by Meghan March
Once outside the walls, Jamie easily picked up Ro’s small tracks. Graham hadn’t realized how little her feet were until he was desperately searching the ground for her footprints. I’m fucking pathetic, he thought. Woman walks out on me, and I’m trailing after her like a puppy, looking for scraps of attention. No, he reminded himself, I’m just making sure she’s safe. It tore Graham up inside knowing that they could have kept Ro from facing unknown dangers between here and her home if he and Zach had held up their end of the deal.
As Graham had guessed, she’d headed for the hidden gate at the northeast corner of the outer fence. Jamie started to lead them away from the ranch property, still heading northeast. After about fifteen minutes, he stopped.
“I don’t like this, man. Not at all.”
“What?”
“You see these big boot prints here?” Graham looked at the dirt where Jamie was pointing with a stick.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been seeing them with pretty alarming regularity. It’s like they’re trailing your girl.” He pointed again. “You can tell that one of them stepped on her print here, so we know they came after her.”
Zach looked alarmed. “Wait, you’re saying that it looks like someone is following her? Other than us?”
“More than one someone. Looks like two. And men, based on the size of the prints,” Jamie replied.
The icy feeling was back. This time it was a fist, clenching his stomach and turning it inside out. It took Graham a few seconds to realize it was absolute gut-wrenching fear. He’d been a team leader. Creeping into the unknown, ready to throw himself in front of a bullet for any one of his men. But he’d rarely ever had time for fear. Even that day he’d watched Isaac, who’d just saved Graham’s ass, take a sniper bullet to the back of the head—exploding his skull like a watermelon on the losing end of a sledgehammer; even then, Graham hadn’t had time to fear Isaac’s fate. He was gone in a flash of a moment. But this, what he was feeling now was real, soul-gripping fear for Rowan. They needed to find her. Now.
“I hate to say this, but … I think I recognize one of the tracks,” Jamie tossed over his shoulder, as he charged forward, following the boot prints.
“What the fuck do you mean?” Graham demanded.
“It’s the same print as the guy I was tracking yesterday,” Jamie answered, not stopping.
“Wait,” Zach interrupted. “If it’s the same guy from yesterday, why is there more than one set of prints? The other two are dead.”
“There had to be more of them than we thought. They’re like fucking cockroaches. You kill one, and you turn around to see a dozen more scuttling away,” Graham said. “Fuck! Did anyone ever get any answers out of the woman? Did she know how many of them there were?”
“Lia wouldn’t talk to anyone but Cam. And as far as I heard from him, she has almost no memory of what happened after they grabbed her. Beau thinks she’s blocking it out because her mind can’t handle it right now,” Jamie answered.
“So there’s at least two of them after Ro.” That icy fist sprouted claws and pierced Graham’s gut when he thought of the shape the other woman had been in when they’d brought her in. He voiced his earlier thoughts. “We need to find her. Now.”
Ro woke to a steady throbbing in her head, a slightly nauseous feeling in her gut, and burning in her wrists. It hadn’t been Graham and Zach catching up to her … unless they’d been really pissed and had taken to hitting women. Given the likelihood of that was the same as her waking up wearing ruby slippers, she was terrified to open her eyes to see who had knocked her out. Opening them slightly, she tried to pretend she was still unconscious, but the squinty vision kicked the nausea up another notch. Ro’s eyes snapped open. Chills crawled over her skin.
Dirty blue flannel. Stringy brown hair and scraggly beard. Dark, dead eyes. A shining buck knife flew through the air, end over end, until the fixed blade sank into the trunk of a pine. He tore off a chunk of a Power Bar as he crossed to the tree to yank the knife out. The one who’d wanted to cut Lia for nearly biting his dick off. Son of Red. Of all the fucking bad luck. Ro cringed, imaging a similar knife at Lia’s throat. She was so unbelievably fucked. A second man was sitting with his back propped against a pine tree. He was equally dirty, but wearing a black long-sleeve t-shirt and a tan Carhartt vest over ripped camo pants and leather boots. He was tracing the wood grain on the butt of a 12-gauge shotgun while he dumped the contents of an MRE into his mouth. Her backpack was lying unzipped at his feet next to another small, dirty canvas rucksack.
