Of Fever and Blood

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The girl’s name was Eloise Lombard, she was sixteen, and she knew she was going to die. Her abductors were going to kill her. That was obvious now.

When they dragged her here, giving her no chance to defend herself, when they tore off her clothes piece by piece until she was totally naked, and when they bound her wrists and ankles before throwing her onto a sticky mattress, she still hoped they only meant to rape her. That thought was unbearable enough. But deep inside, where the soul never lies, she knew. What they were going to do to her when they came back would be much worse than rape.

She saw the brownish-red puddles in the farmyard. It was blood, and there was plenty of it everywhere.

They had done it to other girls before her.

And soon-very soon-it would be her turn.

Bound and helpless, Eloise started to cry again.

Maybe for the hundredth time, she tried pulling on the straps that held her down. The ties bit into her skin as she tugged. It hurt. Eloise kept trying, jerking, leaning forward, with strength born of desperation.

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