No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

Stillness in the van again. The girl had retreated back into
the darkness.
And again, Darby had only glimpsed her. But in the harsh
flash the afterimage was scorched into her retinas, like staring
into the sun. Details lingered. The oval shape of her face.
Maybe six or seven years old, with matted hair. Wide eyes,
flinching at the brightness. Dark tape clamped cruelly around
her mouth, shiny with dripped snot. She was behind something
metallic and gridded, like a black wire cage. As she’d initially
suspected. A dog crate.
Oh, my God. Her mouth is duct-taped shut and she’s
stuffed inside a dog crate.
For the first time since she’d stepped outside, Darby
shivered. All of the heat seemed to leave her body in a single,
bracing instant. It was all confirmed. It was all true. It was all
exactly as she’d suspected. It was all really happening, right
now, in vivid color, and a little girl’s life was really on the line,
and tonight’s title match would be between a sleep-deprived
art student and a human predator.
She stood again.
Stupidly, she retried the Astro’s rear door. Still locked. She
knew this already. She went for the driver door next. She
wasn’t thinking; she was acting on instinct. Just reflexes, raw
nerves. She was going to break into Rodent Face’s van. She
was going to get this little girl the hell out of there, and hide
her in her Honda. The trunk, maybe. She’d be safe in there,
right?
Breaking glass would be loud, and would leave evidence.
Instead, Darby peered through the driver window. The Astro’s
interior was cluttered with receipts on the dashboard and
yellow burger wrappers on the seats. The cup holders bulged
with Lars’s empty Big Gulps. She swept away fresh powder
and searched for the door’s lock pin behind the icy glass —
yes, there it was. Thank God for old cars—
Darby, think this through.