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He shoots the lock.

We pull the doors open.

Seven girls stare back at us.

For a moment, nobody moves.

They’re packed onto the metal floor.

Hands bound.

Some crying.

One girl has blood running from her temple.

Another is holding her arm against her chest.

The youngest looks about twelve.

Jesus.

I holster my weapon immediately.

“You're safe.”

They press farther into the van.

Of course they do.

To them, I’m just another armed man.

I crouch.

“My name is Sean. Sheriff’s deputies are right behind me.”

A girl near the front stares at my vest.

“You're not police.”

“No.”

“Then who are you?”

“I'm with Iron Ridge Protectors.”

Nothing.

That means nothing to them.

Fair enough.

“We came from the mine. We found the other girls.”

A teenager with short red hair looks up sharply.

“Jasmine?”

“She’s safe.”