“Never mind that,” she hissed, handing him her rifle. Her plan wouldn’t work with a weapon behind her back, but it still felt like she had ripped her other arm off. Harris took it reluctantly as she fumbled with her thick winter coat, folding it carefully and tucking it into the shadows of the alley. Hopefully she could find it again once it was over. “I just need you to move fast,” she explained, reaching for the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it around her waist, tying it so it flashed the expanse of her stomach. I’m not the sexiest woman, but hopefully they’re not too choosy.
Harris stumbled backwards as he scrambled to his feet, snatching at her hands as she reached up to tidy her hair as best she could. He pulled her wrists down, holding even the steel arm tightly as he hemmed her in against the wall behind. It yanked on the straps holding it to her shoulder. “What are you doing?” His voice was filled with panic as he turned searching eyes over her face. “I’m not doing this unless you tell me.”
Biting her lip for a moment, knowing he would hate her plan either way, Freda relented with a sigh. She turned her head to one side to avoid his gaze. “I can distract the guards, flirt with them a little. That’s all. They’ll take more notice if I’m flashing some skin, Harris.” She gestured towards her knotted t-shirt, noting the pain that crossed his face as she spoke. He really didn’t like it. The thought made her more repulsed at the plan, but a thrill went through her at the idea that Harris cared so much. It was a twisted combination, and did nothing to prevent the bile that rose to her throat like acid. “Then you get to the side entrance, get in, and get the performers out. I’ll wait in the alleyway, over here. We can probably fight the guards off then, because there’ll be more of us.”
He swallowed hard, looking over towards the main entrance of the prison. He turned cat-like eyes towards her, filled with uncertainty. “I don’t like this.”
“Surprisingly, neither do I. Just…be quick, okay?”
For a moment, she thought that Harris was going to refuse point blank. Then his hands slid down to his sides, releasing hers, and he took a step back. “Alright. But you run if anything happens.”
Giving him a firm nod, Freda reached across to place her hand over his. It lasted for only a second, but the sparks that seemed to jump between them gave her the courage to turn and boldly walk out into the pavement. The night air was icy as it kissed her bared skin, but she gritted her teeth and adopted a swagger, striding over to the main entrance of the prison. As she walked across, the guards ceased talking and stared in her direction. One of them, a six-foot man with a woollen hat pulled low over his brow, raised his hunting rifle and pointed it in her direction as she got closer. The metal chair he had been sat on squeaked against the pavement. “No closer. This is a restricted area.”
Letting out an easy laugh that would have impressed any actor, Freda put her hands up to show she wasn’t carrying any weapons, slowly continuing to move forwards. The plastic sheeting covering the small tent set up for the guards flapped in the wind, steam rising from within from a chrome kettle she could just spy sat on a hotplate. “Easy, boys. I’m not here to cause any trouble.” Her smile hurt so much her muscles twitched against it.
A second guard came over, shorter than the first, but stockier. His dark eyes were set into a weathered face, two of his front teeth missing. He jerked his head at Freda, lightly fingering the pistol held in his belt. “You heard us the first time. Leave. Now.”
Fuck. I guess flirting isn’t going to work so well. Swallowing anxiously, she licked her lips, scanning the stoic faces of the five guards watching her intently. Her mind whirred for a new twist to her plan. It hit on one, but it was stupid enough that she almost laughed out loud at it. “Um…look. Some of your friends sent me, to…er…” Freda sucked in a deep breath, hoping they read her nervousness as a reaction to a rifle pointed at her face. Which, without her own weapon, was actually fairly daunting. “To give you boys a dance,” she finished up, forcing the smile back on her face. Her cheeks ached.
“A dance, eh?” The first guard crooned, tilting his head back to see her better. He leant across and slapped the second guard on the back with a roar of laughter. “It must be old Fisher! He knew it was your birthday yesterday. Told you he wouldn’t forget a present.”
“Quite a present,” the second guard enthused, looking at her closely from the neck down. Freda tried not to flinch.
