The blonde woman whispered prayers under her breath, clutching the silver cross at her throat as it if would guard her against whatever monsters lurked in the night. Going anywhere without her husband and children had been a very bad idea; she needed her Adam to protect her, be strong for her, hold her close and keep her from being afraid. Any impartial observer would have laughed at the thought of a broad-shouldered woman who was over six feet tall needing a knight in shining armor, even if that woman was hindered by an ankle-length skirt, high heels, and a tight white blouse. But this was Britney's America, and Britney's creators had decreed that no matter how strong a woman had been, she would now be weak and needy.

"Need some help, pretty lady?" a voice called from the distance. The woman strained to see who had spoken, but in the dark she could make nothing out.

"My car broke down and I don't know where I am. Please, if you can help me... I'm just a woman. I don't know anything about cars or that stuff."

"Just a woman, the pretty lady says. Oh, if she only knew. But you don't know, do you, pretty lady? You don't remember, do you, pretty lady?" Another voice joined the first, high-pitched and mocking.

"There's no such thing as just a woman, but then, you used to know that, pretty lady. You used to be so strong, so tough, so cool. Whatever happened to you, pretty lady?" For the first time the woman could hear something much like a New York accent in the first voice, and her blood froze in her veins.

"This- this isn't funny! Please, for God's sake, help me!" The blonde woman backed against her car, gray eyes wide with terror.

The higher-pitched voice laughed- or more properly, cackled maniacally. "Since ya bring Him into it..." A figure detached itself from the shadows, a woman with hair tied in a bun at the back of her head; in profile, she was almost a classical beauty, the sort of face found on ancient Roman vases. Her gleeful smile was invisible in the dark, which was best for all concerned.

"You shouldn't've done that, pretty lady," the first voice taunted in a sing-song tone, also coming out of the darkness. The darkness hid her beauty, but it also cloaked the madness in her hazel eyes. "She hates when you bring Him up. And I hate when anyone gets my pretty little huntress angry. No one likes her when she's angry."

"Demonspawn!" the blonde accused, pointing indignant fingers at the two women.

The women exchanged a look. "My parents weren't demons, were yours?"

"Not most of the time."

"So she's just one of those crazy weirdoes."

The classical beauty approached the car slowly, watching in amusement as the blonde edged away. Suddenly she laughed, a sound that could bode no good. "Oh, no, she's not just any of those crazy weirdos who think blonde is beautiful. She's the one who cost us the title all those years back. Worst day of my life. I could have graduated with four rings if it weren't for you, pretty lady."

"Oh, we're the lucky ones, aren't we, my lovely huntress? What should we do with her?"

"Let's keep her from running away first."

"Smaaaaart." The lovers pinned the blonde to the ground. She screamed under them, even as all they did was touch her face and seize her little black bag.

"Get your filthy hands off me, dykes! I won't let you seduce me into Hell! I'm an innocent woman! I won't give in to your hedonistic debaucheries!"

"Oooh, sounds like the pretty lady was paying attention to the reverend last Sunday. That's the only way a blonde could know words like that, isn't that right, pretty lady?"

"Filthy, inhuman monsters, think I don't know what you're trying to do? You'll rot in Hell for this!"

The New Yorker threw her head back and howled with laughter. "'Why, this is Hell, nor are we out of it.' Believe me, pretty lady, there are worse things we would be damned for. Anything we do to you would just be a drop in the bucket. Speaking of which, dear, what *are* we going to do with the pretty lady?"

"Hmmm... we could keep her around for a good time, but that would just take too much effort. Once might be fun..."

"I think she'd make a great wedding present for you. You always said you wanted a big girl in the middle, and here I am, and here you are, and here she is in the middle."

"You're about five years late, querida. But then, you always were. Hey, let's get everyone else in for some suggestions. I bet they'll know what to do with the pretty lady." She leaned back on her heels and let out a prolonged howl better suited to an animal than a human being. There was a rustle in the trees, and then the blonde saw three more people emerge from the shadows.

"We were wondering when you'd get around to inviting us to the party," their leader said snappishly.

"Sorry, old man." But the woman with her hair in a bun didn't sound particularly contrite. "Well? Any ideas?"

"Shave her head, make her come back to the brunette side of the force," the woman in tattered red rags suggested. "Make her wear real clothes instead of that dowdy skirt and blouse. Make her remember who she was and what she's done since."

"Let's test something first." The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and the blonde looked around wildly for the source. "Do you remember me? Do you know who I am? Do you even see me? Or has she blinded you just like the others?"

"Who said that? Oh, Jesus, save me..."

