“Almost a week in the hole and you’re still breathing,” said the warden, although I couldn’t hear his voice, I could only feel it like needles sliding into my ears. He laughed again and it was all I could do not to scream. “I’d save your breath, Sawyer,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “There’s a long way to go yet and there are so many more nightmares to face. Enjoy your food.”
The warden continued to talk as the hatch was closed, but each word hurt more than the last and I did my best to shut them out. Some filtered through, wrapped in razor wire and sinking right to the heart of my consciousness—perfect subject … the Chamber … harness his fury—then the hatch was sealed and the voice faded. Slowly, very slowly, the poison from the warden’s mind ebbed from my own, leaving me with a throbbing headache and a nosebleed. I lay on the floor, pinching the flow and trying not to think about the blood that dripped pleasantly down my throat. It had just started to ease off when I heard Zee tapping a message from his cell.
“Think we can do it? The steeple?”
“No idea,” I replied, sitting up to better hammer out my response. “Might not even go anywhere.”
“Yeah, thought that too.” There was silence for a few minutes. “Worth a try, though.”
“Worth a try,” I repeated, rubbing the blisters on my hand and wishing there weren’t so many letters in the alphabet.
“Any ideas?” he pressed.
I didn’t answer straightaway. Instead I ran my hand across the cell floor, scooping up the slop and stuffing it into my mouth—too hungry to care about where it had been or how dirty it was. To keep my mind off the texture I tried to picture the steeple, tried to imagine how an escape might work. There was nothing to do but climb, it didn’t take a genius to see that. And to do it we’d need some equipment, otherwise sooner or later we’d all take a fall, plummet past the ledge and down into the bottomless pit of the gorge.
I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be any climbing gear in Furnace, not unless the wheezers liked a little recreational rappelling when they weren’t working in the infirmary. The thought brought a smile to my face. I pictured them jerking and twitching as they bobbled from a ledge, their piggy eyes wide with excitement as they eased their way down, suture clamps wedged in the wall and scalpels strapped to their feet for grip.
Thank you, brain. I sat up, feeling the familiar rush of inspiration. It was so obvious. The infirmary had been full of hooks and straps and hammers and pins that could double as a climbing kit.
The euphoria was so intense that it blocked out what little rational thought I had left, banishing logic to some dark part of my brain where its protests couldn’t be heard. I didn’t question the fact that the equipment wasn’t made for the stresses and strains of climbing and would probably break. I didn’t worry that I’d never climbed before in my life. I didn’t even acknowledge the thought that in order to get our hands on it we’d have to go back into the infirmary where the wheezers were waiting. No, all I could see was us scaling the steeple with ropes of rubber tubing and leather, pulling ourselves up with forceps and bone saws until we clawed our way into the world outside.
I know, it sounds utterly ridiculous. But when you’ve spent days inside a black hole in the center of the earth, then even the craziest escape plans become gloriously real. And I mean nothing was as crazy as filling rubber gloves with gas and using them to blow a hole in the floor, right?
Simon showed up some time later and I was telling him my plan even as he was lifting me out of my cell. He gestured for me to keep my voice down, telling me in a panicked whisper that there had been no breach or riots, and that the blacksuits could be anywhere.
“Nice idea,” he said as we freed Zee, his enthusiasm bubbling up through his caution. “We’re so close, I know we can do this.”
His confidence was contagious, giving us strength as we stealthily made our way down the corridor, hovering by the dark doorways for cover before sprinting down the next stretch. I wondered if we should be searching the rooms for anything we could use, but Simon shook his head.
“Most are empty,” he said as he peeked around the corner of the junction that led up to the infirmary. “Shelves, boxes with nothing in them. Nothing there that will help us climb. Everything we need is in the infirmary…” He paused, and even though his features were as white as parchment, I thought they paled another shade or two. “Or beyond, where they do the surgery.”
