Beyond These Walls (Book 7): The Asylum

by Robertson, Michael

  William jumped into the room, his feet hitting the tiled floor with a crack. He stood aside so Artan could slide in after him. The small space was no more than about eight feet square. Empty save for a bed along one wall and a wardrobe. There were straps at each corner of the bed.

  While Olga fought to catch her breath, Hawk stood dead still, his attention on the bed, tears filling his eyes. Wherever he was at that moment, he wasn’t in the room with the rest of them.

  The cupboard door creaked when William opened it. The sight sent him stumbling back. Whips and chains hung down from the coat rail inside.

  Still nothing from Hawk. He continued staring at the bed, his hands shaking as he rubbed the scars on his neck and chest.

  Olga put a hand on Hawk’s back and the boy jumped, dragging a sharp intake of breath. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

  As if trying to get himself started, Hawk nodded several times. It took a few more seconds for him to turn his back on the source of his torment. He hovered near the button to exit the room and said, “I’m going to open this door. I’m hoping the tone from the asylum has pulled a lot of the diseased away. Directly opposite this room is a door leading to the basement.”

  “This place has a basement?” Artan said.

  A sardonic smile, Hawk said, “It’s not somewhere they advertise in the brochure. It’s where the ointment is. I’m hoping the diseased are yet to discover it.”

  “You ready for this?” Olga said.

  Hawk nodded, but he stepped aside. He clearly needed someone else to lead.

  “One …” Olga said, her hand over the button.

  “Two …

  “Three …” She slapped the button three times, the door opening, screams from the diseased flooding into the room.

  Hawk charged out first, leading with his sword. He drove the closest diseased back by burying the tip into its face. After kicking it free from his blade, he went to work, slashing, stabbing, and cutting. He used Ranger’s old sword like he’d been born to wield it.

  Blood splashed on the white tiled floor. Olga followed Hawk out, keeping her distance from him and taking down the diseased on the periphery of his chaotic attack.

  Artan went out next, William grabbing several long chains from the cupboard before he too entered the larger hallway.

  If William joined the battle, he’d just get in the way. Six to eight diseased remained, and while his friends cut them down, he used one of the long chains and tied the door to the private room shut. A handle on the door and one on the wall next to it, even with the three button presses, it made sense to secure their escape route.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Hawk said, blood dripping from the tip of his sword. While he watched William, Artan and Matilda continued fighting the creatures around them.

  “I want to make sure no more diseased get in here while we’re away.” The air reeked with the rotten stench of diseased. “We need to keep a clear path for a quick retreat.”

  Artan, who danced through the diseased with a blade in each hand, wedged the tips of both knives into the eyes of a diseased. When he pulled the blades from its face, he drew out two lines of blood and the creature fell. He slapped Hawk on the back with a loud crack and said, “Come on, we need to keep moving.”

  The hunter turned his back on William. Artan raised his eyebrows at his friend.

  Maybe the chains had been a bad choice, but they were effective. William shrugged, finished tying the doors, and crossed the blood-soaked hallway to be with the others. Double wooden doors covered the basement’s entrance. No automation here.

  Were it not for the barp in the distance, they would have been overwhelmed in the wide corridor. Maybe Hawk had been correct about the electricity being a priority. Maybe they could rely on him.

  The cries of more diseased rang through the corridors. Instead of quickening his pace so they could get out of there, Hawk turned and faced the direction of the sound. He raised his sword in preparation for the fight, even though they had the chance to escape. William sighed. Then again, maybe they couldn’t.

  Chapter 16

  Barp!

  The first thing Max heard when he came to. The bone-rattling tone surged through the dark corridors of the labyrinthine asylum.

  A throbbing headache ran through both of Max’s eyeballs, a bulb close to his face, bright because of its proximity. It glowed in his eye, blinding him to the rest of the room. It gave off a small amount of heat against his cheek. It made it hard to judge the size of the cell. His hands were above his head, strapped to a wooden baton, the ropes at his wrists and ankles tied so tightly they burned.

