Beyond These Walls | Book 8 | Between Fury & Fear

by Robertson, Michael

  Artan, like his sister, opted to clear the platform, ending Hawk’s fight with the three soldiers as soon as it had begun. He shoved two over the side and kicked a third into the pit with the creatures.

  More of Fear’s army climbed the platform’s stairs, their batons raised. But the narrow path inhibited their attack, presenting them to the now liberated Olga in a line that made them easy to repel. She yelled as she kicked them away, sending them back into the crowd around the bottom of the stairs.

  A soldier waved his baton at her. “You have to come down at some point.”

  Now they had control of the platform, Olga and Hawk ready for any attack, William turned to Max. He shoved and barged his way through the diseased crowd.

  Many of the soldiers in the spectator area nudged one another and pointed. They had no idea what was coming their way.

  Val’s sword in his hand, Max fell against the clear top section of the wall. The slap of his open palm sent several of the soldiers back a pace. He’d reached what had once been a door that must have provided access to the ring. The handles had long since been removed.

  “Ah,” William said. And even with chaos around them, he smiled.

  The gap around the edge of the door wide enough for Max to slide the blade through, he drove more blue soldiers away when he thrust the sword at them and dragged it down the gap to where the latch kept the door shut. The sword slid straight through and the door opened. He shoved it wide into the space the army had just cleared.

  At the head of the charge, Max led the diseased from the rink. His sword out in front of him, he slashed at the soldiers. Many of the crowd had already taken off, heading in the foyer’s direction. But those at the front fell, and they fell fast.

  The diseased spread out, attacking anyone close to them. Anyone, save Max.

  Screams and cries spread through the crowd. Those behind William at the bottom of the stairs, those still trying to do their duty by getting to their prisoners on the platform, were yet to get the message.

  William shouted over the chaos, “Artan, Matilda.” They turned his way, the familial resemblance as clear now as ever.

  “We’re going to have a small window to get away from here before every soldier in this place is infected. You need to be ready to run.” And then to Hawk and Olga, his throat sore from shouting, “Did you hear me?”

  “Yep!” Olga called back, her features set, her teeth bared as she kicked another soldier down the stairs.

  “Hawk?”

  William shared a look with Olga. “No more heroics, okay? The second we get the chance, we run. We’ll probably get split up, but we know where the meeting point is. You hear me, Hawk?”

  The wildfire panic had reached the soldiers on their side. Many of them had already run. Hawk turned William’s way and nodded. “Okay. But I’m worried we won’t all make it.”

  “Just worry about you. It’s every man and woman for themselves until we get to the tower.”

  The space at the bottom of the stairs cleared. “On my count,” William said.

  “Three …”

  “Two …”

  “One.”

  The five of them moved in single file, Hawk in the lead. He descended the stairs two at a time and broke away at the bottom.

  They should have planned it better.

  Olga and Hawk joined the blue army’s mass exodus to their right.

  Matilda and Artan went straight ahead, climbing the spectators’ seating.

  William went left.

  Too late now. They each had to take their own path. Hopefully, they’d all find their way to the tower.

  Chapter 32

  Nothing William could do about it now. They’d agreed they’d find their separate ways out of there, and he needed to stick to that. Many of the soldiers ran for the exit, but the narrow tunnel created an impossible bottleneck, and the diseased had already caught up to the mass exodus. They chewed into the congestion with snarling ferocity. He headed for the opposite end of the arena.

  The spectators’ area on this side was a mirror image of the one Fear’s soldiers gathered on to watch them walk the plank. Rows of seats, they lifted in steps, growing progressively higher the farther they were from the ring. They ran all the way to the wall. While avoiding Fear’s soldiers, William climbed.

  Sweat itched William’s collar, his brow damp by the time he reached the top row of seats and closed in on the arena’s far wall.

  Screams and shouts filled the air as Fear’s army fell to the diseased attack. Those soldiers at the front had tried to flee while those at the back waded in to help their brethren. They were all failing.

  A wide rectangular window only two feet tall ran the width of the arena’s back wall. As absent of glass as almost every other window in this city, the breeze cooled William’s sweating skin. The frenzied crowd by the narrow corridor turned gradually more chaotic, the diseased tearing through them, overpowering them. Their cries for help morphed into wails of insanity. Maybe, in the heat of battle, each soldier thought they had a chance. Would they still think that if they were watching it all unfold from his vantage point?

  William’s stomach lurched when he poked his head outside. The wind cooled his sweating face. A series of metal cables ran from the side of the building to the ground like guy ropes. Several of them started just below the window ledge. A way down, but if he screwed this up, he had a thirty-foot fall onto concrete. The snarls and shrill screams behind him turned up a notch. Risking the fall had to be better than any other option.

  The yell of a soldier nearby. William pulled back inside and spun around. The man brandished a baton, his teeth clenched as he bore down on him.

  Weaponless, William raised his fists.

  The soldier stepped over the seats with long strides.

  William widened his stance.

  The soldier yelled as he jumped the last seat in his path, caught both feet on the bleached plastic, and fell. His head crashed into the wall with a tonk. His eyes rolled back. His body fell limp.

