Free Dead Running by Cami Checketts

his breath searing my neck. “We’re going to drive out west of town where no one can hear you screaming.”
    I snapped my head back, trying to slam it into him while icy sweat coursed down my back. Muscle Man dodged the blow and tightened his grip until my arms throbbed.
    “Calm down so I don't have to hurt you,” he said.
    My abdomen still ached from his first punch. I couldn’t draw a full breath. I looked to the driver’s seat, praying my other captor would be sympathetic. Greasy Beanpole slicked back his hair and winked at me. I shivered. This was not how I wanted to lose my virginity. These men were going to beat and rape me. Would they kill me after? My body trembled under the man’s arms. Inches away from hysterical, I couldn’t organize my frenzied thoughts. What could I do to protect myself?
    “Just like you didn’t have to hurt that man I found in the canyon,” I said, fighting for a bravado I didn’t possess.
    Muscle Man flipped me to face him. “What man?” he demanded.
    “The murdered man.” I strained against his iron clasp. “The man with no face or fingers.”
    His head slowly rotated to Greasy Beanpole.
    Greasy Beanpole’s shoulders lifted and lowered. “Wasn’t me.” He turned around and shifted the van into gear.
    Muscle Man sighed, relaxing his grip a bit but not enough for me to make any progress towards freedom. “We haven’t killed anyone locally,” he told me, as if it would make me feel better.
    I took a few deep breaths. This guy sucked at reassurance. But if they hadn’t killed that man, who had? “What do you want from me?” I squeaked out. “How do you know my name?”
    The van slowly rolled down the road, Muscle Man held me steady. “We just need a bit of help,” he said, ignoring my second question.
    Bile rose in my throat. I’d never heard sex crimes described as helping someone. “What if I’m not willing to help you?” I asked.
    “We’re going to turn on that video camera.” Muscle Man flung me around so I faced the rear of the van. A camera and a chair were set up for filming.
    I forced a laugh that sounded more like a stifled cry. “I don’t do footage for porn videos, but thanks for the compliment.” I was shaking so violently at this point, Muscle Man was holding me up for support as much as restraint.
    Why was this happening? I couldn’t die. I’d accomplished nothing . I suddenly felt a rush of empathy mixed with the sorrow I always carried for my parents. Had they been scared to die? At least they’d died for a worthwhile cause. I was going to die because I’d run outside and pepper spray was no protection.
    “Cassidy. Calm down and listen to me. All I need you to do is tell your father that we have kidnapped you and that we’re going to hurt you if he doesn’t follow our instructions.”
    “My father ?” My body slackened in disbelief. An incredulous laugh rolled from my chest. “Hate to break it to you Muscle Man, but I don’t have a father.” My voice flattened. “Scum like you killed him two years ago.”
    “I did kill him two years ago,” he growled.
    “You!” I elbowed him in the gut. It didn’t faze the monster. “You killed my parents!”
    Muscle Man fought to restrain me. “One of my more lucrative jobs.”
    Anger boiled out of me. I kicked and thrashed. “How could you?”
    “It was an easy job, believe me.” He wrapped his huge arms around my upper body. I bit his arm. He backhanded me and kept talking like we were chatting in the park, “But somehow they resurrected him. He’s making a mess for us in Mexico, freeing slaves and killing our men.”
    Resurrected him? I stopped fighting and spat out the disgusting taste of Muscle Man’s skin and my own blood. My cheek ached and I couldn’t catch a full breath. Was this guy for real? My brain wheezed, unable to keep up with the lies he was spouting. Even if my father were alive he’d be helping children with his medical expertise. He’d never kill anyone. “My