When the cloth bag was removed from her head, Everleigh blinked several times, taking in her surroundings. It was an underground bunker with slivers of sunlight bleeding through the wood beams in the ceiling. The place wasn't any bigger than a studio apartment and had a stockpile of canned food, water, kerosene lamps, and small propane tanks. She remembered being left like dirty, crumpled laundry on the ground and passing out soon after. Blinking her eyes some more, she recalled hearing voices and one of them being female.

The chip-toothed man crouched to examine her, and she could smell his sour breath as well as feel it mist against her cheek. Not to mention how his proximity gave her a closer view of the salmon-colored muck caked in his teeth. She grimaced as he smiled, like a man admiring his bride on a wedding night. Then he lifted her with his hands cupped under her armpits and held her off the ground. The irony of having the tables turned wasn't lost on her. Now she had her hands and feet bound, which made her think of Corbin.

Where was he?

Needing to get out of the predicament, she twisted her bound wrists, trying to wriggle them free. The chip-toothed man ran his tongue up her neck, telling her how yummy she tasted. Everleigh kept a straight face, trying her best not to inhale his rancid breath as she worked the knot loose and released her hands from the binds. While he was distracted with nibbling her earlobe, she removed the hidden dagger from her belt and drove it into his temple.

A sharp gasp released from his mouth, and his body tensed before seizing as they both dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. She groaned when she landed on her side, but she didn't have time to pity herself. Kicking him off, she pulled the dagger from his skull and watched the life burn out of his eyes. Crimson trickled from the wound and formed a puddle around his head which reflected the light coming through the ceiling. She could see herself in it and in the past wouldn't have liked the person staring back at her, but the dangers of being on the road had hardened her heart. Some men just needed to be killed with zero regrets.

Hearing a noise, she cut through the rope around her feet and tip-toed toward the room's entrance. Her stomach churned, but she focussed on controlling her breathing while flattening herself against the wall, waiting for her next opponent.

"Larry!" a voice called from the stairs leading outside. "Are you done yet? I want a turn."

The floorboards of the wooden steps creaked in protest under the weight of his boots as he made his way, so she sucked in another breath and flattened herself even more-waiting for him to get closer.

"Larry! You're awfully quiet with that girl. She must need a real man."

As his face appeared from the corner, she jammed her dagger into his skull, matching his wound to Larry's. When she slid the knife out, his body dropped like a wet sandbag with his limbs twitching from the shock. Her heart pounded against her sternum, but she didn't have time to process what she was doing, and it was pure adrenaline driving her feet up the wooden steps. Reaching into her bra, she pulled her trusty Derringer out. It was a gift from her father, and she kept it hidden for emergencies. She swung the door open, ready for the next man as the sun shone in her face-casting everything in a blinding white glow.

"Hey!" a voice yelled.

Steadying her hands, she focussed on two silhouettes a few feet ahead. With the sunlight still blinking in her eyes, she aimed for the upright figure and took a deep breath. When she exhaled, her finger pressed the trigger, sending the bullet flying towards her enemy. He recoiled, causing the gun to fall from his grip.

"You little tramp!" he growled, holding his bleeding fist.

Not wasting another second, Everleigh roared while charging forward and launched herself onto him like a wrecking ball. He stumbled backwards as she plunged the dagger into his flesh with hot tears filling her eyes. Their bodies collapsed to the ground and blood coated her arms, but she didn't stop stabbing him. He slapped at her arms, his palms trying to reach for her neck, and his hips bucking to throw her off, but Everleigh clenched her thighs-locking her hold. Rage, pure rage, guided her hand as she punctured his skin with the blade, over and over.

It wasn't until his limbs became limp, that she rolled away, and shoved him with her feet. Her chest rose and fell as she stared up at the sky, remembering her father's words while thin clouds drifted past.

To survive in this cruel drought, you have to dig deep inside yourself and let the madness take over. In that madness, you'll have the strength to do things you wouldn't have the heart to do otherwise. Don't be afraid of it. The madness is the only thing that will keep you alive.

Releasing a cry, she brought her trembling hands into view. They were coated in blood, so she ran them through the dirt and wiped them off on the dead man's shirt. Sitting up, she took deep breaths to steady her heart rate, but then her eyes landed on an old Ford Bronco with supplies stacked in the back.

"It's my lucky day!"

∆∆∆

When Armis awoke, it was to the bright sunlight cooking his flesh. The crows circled above him, causing the sun to flicker in and out of sight. In those winks of light, his father's face peered down at him with creases by his eyes as he smiled.

