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But it doesn't.

Several minutes pass of us listening to the men move about, but no one comes for us. A young blue-eyed girl, leaning against the tailgate far out of my reach, whimpers before shouting a plea to use the bathroom. My mouth opens to warn her against drawing unnecessary attention to us, but she calls out again, louder, before I can.

The talking and commotion go silent outside the canvas, leaving only loud chirps of some kind of nocturnal insect.

Slow, deliberate footsteps stomp along the side of the truck, stealing all our attention to track the movement. The flap lifts, allowing a man in a more formal uniform than the other men’s fatigues to peer in. Dread strangles the breath from my lungs, and I fight against the urge to shuffle as far away as possible from the evil eyes surveying our group. This terrible man’s face haunts my dreams. As General Hammar’s second-in-command, he manages the army during the general’s long absences. Which makes him almost worse than the general, as this man is just as evil and has something to prove.

The blue-eyed girl whimpers again, begging for the opportunity to relieve herself. The back of his hand whips across her petite face lightning fast, the force sending her tumbling aside. The other girls clamber behind me, eager to get away from the now-sobbing girl and the man who inflicted her pain.

"Out," he commands and unlocks the tailgate, letting it fall open with a resounding bang. "Now."

But the girl doesn't move. Clearly annoyed, he reaches inside to grip her shoulder and hauls her out of the truck, sending her tumbling to the dirt. With the canvas flap still pushed aside, I stare in horror as the second-in-command drags the screaming young girl toward a small fire. Men circle her like prey stalking their next meal. The unnerving silence has the girl’s pleas shredding my heart with each distressing cry.

I don’t understand the brief statement from him to the men, but based on the responding leering smiles on the men's faces, it’s clear what's been said. The urge to bury my face in my lap and cover my ears is fierce but I don’t. Can’t. Somehow, looking away would be the same as walking away, leaving her to fight this alone.

A soldier wraps a hand around her veil, then drags her into the darkness, kicking and screaming, as he grins the entire way. The fact that I haven't eaten in several hours saves me from vomiting all over the truck bed. Instead I gag, dry-heaving beneath my covering as discreetly as possible to not frighten the other girls any more than they already are. I need to be strong for them, and maybe for me too.

Her high-pitched screams for help will forever be branded in my memory.

My shoulders prematurely sag in relief when the man who dragged the girl away saunters back to the fire. But to my horror, the debauchery continues when another strides toward the shadows where the other vacated.

Tremors rack my hands up my elbows to my shoulders as her screams turn to loud, desperate sobs.

My previous boiling anger goes cold, leaving only true heart-stopping terror in its place.

We never see the blue-eyed girl again.