The minutes agonizingly dragged on as the truck barreled down the road. The more time that passed, the more hopeless everyone became. Little by little, being helpless chipped away at me. We had been living on a knife’s edge since the truck had taken off. The whimpers of my friends could barely be heard over the engine. We’d broken off in pairs, holding the other. Maya and I huddled together, praying. I kept telling her I knew Kyle and his Team would find us, but internally I was losing my nerve. My heartbeat raced, my limbs shook, and my stomach knotted. With each bump on the road, the contents of my last meal swished in my stomach in a bubbling, boiling mess. Our cellphones had lost reception as soon as we’d left the base. Many lost power. I’d asked a teammate the time. Found out they’d been driving an hour. We rode deep into the mountains. Landmarks looked the same, making it difficult to decipher where we were. My mind worked overtime. Long hours of watching too much television contributed in playing havoc with my thoughts. I wrung my hands to prevent them from shaking. Tugged my ears when the ringing prevented me from hearing their path. These terrorists could be taking us anywhere, maybe they planned to rape us, or behead us on live television. Almost worse than the thought of dying was imagining my mother watching her baby girl’s throat be slit by some sadist. The thought sickened me. Scared me to my core. The fear filling my lungs till I gasped for air. My trembling breath mixed with a quiet sob.

The vehicle slowed to a stop, and terror gathered in my belly. It felt like the rapid descent of a roller coaster crashing into the ground. My chest wall ached with the rattling pace in which my heart pounded. We were at mercy of these insurgents.

Maya clutched my hand harder, her skin clammy.

The ignition became silent. Doors opened and shut. Then a man with wiry hair and crazy eyes came into view at the back of the vehicle, an AK-47 with a ton of ammo wrapped around his chest.

Kyle… Where are you?

I stared at the grubby man. What were the motives of our captors? Ransom? Exchange? Or perhaps to humiliate and punish immodest American women.

The crazy-eyed man scanned the back of the truck with his weapon. His erratic movements controlled every shallow breath I released.

“Mobiles!” he boomed in broken English, waving the weapon like a flag.

We tossed our phones onto the floor of the vehicle. For a second, I allowed myself to believe that we were just getting robbed. Yes they had murdered the soldiers, but maybe the terrorists just wanted the vehicle and their weapons. It was clear my mind was playing tricks on me, holding onto false hope.

But my gut told me my ridiculous theory was nothing more than wishful thinking.

I heard the roar of engines and for a beat hope filled me, returned with a powerful vengeance. Was it our rescuers? Please.

No. A bunch of swarthy men entered our vehicle, each branding an AK-47. The weapons served their purpose of intimidation.

Snatched by the back of our necks, we got pushed off the truck. Crazy Eyes chose me to grab. The stench of his grimy hand revolted me. Trying to free myself from his hold, I lost my footing and fell to the ground, taking Maya with me. “Oof.” I winced. Dirt had kicked up when I met the ground. I could taste it.

“Up!” Crazy Eyes barked. My eyes narrowed, and I wiped my knees and helped Maya to stand. We were marched away from the truck in pairs, the ten of us outnumbered by our captors. No matter how we were dressed, I felt naked.

I held onto Maya. There was no way in hell I was letting go of her hand. At the moment, she was my lifeline. My mouth was parched from the heat as I focused on three beaten-up trucks, mud splashed on the exterior. The men didn’t waste any time. We were split into two groups of three and one of four, and I felt some solace knowing I had Maya for comfort. We were separated randomly, depending on who we stood by. Denise, our director, was to my left, and became the third hostage in our group being led to the proposed new transportation. At first we kept our heads down and did as we were told. I got the feeling they didn’t want us looking directly at them too much. And I for one didn’t want to cause any uproar. Denise clearly didn’t feel the same. We’d almost made it to the truck when she dug her heels into the ground, refusing to take another step. Making an abrupt stop, I stood at her back and gave her a little nudge, willing her to move. “I refuse to walk to my death. I won’t give them the satisfaction.”

“Walk!” the bigger of the two terrorists ordered, his hot breath singeing my neck.

“No,” she uttered rebelliously. My heart sank. Why was she doing this? Now was not the time to be difficult. All hope was not lost. It was small, at times seeming microscopic, but it was there. I believed that. I had to.

Maya jumped when the men dug their weapons into our backs. We pushed forward but Denise wouldn’t budge. She was strong in her convictions, that I knew. I experienced it every day. But more than that, she was stubborn. Set in her ways.

“Walk!” they ordered again, this time much louder. The muscles in my legs ached. My body shuttered.

“Denise, please,” Maya implored, her voice barely above a whisper. She was ignored. I’d never seen her look so scared. Maya was a tough cookie, but this type of vexatious predicament could break even the strongest person.

In the distance, doors shut. The rumbling of engines ensued. The other trucks took off with our friends. And I wondered if I’d ever see them again or if we’d all be taken to different places. Just then one of the two men grabbed Denise, seizing her head by the roots of her short hair. She let out a pained screech.

“WALK!” He bared his teeth, letting out a deep grunt from the back of his throat. The rotten choppers were full of decay. I was certain the man had never seen a dentist a day in his life.

She surprised everyone when she turned and spat at his face. The angry man retaliated by backhanding her, practically foaming, the corners of his mouth retaining the mass of small bubbles like a rabid dog. Her head reared back with the impact and simultaneous gasps left our lips at her bloodied cheek. She looked back at the assailant and was unrecognizable. Rage taking over, a storm brewed in her eyes. Please don’t do something stupid. It was too late. Advancing on him, she was shot, the sequence of hot bullets piercing her chest.

I drank salty tears as the thug behind me pushed us forward with his weapon. Denise’s sudden death traumatized Maya and I had to haul her beside me, clutching her to my body like a child held a rag doll. I didn’t allow myself to look back. Couldn’t stomach the thought of getting another glimpse at our dead director. My heart hurt too damned much. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. It had to be a bad dream.

Crammed in the sweaty vehicle, I had the burden of being placed immediately to the right of the driver, the barrel of his weapon an inch from my thigh. We started to drive. I couldn’t help thinking that one more pothole, one more unearthed bomb, and that rifle could go off and blast a hole through my leg or kill any one of us. The more I tried to push the thought out of my head, the more I fixated on it. Was this how we would die? Would we meet our maker like Denise had? Then be abandoned like roadkill. I thought of her body rotting before being discovered and swallowed back a fresh bout of bile.

The crazy-eyed driver said something in a language I didn’t understand, but I didn’t need to be fluent in his native tongue. His words, the motions of his rifle translated into any language.

The hours passed down the sandy road, the four of us confined in the same stench-filled space, and we were transferred to other vehicles at least three other times. Same routine, same driver, another mud-stained vehicle, the identical pinch of the AK-47 across his lap, its barrel at my side. Maya stayed silent, as did I. Affliction accompanied our every move. Tried to keep myself sane with thoughts of my family, desperately tethering myself to happy memories.

As the day dragged into night, my sense of self and grip on reality began to loosen. Nothing I had accomplished in my life mattered to these kidnappers. I was no longer a woman, someone’s daughter. I was nothing more than a possession to be used for these men to get what they wanted.

The only problem was I didn’t have a clue what that was.