Authors note: This follows on from Chapters Five, Ten and Eleven. It follows/slightly overlaps with Chapters Five and Ten. This is the last part.
Way back in Chapter Five we left Athos, who was being held by a group of baddies, being used as a human shield. In Chapter Ten we saw the aftermath of that moment, but not how Athos escaped his captors or what happened to him next...
Athos could see Aramis' problem. The thug had managed to twist him around to stand in front of him. The only exposed area of the thug was his arm, which was wrapped around Athos' chest.
Aramis was aiming his gun at them both. Athos knew his friend was an excellent shot. The marksman would be able to hit a target even the best Musketeer would miss. Athos knew Aramis could hit Paul's arm, which would bring their stand-off to an end.
But.
If Aramis shot Paul in the arm, the ball would go through the flesh and enter Athos' chest. With the slight movements the thug was making, it would be difficult for Aramis to predict where the ball would hit Athos. There were plenty of places Athos could be hit and stand a good chance of surviving. But there were more places that the thug's arm was covering that, if hit, would prove fatal.
Athos may have been a captive for several months, but he had not lost his skills. He had not lost his loyalty. He could see the fleeting moment of indecision in Aramis' face. He could see the thought process going on in Aramis mind. The lighting fast thought process. They all did it. Made split-second decisions. Because sometimes they had to.
This was one of those times.
In that split-second, Athos knew what his friend was going to do, and he knew his friend would hate doing it.
Aramis was going to fire the gun, but he would not be aiming at Paul. The brutish thug would be dealt with but not by Aramis' gun. No. The brutish thug would be dealt with after he let go of Athos. After the thug realised the Musketeer had shot his friend and not his enemy.
Aramis was going to shoot Athos.
And Athos approved.
The aim of the gun moved. The movements so slight that only Athos spotted it. Aramis made eye contact with him for a fleeting moment before squeezing the trigger.
The ball hit his left arm. The shot tore through his flesh. Athos screwed his eyes shut as the fresh injury added itself to his catalogue. But it had the desired effect. The confusion of the shot was what Aramis wanted. The thug had expected Aramis to fire at one of the other men, but Paul had underestimated Aramis. Aramis was a good enough shot that he could shot a person and know he would not kill them.
Paul loosened his grip on Athos who stumbled away.
Athos was no longer the focus of attention, and he did not mind that one bit. The three thugs advanced on his three friends. The thugs may have been ex-soldiers, but they lacked the discipline the Musketeers prided themselves with. Athos did not worry that his friends would win.
Athos could concentrate on keeping himself out of the way. He clutched at his arm; he felt the blood seeping around his fingers. It reminded him of the moment he had escaped his tent and mud, not blood, had seeped around his fingers. That feeling had been welcomed; this one was not.
The wound was bleeding freely. Athos wondered if Aramis had not aimed as well as he should have done but dismissed the idea immediately. Any number of factors could contribute to the wound bleeding as much as it was. He could have twisted his arm at the last moment, or the thug could have moved a small amount. It did not matter what mattered was that he needed to get out of the way and not cause a distraction.
He looked around; the stone wall loomed about him; there was no chance of him scaling it. It would have been a difficult task before, now it would be impossible. A breeze ruffled his shirt a little. He stared at the moving fabric and tried to work out why it had drawn his attention. He remembered they were at the dead-end of a gully. Or were they? He turned his head away from the fighting men and looked to his right. He could see a dark opening in the wall. Except. It was not entirely dark. There was something, a glimmer of light. Had he discovered a way through?
Athos eased himself onto his hands and knees. He had to abandon his injury to crawl through the hole. He winced and panted. He paused a few times, but he made his way through the craggy, gritty natural tunnel. The tunnel was only a few feet long, but to Athos, it might have been a few miles long. He continued to pull himself through. His leg caught on a sharp protruding rock. He could feel the point of the rock dragging across his hip. Even through his breeches, he would be left marked. But it was a small price to pay to get away.
To escape the torment of the previous few months.
The end of the tunnel was abrupt. Athos looked up there was an overhanging tangle of tree roots blocking the pale light of the half-moon. It hid the true end of the tunnel.
Athos heaved himself to his feet, his hand returning to the wound on his arm, which was still bleeding. He looked at the ground and spotted dark spots, watching a few more appear. It took him too long to realise it was his blood, dripping from the wound. Athos wavered.
Everything he had gone through was catching up with him fast. The capture, the beatings, the torture, the near hangings, the escape. Athos longed for it to be over.
He stumbled forward a few paces.
Ahead of him, the light of the moon had penetrated the wood through a clearing. A large tree was being lit up like a beacon. Its exposed roots looked enticing. Athos stumbled forward. He reached the tree and sank to his knees. He managed to twist around to lean back against the trunk. He felt heavy. He could feel his eyes closing.
Athos forced himself awake.
He pulled his filthy shirt loose from his equally filthy breeches. The effort it took him to rip a strip of cloth from the mud streaked fabric left him panting. He clenched his teeth around one end of the fabric to hold it still and wrapped the other around his arm. With difficulty, he tied the makeshift tourniquet around the injury. He leaned back gasping.
His brothers would look after him. They would get him to safety. They had not abandoned him. They had continued to search for him, and they had found him.
He leaned his head back against the tree and waited for them. He tried to stay away long enough to thank them. He knew he would have to remonstrate with Aramis who would feel guilt for shooting him. Athos intended to thank his friend and congratulate him on a good shot.
Athos could hear voices. He recognised Aramis; his friend sounded worried. Then he heard d'Artagnan and Porthos. He heard footsteps rapidly approaching.
It was over. He was free.
The End.
Whumpee: Athos
Authors note: I may expand this and fill in the gaps and find out what the others were up to when Athos was missing. Estel-Ara commented about the old dog, from Chapter Five, perhaps being instrumental in Athos' escape. I like that idea and will try to work it into the story.