It took my eyes about ten minutes to completely adjust to the darkness within the truck. I saw the Pakastani men sitting opposite Tony and I on a bench lining the truck. They were smiling and chatting amongst themselves, as if there were nothing unusual about kidnapping an American news crew. I was thoroughly indignant about all this, and my anger almost overrode my fear; almost. I could feel Tony's form trembling beside me and worried about what would befall him.

"Ayham turned against us" I whispered to Tony

Instead of answering, he turned terror filled eyes to our captors. One of them stood and slapped me across the face. I got the hint and shut up, but it didn't stop me from glaring at him.

It wasn't long before the truck halted and the two of us were pulled from the back. Tony was dragged away by four large men and I wished to follow, but a burly man grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to a large tent. He dragged me inside and threw me to the ground. I skinned my knees and forehead when I landed and then my elbows were bloodied by my attempts to roll over and sit up. I was furious at the treatment I was receiving and glared at the men in the tent. I was scared, sure, but they had no right to treat a journalist this way. There were laws after all!

If my arms were free, I would have attacked Ayham, and I almost sneered at him. The man he was talking to was the same man who I originally thought was nice when he walked Tony and myself to the truck. I turned my hate filled glance to him and his cold eyes momentarily struck terror in me. I shored up my righteous indignation once again and gritted my teeth. Although I would never admit it, I now hated the fact that Ayham was right, I should have kept my shirt buttoned up. It was now hanging open and I was displaying something no man had looked upon.

I was proud of the fact that I was saving myself for marriage but this was also serving to make me terrorized. I had no clue what to expect and I feared the worst.

Ayham and the man's words had my blood running cold. They talked about me like my thoughts and needs didn't matter. Talk of "the whores and captives" and "showing the world what we do to white whores" had me wanting to run screaming from the tent. I couldn't, however, and the man grabbed my ponytail and used it like a leash to drag me to another tent. I could see a camera facing a tableau of crossed swords and an open space.

Hearing a commotion, I turned and was horrified to see a man enter the tent leading a line of women who were naked and looked like they had been abused.