And in the middle of the rear of the van, a line of silver about six inches long.

A handle!

If I could get to it and open it, then I could escape. We were on a road. A road meant other people. People driving on the road. People living in houses next to it.

People who could save me. Even if they didn’t want to get involved, they would probably still call 9-1-1 if they saw a duct-taped girl escaping from a white van.

But I hadn’t heard any other cars pass. Maybe the rumble of the van’s engine masked them. Or maybe by now we were way out in the country.

Even if there was no one around to help me, I could still run away. I could hide. All I had to do was get out.

But how? If I got to my knees, once I opened the door, I would just fall out face-first. I needed to keep my legs in front of me. Maybe I could even manage to land on my feet. I imagined the shock of landing, how I would take giant, staggering steps, somehow staying balanced. How I would run away in the dark before my attacker even knew I was gone.

Daniel and some of the other high-ranking belts could do standing rolls. They tucked their heads and somersaulted in midair, and when they landed on the mat, they rolled diagonally from one shoulder across the back to the opposite hip. Their heads never even touched the ground. I had always been too scared to try it from standing, but had done a modified version from my knees.

Whatever move I tried, I needed to be as close to the door as possible. Even if my captor was watching in the rearview mirror, he couldn’t keep his eyes on me all the time. Plus the back of the van was nearly pitch-black. The only reason I could see was that my eyes had adjusted. He was watching a road lit by his headlights.

Holding my breath, I moved my feet a few inches closer to the door. Nothing happened. He didn’t shout or step on the brakes. I scooted my butt closer to my heels. I counted to sixty and then repeated the process, worming myself a few inches closer to the handle. But I couldn’t afford to be too slow. What if he was almost where he was going?

I sucked in a deep breath. Here I went. I pulled my arm under my side. I got up on my elbow and then pushed myself off the edges of my bound hands. I reached for the handle.

And missed. I fell back onto my shoulder, biting my lip to keep from screaming in pain and frustration.

Again. I had to be quick. Arm, elbow, hands, reach.

A shout behind me spurred me on. The fingers of my right hand curled around the handle.

It refused to move.

Despair flooded me even as I tried the other direction.

Suddenly the handle twisted and the door flew open into empty space. The cold night rushed in. Now I could smell how close the air was in the van, how it stank of fear. Maybe even of death. That thought spurred me on.

I leapt into the dark.

A fight is not won by one punch or kick. Either learn to endure or hire a bodyguard.

—BRUCE LEE

SAVANNAH TAYLOR

Time slowed down. It seemed as if I hung suspended in midair for long seconds. There was plenty of time to think about how I might be able to land on my feet. Or launch myself into a forward roll.

Plenty of time to observe that I was actually not doing anything.

And finally I came down to earth.

My bound left wrist hit the ground first, taking most of the impact. It became a pivot point around which the rest of my body rotated. The pressure on my left forearm increased and increased, until finally I felt something in it snap, just above my wrist.

Momentum wasn’t done with me yet. My arms might have come to a stop when they met the road, but the rest of me was still moving. My feet flew over my head. Somehow I managed to keep my head from hitting the pavement. It was nothing like the forward roll I had imagined pulling off. Instead, I was slammed flat onto my back, driving all the air from my lungs.

Lying on the roadway, I looked up at the distant stars. It felt like the universe had hit the pause button. It felt like I might never breathe again. I was pretty sure I was badly damaged, maybe beyond repair. But I didn’t care. I felt curiously detached.

And then my lungs spasmed. I took a jagged, involuntary gasp, and the air rushed back in.

With it came the pain. It started at my broken wrist, spread to my ribs and head, and then suddenly it was everywhere. The pain was as big as the sun, and it swallowed me.

I was broken. I couldn’t fly, I couldn’t roll, I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t even imagine moving.

I heard the van screech to a stop, and the engine shut off, followed by footsteps.

Standing over me, the man blocked out the nearly full moon. He swore. When he bent down to gather me up, I passed out.

JENNY DOWD

Rex’s barking woke me. It wasn’t just a few woofs, but a ferocious volley.

At the sound, my stomach crammed into the back of my throat. I remembered what had happened the last time Rex sounded like that. In the dark, I scrambled backward on the bed until my back was against the wall. My hands flew up to cover my face. Under my palms I could feel the tender ridges and seams that now crisscrossed my cheeks, nose, and lips. My heart was beating so hard it felt like it might come out of my chest.

Outside, Sir was yelling, “Sitz! Bleib!” Finally, Rex switched to frustrated whines.

Trying to calm my racing heart, I sucked in a breath. Rex was outside. Out there, he couldn’t hurt me again.

Outside there was a rattle as Sir undid the padlock. A short length of chain had been bolted on either side of the door, and when he padlocked the ends together, they stopped the door from opening more than a couple of inches. I waited for his footsteps to shake the trailer as he made his way down the hall. Instead, he called for me.

“Jenny, get out here. I need your help.”

I scurried out. In the living area, he was standing half in and half out of the door. I stopped in my tracks. Cradled in his arms was a girl. I hadn’t seen another human being besides Sir for months.

Her dark brown hair hung down over his arm. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was slack. Ripped duct tape dangled from her right wrist. There was a scrape on the left side of her face, a raw red patch beaded with blood.

“What happened? Did Rex bite her? Is she dead?” I was too shaken to think about avoiding words with Bs. He hated how they sounded when they came out of my mouth. I kept my right hand over my face, hiding the worst of my scars. Sir had made it clear that he did not want to look at them. At me. And he had taught me to never look him in the eye. Collecting myself, I added, “Sir.”

“Stupid thing jumped out of the van while it was moving. Now she’s hurt. I need you to help me splint her wrist.” He took a step inside the trailer. A pack was looped over one shoulder. “Close the door behind me.”

I didn’t move.

Sir swore. “Rex won’t bite you when I’m here. Now close the door before I get really angry.”

I forced myself to move, keeping both my arms up in front of me, ready to protect my throat, my face, my belly. Rex’s front paws were on the bottom step, and his ears were back. His wet white teeth gleamed as he gargled a growl. My heart leaping in my chest, I yanked the door closed with a shaking hand. When I turned around, Sir had disappeared with the girl into my room. I followed. He had turned on the light. He laid her on her back across the end of my bed. The girl didn’t move. He was taking off her torn teal blue puffer coat. Underneath, she was wearing black exercise pants and a short-sleeved green T-shirt with some kind of design on it.