Artan raised his eyebrows. “Not as much as hitting a wall and having your four friends land on top of you.”
Cyrus had walked ahead of them. He came to a sudden halt. “I’m sure she probably forgot how painful the chute was.”
William joined the boy, his stomach knotting at the sight of the woman. She lay crucified on a bed of spikes in the pit at the end of the chute. The sharp gunmetal grey tips glistened with blood. One had gone through her throat, one through her eye, and one through her open mouth.
A shake of his head, Artan rubbed his chin. “She’s not been dead long.”
“Come on.” William shuddered and led them away. “Let’s keep moving. We can’t do anything for her now.”
The walls of the crevice grew gradually steeper as the path narrowed. It sharpened the already cutting wind. The sight of the woman had left a chill in William’s bones, which the intensified weather did little to allay. He walked at the head of the line, Cyrus directly behind him, Artan at the back. The strong breeze obliterated his words before they’d left his mouth, but he didn’t have the energy to shout. “How many people die trying to pass through here, I wonder.”
Clunk! A section of wall about twenty feet wide dropped on their right. It revealed a cave filled with diseased. Cyrus screamed as the foetid reek of vinegar and rot rushed out, driven towards them on the back of the creatures’ cries.
William lifted Jezebel. Artan the war hammer. Cyrus kept his sword sheathed and raised his hands as if he could push them away. He even closed his eyes. There were at least twenty diseased. Maybe more.
Max moved ahead of the group and pushed the diseased back. While he might have had disdain for the boy in the past, he stood mostly in front of the cringing Cyrus.
As the boys avoided the diseased, William noticed the click of the trap’s trigger too late to act. His foot sank by an inch, and the wall behind them fell. The ground they stood on tilted like it had with the last trap.
Their yells echoing in the enclosed chute, all four of them slid away from the diseased.
The creatures followed them a second later.
Winded as he collided with a wall before falling to the floor of another pit, William threw Jezebel away from him for a second time so his friends didn’t land on the axe. He’d already grown too used to this. Artan, Cyrus, and then Max slammed into him. A hole like the one they’d been in before, the walls as sheer and as tall.
William retrieved Jezebel and helped Artan to his feet.
The first of the diseased hit the wall like William had, the skeleton-jarring connection making him wince.
Just before Max stepped forward to attack it, Artan handed him his war hammer.
A devilish grin stretched across Max’s face. He kicked the first diseased in the chest to prevent it from standing. He swung for the next one entering the pit, catching it with a full blow to the cheek. The hammer head sank into the thing’s skull before it hit the ground. Max moved with a fluidity reminiscent of Warrior leaving the national service area ahead of the cadets. A ballet of destruction, he ended the diseased as they came down to him, slamming headshots as if the hammer carried no weight.
Jezebel raised, William maintained a tight grip on her handle while Cyrus held his sword in a shaking hand and Artan stood ready with his spear. But Max didn’t need them. A frenzy of activity, he killed the diseased almost as quickly as they came to him, kicking some back before they overwhelmed him, and finishing them when they came at him a second time.
The bodies stacked up, William and the other two pressing their backs to the wall of the pit to give Max the space he needed.
One of the creatures slipped through. Cyrus speared the beast in the face. Artan patted him on the back.
Although it had rained diseased, the flow stopped as quickly as it had started. For a second time, Cyrus drove his sword through a diseased, this time burying the tip in the back of its head. He panted as he said, “It moved.”
With all the creatures down, William puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. “Wow. Thanks, Max. And you, Cyrus.”
A sheen of sweat glistened on Max’s face, mixing with the blood from the diseased. Twenty or more bodies in front of them, he shook his head. “That was intense.”
“You can say that—” The sound of voices above cut William off. Men’s voices.
“Shit.” Artan looked up. “They’re nearby.”
“What do we do?” Cyrus said.
Max pointed up. “We could try to climb out?”