We rested, breath locked in our lungs, as the sound of footsteps rose up from somewhere close. It was the tread of a blacksuit, and we prepared to flee back to solitary if we needed to. But they began to recede again, leaving the corridor beyond clear. Simon sprang, bolting toward the infirmary doorway, and we struggled to keep up with him. I was so scared that the adrenaline in my blood felt like acid. I was used to it, though. I’d forgotten what it was like to live a life where every waking moment wasn’t filled with terror.
We skidded to a halt outside the door, our backs pressed against the stenciled letters as Simon took a look through the plastic curtain.
“Can’t see any movement,” I thought I heard him say, although it was too quiet to be sure. He turned to face us. “Head right, back to the screens we were in before. If you see a trolley grab anything you think might be useful. Clamps, bandages, stuff like that.”
“What about the wheezers?” Zee’s voice fluttered past my ear.
“We’ll just be careful,” was his less than reassuring reply. “Get the hell out of there if there’s any sign of trouble.”
Simon eased a finger between two of the plastic slats and glanced inside. It must have been clear because with a flutter his bulbous body vanished like it was sinking into dirty pond water. I realized I’d been holding my breath and exhaled slowly through my nose. I knew if I waited any longer my courage would desert me completely, so after snatching a mouthful of air I pushed myself through the curtain and ducked right, sprinting behind the first screen without even checking to see if the infirmary was empty.
There were no wheezed cries of alarm, no sound of shotguns being pumped and fired, no screams of anger as Zee sped in, almost tumbling over the empty bed in his haste to be in hiding. All I could hear were the pitiful cries of the patients and our own gasping breaths.
“Let’s go,” said Simon, leading the way between the screen and the wall to the next compartment. This too was empty, and the half dozen or so after that, but when I followed him through one more gap, I realized it was where I’d stolen the scalpel. The boy who’d occupied the bed was now gone, sheets stripped and a stained pillow the only evidence he’d ever been there. But the trolley was still in place, the rack of stainless-steel equipment glinting red in the intense light of the room.
“Zee, help me with these,” said Simon. “Alex, you keep looking.”
I nodded, grateful that he was letting me go on. Picking up equipment wasn’t the only reason I’d been hoping to return to the infirmary. Donovan was up here, just two screens away. At least I prayed he was. I pushed through the next compartment a little too quickly, entering Donovan’s cubicle to see the weird metal sarcophagus still in place.
He was suspended inside it just as before, only now both his legs matched his grotesquely stretched torso. It was like he was slowly being filled with air, his body puffed up and his limbs swollen to bursting point. His arms, which had seemed enormous when we were up top, now looked like twigs stuck into a giant sack of dough.
I walked around to face him and almost cried out. His face wasn’t his anymore. I mean, I could still recognize him, but it was distended and scarred like an over-roasted pig’s. His jaw was enormous, something writhing beneath the skin and making it look as if he was chewing gum. His silver eyes were those of a statue, sightless and full of death.
“Donovan?” I whispered. “Are you still in there?”
It seemed a stupid thing to ask, but it’s all I could come up with. It was as if someone had taken my friend and packed him inside someone else’s bo
dy, pasting so much flesh over him that he could no longer remember who he was. Please God, let him be in there somewhere.
“Don’t get too comfortable, we’re still getting out of here,” I said.
His head swung from side to side for a moment like one of those toy dogs you put in cars. It would have been funny if it hadn’t chilled me to the bone. I said his name again and his gaze dropped, almost finding me, straying off to the side then sliding back. I saw his eyes focus, then his lips peeled apart, the stitches straining as he smiled.
I staggered back. It wasn’t an expression of welcome; it was that same blood-curdling shark’s grin that the blacksuits all wore. He held it for as long as he could, then his cheeks started to spasm and his face fell. Seconds later his mouth opened again and he spoke a string of soft words that didn’t make any sense.
“Donovan?” I talked over him, loud enough to be heard from outside the compartment. “You remember your name, right? We’re still getting out. We’ve found a way. Think we have, anyway. It won’t be long, I promise.”
