* * *
Imogen had no clue how long she had been locked up in the cell. It felt like an eternity. She had come to think that she would never see the light of day again, but one night, through the blackest black, light exploded back into her life.
‘What was that?’ a man shouted in a panic at the sound of a deafening explosion.
‘They’re bombing us,’ said another. The sound of gunshots rang out in the distance, but they could see nothing in the pitch black of the prison.
‘Stay still,’ Imogen ordered, bursting into life. Her training had worked. She had hardly been conscious till the explosion, but the sounds of conflict had trigged her instincts and fired her into action.
Footsteps were heard, though where they were coming from Imogen couldn’t be certain. Then a door banged open and a corridor at the end of the hall suddenly burst into a million tiny flares as gunshots were fired.
Imogen stood in pitch black, praying for the right side to win though she couldn’t even tell which side was which. She begged for time to pass by, for the last gunshot to be fired, not because she was afraid of being hit, simply because she was so desperate to know who had burst into the prison and what they would do with her. Good or bad, it couldn’t be worse than the torture she had been subjected to already.
After a whole symphony of combat in the dark, a squadron of men entered the hall. Imogen closed her eyes and prayed to God with all the strength she had left. She felt some divinity with her then, whether it be called God or the life force or simply inner strength; something took her by the hand and led her away from the prison, somewhere silent with solitude and hope, somewhere calm as she waited for one piece of news to either tell her she was free or she was finished. Either there was light after darkness or there was not. Either way, the truth was upon her.
‘Help, we’re in here. Help,’ several of the prisoners called. Imogen remained silent. She held her dog tags in her hand. Guy was by her side in those moments. She could feel his tiny little hands holding on to her. She wished she could save herself, but her life was out of her hands. Guy was out of her hands.
A flashlight lit the hall like gospel. Its radius widened. A man in a mask, dressed all in black with a machine gun in his hand, stood on the other side of the cell.
‘We’re here to help,’ he said. Every single person in the cell fell to the ground in relief. They had felt the very depths of hell and they had seen light.
‘We’re going to need medics, stat,’ the man called, realising the extent of injury and the complete deprivation the prisoners had been subjected to. Several of the prisoners clawed at him desperately.
‘Remain still. Remain still,’ he ordered, holding his gun to one prisoner.
Other soldiers burst into the hall and ran over. One of them held a cutting torch. He lit it. Sparks flew as he began to work on the lock. It ripped apart and fell to the floor, the door squeaking open at last. Medics ran into the cell, kneeling down by the most injured prisoners and immediately administering to them. Gradually they allowed the prisoners out of the cell.
‘Let me help,’ Imogen pleaded to one of the masked men.
‘Who are you?’
‘Major Imogen Cormun.’ She raised her hand into a salute. Her legs were like jelly. She was so starved of energy. She slipped and fell to the floor. Daniels rushed over and held her in his arms as she blacked out.
Imogen’s mind had faded. The next thing she knew she was lying in a hospital bed with wires attached to her. She couldn’t recall how she had gotten there, how long she had been there or even what age she was. She thought she was old. She felt old. She felt like she’d seen all the life and action she could handle, like she was at the end of her days. She closed her eyes. A dead tone rang in her ears.