Her eyes drifted across the desolation of the prairie as she wondered what life had been like during the boom. Hookers and hustlers and bad whiskey by the barrel, swirling in a miasma of instant millionaires and desperate
suckers. Dozens of ramshackle structures teeming with primordial lives greedy to grab the next rung on the ladder.

But now, it was a ghost town. Nothing left but the train tracks. And a few rusty accessories.

She squirmed and shifted her weight, but the rope harness held tight. She knew she should be thankful her arms were pinned behind her back instead of tied to the ends of the mail catcher like a...what was that old Soundgarden song? Jesus Christ pose. No thanks. Still, the harness seemed to transfer most of her weight to her tightly-bound tits and the accursed rope between her doubled-over legs.

"The train has to stop," she said out loud for the hundredth time. No way were they going to snag her off the prongs with a stick at 50 miles per hour like the old days.

Then again, even that would be preferable to being tied to the tracks.

"Right, Janey?"

Her friend's muffled groan was interrupted by the sound of a lonesome whistle from somewhere west.

***********
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