He was still ranting, specks of spit and blood flying from his lips as he hissed out the same sequence of words. I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat from his body against my face, and his choked cries suddenly made sense.
“Donovan is dead,” he whispered, his metallic gaze sweeping the curtain, trying to find something. “Donovan is dead. Donovan is dead. Donovan is dead.” Over and over, louder and louder. I saw the side of the screen twitch, two faces appearing.
“What are you doing?” Simon asked. “We came to get equipment, not to see him. You’re going to get us all caught.”
“Donovan is dead, Donovan is dead, Donovan is dead.”
I wanted to put a hand on his arm, try to calm him down, but he was too hot to touch. Simon walked up and started hauling me away toward the next cubicle.
“The wheezers are going to hear,” he was saying, more to himself than to me. He was right, and fear made me follow without objection. It was only as I was slipping past the screen that Donovan’s mantra stopped. I turned, saw that his face was locked on mine again, his soulless Cheshire Cat smile engraved in my head long after it had disappeared behind the curtains.
A wheeze fluttered up from close by, increasing in volume and pitch like a siren. My heart was pounding too hard, I couldn’t make out which direction the sound was coming from. I realized I was gripping Simon with the same white-knuckle strength he was holding me with, Zee already backing off the way we had come.
The wheeze trailed off into another of those gargled purrs, a noise that could only be a cold chuckle. I heard the sound of curtains being pulled back, a cry like that of an injured bird.
“Where is it?” I asked, my mouth practically up against Simon’s ear. He shook his head, not daring to move in case the armful of equipment he held gave him away. It sounded as though the wheezer was between us and the main door, out in the aisle that separated the two rows of beds. Surely we’d be fine as long as we stayed out of sight.
Another set of curtains pulled back, a tuneless whisper like a broken accordion.
“Go,” muttered Simon, nodding back toward Donovan’s cubicle. Zee went first, gently easing himself between the screen and the wall. I followed, and it was just as Simon emerged behind me that a shadow rose up on the screen. The three of us froze like this was a game of musical statues and the music had just stopped.
But to my horror Donovan started laughing, a cold, booming chuckle that could have come right from a blacksuit.
“You’re ours now,” he said through a grin.
Then the curtain was ripped open and death lurched in.
THE CHARNEL HOUSE
THE WHEEZER SHOWED NO HINT OF SURPRISE, no sign of hesitation. It took one giant stride across the cubicle and before I could even blink its gloved hand was around my throat.
I’d assumed the wheezers were weak, and slow. I thought that’s why they needed the blacksuits to carry away the prisoners they picked when they came up top on the blood watch.
I’d assumed wrong. The hand that held me was like a vice, crushing my windpipe so hard that I couldn’t even draw a breath. It pulled me toward it and I could do nothing but stare at its mottled face, the rusting gas mask sewn into its leathery skin, two eyes as dull as coal but somehow gleaming with sick pleasure.
The edges of my vision were clouding, flecks of black lightning leaving dark scars and threatening to plunge me into unconsciousness. The wheezer threw back its head and called out, a twisted scream that tore my soul in two.
There was movement to my side, Zee running forward and crying out defiantly. The wheezer’s head twisted unnaturally and it extended its other arm. It was too late for Zee to change direction and he flew right into it, the gloved hand locking around his neck and holding him there even though his legs were off the ground and shaking like a rag doll’s. The monster cocked its head and looked at us as though it couldn’t believe its luck. I couldn’t see its mouth because of the contraption over it, but I knew it was smiling. It called out again, and something distant answered it. Then something else, a chorus of wet cries that flooded into the infirmary.
We were dead. I knew it. I kicked out at the freak that held me, but its flesh felt like porridge beneath its jacket and it didn’t even seem to feel my blows. One of my kicks caused a pair of syringes around its chest to explode and its expression changed, the eyes narrowing and its wheeze lowering in pitch, like it was warning me to stay still.