"Papá?" he croaked.

Come on, mijo, get up. Your sister needs you...

Armis rolled to his side and onto his knees, examining the first gunshot wound on the far right of his torso. There was an exit hole in his back, which he took as a good sign, but his shoulder was a different story. He couldn't even lift his left arm, and there wasn't an exit wound, so it would need delicate attention, but he needed to find Everleigh first. She was all he had left, so he wouldn't let scuzzy men lay their hands on her.

Come on, mijo, take my hand...

With a grunt, he flopped his heavy, sun-drenched arm into his father's palm. The familiar rough calluses chafed his burning skin, but it was welcoming as he got to his feet. His left shoulder dipped low, making him look like a Neanderthal while gathering what was left of his belongings. It wasn't much-just his cape, the rocket stove supplies, and the make-shift IV with the saline solution still inside. It would take some time, but he needed saline to make it to the next water source.

You've always been smart, mijo. Think. You know what to do.

Armis grimaced, knowing exactly what he needed to do. He dragged his feet over to the dead, long-haired man and saw the needle sticking out of his neck. After plucking it from him, he unzipped his pants and peed on it, clearing the blood away. Then he cooked it over the rocket stove's fire to sterilize it. All while the circling crows took bets on when he would lie down for them.

"I'm not done yet! Go away!" He glared.

Except the crows continued circling and cawing, which only made him work with more urgency. He attached the needle to the IV using the duct tape already on it and slid the needle into his arm. After a few minutes, the sun began lulling him to sleep, but he felt his father's firm hands shaking him.

Stay awake, mijo. Everleigh needs you.

His head bobbed forward and then snapped upright. To remain conscious, he needed to get moving again, so he forced himself to stand while holding the IV bottle in the crook of his arm, and began shuffling his feet forward. As he moved, he could feel the gentle touch of his father's fingers on his arms, holding him-guiding him.

This way, mijo...

In the distance, he spotted the tire-tracks left behind when they took Everleigh, and relief spread over him like a cool breeze. He would kiss those tracks if he had the energy to bend! There was nothing for miles. It would be a long trek, so he stepped one foot in front of the other.

"I'm coming, baby sis. You just fight them with all of your might. I'll be there soon," he wheezed.

That's it, Armis! You can do it, mijo. I'll be right beside you.

Heatwaves danced across the dry earth with sulfur deposits rising upward. The desert was once home to mining operations digging up the soil for minerals, but now what was left were craters, underground tunnels, and hidden bunkers. Sweat formed on his brow, yet his father's presence kept him going-moving him forward with conversation to keep him conscious.

"The crows," Armis croaked. "They won't leave me."

Think of them like a beacon.

"I'm their lunch."

No, mijo. They will guide the way.

"How?"

You'll see. It's not much farther.

"But Papá, I'm tired. I think I'm dying."

I will not let you die.

When he was on the verge of collapsing, his father watched over him while he rested and kept him alert so he wouldn't fall asleep. There were moments when the growing throng of crows caused his skin to prickle with a chill. It reminded him of the time he watched a group of them chase a small owl. It was daylight, and the poor bird had trouble flying as they surrounded and taunted him. The crows pecked at the owl with their beaks, bouncing him between them like a ping-pong ball. It fell to the ground many times but was determined to fly home, so it kept getting back up.

However, the crows never wavered in their determination, and their power in numbers triumphed over the little owl. Now Armis feared the moment those birds would swoop down and take the first peck-defeat him, just like that owl.

It's time to wait, mijo.

"What do you mean?"

You've gone far enough. Now you wait.

"The crows..." he mumbled as he collapsed to his knees.

I know they're many, but they will provide you shade.

"They scare me, Papá."

Just wait. Soon you'll see.

"See what?"

Armis looked about, but he no longer saw the shadowy figure that was helping him along the way. He no longer felt his father's presence or the tender clasp of his fingers around his shoulders. Armis was alone.

"Papá," he cried out.

Tears gathered in his eyes, and he shivered in the heat of the sun, beaming on him like a spotlight.

"Papá!" he exclaimed. "Don't leave me!"

Above him, the crows continued to caw as if shouting profanity. Their silhouettes swirled on the desert ground like shadow puppets as they blocked the sun's rays.

Armis's posture gave way, and his shoulders dropped. He was so tired.

He just

needed to

wait...