  Max’s right hand closed around thin air as he grabbed for where his war hammer had once been. When he shook his arms, the wooden baton and metal chains above him rattled.

  A dry funk in his mouth, fur on his tongue, Max gulped against the stale and metallic taste of his own blood. A large patch of it had turned the front of his shirt crusty.

  Barp!

  Women screamed and children cried.

  Unable to stifle his cough, Max released a deep barking hack, the sting in his eyeballs so intense they felt like they might burst.

  Nothing but Max and the shadows. Until she stepped forwards. Had she been there the whole time?

  “So he’s awake!” The woman stepped so close the weak bulb beside Max lit up her face too. She had pale skin, greasy brown hair, and oversized yellow teeth. Five feet tall at the most, she looked like an oversized rat more than she did an undersized human. Eyes so dark the irises could have been black. She sniffed, her pointed nose just an inch from Max’s right cheek. “I hate the guards who run this place.”

  “I’m not a guard!”

  The woman’s speed and the darkness of the cell meant the first Max knew of her kick was the stinging blow. Her toe connected clean, electricity streaking up the front of his leg before balling beneath his patella. Although he tried to twist to ease the sting, his bonds restricted his movement.

  The woman kicked him again in exactly the same spot, and Max clamped his jaw, biting down on his scream.

  Barp!

  The woman remained close, panting hot and heavy halitosis on Max’s face before she vanished back into the shadows. Were it not for her slathering respiration, he might have assumed she’d left. Max finally said, “Why are you attacking me? I told you I’m not a guard.”

  The woman burst from the shadows again. She cupped his crotch and moved so close to him their noses touched. Insanity swirled in the inky blackness of her wild glare. Her top lip rose in a snarl. It revealed more of her oversized teeth. She squeezed hard, her thin lips pulling back. She sprayed his face with spittle. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve been in here too long. I’ve seen too many tricks to fall for any of your bullshit.”

  Cramps streaked from the woman’s grip straight into Max’s bowels. He tried to ride out the pain with deep breaths. If arguing would have gotten him anywhere, he would have put up more of a fight. Clamping his eyes shut, tears leaked from them and ran down his cheeks. “H-h-how—”

  The woman squeezed harder. “Spit it out!”

  “How long have you been in here?”

  Barp!

  Although she kept her hand cupping his testicles and penis, she let go of the tight squeeze, and Max groaned with relief. The sharpness left her tone. “They brought me here when I was fourteen.”

  “Fourteen! That must have been—”

  “Steady.” She squeezed again, although not as hard this time. The whites of her eyes stood out on her face. “You should never ask a lady how old she is.”

  No doubt her time in the asylum had aged her by ten years, but even with that, she’d still clearly been in this place for longer than she’d spent outside it. “When was the last time you saw daylight?”

  “I just told you, didn’t I?”

  Max pulled back as the woman surged forwards. Again, she spared him the gut-wrenching twist, letting go of his cro
tch completely. “They said I wasn’t ever ready to receive Grandfather Jacks’ wisdom. Do you know what I think?”

  Max shook his head.

  “I think they forgot about me for too long, and when they finally remembered, I wasn’t young enough for the dirty old bastard. But I’ll show him. I’ll get out of here, and if I need to cut your throat as a message to him, I will.”

  “But Grandfather Jacks is dead,” Max said.

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  Barp!

  “I swear it, he is. The palace has fallen. Did you hear the sound go off? Did you see the lights go out?”

  Her features softened.

  “That was when he got killed and his palace fell. All of his guards have gone too.”

  While shaking her head, the woman stepped away. She clapped her hands to her face with a crack and held on as if it would help her contain her madness. “You’re lying so I’ll let you go. Then when I do, you’ll overpower me.”

  This woman clearly couldn’t be reasoned with.