It didn’t have to. What little strength I had was long gone, totally drained. I tried to suck in some air but the fingers clamped around my windpipe wouldn’t let me.
It screamed again, the noise fading into that mucus-filled growl of delight. My mind was snatching at the last few strands of consciousness, like someone sinking into quicksand grasping for a fistful of weeds. I looked at Zee, saw him staring back, his tear-stained face a perfect reflection of my own.
Then the fleshy noose around my throat loosened and I fell to my knees. For a moment my lungs couldn’t remember what to do, then they expanded, air flooding in and purging the darkness from my vision. I thought that maybe the wheezer had suffered one of its spasms, or had thrown me down in order to stick me with a poisoned hypodermic.
But it was staggering back, the silver handle of a scalpel protruding from its shoulder like a military epaulette. Zee was on the floor next to me sobbing and gasping for breath. I looked around, saw Simon standing close by, his face a rictus of shock and repulsion.
The wheezer was stunned but not badly injured. It unleashed another cry, one I’d never heard before, which echoed around the room like an arriving fleet of demons. It reached up and pulled out the scalpel, releasing a spurt of putrid, oil-colored blood. Then it threw itself at us.
Still on my knees, I did the only thing I could think of. I threw myself forward, bunched up into a ball, praying it wouldn’t notice me. I felt its boots crunch into my side and thought it was kicking me until I sensed its body tripping over mine, crashing earthward. For a moment I was lost in the folds of its coat, its graveyard stench enveloping me. Then it was on the floor, twisting and writhing like a beetle on its back.
“Quick!” yelled Simon, throwing himself on the wheezer despite his obvious terror. He was still holding the equipment he’d stolen from the trolley and with a cry he plunged another scalpel into its chest. It bucked, trying to stand, kicking the side of Donovan’s metal sarcophagus loudly enough to be heard up top. I glanced at the doors on either side of the infirmary, knowing the blacksuits would be here in seconds.
“Help me!” Simon called again, sticking something else into the freak beneath him. I scrabbled around, looking for a weapon. The creature lashed out, catching Simon on the jaw and sending him reeling across the cubicle.
Trying not to think about what I was doing, I slammed my body onto the wheezer’s chest, pinning it. Zee was by my side throwing ineffective punches. One hit the creature’s gas mask and it howled in pain as tw
o of the stitches split.
“The mask,” I heaved, throwing a punch of my own. Pain shot up my arm as my fist connected with the metal apparatus, but four more of the ancient stitches snapped loose. The wheezer knew what we were doing, its body spasming and rocking with such force that I was almost thrown off. Simon reappeared, kneeling on the wheezer’s arm then placing his massive hand over the gas mask. Zee bundled onto its other arm, holding it down with all his strength, and together we punched and pulled and ripped at the wheezer’s face.
The mask came loose with a sound that turned my stomach inside out. There was the snap of wire, loud enough to be a pistol shot, then the sickening tear of split flesh and the sucking noise of a pressurized seal coming loose, like the sound a sink plunger makes. The mask fell to the floor and I immediately felt the strength vanish from the wheezer. We got off it, barely managing to stay upright as we huddled on the other side of the compartment.
It was still thrashing, but made no attempt to stand. Its hands were held up to its face, desperately fumbling for the mask that was no longer there, its mouth flopping open, huge and toothless. It screamed, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. It tried to take one more breath, its eyes now wide with panic as they searched the cubicle for its attackers. But before they found us it was dead.
There was no time to think about what we’d done. We bolted, sprinting past the screen into the infirmary and making for the door that led back to the cells. A savage bark stopped us in our tracks, a howl that I knew only too well. It was a dog, somewhere out in the corridor beyond, and by the sounds of the throbbing voices that yelled alongside it the creature wasn’t alone.
“Blacksuits,” Simon said, cursing, then doubling back, heading for the door on the other side of the room. The door that led even deeper into the prison’s medical facility. “Come on, follow me.”
Solitary Page 14