Free After The Virus by Meghan Ciana Doidge

She, still laughing, locked eyes with Asshole.
    She enunciated each word, so that, idiot though he was, he wouldn’t be confused: “Are you going to deliver me in this condition?” He, agape, stared.
    “My wrist? Broken, and my ribs? Might be. My jacket? Missing, so my skin will burn, like crazy. Red? Good color on me, but not as skin.” The point hadn’t filtered through his thick cranium, so she added, ”And these cuts are going to get infected, which would be bad. Very bad.”
    They stared at her like maybe she was a talking dog. They seemed thrown by her straightforwardness. She wasn’t going to simper or smile.  
    “She’s right,” Buddy slowly figured. “We better fix her up. What if… I mean… she looks rough, nothing like that picture he, he, you know, uses?”
    “Cunt! Fucking bitch!” Shotgun Asshole swore and paced. She stopped herself from smirking.
    He was going to have to take care of her.
    ∞
    That didn’t stop them from chaining her. They wrapped fabric, velvet of all things, around the neck shackle before putting it on her. They were still more scared of losing her than hurting her further, hence the chains, but they had splinted, bandaged, and tidied her up. They also had no idea who they were dealing with, and the extent she’d go to for revenge. If they managed to get her to the city, if she had to spread her legs for this psycho Boss, she was going to demand their fucking heads on a silver fucking platter.
    Even though the play had fucking sucked, she’d been brilliant as Salome.

    ∞
    She slept only when they did, even though that was prime escape time, knowing that sleep would aid with her healing.
    She woke feeling little fingers loosening the knots at her wrists. She thought she’d known fear, but that had been nothing compared to this.
    She could hear B.B.’s unmistakable breathing nearby. Her traitorous heart momentarily thrilled at the thought of being rescued by Will.
    Fuck! Why would Will put Snickers in this danger? Then she realized Will wouldn’t. Which means Snickers had followed her, with B.B. Well, that plan had harshly backfired. So, time for a new one.
    She wiggled her fingers and Snickers squeezed her hand.  
    Suddenly, her heart was beating like those movie drums that always signified death.
    She twisted her head to try to see Snickers in the dark, to communicate fear and the need for stealth.
    The chain around her neck rattled.
    B.B. shifted as she sniffed down the length of the chain, which was staked about a foot from Asshole’s sleeping form by the dying fire.
    Snickers worked one hand loose. Holding the chain from clanking, Rhiannon fiercely hugged the girl, a gesture the child actually accepted.
    She patted Snickers down and quickly inventoried a knife strapped to her leg — perhaps copying her — a shotgun across her shoulder, and a backpack.
    She deliberately wrapped Snickers' hand firmly around B.B.’s collar, and held it there until she felt Snickers' nod of understanding.
    Then she delicately wrapped the chain around her arm as she slid closer and closer to Asshole. He snorted and rubbed his genitals. Typical .
    She fought the urge to strangle him with the chain and started work on freeing the stake from the ground. They’d hammered it in with a rock.
    Unexpectedly, Buddy rolled to his feet and lurched a few steps away.
    Sleepwalking?
    Then he unzipped and pissed. Fuck. Not asleep then.  
    The stake pulled free from the ground with minimal noise; she must have still been pulling on it. Buddy turned around. He saw her. His eyes shifted and she was sure he was seeing a nine-year-old girl aiming a shotgun at him.
    “Can she shoot that thing?” he asked quietly.
    “Yep, and the dog will rip your balls off,” Rhiannon return whispered. B.B. started to growl. Buddy’s eyes fear-widened; he hadn’t seen the dog.
    “You… you going to stake him?” Buddy quavered. She inadvertently still held the stake poised over Asshole, who was now wide