“We won’t make it,” William said. The answer had already come to him, but he waited for something better from the others. After a pause, he said, “We need to hide.”
“How do we hide in here?” Cyrus looked at the pile of diseased corpses. “Surely you don’t mean …?”
The voices drew closer.
“There’s no other choice,” Artan said.
Max shook his head. “There must be another option?”
William said, “If there is, we have seconds to work it out.”
Taking the lead, Cyrus ran to the pile of diseased near the wall. He grunted when he dragged several away from the mound and winced as he lay down and pulled the bodies over him. The others did the same.
The still-warm flesh pressed down on him. The funky reek of curdled meat in his nostrils, his clothes turning damp with their warm blood, William swallowed against his still-dry throat while the others shifted around him and the voices above grew louder. In a matter of seconds, they’d be staring down at them. Hopefully they’d done enough to turn themselves invisible.
Chapter 13
A needle of hot agony ran from the side of Olga’s head into her right eyeball. She dragged air in through clenched teeth and screwed her face up, another hot wave streaking through her. Her head strapped in place, she twisted against her restraints. Not only had a leather belt been pulled taut across her brow, but one had been strapped across her mouth, forcing her to breathe through her nose. Her arms were pinned to her sides and her legs bound so she lay dead straight on the wooden stretcher.
Barp! A tone in the distance. A horn of some sort.
Even blinking sent electric streaks through her face, but it cleared her vision, bringing definition to the silhouettes surrounding her. Three people on either side: two men and four women. They wore fur coats made from a mix of different animals. Rabbit, squirrel, wildcat. One of them had the black and white of a badger on their back. They all had long braided hair reaching down to their shoulders. Feathers, twigs, and bones had been twisted through the braids, some of them tinkling like wind chimes in the strong breeze.
The wooden stretcher bobbed with their steps, and they talked amongst themselves. Olga heard everything as if she listened to it from underwater, fluid in her ears, the back of her throat coated with the coppery taste of her own blood.
Barp!
Olga clamped her jaw, sending stinging shocks up either side of her face. But screw the pain. She twisted against her bonds and shook again. The woman at the front of the stretcher stumbled with the movement.
A grin lit the face of one of the men, who peered down on her, the darkening sky surrounding him. It would be night soon. “She’s awake.”
The man moved aside to reveal a beaming Peter. He walked at the same pace as those carrying the stretcher. The familiar spread of his feline eyes, his smile a beaming white. Two more people joined him. A pale woman with blonde hair. Although slim, the definition of her arms spoke of her fitness. A tall man with dark features at her side. Flecks of grey dusted his thick black beard. When Olga had seen them from the cave, she’d not noticed the man’s ageing. Crows’ feet spread away from the corners of his ochre eyes; permanent wrinkles sat on his brow.
“Welcome back,” Peter said. He then pointed at the woman and man. “This is Collette and Serj.”
They both smiled and nodded like they were being introduced at a party. Like they didn’t have her pinned to a fucking stretcher. Olga bucked, the woman at the fr
ont stumbling for a second time.
Barp!
“Careful,” Peter said. “If they drop you, you’ll come off much worse.”
Snot rocketed from Olga’s nose with her heavy breaths. As much as she tried to pull away from Peter’s touch, she was powerless to the man stroking her face. His smile remained broad, his eyes losing focus as he stared down on her. He spoke in a hushed tone. “Now, now, my little thing. You had me so worried when you and your friend vanished earlier.”
Matilda! Olga tried to turn her head. Millimetres of movement, nothing more.
“Show her,” Peter said.
Barp!
Those carrying the stretcher tilted one side, and Olga’s stomach lurched as if she might fall. But the straps held her so tightly she barely moved. In a similar situation to her, they had Matilda bound to another stretcher. Leather straps pinned her in place. Her eyes were currently closed.