Ro was double fucked. And this time the ménage was going to be worse than facing down the strap-on sporting Mistress of Evil. Think. Think. Think.
As the Crotch-Cradler released the knife for another throw, he glanced at Ro.
“Finally,” Crotch-Cradler grunted. “Thought Ronny mighta killed ya. Not that it fuckin’ matters I guess. One bitch is as good as another.”
Ro lifted her hands. They were bound by prickly jute rope that dug into her skin and had already started to leave red creases. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to ask, “What are you going to do with me?” because, quite frankly, she didn’t want to know the answer.
Ronny stood, gesturing to Ro with the barrel of the shotgun. “So this is the bitch that sent them fucking assholes after us? You sure?”
Crotch-Cradler didn’t respond to Ronny, but narrowed his eyes at Rowan. “Because ‘a you, I got no pa, no uncle, no cousins, no home, no supplies. Not a goddamn fuckin’ thing to my name but this knife, and my gun, the clothes on my back, and the random shit Ronny carries around. The way I figure, you owe me, bitch. And whatever I tell you to do, you’re gonna do it. And you’re gonna fuckin’ love it.” His mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he came toward Ro, the blade in his hand catching and reflecting the sun’s rays. All Ro could think was, goddamn, he’s like that joke about a country song playing backwards … get your dog back, your house back, your wife back, your truck back.
“So whatdya say, bitch. You ready to have some fun?” Ro froze, holding her breath as he ran the tip of the blade along her cheek before starting to slice through the neck of her sweatshirt. And then an idea struck. Bargain with them. Daddy please forgive me.
Ro swallowed, choosing her words carefully and hoping her movements didn’t result in severe lacerations. “How about a trade?”
He paused, drawing back to look her over. “I don’t need to trade shit, girl. I’m holdin’ all the cards here.”
“What if I knew a place where you could resupply everything—food, water, gear, clothes, weapons.” He stopped slicing mid-chest.
“You talkin’ ‘bout that ranch? ‘Cause I ain’t stupid. They’d kill us on sight. Try again, you dumb bitch.”
“No. Not the ranch. Somewhere else. My people. They’ll help you out. Set you up with everything you need. There are some empty houses nearby, and you could set up camp. I … I can’t do anything about your family, and I’m sorry,” she lied. Because she wasn’t the teensiest bit sorry after what they’d done to Lia. “But I’m running from the ranch people, too, and we can help each other out. But they won’t help you if you hurt me.”
He stepped back, eyes narrowed. “How’d I know you ain’t lyin’?”
“I guess you’d have to trust me. I mean, what do you have to lose. If I’m lying, you’ll know soon enough. But if you’re worried about the ranch guys, you might want to decide quickly, because they’re probably coming after me. They were … holding me prisoner. I escaped.” Ro did feel bad lying about that particular point, but felt it was completely justified. If these guys were busting ass to get to the farm, they weren’t stopping and raping her. It was a win-win in her book.
Then Ronny spoke up. “A place to stay, food, and gear? Come on, Len. That’s not a bad deal.”
“Shut up, Ronny! I’m thinking,” Len snapped, tapping the blade of the knife on his yellowed and uneven teeth. Then his stomach rumbled. Hunger was a great motivator.
Ro looked around, confused and completely disoriented. “Umm … which way is northeast?”
Len grunted and pointed. Ro didn’t waste time heading off into the woods. She couldn’t believe her crazy ass deal had actually worked. Now she just hoped her dad would read her mind and shoot them on sight.
“We’ve got a problem,” Jamie said, crouching low and pointing to the dirt.
Graham jerked to a stop, and Zach stumbled into him.
“What do you mean, ‘We got a problem’?”
“I think they caught up to your girl.”
“What? How?” Graham asked. He bit back the automatic ‘She’s not our girl’ retort.
Jamie pointed to scuffed dirt. “Someone was dragged.” He stood and followed the marks to a stand of trees about twenty feet away.
Zach shoved Graham aside and scouted the area around Jamie. “I’ve got some wrappers over here. An MRE and a … peanut butter Power Bar?”
