The men from the village were there, he knew them all, or at least he used to know them, because now they looked only slightly familiar, changed far beyond their filthy flesh and dishevelled clothing. They moved with an awkwardness that made them appear unnatural. Their paralysed faces were set and expressionless; it was as if they had been carved from the cold grey rock of the prison gate from which they were emerging.

The faces were dead, but the eyes were alive, everyone had red rimmed eyes that shone with the cold fire of fear, darting left and right, trying to comprehend what was happening.

Terror dragged his stomach towards the floor as the harsh metallic sound of the machine-gun being cocked reverberated around the courtyard…