Evie had been the name of Marthas daughter, and when she had told Gabrielle the story of her child, and the illness which claimed her life, the name had somehow fitted. The first time Gabrielle had spoken to the tiny bundle in her arms, the baby smiled and let out a sound that was half gasp, half cry of delight.

Gabrielle shuffled, on her knees, across the floor of her room and squeezed herself into the tiny gap between the bed and a wall. Evie grasped at her mothers face with her fingers, but she had stopped crying for the moment at least.

Gabrielle remained there waiting until the door finally swung open. Evies father entered, dragging Martha Stiles after him, one side of her face so badly swollen that one eye had almost closed. Her mouth was stained with blood.

Im sorry, said Martha huskily. They threatened to kill even more of our people if I didnt tell them where you were.

Tarrant meanwhile said nothing, his face an emotionless mask.

A Freeholder guerrilla wearing fatigues stepped up behind him. Find Anil Sifra, Tarrant turned to him, and tell him to come here.

With a nod, the guerrilla went on his way.

Tarrants gaze drifted down towards the tiny bundle clutched against Gabrielles shoulder.

Her names Evie, Gabrielle told him boldly, then watched as a clutch of emotions went to war across the mans face. Perhaps there still was something human left within him after all.

He then let go of Martha, thrusting her towards another man with a scraggly blond goatee who had at just that moment appeared in the doorway. She guessed this newcomer must be Sifra. Gabrielle kicked out and screamed as Tarrant stepped forward, reaching down to drag her out of her hiding place.

Evie began crying, much louder this time.

She didnt have the strength to resist as Tarrant took Evie from her grasp and lifted the child to his shoulder. Then Sifra stepped forward, and struck Gabrielle across the face with the back of his hand, before grabbing hold of her and dragging her into the corridor outside.

They hustled her and Martha along to the refectory, passing Sols slumped body on the way. Half his head was missing, and the wall behind him was liberally spattered with his blood.

The rest of the outpost staff were already gathered in the refectory. Tables and chairs had been pushed to one side, and they had been forced to kneel with their backs to a wall, their hands resting on top of their heads.

She could hardly bear to look at those white and terrified faces. The bodies of two of them already lay in the centre of the room, seemingly shot at point-blank range.

This carnage, she realized, was all her fault. If she and Megan hadnt sought refuge . . .