Beyond These Walls (Book 7): The Asylum

by Robertson, Michael

  Steps as uncertain as any he’d taken in this place. Hard to trust the woman, but at least it gave him something to go on.

  Tonk!

  Max stepped back and rubbed his forehead. Not the first time he’d walked head first into a barrier, but at least he hadn’t hit a stone wall. His hands out in front of him, he felt the cold steel door. The big handle, the small metal panel surrounding the keyhole. No window like the ones in the cells. The woman had been right. He’d nearly given up so close to his exit.

  Walking his hands along the stone wall to his left, Max moved towards the cell where he’d left the key. When he found the wall, he turned a right angle and found the door. It swung open when he shoved it, letting him into what appeared to be one of the only abandoned cells in the place.

  Max entered the cell, testing every step forwards with a lifted boot, waving it in the air until he caught the wooden bunk at the back.

  The lip beneath it, the key he’d left there resting on the small ledge, Max nodded to himself and smiled. “Amazing!” He kissed the key and left the cell with the same tentative steps.

  Back to the large exit door, Max found the small metal plate surrounding the keyhole again. A couple of taps before he found the hole and slotted the key home, twisted, and freed the lock with a loud clack!

  The larger hinges on this door cackled like a smug crow as Max brought daylight into the asylum, his eyes watering, a lump in his throat.

  The air was infinitely fresher outside, even with the diseased gathered around the tunnel, curdling it like soured milk. Max stepped into the sun’s light and filled his lungs.

  Barp! Max jumped on the spot, the loud foghorn tone calling across the wastelands. The diseased outside the steel tunnel yelled, snapped their heads in the direction of the sound, and set off.

  The screams of the inmates in the asylum rose a notch, the tone streaking through the previously dark corridors. The lights had come on inside, small bulbs hanging from the walls about every ten feet or so.

  Barp!

  “Amazing!” Max said, turning to the palace. “Well done, guys.” Although his heart sank as he said it. He’d have to go back in. If only he could talk to them and decide their best plan of action. But he already knew it. It would take a while for the diseased to clear before the others could cross the meadow to join him. They didn’t have time. Matilda’s thigh probably wasn’t getting any better. They’d gone to the effort of getting the power on, so he had no choice but to go back in. The sooner he freed Dianna, the sooner they’d all be able to get the hell out of there and maybe help Matilda find something to heal her wound.

  “Are you sure you want to go back in?” Max asked himself.

  “It’s not about what I want to do. It’s about what I need to do. And at least it isn’t dark in there anymore.” A shake of his head, Max filled his lungs with the outside air. Best to make the most of it before he reentered the hellish building.

  Chapter 11

  William waited in the courtyard until just he and Cyrus remained. After tossing Jezebel up onto the tiles, he bent down and linked his hands to give Cyrus a boost. But the boy shook his head. “I can manage on my own, thank you.”

  William pulled a tight-lipped smile and stood aside.

  A low window ledge in front of them, diseased on the other side of the thick glass. Their lips dragged along the transparent barrier while their teeth clicked against it as if they could bite their way through. Cyrus stepped onto the ledge like the others before him, jumped up, and caught the guardrail running along the edge of the roof.

  A boost would have been a hell of a lot easier, the boy grunting as he swayed, struggling to lift his own weight. The desire to help sent twitches through William’s muscles, but he fought the urge to get involved, stepping back even farther while the boy struggled.

  When Cyrus had finally climbed clear, William followed him up in a fraction of the time, the guardrail damp from where his friend had sweated with the effort of his climb.

  The roof’s edge had several holes along it where tiles used to be. William stepped over them towards Matilda. He reached out and held her clammy hand. Although he raised his eyebrows, before he could ask her anything, the sound came again. A deep industrial tone, it called to the diseased in the area. Barp!

  “I never thought I’d be glad to hear that noise again,” Olga said. She squinted against the morning sun, her attention on the large ugly stone building across the meadow. “How do you think Max is getting on?”