Graham pictured the grin on Ro’s face when she’d spotted the stash at the gun range, and he swore silently. “It was her. Or at least her backpack. I’d lay money on it.”
“Got knife marks in the tree. Like someone was using it for target practice,” Jamie said.
Graham hated to ask, but needed to know. “Blood?”
“No. Got tracks leading away from here, though.”
“Let’s move.”
Ro stumbled over a downed sapling trying to keep up with Len as he jogged through the pitch-black woods. After becoming frustrated with her slow pace, Len had taken the lead, tying Ro’s bound hands to his belt with another piece of rope. It was like being dragged by a pissed off mule. Despite his appearance as a lazy redneck piece of shit, the man could cover some ground. She’d recognized the last major highway they’d crossed, and estimated they were within fifteen miles of home. Home. Knowing she was finally going to make it there was … surreal. Even if it wasn’t exactly how she’d planned, Ro was thankful to be making it there alive. Another stumble. Another bite of pain. Another curse from Len. Ro hurried to keep up, not wanting to feel the burn of the jute digging deeper into her torn and bleeding skin. Len and Ronny each had a headlamp to guide the way, but Ro’s feet were bathed in shadow. Another yank. Another stumble. Ro fell to her knees, the rope pulling Len to a halt.
“Get up, bitch.” The light blinded her as he turned. A brown stream of tobacco juice spattered the edge of her face.
The exhaustion that had been dogging Ro all day crashed down. She tried, tried, to find a second, third, even a fourth wind. But there was just nothing left. She was tapped out. She considered her options. Keep stumbling through the dark and get home, but endure the searing pain in her wrists. Sleep for a few hours and hope like hell they don’t rape her. As choices went, they blew, but Ro’s screaming muscles wouldn’t last another hundred yards, let alone another fifteen miles.
“Look, we’re close, okay. Really, really close,” she said. “But it has to be after midnight. Is there any way we can take a break for a couple hours and get some rest? It would be better to show up at dawn rather than in the middle of the night. I’d hate to find myself on the wrong end of my dad’s shotgun by accident.”
“We stop when I say we stop. You ain’t gotta say.” Len spun, tightening the rope connecting them.
“Awww, come on. Let’s just stop for a few, and then we’ll pick it up at daybreak. We been out here for days, and I’m whipped, man. Fuck, I don’t think I can even get it up to fuck her.” Ronny leered at Rowan. “Tomorrow, sweet thang, you goin’ be the meat in a Len and Ronny sandwich.”
Len’s lip curled in disgust, but before he could speak, Ro said, “Sounds great. I’ll even make you dinner first. We’ll make a night of it.” She figured the Almighty was obligated to forgive her for that revolting lie.
Ronny reached out a perma-dirty hand to touch her face, and Ro forced herself not to flinch. “It’s a date, sweet thang.”
“Would you mind?” Ro held her fake smile and lifted her wrists up toward Ronny.
“Fuck that, bitch. You stay tied up tonight. Ain’t takin’ a chance you’ll go runnin’ off,” Len replied.
“Could you at least untie me so I can pee?” Ro asked. “Unless you want to sleep in a puddle ...” Ro could have kicked herself for letting the snark out. She blamed the exhaustion.
Len grunted, but pulled out his buck knife and twisted around to slice the rope off his belt. He yanked her wrists up and sliced between the jute tying them together. He pointed the knife at a bushy evergreen about ten feet away. “You go behind that tree. You got two minutes. Leave the backpack right fuckin’ here. You take one step in the wrong direction,” he brought the blade to rest against her throat, “and I will gut you.”
Ro swallowed, but didn’t waste time dropping her pack and hurrying toward the tree. She followed the path lit by the beam of Len’s headlamp and ducked behind the thick trunk to take care of business. Peeing in the woods as a woman was more of an art than a science, especially considering Rowan was trying not to flash her ass to her audience. She really needed to not be the ‘meat in a Len and Ronny sandwich’ tonight. Ro lamented her lack of toilet paper for a moment before dragging her clothes back into place. Her wrists burned as the weeping, broken skin rubbed against the cuffs of her filthy sweatshirt. Heading back toward the light, she noticed that Len and Ronny had already helped themselves to the contents of her backpack—including her sleeping bag. She was surprised to see Len toss it to Ronny. They could keep it. No way in hell would she use it after they did. She’d guess that showers had been an every-other-week thing for them, even before the grid went down.