“That’s enough,” Peter said. When the stretcher levelled out, he smiled again. “Don’t worry, she’s just resting. She’ll be right as rain soon. Now I suppose you must be wondering where you’re going, and who these people are?”
Had Olga been able to reply, she might have withheld it to deny him the satisfaction. But currently, she had no control.
“These people are nomads. They work for bounties and rewards. They know Grandfather Jacks and are sympathetic to his mission.”
“We also like how well he pays,” Collette added, laughing with Serj and Peter at the comment.
“They’re helping me complete my mission of delivering you and your little friend to him. You should thank them for steering you through this tumultuous world. For taking an interest in your path to enlightenment.”
Another tight clamp on her jaw, the stinging pain gave her something to focus on.
Barp!
A shriek from nearby diseased. Olga’s heart accelerated, her breathing quickening. The swish of long grass as they closed in, she fought against her bonds.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. Three spears were loosed. The diseased fell silent.
“And as you can see,” Peter said, “the nomads are handy when it comes to dealing with the diseased. Now show her where we’re going.”
Those at the back of the stretcher lifted it to give Olga a view of what lay ahead. They were no more than fifty feet from a huge, imposing, and windowless building. Tall, wide, and made from large grey stones, it dominated the landscape. Bigger than any building she’d ever seen, it must have had hundreds of rooms inside. A rock of dread plummeted through her stomach.
Barp! The sound came from the other side of the building.
They lowered the back of the stretcher again, forcing Olga to view the darkening sky. Night just a few hours away. Although, from the look of the building, the light would be taken away from her much sooner.
The groaning of old hinges up ahead, they carried Olga into a tunnel made from an intricate latticework of steel. Complex filigree. She’d seen similar pattens in some of the wooden furniture in Edin. Beautiful artistry, such care given to something leading to somewhere so remarkably ugly.
The crashing of closing gates. The screech of diseased. Not only did the tunnel display gothic beauty, but it held the creatures back, several of them slamming into the fences on either side. The wet schlop of sharp points sank into rancid flesh as the nomads despatched them. The vinegar reek of stuck diseased swept across Olga’s nose, riding on the back of the strong wind.
Barp!
Like they’d seen in the main hut in Umbriel, glass suns ran along the top of the tunnel when they got closer to the main building. Smaller and duller, but more numerous. Every few feet, two sat centrally above her like glowing yellow cherries. Where did this magic come from?
The tunnel stretched ten to twenty feet long. A loud snap ran through Olga. A bolt being freed. Another yawning groan of protesting hinges. The latticework overhead was replaced by a solid roof. Shadows crawled through the deep corridor, but more small glass suns clung to the walls on either side. Their dull glow created more shadows than they banished.
Barp! The loud noise roared through the building, shaking the walls, echoing along the corridors. It shook Olga’s chest and snapped her rigid. Peter walked on as if nothing had happened.
Ten to fifteen seconds later. Barp!
Again, none of the others reacted.
The shadows deepened when the doors slammed shut behind them. Nothing but the glow from the weak suns on either side. The place had a musty reek of damp.
Barp!
A woman screamed. It came from somewhere deep inside the building, the lonely call searching the corridors for someone. Anyone.
Two to three turns later and Olga had already lost track of where they’d taken her. A maze of corridors, the ceiling the same no matter how many turns they made. Even when she did get free, how would she find her way out?
Barp!
Another scream, it came from another distant room. Peter laughed. “That’s the sound of transition. Soon they’ll see the way to Grandfather Jacks. Soon they’ll find the peace they deserve. And when they do”—he pressed his hands together in prayer—“they’ll thank us for opening their eyes. They all do in the end.”
Those carrying the stretcher stopped. Crack! Another bolt opened. More old and protesting hinges. Another door swung wide.
They pushed Olga into a dark cell. They leaned her against the wall, bringing Matilda in and standing her beside her. Vertical or horizontal, the bonds continued to pin her in place.
