Ryan pushed the gate open and stepped inside. Miranda followed closely behind. Less than two minutes later, a massive dog appeared in the beam of the flashlight, its body tense as it strained against a thick iron chain, barking viciously.
Without hesitation, Ryan raised his gun and fired. The dog collapsed instantly.
The gunshot echoed in the cave. Miranda screamed softly and instinctively turned around, trying to cling to Ryan's waist.
"Let go," Ryan snapped coldly at her. "Don't force me to be rude."
He grabbed her arm with enough force to make his intent clear. If she did not release him, he would not hold back.
Pain flashed across Miranda's face, and she quickly loosened her grip. Her eyes reddened as she said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry. I was just scared. I won't do it again."
Ryan frowned, silently regretting that he hadn't grabbed one of the men earlier to lead the way instead.
In his eyes, aside from Mary, other women were no different from strangers. Gender made no difference when it came to caution.
They continued forward. After walking a little more than ten meters, a foul stench hit Ryan's nose. He swept the flashlight ahead and froze.
More than ten women were lying on the ground, wrapped loosely in torn, filthy blankets. Their faces were pale, their eyes dull.
One of them looked up weakly and asked in a trembling voice, "Who are you? Are you here to save us?"
Ryan glanced over and immediately turned his back. Some of their clothes were so damaged that they barely covered their bodies.
"Yes," he said firmly, facing away from them. "Get up if you can and follow me."
The sound of his voice gave the women hope. Those who still had strength helped the ones who could barely move.
Soon, another weak voice sounded from behind. "There are some who aren't moving. Can someone help?"
Ryan said to Miranda, "Go and check."
Miranda walked over. In the darkness, her expression twisted briefly before she hid it. The woman on the ground was strikingly beautiful. Even in such a miserable state, her looks were impossible to ignore. Dried blood stained her legs, making it easy to guess what she had suffered.
Miranda covered her mouth and cried out softly, "This is my classmate. Her name is Beverly."
She crouched down, gripping Beverly's hand and shaking it lightly, her face filled with apparent grief. "Beverly, what's wrong? Wake up."
Ryan, still facing away, asked, "Can she walk? Who can help her?"
A young girl nearby stepped forward and helped lift Beverly up.
Miranda straightened and said, "Alright. We can leave now."
Ryan took the lead, walking at the front. The rescued women followed closely behind him, supporting one another.
When they reached a spot not far from the compound, Ryan stopped and entered the house alone. He raised his voice and called out, "Wife, if there are spare clothes or sheets inside, take them out. We'll need them here."
The urgency in his tone left no room for hesitation.
Mary brought out all the clothes she could find in the rooms and piled them together. Even though she had prepared herself mentally, the scene outside still left her shaken.
A group of women stood there, naked or barely covered, their faces sallow and their bodies thin to the point of being frightening.
Some of them were already middle-aged, their backs slightly hunched. Almost all of them were so skinny that they looked like dry kindling, as if a gust of wind could knock them over.
Mary led them into an empty room and handed out the clothes one by one. Most of the garments were old and torn, but even that was far better than leaving them exposed to the cold.
The women clutched the clothes tightly, some of them trembling as they dressed, their eyes filled with cautious gratitude.
After settling the issue of clothing, Mary went to check on Beverly, who had been lying on the bed. From her condition, it was clear she had been abused for several days. Severe dehydration and malnutrition had left her weak, but thankfully, she had no fever, and her body was still holding on.
Mary fed her water carefully, mixing in a few drops of spiritual spring water. Half an hour later, Beverly's pale complexion gradually regained a hint of color, and her breathing steadied.
Mary continued checking the others one by one and was shocked to discover that two of the women were pregnant.
Judging by their bellies, they were already several months along. These people trafficked women, yet they still allowed this to happen. The thought made her stomach churn.
Once their condition improved slightly, a woman named Sharon, who had been trapped there for two years, slowly told Mary what they had endured.
Two years ago, Sharon's family had fallen on hard times. She left home to work after being promised a nanny job. Because she had a disability, no one had shown interest in her body, and she survived only by doing chores. Mary looked at her closely and noticed the large dark birthmark on her face and the stiffness in her legs.
Over the past two years, dozens of women have been tricked and brought here. Those who were younger or prettier were assaulted soon after arrival. Once a buyer appeared, they were taken away to the mountains or sold elsewhere.
Six months ago, two men who knew how to cook arrived, claiming to be relatives of someone in the group. After that, Sharon and the others were no longer allowed near the kitchen.
One night, the captors gathered the women who were physically weak or mentally broken and prepared to sell them off in batches.
Some had tried to escape. When they were caught, the punishment was even more brutal. To prevent further attempts, the captors reduced their meals to once a day. They deliberately kept them starving, afraid that if the women regained strength, they would try to flee again.
Eventually, most of them gave up resisting. They simply did not have the strength anymore. Even if they escaped, they would only be dragged back.
Mary's anger surged violently as she listened to the entire story. She couldn't help but burst out, "These fuc*ers were not human. They were beasts."
In her mind, she swore that if this were the apocalypse, she would have killed them without hesitation. But in this peaceful era, she could only suppress the storm raging in her chest.
Unable to listen any further, Mary left the room with a dark expression and told Ryan everything she had heard.
Ryan was equally shaken. He had not expected the truth to be so cruel. These people deserved no mercy.
Knowing the women were starving, Mary went straight to the kitchen and made a large pot of soup. It was nothing fancy, just water with oil and salt, but when the women saw it, their eyes lit up. They didn't even bother finding bowls, surrounding the pot with spoons and drinking greedily, afraid that if they slowed down, the food would disappear.
Mary also served Miranda a bowl, mostly because she was worried Miranda might cause trouble among the women.
Miranda arrived last. She looked at the women wolfing down the soup, then glanced at the thin, bland bowl in front of her. Her expression twisted with disgust. She carried the bowl over to Mary and set it down hard.
"Why are we eating this?" she complained. "There's no proper food at all. And look at how they're eating. Who knows how much saliva got into my bowl? How am I supposed to eat this? Make me a new one. I can't eat this."
Mary raised an eyebrow, her tone cold. "It's already dark. Where do you expect food to come from? This is all there is. If you don't want to eat, then don't. You don't see that even this big pot isn't enough for them?"