Betrayed by Wodke Hawkinson

the window, she cried silent tears.
    Her mind in a frenzy, she envisioned breaking the window with the chair, squeezing between the bus and the side of the house, and dropping to the ground. Running. But logic told her the plan wouldn’t work. There couldn’t be more than six inches of space. Even if she was able to make it out the window, she would more than likely become wedged, trapped. She wouldn't put it past these monsters to leave her there until she perished.
    In another fantasy she imagined breaking the window, wrapping the broken shards of glass in a torn up piece of sheet for a handle, and stabbing her way to freedom, jabbing, slicing. Jase would be the first she would cut. She would watch his blood flow over her wrist and hand, relish the look of surprise on his face. But she soon recognized the lunacy of that plan as well. They would kill her for sure. Probably with the same piece of glass. Weighing heaviest on her mind was Jase's threat to use a chainsaw on her. Brook pulled her knees to her chest, held her feet in her hands, and imagined him cutting them off. There was no doubt in her mind he was cruel enough to do it.
    Panic sent her into a quiet hysteria. After an indeterminate time, her crying eased and finally subsided. Her breathing slowed, and she fell into exhausted sleep. The storm raged on outside and then spent itself. Silence reigned.
     

 
    Chapter 8
    Lance pulled Old Reliable as far off the road and up into the trees as he could. After packing the travois, he covered the truck with camouflaged netting. Hefting the first load, he set out for home. Bruised purple clouds hung low over the mountains. Lance measured the sky with a knowing glance. All hell was about to break loose; he was certain of it. He hated to leave his truck here, but he doubted he would have time to finish unloading all his purchases, get Old Reliable to town, and ride his bike back before the rain hit.
I should have left earlier
, he thought,
or not dawdled in the stores
.
    When he reached the cabin with the second load, Gilbert was waiting for him, her head cocked expectantly. He was glad to see her. It would make this chore much easier and faster. She approached Lance and reared up on her hind legs, placing her front legs on his shoulders. He felt the bite of her hooves through his jacket, and laughed as she nearly knocked him off balance. This was a ‘Gilbert hug’ and Lance appreciated it, although it could be a bit overwhelming.
    “Whoa, girl.” Lance released the travois and backed away, allowing her to drop to the ground. She began nudging his side, trying to nose into his pocket. With a gentle touch, he pushed her away.
    “Now, you know better than that.” He patted the firm wedge of her neck, avoiding the sharp tips of her curved horns. He sometimes wished he had dehorned her when she was young, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her defenseless in the wild, and Gilbert did like to roam. She had an incurable case of wanderlust, but she always came home. His other goat, Belinda, did not rush to greet him. She never did.
    “Work first, treats later.” He gave Gilbert a final pat before sliding off his heavy backpack and unloading the travois. Gilbert strolled around him as he worked, but Belinda hung back, peering at him with her odd yellow eyes. She had never warmed to Lance like Gilbert had. As a result, he hadn’t grown attached to her like he had to Gilbert. But she would produce for him, and in return he would take care of her.
    He stacked the food items inside the cabin and grabbed the small harness from a peg near the door. Retracing his steps to the road, Gilbert following, Lance dragged the empty travois down for the last load. He threw back the netting and pulled the bales and feed from the back of the truck and loaded it onto the travois. Gilbert pried a mouthful of alfalfa from the bale, giving Lance a sneaky look as she did so.
    “I saw that,” he told her with mock sternness. She gave her head a