Millie opened up a can of reconstituted beef and chowed down. It tasted like raw callouses and smelled worse.

'Is she back yet?' Millie asked Leng through a mouthful of barely-passable meat.

Leng stuck her head out of a small glassless window and checked left and right. Bits of plaster and flecks of paint floated down from the peeling ceiling of the delapidated and abandoned house they had holed up in, making a light snowfall on Leng's gore-tex suit.

'Nothing,' she said, sighing with frustration.

Millie continued to eat, unfazed. Whenever their scout - was her name Jessica? Jaime? something like that - returned, the story would be the same. Most likely the poor girl had been caught by Wilkes' thugs. If so then all Millie would do was what she was going to do anyway; buckle up and head into town. Scouting was a waste of time considering they already knew exactly what was happening in Houston. The only reason she sent whateverhernameis was to make the other women feel more prepared and less panicky.

'Maybe they don't know we're coming,' said Trish, a relatively new recruit who had sheared her head the moment she joined Nova Femen, and had regretted it once she realised none of them cared whether or not she had long hair, 'maybe the beacon worked!'

'Maybe the rain will turn to bullets and the trees will march on Washington.' Millie snorted at Trish. 'Wilkes knows you all by name. He knows where you're from and why you joined up. He knows your blood type and how many sisters you have.'

Trish slumped away from Millie, beaten. The rest of the five women holed up with her looked decidedly more nervous at that. Millie continued to eat, wondering if it was in her best interests to tell them the truth, as harsh as it was. Wilkes tells his men the truth, she thought, why shouldn't I?

A woman Millie didn't know started to weep silently. Leng went to comfort her. The woman was tall, skinny with platinum blonde hair. She was probably about mid-forties, Millie guessed.

'Something I said?' Millie asked.

'Sorry, Ma'am,' the woman wiped her pretty face, 'its just...'

'Kat's daughter is already in one of their fucking Compounds.'

Millie nodded at Leng's explanation.

'What's her name?' she asked.

'Cindi.' the woman called Kat choked up at the sound of her daughter's name.

Mille got to her feet and tossed the revolting meal aside. She walked up to Kat and cupped her face softly.

'We will return everything they have done to you, to us, to our sisters and daughters. We will get them back, I promise you.'

Kat stiffened up at this. She sniffed hard and then straightened her back. Millie patted her cheek and then turned to Leng.

'Gear up. Get everyone in position to move out.'

Leng obeyed. Millie left the shelter and stepped outside into the fine rain, letting it soak her skin. She swigged from a small hip-flask, tasting cranberry juice and vodka. The sound of Leng ordering the other four into position, checking ammo, giving call signals and checking her own weapons gave Millie the little lift she needed. Maybe we can actually pull this off.

Leng stepped outside with Millie. The rain soaked her straight black hair and flattened it onto her back, lubricating her pale skin.

'Kat has another daughter.'

'Mm?'

'We have to stop them. Every minute goes by, another one of us goes into a cage.'

Millie took another swig. Leng frowned at her.

'I thought you were going to quit doing that.'

'Not the best day to quit drinking.'

Leng folded her arms to mark her disapproval. Millie sniffed the air and then heard a faint beep coming from her pocket.

From within she pulled out a small detector, about the size of a contact lens. The holographic screen was illuminated blue and read 'POSITIVE'.

Leng's mouth slid open. Her eyes became huge white beacons, pointed directly at Millie.

'You... you, with him?'

Millie dropped the detector on the ground and smashed it with the heel of her boot.

'Don't tell the others.'

Leng seemed to have nothing to say. She shut her mouth but her eyes remained starkly wide, full of confusion and, for some reason, a little betrayal.

Millie took a final swig from her hip-flask and tossed it at Leng, heading back inside.

Two crushing metal bars contracted above and below Ruth's tender, beaten breasts as Wilkes drove the compressing dial further downward. Her moans of pain slowly became a whine, and then a scream that filled the small hotel room like a gas.

Wilkes straddled Ruth as she lay strapped to the bed, legs stretched out with two long cables affixed to her ankles. He teased the dial further and further, watching her face crease up with the pain.

Once he was satisfied that the vice around her tits was good and tight he spun around and picked a piece of broken glass off the tools table, placed one hand on the outside of her thigh and pressed the sharpest point slowly into her clitoris, watching her hips buck and legs tremble as her screams and wails grew louder.

