Miami Run

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The night was perfect for a sacrifice.

A brilliant full moon illuminated the Everglades as the party of 13 robed figures and the woman in the blue dress threaded a path toward the grove on the island 50 yards ahead. A cool, moist breeze stirred the red robes of the 13 and caused the woman to shiver. Her fearful green eyes locked on the island and she stumbled.

The scarlet-robed figure to her rear stepped in close and gripped her left arm to prevent her from falling.

She regained her balance, but she recoiled defiantly at his touch, jerking her arms from his grasp. Her wrists were already hurting from the tight coils of rope binding them behind her back. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.

“We wouldn’t want you to fall,” the figure responded, his features enshrouded in the hood of his robe.

“I didn’t know you cared!” she stated sarcastically.

“We care, Carmen,” the figure said. “We care about keeping you clean for the Masters.”

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