HangingSoul: The funny part is, I wrote this story back in July, it's been sitting in my files ever since. Lynn always ripped Rag's throat out with her teeth, and if I remember correctly, I had that same scene from The Walking Dead in mind when I wrote it.

Lola tore through a thick tangle of briers, thorns ripping her skin and snagging her hair - tears fell from her dirty face and splashed onto the front of her rumpled dress. She was mindless in her panic, the horror and agony she'd suffered a dull ache as she barreled headlong through a screen of branches; she came out on the other side and fell to her knees with a breathless umph. The terrain was rugged here, the ground lumpy and dirt, the trees spaced evenly apart. A hill rose in front of her, and to her left, a valley-like washout sloped down to a marsh - frogs croaked and crickets chirped, their music a funeral dirge that sent shivers racing down her spine.

Shaking like a frightened animal, she got to her feet and started to run again, her head turning; through the dense growth, she caught a flash of white and red. "You little bitch!" Abby's voice drifted forth. Branches snapped and leaves crunched as she fought her way forward. Lola let out a strangled sob and ran faster, her little legs pumping.

On the other side of the hill, the land graded down and to a tightly packed stand of trees. Lola darted into the groove, tripped over a gnarled tree root, and got back to her feet again.

"...kill you!" Abby's voice was muffled with distance. If she kept running, she could get away, she could find help and all of this would be over - Lynn and Lori would be okay and they would go back to being happy and safe and -

Lola fell to her knees, hung her head, and broke down, crying hysterically. In her mind, she saw Abby on top of Lori, hitting her, Lori's feet jerking and her screams piercing, soul-freezing.

She had to go back.

Had to help her.

That thought filled her stomach with cold dread. She didn't want to - she wanted to run forever and ever and never stop, not even when she was a million miles away, but Lori needed her. She couldn't let her die - she loved her so much and she couldn't leave her.

Getting a grip on her emotions, she sniffed, blinked, and looked around. She needed to get the rope off of her hands - she wouldn't be any help if she was still tied up.

But how?

Her eyes fell onto a sharp rock wedged into the ground, its edge rough, serrated, like the blade of a knife.

"...are you?" Abby's voice sounded farther away.

For a moment, Lola was locked in indecision - she looked back then ahead. One way leading to safety, the other into danger. She thought then of her big sister and made up her mind. Walking over to the rock on her knees, she turned, settled against it, and began to rub the rope back and forth…

A mile away as the crow flies, a shadow fell across Rag's pale, blood splattered face, its lines narrow and sharp. Flagg stared down at the boy's gaping throat with a mixture of horror and excitement. He looked tensely around, but the woods were empty, the only sound the wind slipping through the trees and stirring the carpet of leaves blanketing the ground. She must have sneaked up on him somehow - even Rag wasn't pathetic enough to lose one-on-one with a teenage girl.

He thought again of Lola in the clearing...sweet, pretty, blonde Lola with her clear eyes and taunt young body. Likely, Lynn ambushed Rag then ran - if he went after, he could still catch her before she got away. The thing was...he didn't want to. He wanted Lola and that was it. He didn't even want Abby anymore; she was a fuck up just like Rag, and sooner or later she was going to get him caught or killed. He wouldn't lie, he felt something for her...but not enough to keep her around; if he was smart he would have gotten rid of her years ago. Rag too.

Reaching into his suit coat, he pulled out a pack of Marlboros, flipped the lid, and removed one with his teeth. Lighting it, he drew the smoke deep into his lungs then let it out through his nostrils. Flies were already buzzing around Rag's carcass, and arts swamped his ruined throat. Do ants eat human remains, or do they just nest in them? He didn't know, and he didn't like not knowing something - he'd have to look into it.

Right now, he had bigger things to worry about, like getting Lola and getting back to the car. He highly doubted Lynn would find help before he could escape, but it was possible. Like winning the lottery. There was a 000.0001 percent chance - and to some lucky bastard, it happened.

Those odds were too high to ignore. Call him overcautious, but getting sloppy is how you wind up in a cell next to a 300 pound nigger with a hunger for ass. Flagg wasn't worried about prison, he could adapt and wind up running the place, but he could not handle the humiliation of being locked away, the abiding shame of knowing he was caught by fumbling, braindead idiots, an intellectual Gulliver overwhelmed by the diminutive denizens of Lilliputia.

He'd rather die.

Casting one last, emotionless glance at Rag, he turned and started back for the clearing, his grip tightening on the gun. When he got back, he would shoot Lori, shoot Abby, then take Lola and go. To where, he didn't know. South, maybe. Florida or Texas, somewhere warm, where the little girls barely wore clothes and justified it as being independent. That made him grin. I can dress however I want. Lucky for him, they liked dressing as sluts. Power to the people; live how you wanna live.

He took a drag and blew the smoke into the air. Seeing Rag dead, his throat laid bare, had him in the mood, and as soon as he and Lola were a safe distance from here, he was going to rape her again. Maybe make her suck him this time, and force her to take every last drop of his load. If she spilled any, he'd hit her.

That made him laugh.

