I could see my husband's profile in the military vehicle's passenger seat. He didn't even turn to look at me.

Jason reached up and grabbed the cord dangling from the U-Haul's sliding door.

"You just hang tight," he said with a terrifying grin. "We'll let you know, Ma'am!"

Then he slammed the door shut. I heard him lock it.

Once again I was in a dark space, this time completely alone.

I can't say for sure how long I was locked inside the back of the van, but it must have been for around five days.

At what felt like twenty-four hour intervals, two men in combat gear, kids really, opened the U-Haul's door. One always kept his rifle aimed at my chest. The other would set vacuum-packed military rations and a gallon of water on the cargo space's floor. Then they slammed the door back down and locked it. They must have been given orders not to speak to me, because I couldn't ever get either of them to say a word.

Sitting there in the dark, mostly I thought about Morgan. I'd promised her that I'd come right back to the hayloft, but I'd never returned. I wondered if she was still waiting there. I wondered if someone had found her. I tried not to think about what Jason had said about a "mass grave" and what the workers who had locked us into the coffin had said about burying other people who'd cried out from inside. A couple of times I tried calling out to Bryce as loud as I could, but I never heard any response.

I started fantasizing that the next time someone opened the cargo door, it would be Ian. But of course it never was.

The fifth time the door rolled up, not only was it not Ian, and not only was there no food, it was Jason.

"We're official!" He ducked into the cargo space and flashed me a bright grin. He was in the same combat gear as before. "We got warrants now! And they sure do want to talk to you."

He grabbed me by the handcuffs and painfully threw me into the military vehicle he'd been driving before.

Bryce was in the back seat. He was relieved to see me; he tried to give me an embrace, but his handcuffs got in the way. He eyed the armed squad warily—the same men as before—and settled for putting his hand on my knee and squeezing it.

Shawn sat stone-still in the front seat. He didn't even turn around to look at me as Jason maneuvered the vehicle out of the warehouse.

Downtown Muldoon was completely deserted. . .