  “A lot better now he can see,” Hawk said.

  “Well done, gang,” William said.

  Olga put her hands on her hips. “That was reckless, William.”

  A dip of his head, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “What good is sorry if one of us had been killed?” Hawk said.

  “What good is a detailed plan when Matilda’s running out of time?” William let go of his love’s hand and pointed at her thigh. “Look at her leg.”

  Her face pale and sweating, Matilda shuffled on the spot with the discomfort of being the centre of attention. Fresh bloodstains seeped through the bandage on her thigh.

  “So what do we do now?” Artan said. “Matilda needs our help, and I can’t imagine Max is having much fun in that place.”

  “We can’t possibly think about getting to the asylum at the moment,” William said. “Firstly, how the hell will we get across to it? And secondly, Matilda needs to be our priority now. We’ve done what we can for Max for the time being.”

  Hawk drew his knife from his belt with such speed, it cut through the air with a swish! He aimed the tip at William, who tightened his grip on Jezebel’s handle. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Stand aside, William. I have no beef with you.”

  Cyrus behind him, William turned to the meek boy before shrugging. “What the hell has Cyrus done?”

  “Show them,” Hawk said.

  Because Cyrus always stood with a pathetic hunch, William hadn’t noticed how he clenched his right hand. The boy’s sweat on the guardrail hadn’t been sweat. Were his skin not so dark, William would have seen it sooner. “That’s why you didn’t want help getting up? You were trying to hide that from us?”

  A quivering bottom lip, his brown eyes glazed. Cyrus’ shoulders rounded as he pulled into himself and shrugged. “I think it’s just a cut. I got it when holding the gate closed, but I don’t think they bit me.”

  Hawk flicked his knife in Cyrus’ direction. “Why hide it, then?”

  A half shout, half plea, Cyrus’ voice broke when he said, “I got scared. I was worried you’d react like this.”

  Although William hadn’t let go of Jezebel, he relaxed his grip and held his free hand at Hawk in a halting gesture. “What are you planning on doing?”

  The whites of Hawk’s eyes stood out. “We cut him down. We can’t risk him turning.”

  “Wait a minute,” Artan said. Then he stepped closer to Hawk, blocking his path to Cyrus. The hunter raised his knife. The point an inch from his throat, Artan said, “Calm down, will you?”

  Hawk moved the tip even closer.

  “This is why we had to rescue your arses,” Olga said, rolling her eyes at Matilda. “Why don’t you all rein in your egos and talk like civilised human beings?”

  But Hawk remained fixed on Artan. “I will not calm down. I’ve lost people to the disease. I’m not prepared to take the risk.”

  Artan’s tone remained even, and he maintained eye contact with Hawk as he spoke slow and deliberate words. “We’ve all lost people to the disease. That’s what living in this world is. But we don’t yet know if he’s been bitten, and we’ve also seen someone get bitten and not turn. Had they killed Max when the diseased got him, I think I can safely say we would have all died a long time ago. Also, no one would be in the asylum looking for Dianna right now. So we wait, okay? We let Cyrus stand on his own, and we wait to see what happens to him. If he turns, there are enough of us to take him down.”

/>   Cyrus turned sideways to pass between William and Olga. He moved Artan aside and leaned his throat close to the tip of Hawk’s blade. “You’re right to be worried. I’ll stand here, and if I turn, please kill me.” Tears ran two glistening lines on his dark cheeks. “I don’t want to be one of them. I’m sure none of us do.”

  “Can I also suggest,” William said, “that when all this dick swinging’s over”—he winked at Hawk—“maybe you can put on a shirt? If we’re going to spend more time together, I’d prefer it if you weren’t semi-naked.”

  Hawk’s lip rose in a snarl before he turned back to Cyrus, fixing the boy with unblinking eyes. His knife shook and his knuckles turned white.

