Prologue:
Several weeks ago:
It was dark, dank, and smelled horrible. And the metal bars that caged her within the tiny cell didn't make her feel any safer. Sure, there were no cockroaches, or rats here, but she would have liked at least a shrew or mouse for company. Even though she wasn't alone in this cellblock, none of the girls were allowed to speak, even to the jailer, even to beg for water, or another blanket. If they did, it earned them a beating, or worse. And she wasn't about to let herself get beat for speaking out.

And tonight, just like every other night for the past several days, he was in the cellblock, and he was in another cell, doing something to another girl. All she knew was that it ended quickly, with a resounding crack!, like thunder.

Somehow, she knew she had to fight. She had to escape. And then the strange Marine man was there, in her cell, on top of her, trying to kiss her, pulling at her pants, and she was trying to escape, trying to bite, claw, kick, anything, but let him at her. The others had been asleep when he came, but she couldn't sleep; she never slept.

Finally, her fingers caught on a knife, and she drew it from the sheathe, and suddenly, a waterfall of red, sticky, coffee-hot blood was cascading over her hands, and onto her clothes. She shoved him away, and blindly ran, trying to escape, trying to survive.