She picked up the rest of the pieces and moved them to one side then noticed something and knelt down, almost pushing her nose to the tiles. It was a thin crack. She placed her nail in, and the ceramic shifted a little. Think, think, think!
She scrambled across to the remnants of the drawer and tussled with it until one of the thick furniture staples came loose; then she went back to the tile. She picked and levered and prodded until a triangle just a little bigger than the palm of her hand broke free. The edge was razor sharp. She gently ran it across the back of her hand, and a faint scratch line appeared. If she applied any pressure, it could be lethal. She looked at where the tile had sat, hoping to see bare floorboard, but it was some kind of hardboard. Back at The Manor, she and Wren had made an escape from a first-floor room by crawling through a cavity, but there would be no action replay here; she would not be able to make a big enough hole in this floor.
She carefully placed the triangle of tile back in the slot and stood up. Unless someone squinted really hard, there was no way they could see the crack. When the end came, that sliver of ceramic could make all the difference.
Robyn went back to lie on her bed and stayed there, staring at the ceiling, until the sound of the bikes and the van returning roused her from her thoughts.
The front door opened and closed with a heavy clunk. Loud voices could be heard from downstairs, and a few minutes later, the door at the end of the prisoners’ hallway creaked open. Footsteps stopped outside her room, and the food hatch opened. A granola bar was pushed through the slot.
“Thanks for that,” Krissy said.
“I’m really sorry, I broke one of the drawers,” Robyn said, walking across and holding up the pieces in front of the hatch.
“Go stand by the window.”
Robyn threw the pieces of the drawer on the bed and did as instructed. The door opened up, and Krissy stepped inside, aiming her rifle towards Robyn. She walked to the bed, picked up the broken wood in one hand and backed out. Leaning the fragments against the wall in the hallway, she stayed in the entrance, still aiming the rifle towards Robyn.
“I’m sorry. I just grabbed it. I didn’t mean to break it, I just wanted to get your attention.”
“You did the right thing.”
“Who were those men?”
“They were from one of the coastal settlements we trade with. They obviously decided they were going to set up their own butcher’s shop.”
“If only they knew,” Robyn replied, and a smile swept across Krissy’s face.
“Yeah, if only they knew. Anyway, I wanted to say thanks. You’ve earned a reprieve for you and the others. Those men should last us some time before we have to have another carving.”
Robyn resisted every temptation to run at Krissy screaming. Without doubt, she would get mowed down, but it was so, so tempting. Krissy turned to leave. “How are Snowball and Napoleon?” Robyn asked.
Krissy paused, and a slightly confused look crept onto her face. “They’re fine. They will be fine anyway.”
“Good,” Robyn replied.
Krissy pulled the door shut, and Robyn stood there as she heard her collect the remains of the broken drawer and walk down the hallway. Robyn looked at the granola bar. She was hungry, but then again, she was always hungry. She picked it up and put it in her top drawer. She had been given extra tomatoes with her breakfast this morning, she would keep the snack bar for when she really needed it.
At dinner time, as well as a healthy portion of rice and beans, there was another granola bar and a small packet of Skittles. She placed these in the drawer too. Robyn wondered how long the food tributes for saving the lives of Snowball and Napoleon would last, but she didn’t have to wonder long as the next day everything reverted back to how it was. She stood at the window for at least half an hour after she had washed, but the two pigs did not reappear.
It was a full week before she saw them again. In that time, her conversations with Mila, Freya and Aiden had grown sparse as the sisters ventured out less. The slow onset of bad weather made the days darker and shorter, and while cabin fever set in for some, Robyn continued with her routine. The few times she managed to glimpse Mila through the food hatch, she noticed her friend’s face became paler, her eyes became sadder, almost as if she was shutting down.
Most nights, Robyn heard her fellow inmates cry themselves to sleep. One morning, she had no idea how far into her stay on Death Row she was, snow had fallen and was still falling. It looked beautiful, but she did not remember a time when she had seen so much of it. The pigs played for a while before it became too much for them to wade through. They disappeared inside and stayed inside.
“I’m proud of you.”
Robyn turned to see Wren standing next to her looking out of the window too. “For what? Getting myself imprisoned by a gang of psychos?”
“For not giving up.”
“How do you know I haven’t given up?”
“Because I know you. You’re my sister.”
“I’m not like you. I don’t have your brain. I can’t figure a way out of this.”
“That’s not true. You’ve figured part of the way out.”
“What? Get one of them in here and kill them? How far do you think I’ll get exactly? They’re all armed, and a piece of tile is all I’ve got.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. You got us out of plenty of tight spots when we were together. If it wasn’t for you, Georgie and I wouldn’t have got away that night.”
“Oh yeah, that worked out really well, didn’t it? If I wasn’t convinced I couldn’t do this before, I am now.”
Wren laughed. “I miss you, Bobbi.”
“I miss you … so much.”
“You know you’re going to have to make a choice soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“One way or another, you’re going to have to use that tile. Mila won’t last much longer. She’s fading away.”
