Her knees gave. She dropped. She thought to grab her side mirror for support, but her arms and hands were useless. The punch had hit some kind of pressure point, like a kill-switch between her brain and her limbs. She landed on her ass, the impact jarring her spine and clacking her teeth together hard. Her body pitched forward until her head thumped lightly against her door, and then she tipped all the way over on her side, on the damp pavement.

They were both standing over her now, crowded and hunched in the space between the van and car. The young man dropped to a knee and leaned in close above her.

“Don’t fight,” the man said. His tone was calm, as advising as it was threatening—as though he’d done this before. “Don’t fight, you’ll be fine.”

Danica saw a gun in his hand, not quite aimed at her. He braced his other hand on the asphalt, pushed himself back up to a crouch and withdrew. He spoke to the girl. “Get her wrists. I’ll cover.”

The girl dropped into Danica’s field of vision. She no longer appeared overwhelmed by menstrual cramps. In spite of her youth, she showed none of the vulnerability she had displayed a moment before. Her lean features only made her look hard now. She looked like a soldier.

It occurred to Danica that the van was blocking all of this from the cashier’s view in the store. The same probably went for the security cameras. None of which was an accident.

“Do it,” the young man hissed.

The girl pivoted on her ankles, reached up and slid open the van’s side door. As she did, Danica felt the nerves in her arms and legs begin to reawaken, the skin of her hands tingling with little pinpricks. She risked just enough movement to confirm to herself she had control of them again. The girl reached into the van and took out a pair of plastic zip-tie handcuffs, the kind some police departments used. She held them in both hands and turned to face Danica again.

“Lie flat,” the girl said. “On your stomach.”

Danica stared up past her at the van’s interior. Even with its dome light on, it seemed darker inside than the night air above the lot. Like a cave. Or a tomb. No question about it: whoever they were, whatever the hell they wanted, if she let herself be dragged into that darkness, nobody would ever see her again.

“Lie flat,” the girl repeated.

Danica considered her odds of getting away if she struggled right now. They weren’t good, but they were better than they would be in another five seconds, or at any point beyond that.

The girl made a face that said she was done threatening; she reached for Danica’s shoulder to force her down flat on her chest.