A Wild Dream I Had The Other Day

 Becker snorted, rolling up the sleeves of her skull-printed shirt. "Looks like they finally outsmarted themselves." She dug into her back pocket, pulling out a coiled rope—no, wait, that wasn't rope. The braided leather unfurled with a sharp snap against her palm.

Hailey's ponytail bounced as she crouched low, creeping through the tall grass like a predator. The smell of dry hay and overheated metal from the abandoned tractor nearby mixed with the distant yelps of their trapped friends. "Think they'll scream?" she whispered, fingers brushing the chipped button on her overalls.

Becker's wristband spikes glinted as she tested the whip again, this time letting it kiss the dirt with a crack that sent a sparrow fleeing. "Scream? Oh, they'll sing." Her grin widened at the way Paul's sneaker-clad feet scrambled against nothing, his beanie nearly slipping off as he strained to look backward.

The fence groaned under Chainsaw's frantic twisting, his blue vest snagging on a splintered post. "Not cool, guys! We're—ah!—*seriously* stuck!" His protest turned into a yelp as Hailey's whip flicked out, the tip just grazing the seat of his black pants with a sound like tearing paper.

Paul's beanie finally toppled off as Becker circled them, her purple sneakers crunching gravel. "Shoulda thought about that before you two idiots tried shortcutting through Henderson's bull pasture," she said, then brought her whip down hard. The *thwack* echoed off the tractor's rusted hull, followed by Chainsaw's howl.

Hailey twirled her own whip like a baton, the red tie in her ponytail catching the wind. "Bet they'll think twice next time," she mused, then cracked it sideways—Paul jerked forward so violently his grey shirt ripped at the shoulder seam on the fence slats. The scent of sweat and splintered wood hung thick in the air.

Chainsaw's headband slipped over one eye as he bucked against the fence, his vest now thoroughly shredded. "Come *on*, Banks, you—*yeeEEK!*" His plea dissolved into a shriek when Becker's next strike landed dead-center, the sound like a wet towel snapping against concrete. Dust puffed up from his kicking sneakers.

Paul clenched his teeth so hard his jaw popped, but the high-pitched whimper escaped anyway when Hailey's whip curled around his back pocket with surgical precision. The denim split open like a zipper, revealing plaid boxers stretched taut over his frantic squirming. Becker doubled over laughing, her pigtails bouncing wildly.

The fence shuddered as Chainsaw suddenly went still—then twisted his torso with a guttural growl, snapping one of the rotting slats with his elbow. His triumphant grin lasted exactly half a second before Becker lunged forward and hooked her fingers into his waistband. "Uh-uh," she purred, yanking upward until the seams of his black pants screamed. Chainsaw's eyes bulged as the wedgie lifted him clean off the ground.

Chainsaw's arms windmilled wildly as Becker kept him suspended by his underwear, his vest flaps fluttering like wounded wings. A button popped off his vest and pinged against the tractor's rusted fender. "Put me *down*, you psychotic—*AAH!*" The demand became a screech when Becker suddenly dropped him—only to snap the whip against his backside mid-fall, the crack echoing across the pasture like a gunshot.

Hailey pressed her red glasses up her nose with one finger, watching Paul's face contort as she slowly reeled in the whip coiled around his ankle. His sock dangled uselessly near his sneaker's tongue, the fabric stretched beyond salvation. "You know," she mused, giving the leather an experimental flick that made Paul's entire body flinch, "this might go faster if you *stop* squirming." The lie tasted sweet on her tongue, especially when his panicked wriggling intensified.

The fence groaned again as Chainsaw's toes barely scraped the dirt, his shredded vest now clinging to his shoulders by threads. Becker tilted her head, admiring her handiwork—the way his black pants had ridden up so high they were practically a second pair of boxers. "Aw, look at you," she cooed, tapping the whip's handle against his trembling thigh, "like a piñata, but way more screamy." The metallic tang of his sweat mixed with the earthy musk of disturbed soil as he swung slightly in the breeze.