  Another woman stepped from the shadows. In her late teens to early twenties, she was slim, had a healthy glow to her cheeks, and held two cups of water. She handed one to the lady and said, “Here you go, Monica, drink this.”

  The woman raised the cup to her lips and drained it, her dark eyes levelled on Max the entire time. They dared him to aggravate her again.

  His balls throbbing, a deep sting on his right shin, he clamped his jaw and waited. Let the woman speak. She probably had a lot to get off her chest, and she wouldn’t believe what he had to say right now.

  “What do you think, Gracie?” Monica kept her attention on Max.

  “Huh?” the girl who’d brought in the water said.

  “About this one. He claims he has nothing to do with Grandfather Jacks. That the palace and all the guards have fallen.”

  “Then why did he have keys on him? And why are we still locked in?”

  Monica tilted her head to one side as if to relay the questions to Max. “She has a point.”

  “I took the keys from a guard.”

  “So where’s the key to get out of here? We’ve tried every one on the key ring we took from you, and none of them work. The guards don’t stay in here. They let several in at a time and lock them in. I think that’s what’s happened to you. Because if you came in on your own, surely you’d have the key to get out again?”

  “I—”

  “I think you’re lying,” Gracie said, cutting Max off. “I think we need to hold on to you and wait for someone to come to your rescue. I think you’re a guard. And when they come for you, I think that’ll be our ticket out of here.”

  Max’s cheeks puffed out when he exhaled. He’d nearly told them about the key in the cell. Did this woman realise what she’d just done by revealing their plan? Now he couldn’t tell them about the key to get out of there. As long as they thought someone would come and bust him out, they’d keep him alive.

  It started low, bubbling from Monica’s throat like water in a thirsty drain. It grew in volume and pace as her cackle ran away from her. Louder and faster, it gathered momentum before morphing into a scream. A wild monkey call, it rang so loud the rest of the asylum fell silent.

  Barp!

  She bounced on the spot, her wild eyes giddy before she charged Max and kicked him between the legs with a yell.

  Max coughed several times in an attempt to manage the pain before he vomited down his front.

  Her breathing ragged, her hair hanging across her sweating face, Monica snarled and paced back and forth in front of Max. “We’ll keep you alive because we need you. But by the time we’re done, you’ll wish you were dead.”

  Chapter 17

  The approaching diseased’s footsteps beat an out-of-time rhythm as they closed down on their position. William and the others continued towards the doors leading to the basement, but Hawk stood waiting for them, his sword raised. He snapped his head from side to side as if trying to touch each ear against each shoulder, limbering up for the fight.

  Although William opened his mouth to speak, what could he say to convince the hunter to join them? From the blank looks on Artan’s and Olga’s faces, they had nothing either.

  Barp! The sound much quieter in the palace, but it still came through to them. “Uh, Hawk.”

  The diseased drew closer, Hawk turning his feet as if trying to improve the stability of his stance.

  “Hawk,” William tried again, “what are you doing, man? This isn’t a fight we need to be having.”

  Hawk turned so quickly, William jumped back, lifting Jezebel a little higher should he need to fight. Deep wrinkles ran along Hawk’s brow, his jaw tight.

  His mouth dry, William adjusted his sweaty grip.

  But Hawk’s scowl lifted and he lowered his sword. He ran for the doors leading to the basement. A set of double doors without automation, Hawk kicked them hard enough to break the lock with the tearing rip of splintering wood.

  As the last one in, William closed the doors and tied the handles with one of the chains he’d taken from Grandfather Jacks’ comfort room. When he’d finished, he tugged on them, the chains rattling as the doors opened by no more than an inch.

  A set of stairs led down to a shadowy hallway, most of the dark tunnel hidden from their sight from where it turned a ninety-degree left at the bottom. Small bulbs ran down either wall, a gap of about six feet between each. “At least we have the lights on now. Imagine doing this in the dark.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Hawk said, taking several steps down towards the gloomy corridor. “Which is why I insisted on getting the power on first.”

