Before You Start A War

Chapter Nine

The following day, Niall has been tied to one of the posts in the middle of the camp, completely naked. They are preparing to beat him, which will eventually lead to his murder, since he can already see the loaded shotgun only a few feet away from him.

"Did you honestly think you'd get away with this?" Jackson ridicules, pulling the whip out from where it's tied to his uniform; the same whip he was going to use on Harry only days before. Before Niall can respond, he feels the crack of it against his unclothed back. He cries out, arching in toward the wooden post, causing splinters to dig into his skin.

"Did you think we wouldn't notice the missing map?" Another whip crack, another scar against Niall's back. There's a crowd of people surrounding him, yelling out insults and cheering every time he is whipped again.

"What about killing Michaels?" Another whip crack.

Niall tunes out what Jackson is saying to him, and instead focuses on dealing with the pain the whip is inflicting on his skin. It isn't until a minute or two later when he's harshly pulled away from the post by his hair, his eyes snapping open and looking into the menacing eyes of Jackson.

"You are a disgrace." Jackson claims, spitting into his face a second after. "What a useless waste of space. Not even the Molly-house wanted you, so you brought your disgusting sickness here."

Jackson lets go of his hair, and Niall lets his head fall back into the post, the spit running down his face. Not even ten seconds later, he's being turned around so he's facing outward. The splintering wood is digging into the wounds on his back, and he can feel his blood dripping down to the ground. He lets his head hang.

"Should've known you were a nancy after the way you were with that boy. Didn't want to see your little queen being manhandled by anyone other than you."

Jackson steps up to Niall, pulling his hair back again and meeting the man's gaze underneath him. He relishes in the sight of tears in Niall's eyes, threatening to spill.

In one swift movement, he drops Niall's head back down and brings his knee up right into his nose. Niall recoils; he can already taste the blood in his mouth, and hopes his nose isn't broken. He slumps forward against his will a second later when Jackson delivers a harsh kick to his abdomen, the ropes binding his arms around the post chafing against his wrists.

Another kick is sent into his stomach, and Niall is forced to spit the blood in his mouth out, winded and in pain. He can see the splatter if it against the grass and dirt, and a little bit also landed on Jackson's pant leg.

Right as Jackson is about to kick again, the corporal calls out, "That's enough, Jackson."

Jackson turns back to the corporal, yelling out, "He doesn't deserve to be killed yet. That's too easy. He deserves to sit here for days, being beaten and whipped; bruised, cut, and maimed. He should live out his last few days suffering, on display, for us all to come by and torture."

The corporal stands up straighter, looking around Jackson at Niall tied to the post. His head is hanging low, his chin almost touching his chest, and he can see the blood dripping down his chest and legs, from his nose, mouth, and back. Bruises are already starting to form where Jackson's boot dug into his skin.

Jackson turns back around, ready to kick Niall again, but then the corporal yells, "I said that's enough!" At that, Jackson turns to attention, saluting, even though he doesn't understand where this is coming from. "Horan."

Niall pulls his head up just enough to catch the corporal's gaze, weakly muttering, "Sir."

"I don't understand why you've done this. You were given very specific orders on what to do, and not only did you fail, you willingly went against me and all your comrades. You should be ashamed of yourself." The corporal starts, and Niall lets his head drop back down. He knows what's coming, and as much as he vouched to Harry that he was willing to die for them to be free, he's still scared. "But, you're still a good fighter, and you're smart. So, we offer you an ultimatum."

Niall looks up again, expecting to see the barrel of the shotgun pointed at his head. But it's not, and is nowhere in sight.

"Jackson, untie him." The corporal demands. Jackson seems as if he's going to refuse, but the corporal sends him a look that has him rushing forward and cutting the ropes off. Niall drops to his knees, wanting to curl up, but doesn't at the corporal's next words. "Stand, soldier."

Niall looks up again, seeing all his comrades staring at him menacingly. All except the corporal.

Niall struggles to push himself to his feet, wanting to drop back down feeling his cuts stretch and bend with his movement. His stomach is tight, his nose throbbing and dripping with blood and mucus, as well as his mouth, which has run dry and tastes only of blood. However, he still manages to stand up straight.

"Put these on." The corporal points to another soldier, who throws his uniform at his feet. Slowly, Niall reaches down and picks up the dirty clothes, pulling them on one by one. His rucksack has been riffled through, all of his weapons being removed, as well as his canteen. The shirt rubs uncomfortably against the lacerations on his back, but he doesn't let that phase him as he returns to a standing position.

"If you can make it to the end of the field and into the woods, you are free to live, as long as you never show your face around these men again." The corporal offers. "But, if you can't make it to the end of the field and you collapse at any point, you will be brought back here and these men will be allowed to do whatever they please to your body."

Niall nods, turning his head to look at the field, groaning at his clothes chafing against his wounds. It's a long walk out to the barn, and even further past it into the woods. He's not sure if he'll be able to make it.

"Horan." The corporal hollers, pulling his attention back. "If you do end up making it, just know that if ever I, or any of these men ever see you again as long as this war is still going on, they are allowed to do whatever they please to you. I have no control over their actions against you beyond this point."

Niall nods again, and, for the last time, he lifts his arm and salutes the man in front of him weakly.

"Go." Are the corporal's last words to Niall as he salutes back, stepping in line with the other soldiers, acting as a metaphorical barrier between Niall and everyone else.

Niall turns towards the woods, taking his first step. After only that small movement, his body feels as if it's going to give out right that second, and he almost has to take a knee to hurl onto the grass. Instead, he composes himself, spitting the remaining blood out of his mouth and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He doesn't think it's broken, thankfully.

After about the halfway point, the crowd of soldiers watching him get antsy. "Can't we just shoot him?" One of them asks, twitching for his rifle.

"No." The corporal orders. "At least see if he can make it there."

"Where did you even come up with this idea, sir?" Jackson asks, twirling his whip around, kicking up the dirt below him.

"Another soldier came up with it. He told me that Horan was strong, and resilient, but he doesn't have a chance surviving out in that wilderness. He'll be dead by tomorrow. He'll die suffering, just as you wished."

The rest of the soldiers seem to accept that answer, craving for the death of their former comrade.

However, at the very back of the crowd, Louis looks on. Niall's almost to the end of the field. He knew he could do it. He knows he'll be able to survive out there, despite what he told the corporal. He's much stronger than anyone was ever willing to admit.

At least, Louis hopes he is. He slipped a little bit of food and a small water canister in his rucksack just in case.