As I step past the chair, my insides crawl. I walk over and stand to one side of the chair, clutching my bound hands together nervously. I do not want to get bitten by a rattler. In the flickering firelight, Ethan watches my every move.

Hatch leans toward me, his fingers slathered in minced chicken that at one time smelled so good to my growling stomach. Now, from the curling ends of his dirty fingers, it looks like chicken brains. I open my mouth and let him jam in the chicken. His thick fingers scrape the roof of my mouth. There’s the taste of chicken, but also a tang of ash and dirt. I swallow as quickly as I can. He nods and digs in the can for more.

I turn toward the fire. “Looks like the fire’s dying down. Let me stoke it for you.” I reach with both bound hands for the branch he’s been using.

He watches me warily as I grab the branch. It’s about three feet long and springy, harmless. His brain slowly registers this and he bobs his head as I stir the logs around.

“You can feed Ethan while I take care of this,” I say, batting my eyelashes.

Hatch shuffles over to hand-feed my brother. I scoot back up on my rock, clutch the stick to my chest and wait.

Ethan looks just as disgusted as I was, but he eats hungrily off Hatch’s dirty fingers. I watch, barely able to regulate my breathing. Hatch lumbers back over to me.

“Why don’t you have a seat? This chair’s nice and comfy,” I say, putting a trembling hand on the armchair.

He looks at the chair. “This is boss’s chair.”

I smile at him. “You’re the boss now, right?” He stares at me, his harelip twitching. I can almost hear the gears in his head turning as he considers. Then he smiles and lowers himself into the chair. I hold my breath, but no snake. I grip the stick. I think it’s long enough, but my hands are bound and I’m not even sure I can get a good angle.

Hatch stands suddenly. He leans down until his greasy face hovers right in front of mine. “You and me time.” He runs a dirty finger over my exposed collarbone. His breath is hot and heavy in my face. He presses his giant form on me until I’m enveloped. I choke on the smell of sweat and animal fat. His big paws grope for my tender regions. He tugs at my shirt, trying to pull it up. Every inch of me prickles.

I close my eyes and jab the stick under the armchair.