Greta moved cautiously through the trees, scanning the clearing ahead of her. There was no sign of life, except for a couple of barn swallows zipping back and forth over the near side of the bunkhouse. Still, she waited a little longer. Just to be safe, she thought. Then she smiled grimly. Who could be safe in a place like this?

She stepped into the clearing and walked purposefully toward the bunkhouse. As she turned a corner, there was a blur of something big moving fast, and that something smashed into her. She bumped into the wall and fell to her knees. When she looked up, she was looking into the cold grey eyes of McTeague.

"You're up awfully early on a Sunday morning," he said. She struggled to her feet and faced him, trying to be brave. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sims walking toward them. "You've caused us no end of trouble, young lady," McTeague said. Then, so fast she had no time to defend against it, he slapped her face.

It was the hardest she'd ever been slapped, and she tasted blood. He stepped back and drew his hunting knife.

"No," cried Sims. "Tom paid for his chance. You can't kill her yet."

"Oh, I'm not going to kill her," McTeague said. Then he plunged the knife into her left thigh and twisted it. "I'm just going to give Fat Tom a fighting chance."

Greta fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Why this? Why didn't the son of a bitch just finish her off?

McTeague's voice cut through the fog of pain. He was talking on the radio. "Tom, we've had a bit of good luck. We're at Bunkhouse Two, and who did we run into but Greta herself. Seems she's had a bit of an accident. If you hurry over, you may catch her." He paused and listened to Tom's reply. "Read the goddam map, Tom. You're not far away. Just hurry over, and keep your eyes open." He looked down at Greta. "Start running, you miserable cunt. Start running and hope this fat pig of a hunter doesn't find you and do to you what I'd like to do."

She rose unsteadily to her feet. Her leg throbbed. Run? Hardly. She hobbled to the edge of the woods, turned and looked back at the two men. Sims was protesting and gesticulating. But McTeague was looking at her with the smile of a funeral director.



# # #



Tom had gotten the call from McTeague while hiking with Loopy along the edge of the Rill. McTeague and Sims hadn't wanted him to try to track down Greta unattended, so Loopy was tagging along to provide protection. Now, after hearing from McTeague, Tom moved with renewed energy. They had spotted Greta. Better yet, she was hurt. This time he had a chance.

They came to the edge of a clearing. In the woods on the other side, something was moving. Something pale. It was Greta, and indeed she appeared hurt. She stumbled, picked herself up and pushed on - toward them.

Tom turned to Loopy.

"Let me handle this," he whispered. "I paid for it. Go on back to the hotel."

Loopy shrugged. Greta looked pretty harmless. He would have enjoyed watching the fun, but the customer is always right. He turned and walked away.

Greta came into the clearing without stopping or looking. She was in too much pain and too weak to take precautions. She just wanted to get as far away from McTeague as possible. Tom rushed her when she was only a few yards away.

She looked up, startled, then he tackled her. She fell to the ground, with Tom on top. She tried to hit and scratch him, but he grabbed her wrists and pressed them to the ground. His face was only inches from hers.

"This is it, bitch," he said. "This is where you check out." He released her wrists, sat up and punched her in the jaw. She went limp. Tom struggled to his feet. Then he saw the stab wound in her thigh. Nasty, he thought. Let's see if she's really out. He stepped heavily on her leg. She groaned and tried to sit up. He stepped back and kicked her in the chest.

Then, as she turned over and tried to crawl away from him, he stomped twice on her lower back. She quit moving. Tom was breathing heavily. Between his exertion and sexual arousal, he felt almost dizzy. Gotta think this through, he told himself. He regretted having sent Loopy away. He would be handy right now, to carry Greta to the Abattoir. Maybe he could radio for help, he thought. But he discovered his radio was missing. Must have fallen off during the hike. Well, he still had six feet of nylon rope in his backpack and a hunting knife on his belt.

He pulled Greta's wrists together behind her and began tying them. He didn't know much about knots, but he devised something he felt would hold.

Greta was stirring again. She seemed to have trouble breathing. He pulled off her pants and shoes and flung them into the bushes. Then he stuck his hand into her pussy. He wiggled his fingers, trying to get her wet. Greta's mind was out of commission, but her body was still responsive. Quickly, her pussy was lubricated. Tom unzipped his shorts and fucked her.

Afterward, he leaned down next to her and drew his knife. He held it close to her face. "I'm going to get some company so we can all enjoy you, sweetie pie. And when I get back, I'm going to carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey."

He laughed at the notion of her trussed up on a platter. Then he gave her one last, savage kick in the side and headed northeast. That should take him to McTeague and Sims. Read the goddam map, McTeague had said. Well, he had read it, and he knew exactly where he was going.



# # #



Greta lay quiet for several minutes, until she was sure Tom was gone. Then she began struggling with the rope that held her. The knot was clumsy, complicated and ineffective. It didn't take her long to slip free.

When she got to her feet, a wave of nausea almost sent her back to the ground.