  Despite his flippant comments about the shirt, William’s pulse raced and his throat dried. He couldn’t lose someone else. He gulped as he moved back to be with Matilda and whispered, “I hope Cyrus is okay.”

  “Me too,” Matilda said. “Me too.”

  “William,” Hawk said while he remained fixed on Cyrus, “once we’ve sorted this issue out, I want to take you somewhere.”

  William let go of Matilda’s hand and stepped closer to the squat hunter. “What are you talking about?”

  “I spent a lot of time in this place as a kid. I got a lot of wounds while I was here, as you can see.” Despite the strong winds now they were higher up again, Hawk didn’t seem affected by the cold.

  “I didn’t ask for your life story,” William said.

  “All of Grandfather Jacks’ angels suffered a lot of wounds. A lot of wounds means a lot of infections.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “They have an ointment in the palace.”

  William’s jaw fell. “What?”

  “They have—”

  “I heard you.” William’s grip tightened on Jezebel’s handle again and he worked his jaw, forming the shapes of the words before he finally found them. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  William’s voice broke. “So where do we find it?”

  “Once we’ve dealt with Cyrus, I’ll show you.”

  Chapter 12

  Barp!

  Max stood outside the asylum, the door still open, the poorly lit corridor stretching away from him. Even with the bulbs’ glow, the darkness won out, the main hallway mostly shadow with weak splashes of light.

  The outside air might have been curdled with the reek of the diseased, but Max would take a tainted cool breeze over the damp stagnation of the asylum.

  Barp!

  The sound came as if the vast building had gained sentience. It stood as the alpha on the landscape, its loud tone a challenge to anyone who felt up to it. Enter and see what happened.

  A sea of diseased between Max and the palace, but he could still see the turrets and tiles that made up the grand building’s roof. How were the others getting on? Had anything happened between Olga and Hawk? Had they kissed again?

  A shake of his head, Max moved his war hammer from one hand to the other. Those thoughts didn’t serve him. Although, the same could be said of many of his current thoughts. “And they won’t do that anyway.” He had to say it aloud to get it past the voice in his head. The one that had control over the mental showreel with the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms. “No!” he said. “They won’t be doing that.”

  Mad Max.

  The face of his oldest brother stared at Max from outside the steel tunnel. Greg. Over ten years older than him, he’d been more like a second dad than an older brother. By the time Mad Max was building his reputation as the nuttiest of the lot, he was getting ready to go on national service. When he came back, he went straight to work, so Max barely got to know him.

  The face of the diseased Greg twisted as if it felt pity. Sad about how his little brother had turned out.

  Mad Max.

  But his mouth hadn’t moved.

  Mad Max.

  “Why don’t you piss off, Greg?”

  The sudden change sent Max stumbling back several steps. The face of his brother altered. A dent in his skull, his eyeball swollen, his jaw hanging loose. Max turned away and covered his face with his hands. When he looked back again, the woman he’d been fixed on revealed herself. Shorter than Greg. Fatter. Female.

  “What the fuck?” Max slammed his palm against his head again. He berated himself through gritted teeth. “I need to get a handle on this.”

  Maybe he should go back to the palace. Go check on everyone to see how they were doing. Make sure they were okay. Maybe chat to Olga. Show her he was worth waiting for. If she even wanted to wait for him. And who could blame her if she didn’t? Hawk was a strapping lad and a fierce warrior. And he could give her a physical relationship.

  Mad Max.

  Speaking aloud so he could hear himself better, Max said, “But what would it look like for me to return without Dianna? How would that impress anyone? Especially when they’d gone to the effort of getting the power back on.”

  The poorly lit corridors stretched away from him on his left. The palace across the sea of diseased in front of him. Space, open air, his friends. But Dianna was only fourteen. She didn’t deserve to be in there. And what about the children?

  Barp!

  The monotonous sound surged through the corridors. What must it be like to be trapped in there?

