I blinked hard, trying to see where and why we had stopped. My mouth felt dry and sour, limbs stiff and aching from the long drive. As I sat up, I caught movement in the van’s mirror: my own reflection. A girl was staring back at me, her hair a tangled mess, a bruise seeping across her cheeks from a swollen nose. I touched it, and she winced.

I was about to lean forwards, rub at my eyes and push at my hair when I saw something else in the mirror behind me. A man was emerging from a shed. I slumped down, pretending to sleep, and watched through lowered eyes as he stared at the van, scratching at his crotch through a pair of overalls. Only when he moved away, when a door squealed open, did I open my eyes again and look around.

We were parked outside a shack, wooden-walled and tin-roofed and covered in advertisements for oil and shellac and cigarettes. The driver of the van was inside the shack, then, with the man in overalls. Cold fear and nausea washed through me. One old man I could handle, but two …

Stowing the knife in my belt, I opened the door as quietly as I could. Beyond the gasoline pumps I could see no other buildings; there would be no one to hear if I screamed. Instead, the land rolled away into greyness. In the distance were the smudges of mountains. I had no idea where I was.

I slipped to the ground. Out here, I could hear the murmur of the men’s voices, could smell gasoline and cigarette smoke and road dust on the dawn air. I crawled around the back of the van, and peered out.

On the other side of the road was a slope. If I could make it that far, I might be able to get out of sight. But the distance between the shack and the road’s edge seemed impossible. Everything else was still and silent; even if I crept, they would surely hear my footsteps …

A bark of laughter, a cough and the shifting of furniture made my decision. I took off. Four paces, five, and the door clattered open behind me. At any moment, I thought I’d hear someone pursuing, feel someone grab at my shoulder, but there was the edge of the road, and the slope beyond. Throwing myself over it, I lost my footing and fell, tumbling over and over down a steep slope, until my shoulder collided with something hard and I slid to a stop, the knife clattering from my grip.

For long moments I didn’t move, the wind knocked out of me, dust filling my mouth. Grey shapes loomed all around, pale and twisted. Olive trees.