“Hey let’s spike her to a tree.” The larger logger lifted her up and slammed her back against the trunk of a pretty solid pine tree. Another took one of the straighter spikes and pressed it in the fleshy bit beneath her left collar bone. He pulled the hammer back to strike. Bridget didn’t know what hit her first: the smell or the mushy feeling as her bowels emptied themselves into her diapers. She screamed when she saw the hammer start to come down.
“We had a friend die cutting a spiked tree,” said another wood cutter. He held up his chainsaw in a menacing manner.
“Then you know why I had to stop it,” said Bridget. She grabbed at the strong arm holding her against a tree. “I found out they spiked the area earlier and I had to reverse the damage.