Again it all changed. The bodily suffering no longer broke intermittently. Terror had given place to a grinding physical burden of agony in which something approaching consciousness had place. It came with a hammering upon the straining brain, and beat its way through the body, right down to the very depths of the tortured soul. It was unbearable, yet its burden seemed inevitable, and complaint seemed hushed by an irresistible power.
Then in the midst of all the torture a sound reached the victim. It was the sound of a voice, of voices. Harsh, jarring voices, carrying threat in every tone. It was the magic touch which brought about a vague semi-consciousness, and Vita's eyes slowly opened.
The pain went on, burning, throbbing pain, but she did not mind it. She was scarcely aware of it. The voices held her, and she struggled with all her power to grasp and hold their meaning. But the effort was beyond her. Only the words came, and with them a growing, unaccountable fear inspired by the violence of their intonation.
"Trapped like rats in a pit," she heard a voice cry out in thick tones.
"That door. Fool! They must come that way. We can shoot them down as they come. Trapped? They'll pay dearly for the trapping."
What were they talking of? And why in such tones? What were those other sounds she heard? Vita remained unmoving, helpless, and without understanding.
Suddenly a crash overwhelmed every other sound. It left her poor head whirling with uncertainty.
Then something else shivered through her every nerve. Another sound—different. There was a clatter and bumping, and strange, sharp explosions, such as in a vague way she half remembered having heard somewhere before. What was it? Each sound seemed to bite the air, echo, then die out. Then quickly on its heels another followed, and then another. Every explosion gave her a stab of exquisite pain in the head, her aching, throbbing head, in which the sufferings of her body seemed to find a sort of dull, constant echo.
Now came the sound of voices again. But they were indistinct exclamations which conveyed nothing to her. What was that tearing and crunching? A perfect pandemonium had suddenly been let loose, in which voices and biting explosions blended with the rush and scuttling of many feet. A dreadful nightmare of noise disturbed her. The hoarse cries of the voices were distressing. Something, something—— Hark! What was that? That voice. She knew it.
"Hold him! Gad! He's like a tiger. Smash his wrist! Only get that gun from him! Ah! That's it. Now—see if he has any more weapons."