  As the echoes of the deep bark faded, the screams of the inmates rose in volume. They didn’t deserve to be incarcerated. He could help them. His mum always said that if he could help someone in need, then he should.

  Barp!

  In the aftermath of the next tone, the screams died down to be replaced with a chorus of sobbing children. Alone and broken. Now Grandfather Jacks had gone, their lives should be infinitely better. But how were they to know that? When had they last eaten? Who provided for them in his absence?

  One last look at the palace. He trusted Olga. Not that she needed his trust or asked for it. She could do what the hell she liked and she damn well would. But she cared about him. She’d shown him she wanted to make it work.

  His heart pulling towards the palace, his head pulling back into the asylum, Max shook his war hammer. “Dammit!”

  Max re-entered the asylum on leaden legs. He pulled the door closed behind him, slid the key back in the lock, the clack of the securing door running away from him into the darkness.

  Barp!

  Now inside, the sound rattled through Max’s skeleton. What must it have been like to spend any time incarcerated in this place? No wonder they were all so batshit crazy. Had they already lost Dianna to her own spiralling thoughts? Too much time in here would send anyone into mental decline.

  He returned to the cell he’d hid the key in before. It contained just a wooden bed. It reeked of mould. As Max bent down by the bed and felt for the ledge beneath the wooden bench, he turned back to the door. Surely just paranoia about being watched. But what if some of the inmates were already loose? What if they’d stayed put because they couldn’t see where they were going, but now the lights were on … He had his hammer. That would have to do.

  His hands shaking, Max dropped the key, the small piece of metal hitting the stone floor with a tinkle. A delicate noise in a place where everything else was turned up to eleven. One eye still on the door, he patted the cold stone floor, missing the key several times before he slapped his hand over it again.

  Barp!

  Adrenaline surging through him, Max drew steadying breaths. He put all his attention on hiding the key before darting for the cell’s exit.

  The hall might have been bathed in shadow, but some light was better than none. If there were any loose inmates, at least he’d stand a chance of defending himself.

  Barp!

  The war hammer held slightly away from his body, ready to swing should anyone jump him. How far would he have to walk through this place before he found Dianna? A particularly shrill scream ran a shiver down his spine. More children sobbed. Did he rea
lly have this in him?

  But did he really have a choice? If you can help someone in need, then you should. He’d never see his mum again, but if she looked down on him at that moment, she’d want him to follow his current course. To free the innocent. He’d been allowed to live for a reason. He’d been the one in a million who was immune for a reason. He owed it to what remained of this wretched world to share his gift.

  And how bad would it be?

  Barp!

  More screams.

  Having not moved since he’d stepped from the cell with the key, Max nodded to himself. “If you can help someone in need.” Then a second time. “If you can help someone in need.” He stepped forward, deeper into the asylum, fighting every urge in his body to leave. He could help, so he should.

  Chapter 13

  “Come on, man,” William said, throwing his arms away from his body, Jezebel in his right grip. “We’ve been here for about fifteen minutes with you holding that damn knife to Cyrus’ throat. When have you ever known it to take this long for someone to turn?”

  Barp! The tone from the asylum continued to call the diseased to prayer. The breeze carried their rancid reek.

  As he’d done for the entire time, Hawk kept his harsh frown fixed on Cyrus. “It does no harm to make sure.”

  William’s pulse quickened and he drew a deep breath in through his nose. “Unless you’re Matilda.”

  Olga stepped forwards and rested a hand on Hawk’s bare back. The muscles along his side twitched. “William’s right,” she said. “It’s been long enough. He would have turned by now.”

  The blade at the end of Hawk’s outstretched arm remained an inch from Cyrus’ throat. It wobbled, maybe from the strain of holding it, maybe from the tension in his white-knuckled grip. He finally yielded, lowering the knife, letting his tightly wound shoulders relax.

  “Right,” William said, “so now you’ve finally finished, and now we’ve all risked our lives to save your friend’s life—”

  “Dianna’s a good person. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”