She shook it off. She still had shit to do. Maybe Vivian was going to leave them down here to die, but if she didn't, Charlene had to be ready.

Moving as quickly as she could with a body that was no longer fully cooperating, Charlene picked up the knife and cut away a non-bloody part of the leg of Ken's pants. She tied it around her neck, tight enough to hopefully hold off the bleeding without choking her. She cut off another strip of his pants and tied it around her leg, much tighter than around her neck.

It wasn't much. It might not get her through the night. But since she hadn't been locked down here with a first aid kit, it would have to do.

She checked the cage door. It was held shut with a padlock. She could possibly shoot it off with the revolver, but she'd be squandering a bullet she might need later. Gertie wouldn't be able to walk, much less help her fight Vivian, so there was no reason to try to free her from the cage yet. Though she would try to wake her up.

Ken had taken the smelling salts with him when he left earlier. Charlene reached through the bars and patted her leg. "Gertie? Hey, Gertie?"

Gertie, though still breathing, did not stir.

What if she'd bashed her head hard enough to cause brain damage?

That wasn't something to worry about right now. Until she discovered otherwise, she'd assume that Gertie was unconscious but perfectly fine.

Maybe it was for the better that she wasn't waking up. As long as she was asleep, she didn't know that she was in a cage within a cage.

Charlene felt that she was doing a surprisingly good job of staying calm, considering that she was bleeding from the neck and leg and surrounded by carnage. Not too long ago she'd been haunted by memories of Lee killing himself, which she'd assumed would be the most horrific sight of her lifetime. She'd never expected to surpass it so soon. Jared's pool of blood was still slowly expanding, and Ken's body was just a mangled mess.

She walked back to the door. She wasn't sure which side was best for an ambush. On the left, she could shoot as soon as it opened a crack. On the right, the door would hide her until Vivian stepped inside. But either way, Vivian knew she had a loaded gun, and she'd take precautions.

If she ever opened the door.

* * *

Let them rot down there. Let those bitches rot.

Vivian opened some kitchen cabinets and quickly found a bottle of whiskey. She unscrewed the cap and downed a large gulp. Then she had a huge coughing fit, stumbled over to the sink, and vomited.

She'd lost everything.