A flash of colour out the corner of her eye told her that Harris had made it past them, and she mentally tried to work out how many minutes she could expect him to be inside. She didn’t fancy actually putting any dancing skills to the test, judging by how the guards were looking at her. It made her skin crawl. Lowering her hands as the first guard put his rifle back over his shoulder, she purred, “Would one of you boys please get me a drink? I’m parched from the walk over here. Water, if you have it,” she added hastily, her mind flashing to images of being handed alcohol. The last thing she needed was something to slow down her senses.
Another guard near the tent gave an affirmative grunt, standing up from his stool and disappearing inside the flapping sheet covering the tent. There was a gurgle of water being poured into a container, and Freda smiled merrily at the others still watching her. A quick glance over their shoulders allowed her to see Harris disappearing inside the building through the side entrance. He’s done it. He got it unlocked.
“Here. Water.”
“Oh, thank you,” she replied graciously, accepting the offered plastic cup. There was a strong scent of sweat that clung to the guard that handed her drink across, and she kept her eyes cast down as he leaned across, not wanting to meet his eyes. Now that Harris was in, it was time for her to leave. She could wait in the alleyway unseen like she had suggested, and the guards wouldn’t have a chance against them when a whole caravan of performers came filing out from the prison. Being careful to make it look accidental, Freda tipped her cup up as though to drink from it, pulling it back just in time to let it spill down her front. The icy water soaked her t-shirt in seconds, leaving it clinging to her form in a way that only made the guards ogle more. “Oh, damn it,” she muttered, hamming it up. “How the hell did that happen? Look, er…I’m sorry, boys. But I’ll have to go home and change. I can’t do my dance for you like this.” Freda gave another forced smile. “I won’t be long.”
The air filled with tension at her words, and she took a step back, the looks on the guards’ faces telling her she had misread the situation entirely. The second guard, the short but stocky one, walked around the card table set up on the pavement, stepping in front of her progress and preventing her from walking away. He leered down at her. “We don’t mind a bit of water. Do we, lads?” The other guards murmured in agreement. He closed in on her, and Freda’s heartbeat rocketed around her body. Her metal hand curled in reaction to her thoughts. Reaching down to wrap a piece of her hair around one stumpy finger, he added, “You’re my present, aren’t you? And I haven’t opened you yet.” His friends all gave lewd chuckles at his words, and Freda reached up to snap her hair out of his grasp, only making him laugh harder.
Never in her life had she felt so utterly stupid and defenceless. This is the sort of crap I’m supposed to be smart enough to avoid. Freda lifted her chin defiantly. There was only one way out of the problem, and it wasn’t going to be with her taking her clothes off. “Look,” she started calmly, hoping to appeal to the man’s better nature, “I need to get changed. Please be a gentleman and let me get past, okay?”
The dark flash in his eyes revealed he didn’t have a better nature. The guard shook his head, his smile becoming a sinister grin. “I’m no gentleman, pet. And like I said, I want to open my present. And then all my friends here are going to ‘open’ you as well. Understand?”
Some small thread of hope made Freda look around, scanning the street for any passers-by. Her eyes fell on the red-brick houses and white-painted shops, their glass dark even in the moonlight. One of the streetlights flickered, the only s
ign of movement. There was no one. Not that she was sure anyone would have come to her aid even if she had seen someone. Damn it. Only one way out, right? Flexing her muscles for what was to come, Freda leaned back and collected her saliva, spitting neatly into the guard’s right eye. He gave a cry of anger, wiping at his eye. It was just enough time for Freda to curl her robotic hand into a fist, bending down and slamming it hard into his crotch.
He cried out with pain this time, falling back onto the pavement and grasping at himself, his face contorted. The first guard marched over towards her with a yell, but Freda was ready for him, and she neatly dodged his arm as he swung out a hand to grab her. Using the momentum of her duck, she bobbed back up, thrusting her steel arm upwards in a graceful upper-cut. It smacked into the guard’s jaw with such force that she heard it cracking in protest, and he stumbled backwards onto the card table. Just as he fell, he dropped the rifle with a clatter to the ground.
