Paul Kane - Arrowhead

She'd feigned sleep in the hopes that he would leave her alone, knowing that nine times out of ten he'd do whatever he damned well pleased, not giving a toss whether Gwen was awake or not. This was the tenth time, obviously, because he got up and got dressed, barely making a sound. If he had tried something then she might well have reached for the knife now under her pillow, ramming it into his throat as he groped her. He was clearly waiting until after the day's events for that particular 'delight'.

Not that she had any intentions of still being here then.

Not that she had any intentions of still being alive. Her plan was simple. Free the prisoners, kill De Falaise. Yes, she was aware she was just one woman. Yes, the odds were impossibly against her, but still she had to try.

She couldn't leave that young boy to his fate. Hopefully, he could lead them all back to his hideout where they'd be safe (if you can get them past that nutjob on the roof with the sniper's rifle – don't forget about him, Gwen.)

They had to make a run for it, at least. They'd be dead anyway if they stayed here.

She was surprised, given his heritage, De Falaise hadn't insisted on a guillotine. But then, they'd executed the nobility that way, hadn't they – and that's what De Falaise aspired to be. Hanging was for peasants and criminals, historically speaking. Today, it would be used to put an end to the lives of people like she'd known in Hope, who just wanted to get on with their existence from day to day; just wanted to forget about the horrors that had befallen them during The Cull.

You're thinking too far ahead, Gwen, she told herself. First things first… The guard.

She got up off the bed, grabbing her robe. She didn't have too long before she'd be expected to join De Falaise at the ceremony, wearing yet another ornate dress he'd picked out. Gwen had other ideas. She slipped on the silk, hastily fastening the dressing gown with the belt around the middle, and made her way to the door. Controlling her breathing again, she took hold of the handle and turned it, opening the door a crack.

There was the guard, sitting opposite and to the right: a yobbish-looking youth today with a scar across his jawline. He didn't appear to notice the door opening – obviously the perfect choice for a guard – so she had to cough to get his attention. Now he looked up, then stood, raising his rifle as he did so.

"E-Excuse me…" she said in a low voice.

"What are you doing out? It's not time for you to come out yet. The boss will go spare."

"I-I don't want to come out. I want you to come in." Gwen let the door open a bit further, hoping she'd read this one as well as the shy boy. The thug in front of her was a different kettle of fish – no virgin, and probably cut from the same cloth as De Falaise.

Well then, let's give him what he wants, shall we?

"You what?"

She crooked her finger. "I said I want you to come in, pass the time a little."

He licked his lips. "I-I can't. The boss would kill me. He was bad enough when I forgot to tell him about…" The soldier realised he'd said too much and shut up.

"About?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Is that why you pulled guard duty?" A blink of the eyes told her it was. "Can't be much fun, playing nursemaid."

"Isn't."

"Bet you'd rather be out there getting ready for the executions."

He nodded, grinning.

Oh, you're a piece of work. I might enjoy this after all.

"De Falaise has left me all alone, he's too distracted with the preparations. Didn't even have time to see to my needs. A woman has needs, you know." As before, she let her gown fall open a little way and she saw his eyes flash downwards. Unlike the other guard, though, they stayed there. It made her feel sick, but she knew it was just a means to an end. "What's your name?"

"Jace," he told her, eyes still cast downwards.

"That's a nice name, I like it. Why don't you come inside for a minute or two, so we can talk properly. Doesn't have to be long. No one will know. You can keep an eye on me much better from in here."

Jace looked left and right. "All right," he finally said.

She allowed him in and his eyes lit up when he saw the unmade bed. "I've heard what they say about you," he told her.

Gwen smiled, getting more and more into the part with each passing second. "And what do they say?"

"That you let him do things. All kinds of things to you."

She closed her eyes slowly and opened them again. "What would you like to do to me, Jace?"

His cheeks were glowing bright red, but there was none of the hesitation of the other soldier. Jace planted a kiss on her; rough, without any feeling. Gwen tolerated it, putting her arms around him, more in an effort to lead him to the bed than anything else. They inched their way across with her guiding him, until the backs of his legs hit the mattress. Gwen pushed him onto it, climbing on top.

Jace lay back, rifle still in his grip, so she bent down to kiss him again. Her robe fell open even more and his eyes were glued to her breasts. "That's right," she said seductively. "You get a good look…" Gwen bent further down, and while he was distracted she snaked her hand under the pillow and brought out the knife. She held it against his neck and, for a second or two, he didn't even realise what was going on. "Move and I'll slit your throat. I mean it!"

With her other hand she reached down and relieved him of the rifle.

She rose from the bed, putting the knife in her pocket and training the weapon on Jace. "Now, stand up and get undressed."

Jace still seemed bewildered, as if he couldn't quite understand how the situation had gone from one thing to the other.

"Fucking well get undressed!" she hissed, jabbing the barrel of the rifle in his direction. "Lose the sidearm first." Jace scrambled to his feet. With fumbling hands he undid the belt of his holster. "Slowly," Gwen warned him. He dropped it to the floor with a clunk, then began to take off his clothes. "All of them…" Gwen ordered, then laughed as he took off his boxers. "I don't know how you were expecting to do anything with that maggot."

"You fucking bitch!"

Gwen hefted the rifle and hit Jace squarely in the face with its butt, and with enough force to knock the beret from his head. He collapsed onto the bed, unconscious.

Quickly, Gwen took off her robe and began to get dressed in the uniform. It was loose in places, but would disguise her well enough to get to the caves. She tucked her auburn hair up into the beret, strapped on the holster – hiding the sharpened knife away in a front pocket of the combat trousers. Then she left Jace behind, opened the door a crack again to check that nobody was around, and slipped out.

Gwen was already on the ground level, so only had to make a bolt for the exit to get outside. Rifle over her shoulder, she skirted the building, keeping her head down and praying that nobody would notice her. Thankfully everyone was busy today, men dashing to and fro, and hardly anyone gave her a second glance. Once she was on the other side of the castle, she saw she was too late.

The prisoners were already being led out from the caves under heavy guard – up the steps and into the light, hands shackled in front of them, shielding their eyes from the brightness. Gwen scanned the line as the soldiers forced them up at gunpoint, but she saw no sign of the boy.

Dammit, I waited too long…

What she did see, however, at the end of the line, was Javier. A thinner, more defeated-looking version of the Mexican, with a large plaster over one ear. But it was him. She'd never forget that face. What was he doing out of his makeshift cell? He was in uniform, too, but didn't look to be giving orders. If anything, he was just milling around observing what was going on. He didn't even appear to be armed.