the high mountain winds had already blown several wooden shingles from off its single sloping roof, and smashed a single pane of glass from its only window. Still, as derelict as the structure was, Chyou and Mulan understood its contents held the key to their family’s revenge; a thousand pounds worth of revenge to be exact.

DANGER - DYNAMITE

...the sign on the door said in red hand-painted letters. Below that the Central Pacific Railroad had their emblem painted across the bottom. It was a paltry emblem of what was to be a great railroad when it finished plunging its twin steel ribbons of rail through the formidable mountains and connected with the railroad system back east.

Chyou and Mulan’s father had been enticed by the railroad’s advertisements in China to bring his family to western America and make his riches building the transcontinental railroad. Those dreams of wealth and prosperity were shattered with an explosion blast three days before when an errant explosive charge had pre-detonated and sent an avalanche of granite on top of their father’s work gang. Fifteen Chinese workers died in the mishap, but Lewis Metzler Clement, Chief Surveyor for the railroad did not seem alarmed.

“God damn it, don’t those damn yellow-skinned bastards know how to set explosives? Now we have to bring in fifteen more from Sacramento. Otto, send a telegram asking for such. No make it thirty, they come cheap enough,” he bellowed to his clerk as the foreman announced the news of the mishap.

Chyou did not hear the statement, but Mulan did as she fetched a pail of water from the spring near the railhead of the progressing railroad. She had not realized it at that time that her father was one of those killed. Now her blood boiled inside from the conceited and degrading words of the chief railroad surveyor and had hatched a plan with her sister for retribution.

The powder shed naturally had a lock and hasp on the door, but Chyou’s arm was thin enough to reach up through the broken window pane of glass and unlatch the window from inside. From there it was simply a matter of opening up the window silently, keeping the noise from reaching some of the men that Mr. Clement had patroling the construction site at night. It squeaked, but made no other noise as Chyou slipped off her wooden sandals and wriggled inside the small building.

Instantly, her head began to ache from the nitroglycerine that permeated through the thin paper sticks and got absorbed into her blood stream. She was much too excited to make much of the pain however as she grabbed two packages of the powerful explosive and passed them to her sister who waited outside. A thrill of excitement cursed through her body at the realization of what they were doing. Sneaking around in the middle of the night, stealing from the railroad, and gaining possession of the most powerful tool known to man, were all thoughts that swam in her head as she grasped the powerful sticks of dynamite and started for the detonators and accompany fuses. Her father had talked enough about the newest explosive to know she needed both of these and passed a handful to her sister. She was about to grab another handful when there was a yell a short ways from the shack.

“Who’s in that powder shed?” came a demanding yell.

“Run Mulan,” Chyou said in a loud whisper and started for the window. Just then the lock on the door could be heard being unlocked and the hasp rattled. Chyou had just enough time to slip one leg over the window sill when the man entered, pistol drawn, and grasped the young teenager by her arm and pulled her back into the powder shed.

“Oh no you don’t you little yellow-skinned bitch! Get back in here,” he hissed, and spun her around.

“Please,” Chyou pleaded in her thick Chinese accent.

“What were you doing in here anyway?" Edward Veron asked. "Stealing dynamite I assume, but why?”

“I was not stealing,” she tried to explain even though there was no disputing what she was doing there.

“Well you’ll have to tell that to Mr. Clement,” he said and whisked her out of the powder shed. Chyou looked for her sister, but was glad when she was nowhere to be seen. As the man released his grip to lock the powder shed back up, Chyou thought about bolting, but the man’s gun stopped her from doing that. So did her lack of shoes. Barefoot, she knew she could not run far on the sharp rocks that rose up through the ground everywhere on this mountainside.

The lack of shoes did not seem to stop her captor from rushing her down the hillside and to a Pullman car that was sitting on some of the last-laid rail on the line. A whale oil lamp flickered on inside as the man pounded on the outside door and pushed Chyou inside.

“Mr. Clement, I hate to disturb you at this hour, but I just found this young slant-eye stealing dynamite from the powder shed. I assumed you would want to know immediately.”

“Of course, Edward, of course,” he said and gripped Chyou’s arm just long enough to throw her into a plush Victorian chair.

“So who are you,” he questioned?

“Chyou.”

“Well Chyou, what were you planning to do with the dynamite you stole? Blow something up I know, but what? My railroad? My locomotives? My crew’s quarters?”