“I’ll take the first shift. It’s probably about two o’clock. You sleep for an hour and a half, then we’ll swap. We’re out of here as soon as there’s a hint of light. You hear a sound, shoot first, ask questions later,” Len ordered. Ro shuddered when he pulled the roll of paracord from her backpack and cut off three lengths. “Get over here, bitch.”
With no choice but to comply, Ro went. He yanked her wrists behind her and tied them together, knotting the nylon cord so tightly around her abused wrists that she tasted bile.
“Sit down. I’m doing your feet, too. You ain’t goin’ nowhere once you’re hobbled.”
Ro blocked out the pain as she leaned back against the trunk of a tree and inched herself to the ground. Len worked quickly, tying her legs together, just above the tops of her hiking boots. He shoved her to her side, face in the dirt, and looped the last length of cord between her wrists and feet. Hog-tied. It wasn’t overly tight, but Ro’s back still bowed, and she knew the discomfort of the position would make sleep nearly impossible if she wasn’t totally exhausted. Ro yawned, tasted dirt, and tried to focus on the positive: she was almost home; she wasn’t dead; and she hadn’t been raped. Low bar for good things, but she’d take it. She barely had time to dwell on her undignified position before her lids lost the battle and sleep consumed her.
A boot connected with Ro’s bound ankles, and she jerked awake. She rubbed her dirt-covered face against her shoulder and struggled to sit up. Pain lanced through her wrists when she accidentally tugged on the cords binding them together.
Len leaned down and sliced through the paracord trapping her legs. Another slice and her wrists were free. Ro brought them forward, needles stabbing her arms as the blood rushed back after hours without movement. Pieces of black paracord stuck to her blood-encrusted wrists. She plucked them off, wincing as fresh blood welled. Ro reached for her backpack, but froze when the knife flashed in her face.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Len asked.
“I … I just wanted a wet wipe, or my first aid kit, some
thing to clean up my wrists,” Ro said, eyes riveted to the silver blade.
“Make it quick. We’re moving.”
Ro grabbed a wet wipe from the package in her bag and dabbed at the dried blood. It felt like sandpaper against her raw skin. Once her wrists were relatively clean, she dug deeper into her pack and pulled out two folded bandanas and her first aid kit. She smeared on the antibiotic ointment and wrapped the bandanas around her wrists before tying them off. Apocalypse-chic first aid. Len gave her a mocking look and ordered her to put on her backpack before he retied her wrists in front of her and fastened them to his belt.
Almost home. Almost home, Ro chanted silently.
The cushion of the bandanas blunted the bite of the narrow cord, and the ever-lightening morning sky allowed Rowan to see where she was walking. Staying just off the county road, the landmarks were all familiar now. There was the crooked silo that had looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa since Ro was kid. She spotted the obnoxious blue metal roof of the Johnson’s house. Above it, the sky was a vibrant work of art, all reds and pinks and oranges smeared like oil paints across the horizon. They turned down an empty dirt road lined with row after row of corn, and Ro finally let herself wonder about Zach and Graham. Were they disappointed to find her gone? Did they even consider coming after her? Or did they just write her off as a failed experiment and move on with their lives? It was hard to swallow the idea that she could be so easily forgotten, especially since she wouldn’t be forgetting them anytime soon. If ever.
They made a final turn and a half-mile later, a peeling green and yellow mailbox came into view. Ro wanted to drop to her knees and kiss the ground. She was home. Finally.
“It’s that one. The driveway on the right.” Ro gestured with her bound hands. Len grunted and paused at the end of the gravel drive. Unsheathing his knife, he sliced the paracord off his belt and from between her wrists.
“Don’t want your pa gettin’ the wrong idea,” he said. Or the right idea, Ro thought. Looking behind her, she took in Ronny’s grinning face.
