The Betrayal
700 Words
The thunder of hooves behind Evelyne sent a fresh wave of fear through her chest. The Germans were gaining ground. Branches whipped at her face as she steered her horse through the dense forest, dodging low-hanging limbs and uneven terrain.
She knew the odds—she couldn’t outrun them forever. She needed to disappear.
Up ahead, a narrow river wound through the woods. Evelyne yanked the reins, guiding her horse toward the water. As soon as they reached the bank, she slid off the saddle, slapped the horse’s flank, and whispered, "Go!"
The animal galloped away in the opposite direction.
Evelyne plunged into the river. The freezing water stole her breath, but she pushed forward, swimming as quietly as possible until she reached the undergrowth on the far side. Hidden beneath the thick brush, she held her breath as the German soldiers arrived at the river’s edge.
"She was here," one of them growled in German.
Another soldier scanned the tracks. "The horse went north. Maybe she took it."
A tense silence followed. Then—the leader made a decision.
"Follow the horse. If you see her—shoot on sight."
Evelyne waited until the sounds of hooves faded before pulling herself onto the muddy shore. Her body trembled, but she was alive. And she still had the letters.
But she needed a new plan.
A Trusted Face—or a Trap?
Hours later, Evelyne arrived at the outskirts of a small village. Exhausted and drenched, she wrapped herself in her tattered cloak and moved carefully through the streets.
There was only one person in this region she could trust—Mathieu Rousseau.
Mathieu had once served as a royal advisor in Brussels, but when the Germans took the city, he fled south. If anyone could help her reach the border, it was him.
Evelyne found his small stone house on the village’s edge. A warm candle burned in the window—a signal that it was safe.
She knocked twice. Silence.
Then, the door creaked open. Mathieu stood there, his expression tense.
"Élodie?" he whispered.
Evelyne pulled back her hood. "I need your help."
Mathieu ushered her inside, locking the door behind them. The small room was filled with maps, radio equipment, and scattered resistance plans.
"You shouldn’t be here," he said in a hushed voice.
Evelyne placed the two letters on the table. "I have information that could save the resistance. But I need safe passage across the border."
Mathieu ran a hand through his graying hair. "Do you have any idea how many patrols are out there? The Germans—"
A sharp knock on the door cut him off.
Evelyne froze.
Mathieu’s face paled. "Stay here."
He moved toward the door and cracked it open.
A German officer stood outside.
"Rousseau," the officer said in accented French. "We were told a fugitive might seek refuge here. Have you seen anyone… suspicious?"
Mathieu hesitated.
Evelyne’s heart pounded against her ribs. She reached for the knife strapped to her thigh.
Then—Mathieu stepped aside.
"She’s here," he said flatly.
Evelyne’s blood ran cold.
Betrayal.
Escape—or Death
Before she could react, two soldiers shoved their way inside, rifles raised.
"Hands up!" one barked.
Evelyne didn’t move. Her mind raced. She had two options: fight—or die.
The soldiers stepped closer.
And Evelyne made her choice.
With a sudden twist of her wrist, she flung the knife forward. It sank deep into the first soldier’s throat. Before the second one could react, she grabbed a heavy metal candlestick from the table and slammed it against his skull.
He collapsed instantly.
Mathieu stared, shocked, his mouth opening—but Evelyne was faster.
She lunged at him, pinning him against the wall. "Why?" she hissed.
Mathieu’s hands trembled. "I had no choice. They threatened my family—"
Evelyne’s grip tightened. She should kill him.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she grabbed the letters, snatched a pistol from one of the fallen soldiers, and ran.
Behind her, shouts erupted as more soldiers swarmed toward the house.
She had minutes—maybe seconds—before the Germans caught up.
And if they did…
Belgium’s last hope would die with her.
- Writer
