Page 35 of Ravaged and Ruined
Crank and Rancor each haul two crates. Grizzly takes one. I grab another and sprint after the others. Padre holds the line behind us, his shotgun barking in steady rhythm.
We reach the fence. The Prospects are waiting near a gaping hole in the chain-link. The vans are already running, engine growling low.
“Go, go!” I shout. Quickly returning to the container for another.
We reach the halfway point, five crates out, two more to go. I bend to grab the edge of the next box when I hear a sound that makes me pause.
A whimper. Soft. Fragile.
I freeze, blood cooling in my veins.
The others keep moving, unaware, but I shift my flashlight toward the back of the container. Push aside the last row ofcrates. And there wedged in the shadows behind the weapons is a girl.
Young. Dirt-smudged across her face. Wild eyes glaring at me. Her hands tremble where they clutch her knees to her chest.
She’s not alone. Three more women crouch behind her, backs pressed to the wall like they’re trying to melt into the steel. One of them has a gash above her brow, dried blood caked into her hair. The one in the middle looks barely eighteen.
Jesus Christ.
“Grizzly,” I snap, my voice tight. “Eyes on.”
He swings his flashlight around, jaw locking as it lands on them. “What the hell?”
“There’s people in here,” I grit. “Women.”
“Trafficked?” Surge mutters, storming up behind me.
“Looks like it.”
The girl closest to me flinches as I step forward, so I hold out my hand slow and steady.
“We’re not here to hurt you.”
She doesn’t answer, just stares with wide, tear-streaked eyes.
Hashtag comes back on the line. “Guys… I’m picking up a second signal. Cameras just rebooted without my command. Someone’s watching from inside the network.”
“Shut it down,” I hiss.
“I’m trying?—”
Backdraft’s voice crackles in my earpiece, too loud, too fast, cutting off Hashtag. “Fire’s spreading. Whole southeast corner going up like a damn bonfire. We need to bounce. Now.”
Flames lick the sky, casting grotesque shadows across the shipping containers. The explosion Backdraft set off was supposed to be a distraction, but it’s become a beacon, drawing every eye in the port to our location.
“Move!” I shout, my voice hoarse over the comms. “We need to get the girls out now!”
Hashtag’s shouting too. “Local PD’s been pinged. We’ve got maybe two minutes before this place is crawling.”
But I don’t move. Not yet. I crouch low, looking these girls in the eyes, then scan the rest of the container. No chains. No cages. Just tears and fear.
“They were shipped with the guns,” Padre says behind me, quiet, grim. “Like cargo.”
My stomach twists. I stand, slam the crate lid shut. “We’re not leaving them.”
Surge blinks. “What?”
“You heard me. Load the rest of the crates. Get them in the van. Then we take the girls too. Put them on top of the crates if you have to.”
