“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, something to clean up my wrists,” Ro said, eyes riveted to the silver blade.