Free After The Virus by Meghan Ciana Doidge Page B

forethought beyond that of a child of nine. Channeling this swell of emotion, Rhiannon smiled at Snickers, whose face lit up.
    “You are simply amazing, Snickers. Thank you,” she whispered, and then turned to tend B.B.’s wounds. The girl, without any fear, stood guard.  
    ∞
    It was near dawn when she got B.B. patched and ready to go. More light meant more danger, but they couldn’t stay pinned down either.
    The river blocked the south, as the cliffs did the north. The city was to the west; the east led back to Asshole and Buddy, but also to Will.
    “Will is going to be so pissed,” Rhiannon whispered. Seeing Snickers smirk, she teased, “He’s not going to be tickled pink with you, either!”
    Snickers grasped her shotgun-free hand. They stepped out of their hiding spot and, skirting the cliff face, started back the way they came.
    ∞
    The first person they came across was not Will, nor Asshole, nor Buddy, but Wee Wee. She didn’t instantly recognize him clothed. He grinned to display teeth that indicated he didn’t get many vegetables in his fish diet. Rhiannon first thought was to tuck Snickers behind her.
    Second thought, she was pretty peeved that she hadn’t heard or seen any warnings that he was nearby, such as his liberally littered leghold traps.
    He tilted his head as if that offered a better angle. “I know you.” He limped when he stepped closer, but unfortunately only a little.
    She raised the shotgun, and that stifled his grin. He shifted right as if to see behind her, as if to see Snickers. His eyes gleamed. He had a series of fishhooks woven through his upper lip.
    B.B. growled and strained against her collar, but Rhiannon continued to hold the dog firm. She didn’t want to ask for trouble, hadn’t asked, especially with B.B. wounded and Snickers in the mix. But she would fight, kill, if needed.
    “Real familiar,” he mumbled.  
    “You can thank me for your leg,” she stated casually. “And it’s really too bad the infection didn’t kill you.”
    He grinned again, and this time, she caught something feverish in his eye. So the infection hadn’t killed him, but it had added to the crazy.  
    “That’s a girl, ain’t it?” He ignored her barb, and probably didn’t get her threat either. Sometimes she was too subtle for her own good.
    “A little girl is real, real valuable,” he continued. “More breeding years, better chance of, of, catching, birthing multiples.”  
    “She’s just a child,” Rhiannon, disgusted and disturbed, yelled and then immediately couldn’t believe she was actually engaging with him at all.  
    “Practice makes perfect,” he sing-songed. “Push in, pull out, make hole big, big enough for baby, sell baby for even more than the girl!”  
    She had raised and fired the shotgun before she knew it. He was faster than she anticipated, and she aimed with anger, not concentration. He, even clipped by spray, rushed her and knocked her over as she was pumping the gun for her second shot. She lost the gun in the fall. She felt his hands, his skin, fever-hot even through her jacket, and in their frantic tussle, she realized he was trying to bite her neck.  
    She rolled, once, twice, and in the third roll she got her knee to his chest and tossed him off her. Momentum carried him to the cliff edge.
    Snickers hesitated; knife in one hand and B.B.’s collar in the other.
    Rhiannon yelled, “Run!” in the child’s direction even as she charged Wee Wee, who was trying to stand. One more kick would launch him over the cliff, into the raging river and out of their lives, but a voice froze her mid-kick.
    “Nope, no more running,” Asshole sneered.
    “And leash the dog or it’ll be a bullet to the head for it and the girl,” Buddy threatened.
    She spun to see they had hands on Snickers, who, despite being half-off her feet, was holding B.B. from attacking the nasty new arrivals.
    Wee Wee grabbed Rhiannon’s leg and tried to twist her off her feet. With no