Collapse: Book four of Beyond These Walls - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

by Michael Robertson

  A million thoughts flashed through Olga’s mind. If she had a genuine excuse for being there, it would have been much easier. Just a few feet between them and she still hadn’t said anything.

  “What are you doing here?” the guard said.

  Olga’s quickened pulse made her response breathy. “I’m looking for a guard.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m worried there’s going to be an attack.”

  Another shrill call from the diseased. They sounded closer than before. It even distracted the guard, who stared off in the sound’s general direction. He finally looked back at her. “What kind of attack?”

  “A boy I know, Mark Stuck, was talking all kinds of crazy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure, but he mentioned that he’d had enough. That he’s going to take down some people to help them see the boring lives they’re living. He kept rambling on about national service and how much it’s screwed him up.”

  “It’s screwed all of us up.”

  “He had a knife on him.” The sound of footsteps came up the alley from the other direction. Two women with babies. Olga raised her voice for their benefit. “He said he’s going to take down whoever gets in his way. Women. Children …”

  The two women stopped and pulled their kids in close.

  “I’m worried if someone doesn’t catch him, there will be a massacre. He’s a danger to himself and everyone else. I can’t do anything about it, but you can.”

  The tall guard looked back at the women, who stared accusingly at him. His reply loud enough for them to hear, he said, “You’d best not be winding me up.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I know what he told me, and I consider it to be a very real threat.”

  “You saw the knife?”

  Olga held her hands up and showed a gap of at least twelve inches between them.

  Exhaling with such force his cheeks puffed, the guard shook his head before bursting into a jog, slamming into Olga as he passed.

  In his absence, the two women watched Olga rub the shoulder he’d just slammed into. “I think it’s going to kick off,” she said. “If you value the safety of your children, you’d do well to get them inside before it’s too late.”

  Without a word, the women left.

  On her own in the alleyway, her legs shaking, sweat itching her collar, Olga fanned her shirt to cool down. She wouldn’t get a better chance than this.

  Olga jumped up and caught the edge of the house’s roof. The jagged tiles bit into her hands, but she held on and found her footing on the jutting bricks in the house’s wall.

  The wind blew harder up on the roof, rocking her where she stood. Her legs weakened to look at the gap. Not only did it now appear wider and the top of the wall higher, but the rough finish would tear her hands to shreds when she reached up and tried to hold on. But if she waited any longer, she’d get caught. A two-step run-up, she leaped for the wall, fire in her palms from where she caught the top of the uneven barrier.

  After she’d scrambled up onto the rough wall, she heard, “Oi! You!”

  Her heart beat in her neck when she looked back at the wide guard charging down the alley. Baton in one hand, his whistle in the other, he blew a shrill peep! Did he seriously expect her to freeze?

  Olga hung her legs down the other side and slid off into tailoring.

  As she landed, the high-pitched call of the guard’s whistle told the rest of the city’s enforcers they needed to find her now—if they could catch her. She ran towards the heart of tailoring. Now she’d made her move, she needed to run with everything she had. Through tailoring first, and although she’d never been there before, straight through woodwork after.

  Chapter 8

  Bang!

  He might have just asked who wanted to open the door, but as Hugh stepped forward, William grabbed him. “Hang on! That door’s locked, and it’s remained locked since we’ve been in here.”

  “What? So we leave the thing in there?” Hugh said.

  “No, but as loud as it is, I’d argue it’s not our priority. The door’s locked. I say we run a quick sweep over this place before we come back. We can deal with this last.”

  Although neither of them replied, neither of them argued with him, so William pointed at the door. “Matilda, are you okay watching this room?”

  A two-handed grip on her new sword, she nodded.

  “If there’s any problems, shout, okay?”

  She nodded again.

  “Hugh, come with me.”

  Bang!

