She nodded. “Drugged, obviously.” At the far end of the room was another door. This one looked more substantial. Miriam said, “We need to get them out of here.”

I said, “Correct, and quick.”

Miriam crouched above one of the mattresses and turned the girl’s chin towards her. The girl was barely responsive, a waxen face in a mound of curling black hair. Miriam slapped her cheek hard and the girl made a sound. Miriam turned to me. “I don’t know if we can get them up and moving.”

Then the girl on the mattress focused her eyes on Miriam. The girl spoke in French. “Who are you?”

Miriam said, “We’re the ones who are going to save you. Can you get up?”

The girl sat up in the bed. “Where will you take us?”

“Somewhere safe. Out of here.”

The girl looked at me “And him?”

I said, “I’m not coming with you. I’m going the other way.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“They can try.” The girl’s eyeballs shifted in an immobile head. First to Miriam, then at me. I said, “What did they give you, pills?”

The girl nodded mutely, then pointed up towards the wall.

A half dome with a wicked little camera eye. Electric cable ran through conduit pipe and disappeared into the limestone wall. I reached up and grabbed the camera. Pulled it out of the wall and crushed it with my boot heel.

Miriam said, “They’ve seen us now.”

I said, “Not necessarily. They’ve only seen us if someone’s watching.”

“What are the chances?”

“Slim to none. But let’s get going anyway.”

The girl began to rise unsteadily, managing to prop herself up on all fours. Miriam helped her.

The girl said, “The others are afraid of you, it’s why they’re pretending.”

Miriam said, “Pretending what?”

“To be asleep.” She stood up, leaning on Miriam and spoke in Arabic. Immediately there was shuffling of bodies.

“What did you say?”

The girl shrugged. “I told them we’ve got nothing left to lose.”

I went to the locked door and listened. Nothing. Thick steel no handle. No keyhole either, just a steel plate. Looked like we were getting somewhere important, given that security was increasing.

I said, “What happens when you pound on the door?”

Another girl spoke, from a closer mattress. This one had dirty blonde hair. Her voice was hoarse, “Bad things happen when they come.”

Miriam and the first girl were helping the others up. They began whispering to each other. Too far gone to be excited, but mobilizing anyway. Brave and motivated. The girls looked bad. Like the undead. They staggered and lurched, thin and sallow. Malnourished and beaten down. Despite what they had been through, the girls were supporting each other and putting on socks and a sorry assortment of domestic footwear. They still had hope, which made me confident that they’d pull through in the end.