Freda’s eyes lit up as she saw it, and she dived across the concrete before the other three guards could stop her or raise their own weapons, her skin burning form the friction as she slid. Snatching it up and pointing it towards the guards, her chest rising and falling heavily, Freda scrambled to her feet and moved her aim between them all. The one who had been knocked over the table was pulled to his feet by one of his companions, and the other two took slow but steady steps towards her. The one she had hit in the crotch still rolled on the ground with howls of agony, but Freda’s eyes flickered from him sharply as the other four guards all closed in towards her.
Where the fuck is Harris?!
Guilt swam over Harris like a black cloud as he slipped inside the prison, his brain screaming for him to run back outside and help Freda. Something about the way the guards had stared at her made his blood boil. He was terrified of losing her in a way that he hadn’t felt since his parents died. But the way she had looked at him, so determined and stubborn about rescuing her brother…he hadn’t been able to say no. Harris shook his head to clear his mind. It wouldn’t help right now to think about things. Concentrate. Then you can get out there faster.
The prison inside was dimly lit with a few fluorescents, their plastic casings filled with years of flies and bugs that had crawled in. He found himself in a long corridor, the walls covered in white and blue tiles, just like the floor. There were no doors that he could see, with the only exit being the choice of turning left or right into new hallways at the end of the passageway. Keeping himself crouched down, Harris moved swiftly, his back pressed against the wall as he peered around the corner. The edge of the tiles were cool against his cheek, digging into his flesh as he scanned for any sign of people. Doubt trickled down his back like an icy finger. Why aren’t there any guards in here?
Harris soon found the reason why no guards were patrolling the outer parts of the prison. He delved into the corridors, turning right and left until he hit the central room of the building. The ceiling was high-vaulted, the walls tiled like the rest of the surroundings, but painted in a now faded shade of cream from five foot upwards. In the centre of the room a strong-looking prison cage had been erected, like some macabre exhibit. One guard sat in the corner on a small desk chair, his gun propped between his legs as he snored gently. But Harris’ attention was drawn away by the sheer number of people held in the cage. Their brightly-coloured garments gave them away as the performers he was hunting down, and he gave a nervous glance across to the guard before scampering quickly across the floor.
Grabbing two of the bars and pushing his face between, careful to remain at the back and out of sight in case the guard should wake up, Harris hissed, “Hey, are you the travelling caravan?”
There was a murmur of conversation and a whisper of fabric as the prisoners turned to look at him, some of them standing back and making way for a woman to pass between them. She was small-framed and petite, her dyed-blue mohican bobbing as she sauntered across, her shoulders jangling with small coins threaded into large shoulder pads. Bending down to speak to him, tapping a long nail against one of the bars, she whispered back, “Yes. I’m Katrina, the ringleader of the Travelling Yorkshire Performers. Who are you?”
“You can call me Harris. I’m from the Allied Vigilants.”
Katrina leaned back against the bars with narrowed eyes. “I thought you were into saving people? Does breaking criminals out of jail now count?”
He would have laughed, if the situation hadn’t been so tense. Everyone—including Freda—seemed to have the wrong idea about what his group did. They helped people, but they were little more than mercenaries. They tried to survive, just like everyone else. Pushing the thought aside, he muttered back, “It doesn’t sound like you’re all real criminals, for a start. And secondly, I’m helping a friend. I need to break you out. She thinks her brother is with your troupe.” He gazed around the sea of faces looking back at him, but it was impossible to pick so many people apart so quickly, especially when he didn’t know what Gareth looked like.
“Whatever your reasons, we’re in,” Katrina grinned back. “All we need is the lock picking. We’d have done it ourselves, but they searched and stripped us when we came in. Can you do it?”
This time, Harris did give a soft chuckle. “Believe it or not, yes. Give me a second.”
