Black Hills

was Derrick Morganston. His wife was Cathy. He had two kids. Brent and Lorna.
    She said his name, his family’s names as she followed orders, took the feet and dragged the body farther off the trail.
    She said nothing when he used the rope to tie her to a tree so he could retrieve Derrick’s radio, go through his pockets for anything else he found useful.
    She kept silent when they began to walk again. Nothing more to say, she thought. She’d tried and failed to find some place in him to appeal to. There was no place inside him. Nowhere to reach.
    He wasn’t covering the tracks, and she wondered what that meant. She wondered if she would live through the day, such a pretty spring day. See her husband again, her home. Hold her children. Would she speak with her friends, wear her new shoes?
    She’d been washing the skillet, she thought, when her life had changed. Would she fry bacon again?
    Her throat burned, her legs ached. Her palms throbbed where she’d scraped them against the bark. But those discomforts meant she was alive. Still alive.
    If she had the chance to kill him and escape, would she? Yes. Yes, she would kill him to live. She would bathe in his blood if it meant protecting Lil.
    If she could get his knife or the gun, a rock. If she could find a way to use her bare hands.
    She concentrated on that, on the direction, the angle of the sun, the landmarks. There, she thought, look at the brave pasqueflowers, blooming. Delicate and hopeful. And alive.
    She’d be the pasqueflower. Look delicate, be brave.
    She walked, one foot in front of the other, with her head down. But she kept her eyes, her body alert for any chance of escape.
    “We’re home,” he announced.
    Confused, she blinked sweat out of her eyes. She barely saw the mouth of the cave. It was so low, so narrow—like a slitted eye. It looked like death.
    She spun around, launched herself at him to fight. She felt the pain, and the satisfaction when her fist connected with his face. Screaming, she used her nails, her teeth to claw and bite like an animal. And when she tasted his blood, it thrilled.
    But when his fist plowed into her belly, he took her breath. When it rammed into her face, the sun went dim in a wash of dark red.
    “Bitch! Bitch whore!”
    Dimly, she heard the harsh wheeze of his breath. She’d hurt him. That was something. She’d given him pain.
    He used the rope to drag her over the rough ground and into the dark.
    She fought as he bound her hands and feet, screamed, spat, and cursed until he gagged her. He lit a small lantern, and with his free hand dragged her farther into the cave.
    “I could kill you now. Carve you up and send the pieces to her. What do you think about that?”
    She’d marked him, was all she could think. Blood welled and dripped from the grooves she’d scored in his cheeks, on his hands.
    Then he smiled at her, wide and wild, and she remembered to be afraid.
    “The hills are honeycombed with caves. I’ve got a few nice ones I use regular. This one’s yours.”
    He set the lantern down, then drew out his knife before he crouched. He turned the blade so the soft light stuck the edge. “Need a couple of things from you.”
    Joe, she thought. Joe. Lil. My baby.
    And closed her eyes.
     
     
     
    IT TOOK LONGER than he’d hoped, but he was still well within the time frame. The rush, the incidental kill, the unexpected fight left in the mother bitch all added a fresh anticipation. The best part was walking right into the refuge like any other paying customer. It was the biggest risk and the biggest thrill.
    But he had no doubt Lil would give him more of both.
    He smiled at the pretty intern through the beard he’d grown over the winter. It hid most of the scratches the mother bitch had given him. He wore old riding gloves to cover the ones on his hands.
    “Is something wrong with the lion?”
    “No, not a thing. She’s getting her teeth cleaned. Cats especially need regular dental checks, as they tend to lose teeth.”
    “Because they’re caged up.”
    “Actually, they’ll keep their teeth longer in the refuge than in the wild. We provide them with bones once a week, an important element of dental hygiene. Cats’ mouths tend to be full of bacteria, but with regular cleanings, good nutrition, and the weekly bones, we can help them maintain that smile.” She added one of her own. “Our vet and his assistant are making sure Sheba’s teeth are healthy.”
    It made him sick, made him furious.