How would I find Olivia now?
Olivia
After I’d slogged a few hours through this forested land, the ill-fitting dead soldier’s boots rubbed blisters into my feet. The horse that pulled the wagon I was tied to kept lurching through dried potholes and up hills, jerking me, Emily, and Charlotte along.
Charlotte had wept continuously during our journey, despite the comfort from her sister.
I felt terrible for her, but what could I do? We were all in this together.
Emily and Charlotte’s father, Philip, an apparent hale and hearty man, got to ride up in the back of the next wagon. He kept glaring at me.
I ignored him for the most part, wondering why he didn’t stick up for his daughters and beg that they be allowed to ride in the back of the cart. But then, who was I kidding? Philip was a prisoner, and prisoners didn’t have rights.
As my legs fatigued, I turned to Rusty and Short-Guy and said, “Can’t we please ride in the wagon? Or at least be untied? I promise we won’t escape.”
“Did you hear that, Bart? Our prisoners want special treatment,” Rusty said.
“I did hear that, Rusty. I say we take turns granting them special dispensation. I’ll take a turn in the back of the wagon with one of them, then you take a turn. That seems fair, don’t it?”
“More than fair.” Rusty grinned, grabbing his crotch.
“You harm one hair on any of us, and I’ll feed your balls to you,” I said with a growl.
Bart let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t she talk all tough?”
“Yes, indeed,” Rusty said. He spat out a stream of tobacco-colored spit and wiped his mouth. “But she doesn’t seem to realize she’s tied up, and we’ve got guns, do she? Think I should remind her?”
Bart nodded. “I think she needs reminding. Go on then and refresh her memory.”
Rusty stalked toward me, seized my hands tied behind my back, and yanked them straight up.
Pain shot through my shoulders. On instinct, my leg shot back, nailing him in the kneecap with my booted foot.
Rusty cried out, then reached for my hair and twisted it in his fist.
I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming in pain.
Rusty snarled, “Don’t you ever be doing that to me again, or I’ll shoot you. The only reason you ain’t dead is because of my partner back there, you hear me? He’s a whole lot nicer than I am.”
“I hear you,” I said between clenched teeth.
“Good.” He gave my hair another yank before releasing me. “I ain’t through with you, woman. When I’m through with you, you’ll know it. I’ll leave you sore and wet.”
“Ooh,” I said, unable to stop myself, “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?” he said, his lip pulling back in a sneer.
“And you were never taught manners or equality among genders,” I said. “What, were you raised among pigs? Just another pig in the pigpen, fighting off all the hogs for food?”
Bart snorted.
“All right, all right, leave her be,” he called to Rusty.
Rusty gave my ass a squeeze before joining his comrade.
A long whistle came from further up the line when the sun dropped to the horizon like a tired, bloated ball. We gradually came to a stop.
Shouts of “set up camp” and “we bed here for the night” rang out.
