|
:::The sound of raised voices raises him for what little sleep he has had. What sounded like British accents is now suddenly quiet. He rises and goes outside, the night still hands but the air is crisp, but death still hangs in it like the smell on the battlefield. He hunches his jacket tighter up over his shoulders and plunges his hands into his pockets as he moves around the bunkhouse. His eyes start to focus on the job at hand - survival.:::
"There are no guards still," he mutters to himself. None visable on the castle wall, none visible around the compound. With no guards about there is work to be done in the quiet of the last vestibules of night.
He hurries to the far side of the bunkhouse where the hole int he fence was. Within minutes he has unravel the shoddy workmanship of the wire and salvaged a three foot piece of wire, the perfect length to strangle a guard. Behind him off the old bunkhouse, he spots a plank. The old wooden structure has been here a while - whether by design as the original residency when the castle was being built or perhaps other more sinister reasons, but it is old, and cracked. One plank and two board are warped. Using the wire he is able to lever the plank out far enough to get his fingers behind it. He looks around.
"This is going to make some noise," he thinks to himself.
Crack.
The plank comes off in a four foot section leaving four nails in the end piece. Before anyone knows, he is back in the bunkhouse and has secreted the section of wood under the mattress of a vacant bunk.
|