  The soldier lay unconscious, his face pressed against the concrete step. William pried his baton from his tight grip and slid it down the back of his trousers so his belt held it in place. The arena, a writhing hive of chaos, his friends still nowhere to be seen. He climbed out of the window and hung from the ledge with both hands.

  William’s clothes flapped in the wind, and his grip ached. The shrill cries were muted now he’d climbed outside. Rust coated the metal cables, but they remained taut as if they played a part in keeping the arena standing. Freckled with corrosion, the rough rust cut into William’s hands when he reached down. “This is going to hurt.”

  William let go of the window ledge and caught the cable with his other hand. He clung on, his body falling into a pendulous swing.

  Hand over hand, William made his way down the cable’s forty-five-degree angle. Thankfully, he had enough purchase to avoid sliding. The rough steel would have sheared his palms off. His knuckles aching, he progressed by a foot at a time on his slow descent towards the ground.

  With the drop reduced to about six feet, William let go, the shock of landing snapping through him. One last check for Matilda and the others. He shook his head and took off into the city, the arena at his back. He’d get away from this place first, and then he’d find his way to Gracie’s tower. Hopefully the others would do the same.

  Chapter 33

  William had gone the long way around to avoid the chaos spilling from the arena. It had taken him a few hours, any trace of dawn burned away by the bright sun. Leaning against the large discoloured donut, he squinted and shielded his eyes to give him a better view of the tower below.

  As good a place to rest as any, he’d watched the door in the tower’s base for the past fifteen minutes. No one had gone in or out. Were his friends already inside?

  On the ground, a main road separated William from the tower. Still no soldiers, red or blue. And, more importantly, no dogs or drones.

&nbs
p; While gripping onto the baton he’d taken from Fear’s soldier, William burst from cover and sprinted across the road. Exposed in broad daylight, he ran with his back hunched like being a few inches lower would make a difference.

  The door’s hinges creaked when William opened it. The faces of his friends squinted against the glare. Hawk held a baton in preparation for a fight.

  William slipped in and closed the door behind him, throwing the place back into darkness. Max, Olga, and Hawk were in the tower. Max’s face was covered in blood, his hair matted and glistening. The stench of disease caught on the back of William’s throat. He coughed and gulped against the gagging itch. “Where are they?” The short run hadn’t been enough to make him breathless, but he panted anyway, his chest tight. He asked again, his voice higher in pitch, “Where are they?”

  Olga replied in a sombre tone, “They’re not here yet. We hoped you might have them with you.”

  “Shit.” Something else lay beneath Olga’s delivery. The slightest hint of an apology. “You’ve held up four fingers to the camera, haven’t you?”

  “It’s been a couple of hours since we left the arena. Can you blame us?”

  “You could—”

  “How long did you expect us to wait? How long is too long?”

  “So you’re ready to trust Gracie now?” William said. “Now it means saving your arse.”

  Olga sighed. “Really, William? After all we’ve been through. Besides, is there another option that’s going to get us out of here? We’re tired.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Look.” Max spoke this time. “We decided together. We’ve waited.”

  “Not long enough.”

  “Come on, William,” Max said, “we’re going around in circles now.”

  Olga said, “We all need to rest and get cleaned up.”

  William shrugged, for what good it did in the darkness. Max had been to hell and back. He’d not been himself for weeks now. He’d earned the right to rest. “I’m not going with you. Not until I’ve found Matilda and Artan. I’d rather die than leave them behind.”

  Light flooded into the space. William spun in the door’s direction, mirroring Hawk as he readied his baton.

  “Gracie,” Max said. His voice cracked from where he clearly struggled to hold onto his emotions. “Thank you for coming.”

  The red-headed girl dipped a stoic nod, slipped into the room, and closed the door behind her. “Where are Artan and Matilda?”

  “We don’t know,” William said.

  “But Olga signalled for me to come and get you. We never come into the city in the daylight. That’s the rules. Are you now telling me you’re not ready to leave?”

  “No.” Olga’s firm voice whipped around the enclosed space. “I’m ready to go, and I’m pretty sure Hawk and Max are too.”

  When neither of the boys argued, William’s heart sank. His voice weak, he said, “I’m not. I can’t give up hope on Matilda and Artan. If that means you won’t come back and we’re on our own after this, then so be it.”

  A soft hand rested against William’s forearm, and Gracie spoke gentle words. “I will come back, but not in daylight again.”

  “At least that gives me the entire day. Better to have a bit too much time than not enough.”

  “Okay,” Gracie said. “We’ll monitor the camera for your return. The same thing applies. When you’re ready for me to come and get you, hold up four fingers on your right hand. Unless I see you waiting with Matilda and Artan.”

  “You will see me with them.”

  “I hope so. Right, let’s get the hell out of here before I regret my decision to come out while it’s light.”

  Dazzled again by the sun’s glare, William blinked while his friends followed Gracie, and then joined them in leaving the tower. There seemed little point in waiting alone in the dark. If Matilda and Artan hadn’t made it to the tower by now, the chances were they needed his help.

