Now she punched and kicked. She scratched at them. She tore at them.

She had taken women’s self-defense for an entire year. Her dad had insisted on it. She was good at it, one of the best in the class. She went for the men’s weak spots—their eyes, their throats, their balls.

She and her three attackers moved down the alley as one, arms and legs flailing like a giant octopus.

“Help! Help! HELP!”

It occurred to her suddenly the thing you were supposed to scream when you truly needed help. Passersby often ignored cries for help, but they never ignored this one word. She hoped someone was around to hear it.

“FIRE!”

The man tried to put the foul-smelling rag to her face again. She ducked again, but she was running out of strength. Where was Ahmet? Now she couldn’t see him at all—maybe he was behind them.

She put in one final burst—her last, desperate gasp…

…and somehow broke away.

Now she was running down the alley, three big men just behind her. Her shoes had come off in the struggle—that was good. She ran over the rough ground in stockinged feet. She could hear the men, their heavy breathing practically in her ear. She could hear their footfalls on the pavement.

“FIRE!” she screamed again.

Up ahead, a dark car pulled across the mouth of the alley.

Oh, thank God!

She ran for it. The men ran after her, hands grasping at her.

The car door opened.

It was coming fast. Now the men were all around her again. They seized her arms. They moved with her momentum, letting it carry the whole group along. They were running her straight toward that open door.

Wait!

They all crashed as one into the car. She tumbled onto the seat, one man with her. He was the one with the rag. He lay on top of her, using his size to imprison her, suffocate her, weigh her down. Still she fought him.

A man in the front seat was yelling something in a language she could not understand. She barely noticed. She scratched and clawed at the man on top of her.

The man pressed the rag to her face. It smelled foul, and sweet. She tried to turn away, but couldn’t. Now the rag was across her face like a mask. She breathed it in. Darkness crept in from the corners of her vision.

She was losing the ability to struggle. Her limbs felt heavy.

The man on top of her cooed something to her in that strange language, gently now, as if he was a mother putting a baby to sleep.

She could barely see him anymore.

She tried to push him away, but he was fading. He pressed the rag to her face again.

Everything went black.

* * *

“Ah, holy hell!”

“Go, man! Can’t you go any faster?”

“It’s the curves. Just take it easy.”