Robyn stared out of the window, and when she turned back towards Wren, she was gone. Of course it was not Wren, it was just her mind playing tricks with her, but when someone spends twenty-four hours a day by themselves that tends to happen. It was obviously her subconscious, but her subconscious was reinforcing the conclusion she had already come to. Mila needed rescuing. Just like she had been rescued by Mila. Mila did not have pneumonia, but she was dying a slow death nonetheless.
Robyn went to lie on her bed, and remained there all day, the reflection of the white snow from outside making her room brighter than ever despite the grey clouds and the seemingly never-ending cascade from the sky. Dinner had been getting earlier and earlier. They were not allowed lights in their rooms, so the last meal came when there was still enough illumination from outside for them to see.
She ate it, washed her flimsy plastic plate and leaned it against the wall until it was collected with breakfast the next morning. The snow had continued to fall all day. It had drifted in the large enclosed garden, and it was almost within reach of the washing line.
“Robyn! Robyn!” A weak teary voice called her. She turned to see if Wren had made a second appearance, but then she realised that this voice was real. She walked across to the door and crouched down.
“Mila. Are you okay?” Robyn asked in little more than a whisper.
“I just wanted to say that I love you. I’ve never really had that many friends in my life, but you were the best of them.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“I just needed you to know.”
“Mila, don’t talk like this, you’re making it sound like it’s all over.”
A short, bitter laugh left Mila’s lips. “We’ve been here for weeks … months. We’re going to die here one way or the other.”
“What does that mean?”
“I just wanted to tell you anyway. Thank you.”
“Mila, please listen to me. Don’t do anything rash. Mila … do you trust me?” There was no answer for a few seconds. “Mila?”<
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“Of course.”
“Listen. I love you too. Trust me and don’t do anything tonight but sleep.”
“What difference will a night make?”
“Sometimes a night can make all the difference. Promise me.”
She heard a shuddering breath leave Mila. “One night,” she said in a final whisper.
The food hatch closed once again, and Robyn was left staring into the dark hallway outside. She remained there for a few seconds then stood and walked towards the window. The whiteness stretched as far as the eye could see, it looked magical, which was funny because that was just what Robyn needed right now, magic.
One way or another, this would all end tomorrow. One way or another.
chapter 25
Robyn had woken much earlier than usual. In fact, she wasn’t that sure that she’d been to sleep at all. She knew what she had to do today. She had played it over a thousand times in her head. What was it Wren had told her? Every battle is won before it is fought, or something like that anyway. It was a quote from Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee or some other old dude with a Chinese sounding name.
The snow had finally stopped. Robyn had turned the radiator off hours ago, the frigid temperature in the room matched what she was feeling inside. Nothing about this morning was going to be good. The door at the end of the hallway opened, and she heard the familiar sound of the food trolley entering the corridor.
Robyn ran to the broken tile, grabbed it, then placed a T-shirt on the floor over the gap to make it look as though it was just a piece of discarded laundry. She jumped into bed, closed her eyes and waited. The trolley moved along as it did every morning. A squeak here, a rattle there until it came to a stop outside.
Robyn held her breath. There was a knock on a door, not hers, then a long pause. “Mila,” called Sabina. “Breakfast.” The silence dragged on, and Robyn started to get nervous. “Mila, breakfast.”
“Thank you,” came the weak response, but, as relieved as she was, Robyn’s heart did not slow down.
There were two solid knocks against her door. “Robyn, breakfast.” Robyn kept her eyes closed and stayed as still as possible. “What is it with everyone this morning? Come on, I’ve got work to do.” Robyn remained silent and still. She felt eyes on her as Sabina peered through the food hatch. “Robyn?” Nothing. “I’m opening the door. You’d better be sick or you’ve just nominated yourself for the next carving after the thaw.”
The door opened, and Robyn heard the sound of Sabina pulling something from her belt. It was probably the handgun she had often seen her with. In all likelihood, it was pointing at Robyn right this second, just waiting for her to make a move.
“Is she alright?” Mila called from across the hall.
“Just eat your breakfast,” Sabina replied, sharply. “Jesus, it’s freezing in here.”
“Robyn! Robyn!” Mila cried frantically.
“I said eat your damn breakfast,” Sabina shouted as she approached the bed.
Robyn remained perfectly still. Her left hand was down by her side, her right was slightly tucked behind her back, carefully shielding the piece of tile. She felt a hand on her forehead then fingers on her neck searching for a pulse.
“Robyn!” Mila shouted again, but now there was real panic in her voice.
“Robyn? Robyn?” Sabina said softly.
“Robyn!” Mila cried hysterically again.
“For God’s sake, Mila, I said—” This was it; she was shouting towards the door, this was it. Robyn’s eyes flicked open; sure enough, Sabina’s head was facing the hallway, the gun was no longer trained towards her. Robyn pulled the covers back and in one swift, fluid movement brought the shard of tile up. There was a warm explosion of blood over Robyn’s hand as the lethal ceramic shard plunged into Sabina’s neck. Robyn took a deep breath and jagged it the other way creating a hole it would take a cement truck to fill.
