Page 105 of Savage Daddies

“A vulture,” Wrangler says.

Bullwhip squints into the distance. “We should go.”

Shakespeare, I know. Birds? Not so much.

But I do know that decay and rotting flesh and other disgusting things attract vultures.

I break into a run.

“Zoe!” one of them calls, but I don’t have time to look back and explain.

They charge after me, all three of them.

“Zoe! You need to be careful!”

“It could be a trap!”

“I don’t give a fuck!” I shout back, legs kicking out behind me like I’m an Olympic sprinter. God bless adrenaline for making running an easy task for once.

My sneakers sink into the sand, but I draw strength into my leg muscles and keep going. I wind around the lake, the bikers shortly behind me. Sand enters my mouth as I open it to suck in more oxygen, and sweat beads across my mouth. I taste salt and grit.

And fear.

Drawing closer to the trees, I wipe my eyes and focus my vision up ahead. I see it now. The red splotches. Some of the branches have been turned red, like paint has been spilled or something.

But that’s not the case.

Something swings from the thickest branch.

And still, the vulture looms closer.

“HEY!” I scream, like my threat is gonna magically scare it off. “Get away or I’ll kill you!”

Poet overtakes me, arms and legs swinging back and forth as he sprints. He arrives at the tree before me, and comes to an abrupt stop. A hand covers his mouth, and he tenses his shoulders, head rolling up to observe the swinging body.

That’s when I hear the screech.

“HELP!” shouts a female voice.

I’m a stone’s throw away now and my legs start to buckle, but I continue, one leg in front of the other, until I arrive at the scene.

And it’s sure to haunt me for the rest of my life.

A branch creaks. On it, swings Fiona. Red strands of hair blow in the wind, the knots in her hair almost as tight as the one around her neck. She chokes, and the sound echoes through my body, stabbing every artery.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before. Hearing a loved one choke and cry and gasp for breath paralyzes you with so much fear that there’s no other option but to shut down. My heart clenches, and I don’t know what to do. Vomit? Scream? Tear off my skin? Rip out my hair? I want to do all of the above, but my body simply crashes to the hard earth, and all control is lost.

I look up and see Wrangler climbing the tree. He slackens the knot, and Fiona heaves in relief.

“Stay still for us, darling,” instructs Wrangler. He fights with the rope, triceps bulging as he widens the circular knot even more until Fiona is able to unhook her head.

Her tiny body shakes like a leaf.

Poet climbs up the other side of the tree enough to grab her feet. They’re bare, and a nasty splinter at the sole causes more blood to spill. Bullwhip, tall enough without climbing, grabs Fiona’s other foot, and with Wrangler’s assistance, all three of them lower her safety.

She clutches onto them for a moment.

Until her eyes find me.

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