The door opened without a knock and in came Nate. Wilkes jerked his head up and saw the kid still kitted out in his black kevlar and ghillie jeans. His weapon was stowed.

'All done?' Wilkes asked, still driving the glass shard into Ruth's crotch. Nate watched Ruth's head swaying left and right.

'Yes. All five office blocks cleared, good reports from the other teams.

'Excellent. Pass me that bullbar.'

Nate swept up and handed Wilkes a long metal rod with a bulbous end. Wilkes took it and wrapped his fingers around Ruth's buttocks, pulling them apart.

'Anything else I need to know?'

Wilkes flicked his eyes up at Nate. The kid was standing in silence, face a blank sheet.

'Arrowheads have a problem.'

Wilkes slid the bullbar into Ruth's asshole bulb-first. She twitched and squealed as it slid inside her.

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah,' said Nate, 'you might want to come out here.'

Wilkes shook his head as he pressed a button at the end of the bullbar. Ruth screeched as the bulb inside her expanded suddenly.

'I'm busy.'

'They asked for you personally.'

Wilkes cursed, pulled the bullbar out and got off the bed. Ruth continued to wail in agony as the two men left the room.

Outside in the lobby of Wilkes' suite were five men, all of them clad in the sand-coloured khaki of the Arrowheads. Despite the plentiful and comfortable seating they were all standing around, feet apart and arms folded in a typical macho-wannabe pose he had come to associate with them.

'How can I help you gentlemen?' Wilkes asked, wiping the female fluids from his hands.

Rathers stepped forward. Wilkes had not recognised him at first; the old man seemed to have dyed his hair. Pretentious, thought Wilkes.

'We collaborated with your Bluenorth Security as asked. We collected and catalogued all female targets inside the complexes, as asked. Now we have a request of our own.'

'Yes?' replied Wilkes, 'and what might that be?'

'They want all of the female managers.'

Nate spoke for the Arrowheads. All of them, to a man, shot their eyes at him, full of distrust and enmity.

'All of them?' He said to Rathers, as if it had been he, and not Nate, who had spoken, 'how many are there?'

'A preliminary head-count shows that, in office buildings, thirty percent of all managers were female.' Rathers bristled his moustache (bizarrely still grey and not matching his hair). 'Arrowhead Society requests that these be delivered to us to face judgement.'

'Judgement meaning execution.' said Wilkes. He walked through the throng of men, making them part for him, and took a seat, indicating that they do the same. They looked to their commander. Rathers gave them a nod and they sat down.

'Judgement meaning what is fitting for women who compounded their sins by seeking authority over men,' Rathers clarified, 'this is something the Arrowheads were founded to stand against.'

'Is that so?' Wilkes bobbed his head and knotted his fingers together, 'Started with a bad boss, did it? I'm sure many of my employees can relate to that.'

Nate sniggered. None of the Arrowheads looked amused.

'I'm not sure I want to set a precedent of executing poor managers, and neither do you.'

Wilkes knew Rathers had the right of it. In fact, the man had already raised this issue with him more than once. The point was not to prevent these men from getting what they wanted; the point was to remind them who was in control. It was good that they came to him first, it was not good enough if they forgot that in the future.

'You have our request.' Rathers said with a tone of finality.

Wilkes brushed his stubbly face, sharing a glance with Nate. The kid nodded once. Wilkes decided enough was enough.

'Arrowhead will have its due in this matter, as compensation for our assistance with Bluenorth activities.'

Rathers inclined his head. 'Thank you, friend.'

'You may take half of all female managers you find, excluding any who our databases show were active feminists. If any of them are married you must allow a grace period for the husbands to claim them under exclusivity.'

'So only single, non-feminist female managers, and half of them at that?'

Rathers seemed less than impressed. Wilkes said nothing, but simply crossed his fingers and stared back at the hair-dying old man.

Take it or leave it, he thought loudly.

'Very well.' Rathers threw his hands up.

'Excellent,' said Wilkes, 'Nate can take care of everything for you.'

Rathers understood that the conversation was over. Wilkes got back up and headed to the bedroom, where Ruth lay still, chest rising and falling rapidly, letting out a constant, low moan.

'Now,' said Wilkes, closing the door, 'where were we?'