There was a clatter as the gun fell from her captor’s hand. Sabina placed her fingers to her throat, her eyes widened as she stared towards Robyn’s blood-covered fist then straight into her eyes. Sabina staggered back further, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish, but no sound escaped it. She fell against the wall as blood sprayed from between her fingers onto the floor.
“Robyn! Robyn!” Mila continued to scream.
“What the hell is going on here?” shouted Krissy as she entered the corridor. “What’s all this screaming?”
Oh shit! Robyn grabbed the gun from the floor. She looked at it in her hand for just a second. Whenever she’d seen cop shows on TV, they’d always talked about taking the safety off. She couldn’t see anything that even vaguely looked like a safety. Oh crap! She ran to the door then jumped into the narrow hallway pressing the trigger and hoping. The shots were almost deafening. Krissy stood there for a moment in the dim light cast by the end window; then a patch of red appeared on her chest before she collapsed backwards. More feet pounded on the stairs.
“Robyn?” Mila said, the hysterics being replaced by shock.
Robyn grabbed the keys from her door. They were all numbered. She found the one corresponding to Mila’s room and opened it up. They stifled their impulse to embrace as the shouts from the remaining sisters got louder. “Unlock the other doors!” Robyn commanded, handing her the gun and the keys then running towards Krissy. She plucked the handgun from her second victim’s belt and aimed it towards the landing outside the open door. Raminder’s head appeared, and before she realised what had gone on and what was going on, Robyn released another volley of shots.
“Aaarggghhh!” Raminder screamed in pain, almost somersaulting backwards. There was a rumble from the staircase and further screams as the other sisters fell like dominoes too.
Robyn rushed to the landing and saw blood on the walls before seeing the dazed bodies strewn at the bottom of the steps, she raised the gun again and fired repeatedly. There were more screams and explosions of blood. Raminder lay there lifeless. Robyn knew she had injured at least one more of them, but which one she couldn’t be sure, and now the remaining two sisters had scurried out of sight.
“Crap!” She looked towards the corridor to see more figures emerging from their cells like butterflies nervously breaking out of the cocoons that had held them prisoner yet kept them safe for so long. They had built fantasies and worlds inside those cells, twelve different psychological mechanisms for surviving the mental torture they had been subjected to; now it was scary to leave them.
Robyn did not have the luxury of a gradual reawakening. She had been thrown or rather thrown herself straight into the devil’s playpen. She heard shuffling and hushed words from the bottom of the stairs and backed up a little, sure that at any moment Brie or Deb or both of them would charge around the corner with their guns blazing. She suddenly felt a presence by her side. It was a gaunt-looking woman in her early twenties. She held the gun that Robyn had given to Mila.
“Hi, Robyn. I’m Freya.”
“I wish we had time for proper introductions, but I’m knee-deep in cacka here.”
Freya moved forward, and both women stood shoulder to shoulder aiming their weapons down the staircase. “You’ve got three of them, I’d say you’re doing pretty well.”
“Yeah, but they’ve got proper guns, big ones.”
“What do you think these are, peashooters?”
“You know what I mean. So, should we head down there or stay here?”
“Why are you asking me? You’re the one with the plan.”
“My plan wasn’t so much a plan as a series of unfortunate events.”
“So now you’re Lemony Snickets?”
Two of the younger children began to cry as they came out of their rooms to see Krissy lying there dead. The atmosphere was electric, and everyone could feel the danger in the air. Robyn took a deep breath. “Cover me.” She tore down the stairs, her feet thundering over the panic-stricken sounds coming from the children. She stopped dead on the bottom step and shot a glance around
the corner. There was a trail of blood along the floor, disappearing towards the living quarters. She turned and signalled for Freya to join her.
The door closed on the landing blocking out the sounds of the children for the time being. Mila stood at the top of the stairs with a hunting knife in one hand. Robyn was taken aback by how withered she seemed. This was not the strong woman who had nursed her back to health, she looked as though a stiff breeze would knock her over.
“The longer we stay here, the more time it gives them to prepare,” Freya whispered.
“Good point. Go get them, I’ll cover you.”
Something approaching a smile flashed on Freya’s face; then, to Robyn’s surprise, Freya edged past her and into the hallway. Robyn took a deep breath and joined her as they both crept along, following the bloody trail. Freya peeked her head around the corner. “The door’s closed.”
“Great.”
“Well, at least we’ll have warning when they make their next move.”
“What next move? They don’t need to do anything. They’ve got all the food, fresh water, heating, ammo. They’ve got everything in there. We’ve got nothing. The snow’s way too deep to even think about trying to get in from the other side, and even if we did, it’s the same situation. We can’t get in without instantly getting mowed down.”
“Robyn’s right,” Mila said, coming up behind them.
“Okay, so what do we do?” Freya asked.
“This is when I really wish Wren was here. She’d figure this out in a heartbeat.”
“Why, was she some sort of military tactician?” Freya asked.
The End of Everything (Book 7): The End of Everything Page 18