Maybe, if she was good and learned, he'd keep her around for a while; the longest he'd ever kept a girl was two weeks before he and Abby met Rag. Her name was Heather and she was ten with pale blonde hair and bronze, sun-kissed skin; Flagg liked her almost as much as he liked Lola. Abby hated her, though, and one day, when he got back to their motel room from picking up dinner at Wendy's, little Heather was mysteriously dead, her neck bruised and her eyes straining from her twisted face. I think she's allergic to the fabric softener we washed our clothes with, Abby said casually.

He'd miss her jealousy, but if he worked long and hard, he could mold Lola into a replacement - gaslight her, give her a mean case of Stockholm Syndrome, even make him have his babies.

Hopefully they were girls.

And they looked like their mama.

Flagg's already stirring dick hardened completely and jerked against the seam of his jeans. Did he have enough time to fuck Lola before leaving? He could wait, he had ironclad self-control, but he didn't want to; he wanted back into her sweet little pussy as soon as possible. He didn't want to get sloppy, though.

Hm.

Best to wait.

Across the forest, Lola sawed the rope back and forth against the rock, her eyes narrowing at the stinging pain in her wrists and her breaths quick, sharp. She hadn't heard Abby in a while, and she was beginning to hope she'd gotten lost or given up. Though if she gave up, she might go back to Lori.

She shuddered at the thought.

Gritting her teeth, she went faster, her hands spreading slowly apart as the stone severed each fiber one-by-one. She had to hurry - she didn't know what she could do, but she would do something. Small and afraid though she was, she was determined to save her sister the way she saved her.

Her mind flashed to the days after the accident, to the tug of war in her chest...anger on one side and grief on the other. She was so mad at what happened, mad because she lost her parents, and Luan, and Leni, and Lincoln, and especially Lana. Mad because God let them die, mad at the drunk who slammed into the van, mad at herself for living...and mad at Lori for trying to take mom's place. You're not my mother, Lola spat once when Lori told her to go to bed, and even now she remembered the wounded look in her eyes.

Now, five years later, she started to cry. Lori wasn't Mom, she was Lori, and Lola loved her dearly for that, for stepping up and taking care of her, for loving her, for trying and putting up with her and hugging her and snuggling her even when she didn't deserve it, for everything, and also just because.

She went faster still, her wrists burning and hot agony streaking up her arms into her shoulders. She bowed her head and hissed through her teeth. Faster, faster, faster…

Til finally, the rope snapped.

Before her brain even registered that she was free, she was on her feet and running, all of the pain in her body blotted out in her single-minded resolve.

She had to be quick.

She had to save Lori.

Lynn stumbled and fell against a tree trunk, her hands splaying across the rough bark and her cheek pressing against a knot. The clearing was ahead, and through a screen of foliage, she could see Lori lying on her back, her head to one side and her legs straight in front of her. She was still, unmoving, and Lynn's stomach twisted at why.

She started to go to her, but stopped, drew back behind the tree like a timid field mouse pulling back into its burrow, and looked around. She didn't see anyone else, and she didn't hear anything either, save for the sound of her own uneven breathing. She cocked her head and listened intently, just to be sure her ears weren't betraying her, then took a hesitant step forward, wincing when a leaf shattered under her bare toes like a pane of glass in vacuum silence.

When no one came running, she slithered around the trunk, her back slipping over wood and her fingers dancing across sap, then darted to a bush at the edge of the treeline. Dropping to her knees, she squared her shoulders and balled her fists in expectation of a fight. Still, nothing. As a character in a cartoon might say, it was quiet...too quiet. Maybe they were waiting in ambush - surely they knew she'd come back for her sisters.

Licking her lips, she hazarded leaned out from the bush and darted a quick look around - save for Lori, the clearing was empty, the only movement the swaying of branches in the warm August wind. She held her breath and listened one more time, tuning her ears to detect the slightest noise.

Nothing.

She looked at Lori, her heart slamming and her stomach flooding with dread. For the first time since slipping her bonds and dashing into the forest, she was truly and honestly scared, the adrenaline of the chase and the fight with Rag ebbing away and leaving her cold and shaking. The moment she darted from cover, she would be vulnerable and exposed.

That scared her greatly.

The thought of Lori and Lola dying (oh, God, where was Lola?) scared her even more. Shoving down her fear, she got to her feet and ran into the clearing at a crouch, making herself a smaller target and harder to knock down. She glanced at the spot where Lola had been, but it was empty, and the leaves were disturbed, suggesting a struggle. Lynn's heart sank and her step faltered.

She couldn't think about that right now - once Lori was free they could worry about it, but not until then.

A gust of wind had kicked a drift of leaves over Lori's face, and as Lynn knelt next to her, it was obscured. "We gotta hurry," she whispered and threw a worried glance over her shoulder - the day was alone. She turned back to Lori and touched her shoulder. "Where's -?"

Lynn flicked her eyes to Lori's chest, and when she noticed that it wasn't rising and falling, her soul clutched in an icy grip.

Her hand reached out, as if commanded by someone else, and her shaking fingers tentatively touched her sister's chin, moved her head. Leaves were plastered to thick blood, and when Lynn saw Lori's caved in face, her world came to a jarring stop.

