A voice that sounded like Ted spoke, "Hey, what's that?" My heart jumped to my throat."Moosehead Ale. Not opened. Think it's okay? Doesn't look like i...'s been here all that long." That sounded like Ralph. Apparently somebody had dropped a bottle of beer in the woods and these guys had just found it. Damn. Why couldn't they just go on their way?Ducking behind a fallen tree."Well, open it. A third of the bottle for each of us."Now spoke a third voice, that of Steve, a pretty good friend of. Her body shook with fear; not only of her upcoming mutilation, she knew most women in Somalia and other places in Africa had this done routinely, as a coming of age ritual, but of what it meant. She would not leave this place alive. Her last gleam of hope would be gone. All the slave girls, in the compound, lived in the hope, not of being freed, that just did not happen, but of being sold to some other, perhaps less cruel, less sadistic master; anyone, they believed, would be better than. More

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