  Not unexpected, yet William still jumped away from the door. His cheeks grew hotter and he let out a nervous laugh. “Whatever’s in there, it sounds big.” He hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

  Matilda reached out and squeezed his hand before tightening her grip on her sword again. “It’s not like you’re going far.”

  Another three loud bangs hit the door in quick succession. It held, so William led Hugh to the girls’ dorm.

  Emptied of beds and with daylight flooding into the room, it took no more than a cursory glance to search it. The diseased beating against the doors, William moved to the window and slowly drew the curtains. “I don’t think those things can see, but I don’t want to risk it.”

  Back out in the hallway, William shared a look with Matilda. “Everything okay?”

  “Have I told you otherwise?”

  “I worry about you.”

  “Thank you, but you shouldn’t; we both know I can handle myself.”

  Three remaining swords on the wall on his left, they rattled with the attack thrown against the locked front door. The foetid and cloying vinegar reek of disease damn near curdled the air.

  The boys’ room as empty as the girls’, William went straight for the curtains. Just before he drew them, he felt the slightest breeze. The window had been left open. A small crack of no more than a few inches, but it would be enough to give the creatures the purchase to pull it from the frame.

  The banging from the leader’s room had increased in frequency and ferocity. His throat drier than ever when he stepped back into the hallway, William checked the bunk bed blockade. It held strong.

  “So?” Matilda said.

  “So?”

  “You’ve checked everywhere else.” She flicked her head in the direction of the closed door to the leader’s room. “What do we do about this? We can’t put it off any longer.”

  “I’m not putting it off,” William said, clearly not convincing himself or—judging by her raised eyebrow—Matilda. Hugh remained behind him, ready to go along with whatever they decided.

  “Okay,” William said. “I’ll open the door and you take the thing down, yeah?”

  In response, Matilda hunched into a more solid base, her feet wider apart, her knees slightly bent. Her knuckles whitened from gripping the sword’s handle.

  Hugh had deep bags beneath his glazed wide eyes. The slightest of twitches ran through him, but if they needed to fight, he’d be ready.

  One hand holding his own sword, and one on the now shaking door handle, William trembled as he cleared his dry throat. “One …”

  Matilda nodded, the tip of her tongue running over her pursed lips.

  “Two …”

  She raised her sword higher.

  “Three.” William pulled the door wide and stepped back into the girls’ room. A shrill scream exploded from the small space, followed by the slam of clumsy steps beating against the floorboards.

  Although Matilda stood ready, Hugh’s eyes widened. He dropped his sword, and before Matilda could swing for the creature, Hugh charged at it.

  The sound of bodies collided, and William jumped from the girls’ room to see Hugh standing over the diseased. He kicked it as its teeth snapped, desperately trying to bite into his flesh.

  The reaction suddenly made sense. “Sarge?”

  Despite the man’s age, his grey hair, and sli
ght limp, he’d always carried himself like he had the strength of an ox. Now he had the crimson glare of a diseased, he looked like he could tear the world in two. Even as he lay on his back.

  “You let Elizabeth die, you fuck!” Hugh screamed, kicking the diseased Sarge in the face. “You did nothing about Ranger and Lance. You knew what they did to her, yet you gave him the apprenticeship.”

  Kick after kick to Sarge’s face, the grizzled vet continued to snap his teeth, missing each time and being punished with another strike from Hugh’s boot.

  Every kick helped with the subduing of their old leader, William moving closer to Matilda as he remained focused on Hugh.

  Having finally kicked the beast unconscious, Hugh stamped on his head.

  William’s stomach lurched as the skin sheared from Sarge’s face.

  Hugh repeated the action, his boot heel slipping every time he drove it down.

  It must have taken fifteen squelching stamps before Sarge’s skull finally yielded with a crack! Matilda looked like William felt, her skin pale, her wide eyes asking a question he couldn’t answer. Had Hugh lost it?

