Cold rain on cold, wet skin felt like needles. The driving wind ensured it stung more. She braced herself, miserably. The cold made it difficult to do so. Her muscles began to cramp in the cold, but the trickle of blood down her leg reminded her that to relax would result in unpleasant contact with the barbed wire.

Not that she could see. Her eyes were drawn shut by the way they stung as the wind driven rain struck her face and whipped her hair into her eyes. So she heard, rather than saw the change in the storm. The sound of rain changed subtly. It became eerily quiet, then the sound changed.

But it wasn’t the wind. It was the sound of hard, icy hail pellets striking the ground, the trees, the fence, the car. So she heard the change before she registered the hard, wind driven hailstones striking her naked skin. Her back, her shoulders, then her breasts, her thighs; suddenly, every part of her exposed skin was battered by hail, driven by 50 mph wind. It hurt. But when s...

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