"Now!" Ruth shouted.
Harry and Graham sprang into motion, swinging the chair legs like clubs, scattering their foes with a skill born of fear and just the hint of freedom. Always there seemed to be a new body to attack and Harry felt his arms grow heavy as assailant after assailant entered the room and was clubbed, forced, pushed, beaten away. He wasn't certain how many he rebuffed—but he knew that he missed one.
"Freeze!" Newboots instructed. Harry spun and advanced on the source of the command, lurching to a halt at what he saw: Ruth held by a fist of hair, her arms bound behind her, and a knife tip resting against her bellybutton.
"All right. All right! I give!" Harry surrendered, raising his arms. He watched the shock ping from Graham's eyes to his mind before he too raised his arms. Dropped to his knees by the butt of a submachine gun, Harry's hands were forced behind his back and trapped once again in zipcuffs, feeling like Caroline Wells in Ruth's book, Forged in the Jungles of Burma, punished for doing what was right. Graham was subjected to the same defeat.
Two more men entered the room, taking Newboots' place so that he could languidly pace the space between the two men, and the woman and unborn child. "I did warn you, did I not?" he accused. "Now, there is need for recompense."
"What do you mean?" Harry demanded to know, narrowing his eyes to study this man, this lunatic.
"One of you will be disciplined for this misbehavior. My first choice would be the woman as she would suffer the most."
Harry's mind blanked of any thought but crimson wrath. Struggling, he pushed to his feet, rushing toward his wife, frantic to guard her from any threat, a juggernaut of protection wheeling toward the woman who had restored hope to his life. The crack of a whip halted his progress for one split second.
"If you do not cease and desist, she will suffer for your disgraceful behaviour!" Newboots threatened, shouting to fill the spaces between Harry's furies.
"Dad! Stop!" Graham demanded. Harry stopped.
"Better. Who will accept the discipline?" Newboots began anew his languid pacing, pointing his whip alternately between the three of them.
Harry sighed, his eyes fixed on his wife. "Me. Of course me," he responded in disgust, looking away as Ruth shook her head in protest, her eyes filming with sorrow.
"No. Dad—" A fist silenced Graham's rebuke.
"Very well. It is done." Newboots returned his attention to his men. "Take them to the compound."
Once the room was emptied of all save Newboots, Harry and two guards, Harry noticed for the first time the metal loops in the wall at the end of the room. He gulped. Roughly forced across the room, Harry fought to remove himself from this bizarre situation, requiring the conscription of three more guards to accomplish the securing of Harry Pearce to the wall, his pyjama shirt raised to expose his back to the penalty for resistance.
"Five lashes for your first escape attempt. I must admit, sir, that yours was the most effective thus far. Begin."