Toad and the gang followed the pick-up on their bikes as the hot, morning sun chased them through the trees.

By the time the convoy had hit the desert, the sun was a broken, orange ribbon lying flat on the horizon and night hung like a torn curtain in the sky.

The cobalt-gray Lincoln kept a safe distance behind the convoy. The four passengers smoked lots of cigarettes and talked incessantly on cell phones. Forty miles out of Lancaster, a stranded prime mover separated the convoy from the Lincoln. There was much talking into cell phones as the four passengers, all wearing sunglasses, waited for the truck to clear the road.

The "fuckhouse", as it was commonly known, was sandwiched between two hills at the rear of a wrecking yard. It was a place the bikers used to warehouse drugs and, more importantly, rough up and rape the local ladies. Most were later killed or wished they'd been. The earth around the house was moist and fertile. That meant digging holes for used whores didn't take all night.

As the pick-up pitched to a stop in front of the house around nightfall, the driver, a forty-something, leather-faced skag with a killer ass (answered to "Raylene") lit from the vehicle and headed for the house, her eyes crossing Toad's as he leaned against the doorframe. "How's my fuckhole doin?" he grunted.

"I'm just fine," Raylene smiled. "Just climbing the walls for a beating."

"Not you, shit-for-brains," Toad stammered. He pointed towards the pick-up. "Her!"

"Oh, she's out cold," Raylene replied, giving Toad's cock a squeeze through his jeans. There was little response.

Grabbing a handful of Raylene's rump, Toad looked over at Jade and grinned: "Just how I like 'em. Cold as a grave and just as resistant."

"Still the same old rapist prick I fell in love with," Raylene chuckled, removing her top to reveal a set of very nice, firm, large-nippled tits with old "cut" marks across them.

Spread-eagled on the tray of the pick-up, Jade was shivering. She focused on the star-speckled sky directly above her to shut out the cold. She folded her tiny, eight-year-old arms across her chest for warmth and rubbed avidly, her developing joints aching. She wasn't wearing a stitch and there wasn't a blanket to crawl under and the metal underneath her was as cold as carcasses. She could hear sounds now, too. Indistinct sounds. And voices. There were voices everywhere. Mummies and daddies. They were walking by on their way inside. She heard some screams, too.

Jade didn't remember much of the previous few hours. There was a wall between her immediate present and her immediate past. She tried pushing on the wall, but it wouldn't budge. So she moved her attention back to the present and future. The near future......(cont)