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Her body, nothing but skin, bones and belly, heaving with each sob.
He dodged her knee a couple of times, trying not to get nailed in the fucking nuts, and wrapped his arms tightly around her flailing arms, pinning them to her sides.
He pushed his own pain out of his head when he yelled, “Jesus fuck, woman. Stop... Stop. Only tryin’ to help. Need my fuckin’ nads.”
She didn’t stop, so he tightened his arms, making sure her teeth, which were snapping at him, didn’t catch anything important.
With a hair-raising howl, she stomped on his foot, but her bare feet did nothing since he had his steel-toed boots on.
Then she cracked her heel into his shin. Twice.
“Fuck!” he yelled. “Stop it! Only tryin’ to help you, you crazy bitch!”
When she suddenly went limp, he got really suspicious.
Her head dropped forward, her muscles went loose and it was only her breathing still out of control.
“You done?”
She didn’t answer, which meant she wasn’t done.
“Only tryin’ to help,” he whispered, afraid to loosen his hold. “If I let you go, you won’t run?”
“I... need...” Her long, dark red hair was a total disaster. Knotted and dirty with twigs and pine needles stuck in the strands. It looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in weeks, if not longer.
“You need to what?”
“To... run.”
Fuck, if that didn’t send another shiver shooting down his spine. “Gonna help you run.”
Her head lifted. Her mouth was parted and she still panted.
She was way too thin. Her ribs were showing, her hip and shoulder bones protruding. Her skin almost transparent, especially over her belly where it was stretched tight. Her blue veins could be seen like a highway map under that pale skin. Purple half-moons discolored the skin under her haunted greenish-gold eyes.
Old and new marks circled her wrists and ankles. Her skin was bruised and raw in places. Bloodied in others.
An old yellowish bruise colored one cheek. A new purplish black one colored the other.
Marks in the shape of fingers decorated her throat.
A large bruise covered the right side of her ribs.
Multiple welts striped her back. Long and thin. Reminding him of the buggy whip marks left behind on Becky when he had used it.
Her feet were so filthy it appeared she wore dirt shoes.
Her nails were ragged and black, too. They were also bleeding like she had tried to claw her way out of something.
Sig’s stomach turned. “Gonna help you.”
“They... can’t... find me.”
“They won’t.” Whoever the fuck “they” were.
“They can’t.” Her voice was hoarse and raw, like she’d been screaming too much.
“They won’t,” he repeated more firmly.
“They can’t.”
“Okay,” he whispered, bile starting to rise up his throat at the panic tinging her words.
“Can’t go back.”
“You won’t. I’ll make fuckin’ sure of it.” Jesus, his heart was pounding in his throat.
“N-never.”
“What’s your name?”
“I... can’t.”
“Okay. You don’t have to. I’m Sig. Gonna take you somewhere safe.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her face twisting. “Nowhere is... safe.”
“I got somewhere.”
“They’ll find me.”
“No.”
Her eyes went wide and she screamed, “Yes! They’ll find me. I didn’t give them what they wanted yet.”
His blood froze at her panic.
“They’re not... done with me.”
“Who?”
“I have to... need to... leave... They’re following me.”
Was this woman totally off her rocker? Had she escaped some sort of mental institution? Were some white coats chasing her?
Jesus fuck. Maybe it was a bad idea to take her back to the farm.
“Who’s followin’ you?” he asked again, still not letting her go.
“Them.”
Goddamn it! “Who?”
“Them up there.”
Sig went solid and he slid his eyes up the mountain in the direction where she had come from.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
They needed to move. Needed to go. Right now.
“We gotta go,” he encouraged her, talking fast. “I have wheels. Can get you away from ‘em faster. But you can’t run if I let you go. Gotta fuckin’ promise me.”
She said nothing. Which to Sig meant she wasn’t promising shit.
Which meant as soon as he let her go, she was going to run. And if she did, he was letting her. If she didn’t want his help, then fuck her.
But he was not getting his ass shot or strung up. There were most likely booby traps in the woods. How she didn’t get caught up in one, he had no fucking clue. He was surprised she didn’t get a leg snapped off in a bear trap.
He had no idea what to call her but he needed to make some sort of connection. He picked the first thing he could think of. “Red, gonna give you my shirt, ‘kay? And when we get to my bike, I got a flannel shirt in my bag. You can cover up with that. Then I’m gettin’ you the fuck outta here. I promise. Now, you gotta promise me you won’t fuckin’ run.”
She blinked, her hazel eyes unfocused, her face paler now than before. Her adrenaline spike was crashing. He wasn’t even sure she’d be able to cling to him on the back of his sled. But they had no other way to jet, so maybe he’d tuck her in front of him. She was slender enough he should be able to steer his sled around her. As long as the pigs didn’t see him.