Wincing as one of his boots rubbed against the floor with a squeal, Harris gingerly made his way around to the front of the cage, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the thin file he always kept there. He gave a glance across to the guard. He was still fast asleep, snorting gently into his chest as his head dipped forwards, his shadow stirring on the wall as the light above flickered. Harris’ heart rocketed against his chest as he reached out for the door of the cage, taking a moment to peer at the lock. It was rusted, but well-oiled and large enough to see clearly that there weren’t many pins to knock into place. Taking a deep breath, he placed his thin file inside, jiggling it about until he felt the first pin swing around and drop into place. He did it for each one, his nerves prickling every time the guard gave a louder snore than before, or muttered dreamily to himself.
Blowing the filings off his thin piece of metal, Harris placed it back in his pocket, swinging the door open easily. The hinges had obviously been well-oiled recently, as it made no sound. Katrina was at the front of the group, and she nodded gratefully to Harris as she slinked past, everyone filing out silently. Before he could stop them, Katrina and two men beside her snuck up on the guard, one of them picking up his weapon and thudding the butt of it against his temple. The guard gave a slurring cry, before falling to the ground in a heap. Donning a merry grin, Katrina looked back over at Harris’ surprised expression. “It’s easier if he’s not sneaking up on us from the rear.”
Easing himself up from the floor, Harris dusted off the front of his jeans with a sigh, giving a reluctant nod. “I suppose.” Relief washed over him as he realised the next part would be easier with so many to help Freda and himself. “Now, we still have to get past the guards outside. But with all of us, if we—”
His words were cut off by a piercing scream from outside, and Harris’ head snapped around as though on an elastic band. His stomach twisted as he recognised the voice, and he broke into a run as his pulse roared in his ears, flowing around his body like fire. I knew I shouldn’t have left her on her own. Freda! His stomach gave another sickening twist, and he tried to blot out thoughts of living the rest of his life without seeing her again as he pushed hard on the side entrance door.
Somehow, Freda hadn’t realised it would become such a mess.
She struggled against the hold on her arms, gritting her teeth in frustration, not letting her mind go to its darkest parts. Harris’ name flashed through her head again and again. One of the guards holding her down had a bloody nose from where she had head-butted him, and the other one was the short, stocky bastard who she had punched in the crotch. She spat in his face as he sneered down at her, wishing she had hit him harder. Her legs flailed as she tried to kick them
high enough to try and catch either of the men, but they held her too firmly for her to do anything more than struggle valiantly.
One of the other guards came into her line of sight, standing over her with a lecherous grin. A stab of panic ran through her as she flitted her eyes down to see him reaching for his belt, and it bubbled over into her throat, erupting in a high-pitched scream that she didn’t recognise as her own voice. Freda kicked harder, tugging at her limbs with no real plan, her mind shrieking for her to get away, any way she could. It was the bandit who had cut her arm off all over again. Her ears rang with her cries as she flailed wildly, only vaguely aware of blood trickling down her own nose as the guard came closer. She heard his zip being undone, a sickening rip through the air that only fuelled her struggle.
“Argh!”
Freda heard the angry yell from somewhere behind the guard darkening her view, his shadow cast over her, but she couldn’t see who it was. The next thing she knew, something cracked heavily through the air, and the guard wobbled for a moment, staring down with confusion in his eyes before staggering backwards. Two shots fired into the air, and he gave a scream of agony as blood appeared in large circles through his knees, his legs falling beneath him.
She nearly sobbed with relief when Harris’ form filled her vision, his green eyes lit with fire.
“Get the fuck off her!” He lifted his shotgun high in the air, slamming the handle into the nose of the guard she had already head-butted. There was a stomach-churning crunch of bone, and he recoiled with a cry of pain, loosening his grip on her arm. Taking the initiative, Freda swung herself to one side, curling her fist and hurling it into the cheek of the other guard. It was enough for him to let go, and she felt herself being pulled to a standing position as he did so.
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