They’re men gone wild. One of the primitive cultures that slunk off into the desert and stayed there with their sick religions and rituals. Some believe in human sacrifice, but not before raping and torturing their victims as much as they like. My eyes trace over the fine points of their spears, the necklace of teeth that are too small to be adult. I pull furiously at my bonds until my skin shreds.

The Riders approach warily, sniffing the air, heads cocked, like a pack of animals ready to attack at any sudden movement. I half expect them to curl their lips up and growl. The leader lets his eyes slip over Ethan and I. Luckily my chest is still covered.

“I’ve got a girl,” Bennett says, nearly jumping up and down with glee.

Every eye turns to me. I try to shrink into my surroundings and focus on freeing my hands. My wrists are raw now, bleeding.

The leader sniffs toward me, as if he could pick up my scent. He turns to Bennett, his voice rolling out slowly, like he hasn’t used it in a while. “The Good Mother frowns on lies.” He glares at Bennett. His eyes trace over the delicate face of my baby brother. His lips curl up. “We’ll take the boy.” He waves his hand dismissively at me. “Bender, you keep. Bender’s pleas do not appease the Good Mother.”

What does he mean appease the Good Mother? Is that their god? The leader walks up to my brother and lifts up his sleeping head. “Yes,” he moans in pleasure, his brown body rocking against the Jeep. “This one’s cries will wake Good Mother to our troubles. She will bless us.”

His cries? This is not happening. I want that man’s soiled hands off my brother. I got to get my hands free. Got to.

“I ain’t kidding.” Bennett says, a frenzied look creeping up in his eyes. He points at me. “See for yourself.”

The leader draws back his hand from where it cupped Ethan’s face. He looks as if he’ll scold Bennett again, but he turns slowly. Three lines of ash mar each cheek, and a pink scar slashes through his upper lip, a sore festering in the corner of his mouth.

My heartbeat picks up at every step he takes. The others come now too, crowding behind their leader, leering with brown, cracked teeth, their painted faces. Behind me the rope around my hands twangs loose a notch. It’ll be wide enough to pull free any minute. The leader’s rifle hangs loosely on his back like a child’s forgotten toy. If he’s got ammo in that gun, I might have a chance.