By Alex Ironrod

“God in heaven, Billy, what have I done to us,” the Lieutenant choked out. “I can feel things crawling all over me, and I’m erecting again.”

“Try to relax, Tom, “ came the grunting reply. “You need to keep your courage up as well as your cock. We have to bear it.”

He got only a sigh of despair and a groan of anguish from the head next to him, as Tom tried to move his body. Bright shuddered in turn; his back felt as though knives were cutting him, as the flies drank his slobber and the drying piss.

The soldiers lost track of time in the hot sun; men and women passed them by; some spat at them, one or two pushed them onto the thorns; the flying insects bit and crawled on their naked bodies. At last the group of Apaches returned, unpegged their ankles, untied their arms and pulled them off the cactus. Spaulding shouted in pain; the sergeant bit hard on the rawhide, as they were raised upright and allowed to stumble back to the chief’s tepee.

There they collapsed, shuddering, on the floor, with dirty fly-speckled chests and matted hair, and bleeding backs and butts. For a few moments, neither spoke as they tried to recover. Bright managed to undo the rawhide tightening in his mouth.

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