“This Pullman,” she said and spat at the man, catching him in the chin with her spittle. It only took a second for him to draw back and give the young Chinese girl a hard slap to her face. Chyou had braced herself for the hit, but still reeled back from the hard blow when it was delivered, it coming even harder than her father’s parental slaps. She rubbed her jaw in pain, but scowled her small slanty eyes at the man in defiance.

“She is one of the daughter’s of one of the Chinese men that were killed a few days ago. So she could be telling the truth.”

“Well obviously if she’s one of the men’s daughters, that’s what she would be doing with dynamite Edward. But I can’t have that,” he said turning back towards his young victim now. “I have two thousand Chinese working on this rail line and I got to send the message to every one of them that stealing and revenge will not be tolerated. She will be punished severely in the morning," he said. "Execution by hanging."

Crouched outside the window , Mulan sucked in her breath at the announcement of her sister’s fate. She had followed silently and very cautiously behind her sister as she was led from the powder shed to the Pullman. She was afraid of her own capture, but the fate of her sister spurned her on and she had snuck close to the Pullman car’s rear wheels and could hear every word that had been spoken.

“Very well sir, as you wish, but what should we do with her in the interim?” A scandalous smile began to emanate across the Chief Surveyor’s face the instant his Foreman asked him the question. The Foreman, Chyou and even Mulan knew what the evil man was going to say before he spoke.

“You caught her, Edward. She’s your reward.”

“Reward? What would I possibly want with a Chinese girl, Mr. Clement?”

Mr. Clement answered with a flick of his wrist. Grasping the bright, but light cotton material of her dress, he easily tore the fabric from her young body, the distinct sound of tearing fabric resounding in the small confines of the sleeper car. It happened so fast, that Chyou scrambled to cover as much of her nude body up as she could as the fabric settled in a puddle of fabric around her bare little feet.

“You ungrateful bastard," Mr. Clement said. "I give you a tremendous prize and you mock me. Look at her. She’s young; she’s pretty and more than likely she has never been touched before and yet you scoff at such a present? You think just because she is Chinese, she is no good for such things? Look, she is no different than any other girl,” and pushed her backwards in a hard shove.

Like the tearing of her dress, Chyou was not prepared for the hard pushing hand to her chest and tumbled helplessly back into the overstuffed parlor couch. Mr. Clement had anticipated her surprise and clutched at her ankles, only to pull her legs far apart so his Foreman could stare openly at the apex of her legs, no differently than a buyer who was trying to determine the gender of a swine.

Mr. Veron laughed. “I suppose I could. She is very pretty. The curve of her legs…. The smoothness of her skin…. Even the golden color…. I mean, her life is going to be very, very short. She should at least have the pleasure of having a man before she dies,” he laughed again, with Mr. Clement quickly joining in.

“Take the little bitch then. She’s all yours. Just don’t wake me up as you do so, I got a railroad to build,” and began to turn in for bed.

“Please sir,” was all Chyou could say as she looked into the eyes of her captor.

It was a pitiful plea for mercy, and she could tell she was not going to get any remorse from the cold look of Mr. Veron's eyes. They had almost seemed to change color, from that of a dark blue to a gray almost, and seethed with revenge. She curled into the fetal position from the look, a natural instinct that any animal took, human or otherwise, when an attack seemed imminent, and there was no doubt to the intentions of this man.

The Foreman was already starting to remove his suspenders and heavy denim trousers as Chyou looked on in fear. He turned his head to spit out a wad of chewing tobacco as he climbed on top of her on the couch and easily molded his body around her small, slender frame.

“You little bitch,” he hissed in her ear as he fought to spread her legs apart with his hands. Chyou fought back valiantly, but it was useless against his strong powerful hands. He was used to hard work with pick and shovel, and getting a small Chinese girl to mold to his desires was relatively easy. Inch by inch Chyou felt her legs part as his rough calloused hands continued to run along her smooth slender thighs.

“That’s better,” he hissed again when Chyou’s legs were splayed wide and he could settle in between them in relative comfort. It still made for an awkward coupling, his long lanky frame overtaking her short, diminutive one as he tried to force his vile tongue into her mouth. Chyou had kissed before, but the other Chinese boy she had kissed had not been so openly, or forcibly. This man slobbered, trying to get the young inexperienced woman to open her mouth and accept his tongue. It took wrapping his strong calloused hand around her neck to part her lips in acceptance, and not merely with her mouth, but also with her fate.

“Open up you little Chinese whore,” the tough Forman rattled through gritted teeth.