Broken bits of bone jutted from the red mess, and one eye hung down her cheek, tethered to her by a long, pink stalk.

Numbness spread through her like tomb wind, and for a moment, nothing moved - not the wind, not the trees, not even the blood in her own veins.

Then time slammed into second gear when someone grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked her back. She cried out, and her heart blasted when Flagg sneered down at her, his blue eyes like flecks of ice. He wrapped his large, calloused hands around her throat and squeezed, his teeth baring. Lynn's eyes bugged out of their sockets and her fingers went to the backs of his hands, her nails tearing desperately at his skin. With a growl, he pulled her to her knees and tightened his hold, his thumbs pressing into her trecea. Her lungs burst wildly and claws of panic dug into her chest. She raked her nails across his hands, deep, drawing blood, but he didn't seem to care, or even to feel.

"You killed Raganoxer," Flagg said through his teeth, spittle spraying Lynn's face. Fuzzy darkness touched the edges of her vision and her head was starting to spin; her lungs exploded for precious, life giving air but found none. He leaned his face into hers, the tips of their noses smooshing together. "Saved me the trouble. Didja get Abby too?"

Lynn's fingers jittered across his knuckles. She was losing strength and blackness was beginning to spread across her vision. All of the aches and pains numbed, the fear, the grief, and the terror muted. She was sinking fast. A vision of her loved ones appeared before her eyes, all of them smiling, Mom, Dad, Lori, Lincoln, Luna - all waiting for her to join them in eternity.

God, let me be with my family, she thought.

And God answered - a flash of yellow and pink landed on Flagg's back in a blur, and his grip loosened, then fell away entirely, dropping Lynn to the ground. Her lungs sucked in great mouthfuls of air, and the frantic pounding in her skull began to subside, replaced by confusion. She pushed herself up, and blinked. Flagg danced back and Lola held on tight, her arms around his throat and her teeth clamped to his ear. Flagg let out a high scream and reached behind him, his fingers brushing and tangling in her hair. Growling like a small, vicious animal, she unwound one arm and plunged her thumb deep into his right eye; Lynn watched dispassionately as blood gushed around Lola's hand. Flagg shrieked, the veins in his neck standing out like fat worms, and he battered his fist against the back of Lola's head, making her yelp. Lynn started to get up, but froze when someone screamed at the other side of the clearing.

Abby stood by the treeline with one hand pressed to her mouth in horror. "Flagg!" Lynn's eyes went to the gun in her hand, and her heart clutched. Abby brought it up, and in an instant Lynn calculated the distance between them; there was no way -

BLAM!

Abby aimed straight at the little girl on Flagg's back, and the bullet would have hit her in the side...if Flagg hadn't spun around in panic. The bullet tore out the right side of his face and whizzed so close to Lola she could feel its heat. Abby uttered a high, mournful wail, and the gun fell from her hand, landing in the leaves at her feet with a hollow sound. For a moment Flagg stood where he was, blood gushing from the gaping wound, then he dropped, Lola jumping from his back at the last minute.

Screaming like a banshee on an Irish moor, Abby flew over, her clawed hands pressed to her temples in a gesture bespeaking madness. She fell to her knees beside her fallen lover and rolled him over; Lynn jerked a glance at Lola, then held her arms out; Lola sprang into them, wrapped her own around Lynn's neck, and broke down crying.

"Flagg," Abby said, her voice breaking; tears shimmered in her eyes and her hands spasmed violently. She touched the ruined half of his face, bowed her head, and let out a howl of rage, hatred, and bereavement. He was dead. The only thing she'd ever loved in her whole stinking, miserable life, the man whose children she wanted to have, the man who picked her up at her lowest, took her in, and gave her life meaning.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

All because of that little fucking skank Lola.

She whipped her head in hers and Lynn's direction. "I'm gonna kill -" she cut off.

They were gone.

"Right here."

She turned, and Lynn hit her so hard in the head with a log she lost consciousness.

Sometime later, Abby Script's eyelids fluttered open - the sun was beginning to set and her head ached monstrously. For a moment, confusion filled her, and she tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea pushed her back down. She tried to move her arms, but they were numb. She blinked, and that's when she realized her hands were tied behind her back.

Fear clutched her heart and she kicked her legs in the leaves.

She was also naked.

Lynn Loud's dirty, blood-caked face, one eye black and her nose lumpy and misshapen, loomed over her from one side, and Lola's from the other - her cheeks were streaked with dirt and mascara, and her lips were crusted with dried red. Both of them were expressionless.

"W-What's going on?" Abby asked.

"It's your turn now," Lola said flatly. She held up a sharpened stick and donned a grin that didn't touch her eyes.

Beginning to quake, Abby looked at Lynn; the girl tapped the blade of a knife against Abby's nose, making her wince. "You're an evil bitch," Lynn said, "and sooner or later, evil bitches get what they have coming to them."

Cold terror flowed through Abby's veins like ice water, and her heart sank. "No, please," she said, but it was too late; she could feel the point of the stick prodding her lower lips, and she screamed when Lola rammed it into her.

That day, Abby Script learned something about herself.

She didn't like being hurt after all.