  “What about the other people?” Artan said.

  Olga seemed keen to talk. Anything to break through the tension between them all. “What other people?”

  “The ones who chased Max out of the palace.”

  “They’re dead,” Hawk said. “Didn’t you see what happened?”

  A moment’s pause, Artan then replied with an even tone, “Of course I saw what happened, but what if there are more? It won’t be hard for them to untie the chains.”

  “Worst case,” William said, “our route back won’t be safe. Best case, it will. We need to at least try to give ourselves the easiest route back to Matilda.”

  Artan’s concerns had drawn Hawk’s focus back to the chains. The stocky hunter glared at them, his breaths rocking through him in waves. “I don’t appreciate them.”

  It took for the quiet between them all to hear the tone.

  Barp!

  “At least down here we don’t have to listen to that,” Olga said.

  Hawk’s expression deadpan, he looked back down the stairs. “If there were a choice, I’d take that annoying noise over where we’re going all day long.”

  “So this is the right way?” Olga said.

  When Hawk didn’t answer, she took several tentative steps down the stairs and rested a hand on his shoulder. She pointed down. “This is the right way?”

  Hawk remained statue still, pausing long enough for William to move from one foot to the other as if he could somehow wriggle free of his discomfort. Hawk finally nodded. “Uh … yeah, this way. This way. Yeah.”

  Hawk led them down the stone stairs. A wide back glistening with sweat and as lashed with scars as the front. The snakelike scar wrapped around his neck from where the rope must have eaten into his flesh when Dianna found him.

  The deeper they went, the thicker the damp in the air. The stone stairs leading to the basement were worn in the middle from what must have been years of use.

  Artan grabbed William, halting his descent and forcing a gasp from him. After Hawk had gone down a few more steps, he spoke in a whisper. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Trusting Hawk to lead us, I mean?”

  “Do we have any other choice?”

  Although Artan looked like he had more to say, he simply shrugged, allowing William to continue after Hawk and Olga.

  The wild scream of a disea
sed snapped William rigid. Olga froze in front of him, and Artan stepped back a pace. William raised Jezebel, Olga and Artan also holding their weapons ready to attack.

  But instead of waiting for the diseased to come to them, Hawk hopped down several more steps.

  “Looks like they’re down here too,” Olga said.

  The uneven beat of footsteps came from the shadows around the bend. It ran down a tight tunnel towards them.

  Hawk moved down several more steps, now just a few feet from the bottom.

  “Hawk,” William said, “what are you doing? Step back. We have a much better chance making that thing come to us.”

  The beast sounded barefoot. The slap of its steps patted the stone ground. If Hawk heard William, he hid it well.

  “Hawk!” Olga tried this time. When he continued his descent, she turned back to the others and shrugged.

  “What can we do?” William said.

  “Follow him?” Artan said.

  “No way.” William shook his head. “What he’s doing is suicide. Hawk, come back up here.”

  All the while, Hawk remained fixed on the gloomy tunnel. He opened his right hand, his sword hitting the stone stairs with a ching!

  “What are you doing?” Olga said. “You can’t fight that thing with your bare hands.”

  The creature so close William ruffled his nose at the vinegar tang. When Olga stepped closer to Hawk, he darted forwards and gripped the top of her arm, dragging her up the stairs. “Get back. We stay together in this. We’ll only get the ointment and get back to the others if we work as a tea—”

  The diseased burst around the corner with a shriek. A woman about five feet six inches tall. Hawk caught her around the throat, her dirty and matted brown hair falling across her face as he lifted her from the ground by her neck. Her feet swung in front of her when he drove her towards the ground, slamming her against the hard steps. It forced an “oomph” from her, and she fell limp for the briefest of moments.

  The diseased woman twisted and shrieked. She kicked out and waved her arms, desperate to be free of Hawk, who kept her pinned to the stone stairs.