  Blood and brain matter leaked from Sarge’s pulped head, his body limp. Hugh still shouted at him, tears and snot dripping from his chin. “You should have managed them better. You didn’t need to be such an arsehole. We were kids. What does it matter if we couldn’t fight? Most of us didn’t want to.”

  When Hugh lifted one of Sarge’s arms and raised his own leg, William turned away. The snap of bone drowned out the insanity at the front door.

  “So many died because of you.” Hugh raised Sarge’s leg next. Crack!

  Matilda spoke so only William heard her. “You have to stop him.”

  “I think he needs to do this.”

  “He’s scaring you too, isn’t he?”

  How could he deny it? And who in their right mind would try to interrupt a madman in full flow?

  Crack! Sarge’s other leg. Or rather, what remained of Sarge. The man had been driven out by the disease. The disease had been driven out by Hugh’s stamping boot. An inanimate and broken object, nothing more. And maybe Hugh did need to do this. Maybe this would exorcise his screaming demons.

  After the crack of Sarge’s other arm, William relaxed. The end—hopefully.

  Marching past them as if they weren’t there—his eyes swollen and bloodshot, his nose running—Hugh returned to his dropped sword, picked it up, and walked back over to Sarge’s corpse. He used his blade to rip the man’s stomach open, the reek of exposed bowels joining the vinegar rot.

  His nose in a pinch, William stepped closer to Hugh. “That’s enough!”

  But Hugh still hadn’t finished, stabbing Sarge again and again.

  When Matilda shook her head at him, William said, “You have to trust me on this. Everything will be fine.”

  But she clearly didn’t. And why should she? They had to depend on one another, and Hugh had clearly lost his mind. Then William saw something in Sarge’s room. “Look.”

  It halted Hugh’s attack, and although the boy fixed on him, his eyes were black as if the Hugh he knew had been pushed far down. After a few seconds, the boy’s features softened.

  “Sarge has water in his room,” William said.

  Hugh panted as he stood in the pool of blood spreading across the floorboards. He threw a brief glance into the leader’s room. A flask sat on the shelf. Maybe he saw it, but his attention returned to Sarge and his mouth fell open. He pointed at the broken corpse. “Who did this?”

  William shivered and he heard Matilda’s unsuccessful attempts to stifle a gasp.

  “Don’t worry,” William said, Hugh and Matilda both standing with their faces slack, “we’ve found some water. We need to drink. Whatever else happens, we’re in this together as a team.”

  Neither replied, but when William walked into Sarge’s room, shook the flask to find it half full, and then walked to the boys’ room next door, they followed him. If he asked Matilda how she felt, she might have said something, but he didn’t need to. He got it. They had to get through the national service area. They had to free Artan. Could they rely on Hugh in his current state? Maybe not, but what else could they do? Hugh had been a good friend, and friends didn’t turn their backs on one another, especially when they needed them most. After he’d quenched his thirst with Sarge’s water, he handed the flask to Matilda, holding onto it until she looked up at him. “What matters right now is getting some water into us and finding a way out of here. We need to look forward.”

  Matilda dipped the slightest nod before sipping the water. When she handed it to Hugh, she managed a half smile, her eyes kind. “Here’s to looking forward.”

  Hugh visibly relaxed and toasted her with the flask. “To looking forward.”

  Chapter 9

  Two hours earlier

  Free for now, Olga had the advantage. She’d only get caught if she screwed up. Like with the laundry district, the people in tailoring were awake and ready to start their day. Tailors and their apprentices were on their way to work, many already inside their shops. She’d been here plenty of times when afforded the freedom of youth, which, now it had been taken away, seemed like an uncharacteristically generous gift from the powers that be in Edin. It made sense to use the main road. The cobblestones were uneven underfoot, but it didn’t get any better in this city. The shrill call of whistles chased her. Two quick peeps. Although unsure of the exact meaning, she didn’t need to be a genius to get the gist; they were onto her.

  Every worker stared at Olga as she ran down the main road. As of yet, none of them had decided to be a hero.