Chyou began to well up in tears as she opened her mouth and felt his warm rough tongue enter her mouth and lash at her own tongue, teeth and gums. It was relentless, and just as vile, smelling of coffee and tobacco as he deposited tiny flakes of the tobacco plant that so many Chinese people loathed.

There was also another feeling though as the disgusting man covered young Chyou’s body with his own. A tingling sensation began as he hands sneaked up to the apex of her legs and touched a part of herself that only she had touched. She twitched at his rough touch, and then twitched again, sending his hand heavier upon her sex button as his tongue shot even deeper inside her mouth.

A slight moan escaped around his covering mouth and tried to push his hand away, but the Foreman's fingers were already sneaking forward. She felt them enter her where she peed, feeling his hands push apart the lips, then circle, rub and insert all at the same time.

“Oh, Buddha,” she swore at both the shame and pleasure she felt at the pressure of his hands. This reference to her God only rewarded her with a slap hard across her cheek as he withdrew from her mouth and began to concentrate on her sex.

“No praying while I do this,” he demanded as his thumb began to drop lower and begin to circle the rim of her anus. Chyou only twitched at the infraction, some from the disgust of it, but also some from the excitement she felt at being touched there. The man only progressed harder, now using both hands to concentrate on her as he pushed a finger into her sex, rubbed her mound with his free hand and steadily put pressure on his thumb to enter her anus.

Chyou only twitched again at the infraction now, which sent his thumb and fore finger into her a bit deeper. Such a sensation only excited her and another twitch prevailed. The cycle began, and even though Veron knew it was a rape, the young woman was beginning to respond to his erotic touch.

“Take it, take it my little virgin,” he said, but this time in a much more soothing voice and put more pressure on all three areas of enticement. “Now take a deep breath,” he said again.

Chyou knew what was about to happen and sucked in a breath, but she was unable to let out her breath to relax herself before Edward pushed hard with both hands. At the same time his thumb’s knuckle slipped past her sphincter, his finger pushed against her hymen and shattered it. A searing pain overcame Chyou on both accounts and tears began to stream from her slanted eyes as her innocence was violated for the very first time.

Chyou felt the breakage and forced herself to look down at the man’s unrelenting hands, but the sight of a trickle of blood forced her to close her eyes again and try to concentrate on being touched in places she had never been touched before. In fact, Chyou was quite sure few women had experienced the same thing she was experiencing. His finger and thumb were so close together inside her, rubbing her inside with but a thin sliver of flesh separating them, and as the pain subsided, she began to swoon in the erotic sensation.

It was a strange feeling for Chyou, to be stimulated so intensely by a man that had forced her father to exhaustion every night. From a man that took short cuts so that the railroad could be built expediently. Now the man who ultimately killed her father was inside her, taking her in a way that only was supposed to be sanctioned by marriage.

When he withdrew his fingers, Chyou knew what his next intention was. She could see the lust in his eyes even in the dim yellowish light of the kerosene lantern and waited patiently for him to maneuver into a better position to take her. She waited patiently, hoping her servitude might save her life, for she knew that it would be much better to endure this night after night then to be hung from a rope.

She shivered at the thought, and then shivered as he placed the head of his manhood at the hole that dribbled a drop or two of blood, and stole a longer glace at it as she waited. She doubted it would fit, at least with any pleasure. Like his forefinger and thumb, she was sure he would make it fit, and sucked in her breath again as he began to lunge into her.

He could have chosen to place his shaft at her entrance and waited for its steady pressure to mold around him. Instead he thrusted, and hard, and sent it jettisoning into her like a pneumatic drill through granite. Chyou let out a shrill cry at the invasion of her body, a cry Edward had to stifle by reaching around and covering her mouth with his hand.

“Quiet you yellow skinned bitch or you will wake Mr. Clement.” Chyou nodded silently and gently bit his hand as he began to pummel her.

A dry, burning sensation prevailed as Chyou’s body tried in vain to catch up with the invading rhythm of his shaft. With each thrust she whimpered a little and bit into his hand from the pain he was inflicting on her.

“Easy sir, easy sir, easy sir,” she kept saying in time to his thrusts, but as her body began to succumb to the inevitable, she began to dampen within as well.

“Does this feel good Honey?”

“Yes, oh yes,” she lied. “I will do this with you many, many times. As much as you want,” she said hoping her promise might save her life. Her comment only made him laugh; a sickening sinister laugh.

