Pawn’s Gambit by Timothy Zahn

counter that adjoined the sink, she used her tied hands to help push herself into a sitting position on top of it. The counter was, for a change, clear of dishes and other obstacles, and by twisting around Heather was able to rise into a kneeling posture. Positioning herself carefully, she bowed forward at the waist and stretched her hands upwards toward the bayonet.
    She couldn’t reach it.
    â€œDamn, damn, damn,” she whispered bitterly. She tried again, straining an inch or two higher this time, but she was still nearly a foot too short. Standing up would help, but there was no way, tied as she was, for her to get the needed leverage to manage such a move.
    She seemed to realize that, and for a moment she knelt motionlessly. I could see tears of frustration in her eyes. “It’s all right, Heather—” I began.
    â€œShut up, Neil.” She thought for another minute and I could see her come to some decision. Moving cautiously, she turned so that she was leaning over the sink in a precarious-looking position. Then, taking a deep breath, she hit the window sharply with her elbow. It shattered with a loud crash.
    I bit back my involuntary exclamation. Jackson and Colby stormed in, knives at the ready. “What the hell’s goin’ on?” Jackson demanded. He glanced at me to confirm that my ropes were still intact, then strode to the counter and roughly hauled Heather down. “What the hell were you trying to pull, bitch?”
    She shook her head defiantly. He slapped her, hard, and turned to me. “What was she tryin’ to do?”
    A damn good question, especially as I hadn’t the slightest idea. “She didn’t say, but I think she was trying to get out,” I said, hoping I was way off the mark. “I guess she forgot about the security bars.”
    He looked back at Heather, who was now looking sullen. From the doorway, Colby spoke up. “I’ll bet she was looking for something. Let’s check those cupboards.”
    Jackson dragged Heather back to her chair and then returned to the cabinet. I watched in helpless silence as he searched all the cabinet shelves and then, almost as an afterthought, climbed onto the counter and looked on top of it. With a triumphant war whoop, he pulled out the bayonet. “Trying to get out, huh?” he sneered at me. “Hot damn! Wait’ll Duke sees this.”
    â€œJackson,” Heather said, speaking to him for the first time, “won’t you let us go? Please? We can’t hurt you anymore—you’ll all be long gone before we could do anything.”
    â€œScrew you, sister.” He looked at her a moment, as if wondering whether she should be punished for her escape attempt, then apparently decided against it. Swinging the bayonet idly, he nodded at Colby. “Let’s get back to the cards. I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble from these two.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling crushed. The bayonet had been, at best, a very long shot, but somehow it had helped just to know it was there if I was ever able to get to it. Now that last chance was gone; and all because I hadn’t had a convincing lie ready when it had been needed. I’d blown it for us twice.
    A faint scraping sound made me open my eyes. Heather had stood up again and was once more inching her way toward the sink. “Heather—?”
    â€œShh!” she hissed. Her face held concentration, and not even a touch of the despair I was feeling. What was she up to?
    I soon found out. Again she hoisted herself to a sitting position, on the edge of the sink itself this time. Instead of getting up on her knees, though, she extended her hands back toward the jagged spikes of glass in the broken window. Without hesitation—and without touching anything else—her fingers zeroed in on a particularly loose fragment. She tugged, breaking it free with only the slightest snap, and I finally