  Around the next bend, Olga slowed to a walk. The people stopped glancing at her. She transformed from criminal to customer and slipped into a nearby shop as if with the intention of buying something.

  A bell above the door announced her entrance, Olga shrieking at the unexpected sound. The woman behind the counter looked up, her brow furrowed.

  While ruffling her nose against the strong reek of dust, Olga took in the various fabrics stuffed into shelves and hanging from the rails. “What a wonderful selection you have here. I’m not sure I could even name all these colours.”

  “Can I help you?” the shop owner said.

  A slight shuffle as if she could wriggle free of her own sweating body, Olga tugged on her collar. “I’m here to get some clothes.”

  “Clothes? Anything more specific than that, or shall I guess?”

  “What’s wrong, old lady, my custom not good enough for you?”

  The whistles outside drew closer. She needed to wind her neck in. Too sassy for her own good, Olga looked out through the large shop window.

  The tailor raised her voice. “You look awfully jumpy, my dear.”

  Olga laughed it off and for some reason mimicked the woman’s accent as if to throw her own indignation back at her. “I’m very keen to get a blouse, and I’m in quite a rush.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I’ve been waiting for a long time to come here to get one. I must say, I was hoping for a more positive experience.”

  The woman walked from around the counter. Her back as stiff as the mannequin she held, she approached. The doll wore a light pink blouse, which the woman gripped with a pinch. She too glanced through the window, not even looking at Olga when she said, “Like this one?”

  Why had Olga come in here?

  The tailor had the moves of a neophyte magician, doing her best to distract Olga with the blouse while she used her free hand to grab a long and straight stick.

  Olga stepped towards the door. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind.”

  Sharp with adrenaline, Olga saw the attack as if the woman worked in slow motion. The stick came her way at head height. She ducked as it thudded into the door, and swiped the woman’s legs from beneath her.

  The tailor hit the ground with a thump, yelling as she rolled onto her back while holding the base of her spine.

  Olga jumped to her f
eet, threw the door wide with such force it sent several mannequins flying, and ran out into the street. She halted at exactly the same time as three guards on her right. “Oh shit.”

  As one, the guards—two men and a woman—put their whistles to their lips and drew their batons. They sounded three shrill peeps. They might have found her, but could they catch her?

  Olga ran left up the main road. The chase had caused quite a stir, the street growing busier with spectators.

  Dodging through the dense press of bodies, the gap between Olga and her pursuers grew. She had the beating of them in a straight race, and the crowd gave her even more of an advantage. The guards were built like enforcers, but she had the physique and stamina of an athlete. Let them try to keep up with her.

  A sharp right, Olga came face-to-face with another guard. A wall of a woman, she had tanned skin, a shaved head, and a baton as long as her forearm. A jaw so thick she could chew through walls, she growled with a deep rumble.

  Like with the tailor a minute ago, Olga read the swinging blow and ducked. She balled her fist and slammed it into the guard’s right kneecap. Fire ran through her knuckles like she’d punched a rock, but the guard roared. The woman dropped to the ground, holding her knee as Olga darted past.

  As long as Olga stayed on the main road, she’d be in plain sight. She could lose them in the residential area. Unless they predicted her path and formed a blockade. After rounding the next bend, the whistles still behind her, Olga glanced back. She couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see her. She darted down the next alley.

  Were it not for the residents shouting to the guards, Olga might have kidded herself into thinking she’d bought an advantage. Her legs burning, she turned left, right, left, left, pushing off the lopsided houses’ walls to help with her sudden changes in direction.

  The guards might have used a code Olga didn’t understand, but maybe that didn’t matter. As long as they blew their whistles, she knew where to avoid and she knew they hadn’t given up the chase.

  Olga’s lungs were tight and her legs weak. The guards’ whistles remained at two peeps—whatever that meant—but more sounded than before, springing from all around her. Surely it just had to be a matter of time before one of the city’s enforcers caught her.