  Chapter 34

  Where else for William to go but back to the arena? He’d travelled the relatively safe route across the rooftops and now stood several hundred feet from the enormous structure. An open patch of concrete separated him from the sporting venue. A spot where fans would have gathered on match day, waiting for the big event. But instead of fans, over one hundred diseased congregated in the space. They snarled and snapped, hissed and spat. They slammed into one another with their aimless wanderings. Many of them were dressed in Fear’s blue uniforms. The pity that usually twisted through his stomach to witness the wretched degradation of a human being was remarkably absent for those dressed in blue. The matching clothes highlighted the uniformity of their purpose. A hive mind with just one goal. The disease drove them. Slaves to it, they existed to ensure it thrived.

  But no sign of Matilda and Artan. Unless …

  Five drones hovered around the corner of the large arena like wasps around a rotting apple. They swerved and twisted, bobbed and weaved. They were waiting for something. But what?

  Matilda and Artan had to still be alive. They were survivors. If he’d gotten away from this in one piece, surely they had too. The mid-morning sun glistened on the scrapes and dents in the arena’s steel roof from where the drones had shot at the building. But they were still there, so they couldn’t have caught their prey. Something held the drones’ attention. Whatever it was, he had to investigate.

  Although, how on earth would he get past the creatures between him and the arena?

  William crossed over the roofs from one building to the next. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, but it had to be them. Who else would hide so close to the arena? Whoever it was, they were an enemy of the blue army; otherwise the drones would have left them alone. The white gravel crunched beneath his steps. Some small stones sprayed up when he skidded to a halt on the roof of the building next to the scavengers’ warehouse.

  Dropping onto his front, William crawled along the gravel and peered over the edge. They’d tied the double doors shut with chains and a chunky padlock. Had they abandoned the place?

  Tock!

  A scavenger climbed out of a first-floor window onto the metal walkway attached to the side of the building. William drew his baton. He lay flatter than before, the small white stones digging into his chin.

  The scavenger, a man with long, greasy, unkempt hair, walked with stooped shoulders and barked a phlegmy cough.

  William’s heart slammed against the rough roof.

  But the man had come out to check on the diseased. After leaning away from the building to peer down the street, he shook his head, sighed and returned to the window he’d only just climbed from.

  William gave it a minute before he shuffled away from the warehouse, jumped back to his feet, and took off towards the arena for a second time.

  Consistent with many of the small buildings in this section of the city, the one closest to the arena had a fire escape. Thankfully, it ran down the side farthest away from the diseased mob. He didn’t need them watching him make his way towards them.

  A handrail ran to the ground with the zigzagged stairs. At the bottom, he kicked a section. One side of it snapped free with a clang! Once he’d worked the other side free and liberated the three-foot steel bar, he headed towards the arena and the diseased crowd.

  The soldier’s baton tucked down the back of his trousers and the handrail in a two-handed grip, William’s palms sweated and his heart thumped. He swallowed against the dry itch in his throat. The plan had been easier to make when he’d been twenty feet higher than the creatures. Now he stood eyeball to eyeball … But what other choice did he have?

  The drones remained near the corner of the arena. Matilda and Artan would starve to death rather than give up. If Matilda and Artan were even inside the building.

  If he thought about it for much longer, he’d change his mind. William stepped from the alleyway and coughed to clear his throat.

  About twenty diseased turne
d his way. Forty bleeding eyes. Lips pulled back, rattling snarls, angry hissing. William ran. The diseased gave chase.

  A lead of about thirty feet. Hopefully, it would be enough. William led them away from the arena, the metal pole in his grip. Their clumsy steps beat a tattoo against the asphalt, some of them yelling and yipping as their balance failed and they went down.

  Not far to run, but fear robbed the strength from William’s legs. He focused on his destination. Whether they fell over or not, looking back wouldn’t help his cause.

  The large doors at the front of the scavengers’ warehouse clattered when William slammed into them. The bar in his grip, he shook as he threaded it into the loop of the lock. He froze when he glanced to his right at the wall of diseased closing in.

  William tugged against the lock, yelling as he pulled. “Yeargh!” It broke into several small pieces. The chains sloughed from their loops and fell to the ground with a splash. William pulled the doors wide and charged into the warehouse. A scavenger waited for him. Teeth bared, he hissed like a diseased.

  William smashed the metal bar over the dirty man’s head. One blow proved enough.

  Before the scavengers could use their pulley system to close the doors, the diseased streamed into the building.

  The bar in his grip, William ran towards the bottom of the stairs. Many of the scavengers retreated to the first floor, shouting to those above them. But several guarded the pulley, tugging the ropes in a futile attempt to defend their home.

  Small windows in the walls on William’s left and right. He charged at the scavengers on the pulley and dived through one like he’d done the last time he’d escaped the building. Except, this time, when he landed on the ground in the alley outside, the only thing following him were the screams of falling scavengers.

  William ran from the alley on wobbly legs. Panic burst from the warehouse’s windows. Throat-tearing cries. Diseased snarls. Footsteps against metal as some of the scavengers climbed out to the fire escape on the first floor.