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Alessandra had rolled her eyes and gotten up from her cot.

She’d gone to sleep in a cotton T and panties. Now, she pulled cargo pants over her panties, slipped her feet into a pair of canvas sllp-ons that were old and tattered, but too comfortable to throw away, grabbed some toilet paper, unzipped her tent door and headed for the nearest bushes.

Once there, she’d undone her pants, tried not to think about snakes, and done what she’d needed to do. She’d used the wad of paper she’d brought with her, pulled up her panties, then her pants…

That was when the nightmare started.

A powerful arm had wrapped around her neck and hoisted her off her feet, bringing her back against a man’s body and into the stench of body odor and whiskey.

She’d tried to scream, but the arm was hard against her windpipe. So she’d kicked, tried to use her elbows as weapons.

“You fight, you die,” the man had whispered in her ear.

She’d fought anyway.

A second man called her a puta as he jammed a filthy piece of cloth stinking of rot and sweat between her teeth.

Seconds later, gagged and bound hand and foot, she’d been tossed over the first man’s shoulder and carried off into the night.

She had no idea how long the men had walked.

Eventually, the man carrying her had dumped her on her feet. He’d untied her ankles, looped a rope around her neck and begun dragging her after him like a reluctant dog on a leash.

She’d stumbled again and again.

It was dark. Really dark. The man in front had a flashlight and there was a moon, but she couldn’t see mor

e than a couple of feet ahead. Each time she tripped, each time she fell, the man holding the rope yanked on it and cursed while she struggled to her feet.

At dawn, they stopped in a small clearing.

He tied the end of the rope around a tree on the clearing’s perimeter.

She’d collapsed to the ground, feet raw, wrists burning and neck sore where the rope had dug into her.

For the first time, she got a real look at her captors. One was tall and skinny. The other was short and fat.

Both of them were ugly and filthy and armed, and scared her straight into the marrow in her bones.

The tall one took the gag from her mouth and gave her a drink of water, though most of the water spilled down her T-shirt because he deliberately held the cup too high.

Both men laughed when the wet T clung to her breasts.

“Nice,” the short one said, and squeezed her nipple so hard she moaned.

“See? She likes us,” said the tall one, and jammed the gag in her mouth again.

They told her what would happen to her if she gave them any trouble.

Then they opened their backpacks, took out food of some sort and a bottle of what smelled like whiskey. They ate and passed the bottle back and forth until they fell into drunken, snoring stupors.

Alessandra had not closed her eyes.

The men woke at dusk, ate and drank again. The short one waved something half raw and stinking of rot under her nose. She’d flinched at the smell and he’d laughed and tossed whatever the thing was into the brush. Then he ordered her to stand. When she did, he untied the rope tied around her neck from the tree, looped it around his arm, and shoved her onto the trail. When he tugged on the rope, she gagged. He cursed, but he loosened it.

Then he barked, “Move!”

As if she had a choice.