Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men - By Regan Wolfrom Page 0,13

And so does this little bitch. They took us from that prison and brought us here, and strapped us to that table and injected us with that poison...”

“Then you know what you should do? Rewrite the goddamn story. Take this little bitch down to the stables and strap her to that table. Let’s pump her full of enough of that green piss that she turns into a leprechaun. Make her feel it, Pouchon.”

He started to laugh. “Inmate doesn’t mean idiot, Amanda. Do you think I’m going to fall for some stupid distraction?”

“I don’t have a lot of options here.”

“No... you really don’t.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “I like you, Amanda.”

“You said that already.”

“This isn’t about you... or about this little twit. It’s about me taking out every one of those animals. It’s about me taking a chunk out of Kathleen Shannard’s neck.”

“A little lab work won’t get in the way of that,” I said.

He grinned. “I think you’re right.”

He left the room.

I twisted my body over to get my hands as close to Cadance’s knots as I could. I couldn’t see the rope and I’d barely found the loop to start pulling apart when Pouchon came back into the room clutching Tiara in his arms. She was bound with silk scarves but hogtied like us, or like Cadance, really, since she had the matching sock.

He dropped her onto the bed.

The right side of her face was bloody, but her eyes were open and she was conscious, a gaping red tear where her ear had once been.

“She’s still alive,” I said.

“You’re a smart one,” Pouchon replied. “It’s not time yet. I had a schedule.”

“So the medical examiner will wonder why her ear was chomped off an hour before your alleged zombie attack.”

“Yeah... you’re right,” Pouchon said. “Good thing you’re giving my script a little polish.”

“Are you going to bite off my ear, too?”

“I don’t want to...”

“Then don’t.”

He grabbed Cadance and picked her up. “She’s nice and light,” he said. “You girls be good, okay? Seriously... if you try to escape I’ll cut your tongues out and make them into toffee or something.”

He carried her out of the room.

I waited a couple of minutes, in case he was testing us.

I heard Tiara spit out her sock.

“He’ll do us in for certain,” she said.

“Oh, ya think?”

She started scuttling over to me. “We best hurry, Amanda.”

“Yeah. In two shakes of a lamb’s tail would be best, right guvna?”

She started pulling at my knots.

I tried to do the same to hers.

We both sucked at it.

“Cadence has a pair of scissors in her nightstand,” Tiara said.

“Why?”

“Scrapbooking. Does it really matter?”

“I hope I made it into her zombie collage.”

“I’ll see if I can get the drawer open.” She dragged herself over to the nightstand and started to fiddle with the knob.

She knocked it over.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

I rolled off the bed. I got the knob open pretty easily, and then I felt around in the drawer until I found the metal shears. I started dragging the leather reins against the edge of the scissor blade.

“Hurry up,” she said.

“Do you know how long this is going to take me? Sawing through leather with a pair of scrapbooking scissors?”

“Feck you. Have you seen my ear?”

“Yeah... that sucks... sorry.”

“We should cut these scarves on me first.”

“I don’t think so.” I kept rubbing my wrists against the scissors.

I wasn’t getting anywhere.

“Okay,” I said, “we’ll try the scarves.”

She hopped down and took my place.

“It’s working,” she said after a few seconds. “It’s cutting.”

After another minute she’d freed her wrists. She untied her ankles and stood up.

“Okay... hurry up and untie me,” I said.

She shook her head. “There’s no time.”

“You’re joking.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t cut you loose if I had a bloody fortnight.”

“Enough with the Brit talk already.”

“Enough with the chitter chatter. I don’t need you tattling on me to what’s-that-bloke. Have a sock.”

She grabbed the pink sock and stuffed it in my mouth; there’s nothing quite like tasting fabric that’s been pre-soaked in another person’s drool. Then she grabbed the roll of electrical tape I’d left on the dresser and wrapped it around my head a couple of times.

“That’s how you keep a sock in,” she said.

And then she left the room.

I started wiggling back to the pair of scissors. I didn’t know how much time I had.

I heard a gunshot before I’d sawed through the leather straps.

Just one. I didn’t know what that meant.

I freed my wrists and untied my ankles. I pulled off the