“Tonight will be your first and only time at this I’m afraid. Mr. Clement’s got plans for you, plans that could never be undone,” he said and then thrusted inside her with a vengeance. Chyou wailed, more from his words than the pressure of him buried deep inside her. She had seen the gory sight of a hanging once before and the thought of it happening to her frightened her to unimaginable proportions even as the man that was going to do it, thrusted into her again and again.

Chyou became too engaged in the thought of dying to notice the man inside her much. She had become numb to his thrusts just as he body slickened inside to accommodate him. So much in fact, that as he easily slid in and out of her, he began to get annoyed at the ease.

“Flip over,” he barked, grabbing her by the torso and twisting her frame so that she was now on her hands and knees. To his chagrin, he merely yielded to his touch, propping herself up on her hands and knees as tears streamed from her eyes. Knowing her death was on the doorstep, Chyou would have positioned herself in any position he wished knowing her shame would matter little if she was dead by high noon. She waited patiently, thinking the new position would somehow benefit him somehow, as he repositioned himself behind her.

“You little whore. You may have grown to like that position, but you surely won’t like this one,” he said in anger, his teeth once again gritted, his hand firmly grasping his shaft.

Chyou once again did not know what to expect, but as she felt his shaft slip between the tight crack of her buttocks, she knew such a position was not normal. For as many times as she caught her mother and father making love in the tiny tent of the Chinese Workers Shanty Town, she had never once seen her father take her mother here. She winced as it touched her anus, and then slowly began to get worked inside.

“I hope this splits you wide open,” he hissed as he gripped her tiny hips and pulled her tiny frame back onto his shaft unmercifully. Chyou screamed as the orifice tried in vain to repel what was clearly Mother Nature never intended to allow.

For a moment Chyou’s defenses held, then as before a swarming army, the very walls that defended her honor began to weaken, and then succumbed to the pressurized onslaught, and she felt his shaft sink into her nether hole with amazing ease.

A loud groan overcame him as he felt himself slide into her rectum. Chyou waited for the pain and pressure to subside and pleasure to overtake his presence there, but it never came. Neither did his hand since Edward had no intention of reaching over her waist and toying with her mound to excite her. He was inside her and swooned at how tight and warm she was here.

“Easy, easy, easy,” she begged once again in time to his thrusts, but though instinctive, she would have had the same results if she begged him to take her harder. By this time he hardly heard her. It had been months since he had been with a woman, any woman, and since she was so snug and warm, he was close to coming. He could have held back for a few moments longer if he had not looked down at her body. So small and frail, taking him where no white woman would have allowed him, was too much, and with a loud groan he thrust into her one last time and jettisoned a powerful load her into her Asian bowels.

Outside, Mulan was mortified by what she had just saw her older sister endure. Rage seethed within her as she snuck away from the Pullman and began to formulate a plan of revenge.

 

It had only taken Mulan a few minutes to formulate a workable plan but most of the night to make the decision to go through with it. Working quickly at daybreak, Mulan was able to negotiate the details of her plan and waited patiently as he sister was led out of the Pullman.

The gallows were prepared, though they were hardly anything elaborate for the mere hanging of a Chinese girl caught stealing. The rope simply hung from the water tower spigot, its noose properly tied with thirteen wraps around itself, Mulan knew. Her plan had gotten her close enough to count them. Now she counted the last steps of her sister as she was led to the sinister looking rope. She was nude, the bruises of her rape and abuse clearly evident as she made the short walk escorted by Lewis Metzler Clement and his Foreman Edward Veron.

Mulan grinned at the sight, though it was more for the two men than her sister’s plight obviously. ‘White men with their sophisticated air were so easy to predict,’ she thought and waited for her sister's feet to land just in front of her on the wooden steps some men had dragged into position. Now she held the two stolen bundles of dynamite in her hand and waited to light the fuse. It was short, too short for her to run to safety, but also too short for anyone to stop the explosion if they did smell the distinct smell of burning detonator cord. It was suicide and homicide all rolled into one, she knew, making her decision to go through with it difficult. Still her father had been killed, her sister raped, and Mulan knew all to well the only occupation an orphaned Chinese girl could take was prostitution, and she was not about to suffer the same indignation as her sister.

As the minister began to recite the Lord’s Prayer, Mulan struck the match across the wooden planking under her sister’s feet and lit the fuse of the dynamite.

“What the hell?” Mr. Clement said at the smell of the burning detonator cord. These were the last words Mulan ever heard as a powerful explosion rocked Donner Pass.