The previous speaker, a lanky black woman corded with muscle, glanced at her group. "Well, since she's forgotten one shocker, let's give her another one. Maybe that will jolt her memory a little. 50, you strip her and hold her down while I open up the hood, and someone pop the trunk, 'kay? Yeah, thaaaat's it." The dark beauty fumbled with the hood for a moment before getting it open. "The cables ought to be here on this model- who knew working the assembly line would be so handy one day? Okay, yeah, here they are. Who's got the jumper cables?"

"She doesn't have any," the New Yorker grumbled. "Useless piece of shit."

"Damn. We'll have to do this the direct way. Bring her over here." The tall, silent woman addressed only by her old number wrestled the struggling blonde into place on top of the by-now-cool engine and slammed the hood down so that the edge of it wrapped around the blonde's arm. "Okay, whoever's got the keys, start this pile of junk up."

The lovers opened the driver's-side door. The New Yorker plopped herself on her lover's lap, then, after making sure that neither of them was directly touching metal, put the key in the ignition and turned on just the battery.

The blonde screamed in agony. As her body writhed and arched, and her awareness faded to black silence, the last thing she heard was five voices raised in a song that once would have seemed horribly, mockingly, familiar to her.

When the blonde's exposed feet had stopped twitching, the New Yorker turned the engine off. All of them stayed well back of the car until their technical expert was sure it was safe to open the hood again. Even then, she used a fallen branch to gingerly open and prop up the hood. "Mission accomplished. Let's get this hunk of junk off the shoulder."

"Better idea. Let's put the car on the road and take the body with us. Nothing like causing traffic jams and multi-car accidents to put an exclamation mark on the day."

"Easy for you to say, old man, you don't have to do any of the heavy lifting." But the woman's voice was light, even affectionate when she spoke to her former coach. The women set to work shoving the car onto the highway so that it straddled two lanes of traffic, while the charred body of the blonde lay in a crumpled heap on the ground.

"Push!" the New Yorker shouted.

"I am pushing, motherfucker!" her lover yelled back.

"Motherfucker? Yeah, I fucked your mother. She wasn't that good. Don't know why all the pimps on the corner were talking her up so much- they must all have a stake in her take."

"¡Te voy a matar, amor de mi vida! At least I never fucked a guy because some bimbo blonde computer told me to."

"Mother of God, you two fight like an old married couple," the dark beauty said. The lovers exchanged a glance, but put forth all their efforts to help the other women make one last push to get the car in postion. Once they were done with that, they returned to their leader on the side of the road. The New Yorker looked at the dead blonde, and the wheels in her mind started to turn.

"Are we thinking the same thing, querida?" her lover asked gently.

"If it means we're finally having that wedding feast you promised me when we left the desert, yeah. Fucking hell, I'm starving."

"Mmm. Who knew motor oil imparted such a wonderful smoky flavor?"

"You said it, Coach. Someone carve me another slice off the haunch?" the woman in red asked, mouth full.

The silent executioner whipped out a sharp knife, turned the body, and filled the order before serving herself a nicely blackened bit of thigh.

"How can you eat it so burned? Gimme a rib, 'kay? Thanks. Oh, man, Coach, you're right. Querida mía, your instincts are still wonderful."

"Obviously. I'm still with you, aren't I?" the New Yorker replied. They kissed with fresh blood still on their tender lips.

The woman in red poked the dark beauty in her upper arm. "Hey. Why'd you have 50 strip her before we had dinner?"

"It'd have taken longer to fry her. Besides, if we cut off half that skirt, it'll be workable for you, and you know how 50 loves her high heels. I learned not to waste anything that might come in handy. Is there any shoulder left?"

The silent woman shook her head, then leaned down as one of the lovers tugged on her sleeve. "Can I borrow your knife for a sec? Thanks." Quickly, she hacked off two hanks of long blonde hair; it took longer to get through the bones of both ring fingers, but she managed the task. It was even worth the deadly glare she received from the silent woman once she was finished with her task. Absently, she nibbled the flesh off the fingers until there was nothing left but bones. She wound one of the locks of hair around her finger, tied it so that there would be enough space for it to slide on and off her finger, then carefully centered one of the finger bones on the circlet and tied the hair around again. She slid the ring off, establishing that it was just small enough to stay on her finger, so it would be comfortable for her beloved, then came up behind her lover. "I got a surprise for you..."

"You know how much I hate surprises now," the New Yorker grumbled, but she turned to see what her lover had for her. "Ohhhhh, it's beautiful! You shouldn't have!"

"I always told you I'd give you a ring, didn't I? I thought this was as good a day as any. Seems appropriate, getting a ring off the one who cost us a ring."

"They're turning the highway lights out. We need to leave, NOW. You two can get it on later," the leader snapped. Seeing that dawn was indeed on its way, the pack slipped off into the trackless woods, lost to sight, lost to anyone who might come to find them.