Peter pressed his hands together for a second time and addressed the ceiling. “High Father, I’m honoured to deliver this gift to you. Two more pure souls desperate for a leading light in this dark, dark world. Please accept them as your own. We trust you will deliver them to a higher consciousness and show them how you provide. How wonderful life can be under your guidance.”
Grinning like he had the entire time, Peter walked backwards from the room, his attention shifting from Matilda to Olga as if waiting for enlightenment to burst from them. He vanished from their view and called back into the room, “Enjoy your new cellmates.”
The next barp drowned out the slamming door. Most of the light in the room vanished.
The shadows came to life. One, two, then three silhouettes. They moved slowly forwards, their footsteps clumsy as they slapped against the ground. Canted stances. One of them dragged a back foot as if its leg no longer worked.
The small room threw Olga’s quickened nasal breaths back at her. Gagged by the leather strap, she grunted a muffled scream and shook her head as much as the millimetres of movement would allow.
The three silhouettes drew closer.
Barp!
Matilda remained unconscious. The only movement she had in her arms, Olga wriggled her fingers. The three people were nearly in the small splash of light from the weak yellow sun on the wall.
Barp!
A warm dampness spread across Olga’s thighs as she lost control of her bladder.
Chapter 14
Jezebel at his side, William lay beneath the press of fast-cooling diseased bodies. A small stone dug into his right shoulder blade, hitting a pressure point that forced all the muscles in his back to spasm. As slowly as he could, he shifted his weight. Enough to move off the stone, but hopefully not so much anyone looking down would have perceived it. A cold dead hand rested against his right cheek. Bloody red eyes stared at him through the gaps in the fingers. His change in position had afforded him a clearer view of the top of the pit. The sky had grown darker from where night closed in, the strong wind whistling across the mouth of the wide hole. The men closing in on the pit were yet to make themselves visible.
Cyrus lay on William’s right, another body among many, although none of the diseased trembled like him. Max lay on his left, dead still as if he welcomed the inaction. He could finally give in to the hopelessness of screwing over Olga and watching her kiss Hawk. Artan lay close to Cyrus.
The stench, Willia
m could get used to. Time around these vile creatures had taught him he could become accustomed to almost any reek. Eventually his senses would dull. But their weight pressing down on him … The very tangible pressure of the vile things squashing him, leaning on him. So close. So intimate.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” Max said beneath his breath.
William turned too fast and one of the bodies on top of him slid by a few inches. The staring diseased fell away to be replaced with the crotch of another one. Previously a man. If he’d had a choice between the two, he would have opted for the crimson glare. The voices had taken form, several hunters appearing at the edge of the pit. The broad and scarred Hawk stood among them.
“Where did that fucking prick come from?”
“Now’s not the time, Max,” William said. “If they realise we’re down here, we’re screwed. It’s going to be hard enough working out how we get out of this pit without spears raining down on us.”
“But of all people …”
“I’m lying here with a diseased’s dick in my face, so believe me when I say, if there was a way to get out of here and move on, I’d be with you. But there isn’t. We need to wait for them to go.”
Another boy joined the gang at the edge of the pit. The tall kid who’d won the chance to go out hunting the first time William and the others attempted Umbriel’s spear-throwing trial. Naked from the waist up—as all of them were—his pecs stood out as two rocks on his chest, his stomach a rippled six-pack. He freed himself from his trousers and groaned as he pissed on the diseased.
William pressed his mouth shut and closed his eyes. Some of the spray from the boy landed pinpricks of moisture against him, although the layer of diseased on top took most of it. A secondary warm trickle ran across William’s thighs, dampening his trousers.
“Looks like someone had some fun here,” one of the other hunters said, a short ginger kid, nearly as broad as he was tall. “Although … how did the diseased die?”
Cyrus snapped tense beside William, several of the corpses shifting. He let out the faintest whine.
Beyond These Walls (Book 6): Three Days Page 8