The weak light shone off the side of Hawk’s tense face. The muscles along his arms stood out like ropes. Sweat glistened on his body, and as much as the diseased fought to be free, she had no chance against his power. He could end her right now should he desire.
Instead, Hawk took his time. Saliva dripping from his gritted teeth, his face locked in a grimace that resembled a smile in all but spirit. The creature lost her fight. Acceptance? A lack of breath? Fatigue? Hard to tell.
But when Hawk let go, the creature did something William had never seen before. She ignored the uninfected human closest to her, scrambling away from him as she crawled up the stairs towards the others. Arachnid in her approach, her teeth snapped as she used both her arms and legs to drag herself towards Artan, Olga, and William.
Hawk caught her heels this time, grabbing them and pulling her back down the stairs. Her chin played the hard steps like a xylophone. He turned the creature over so she lay on her back. He sat on her chest, pinning her biceps beneath his knees, and pressed his thumbs into her eye sockets.
The thick muscles in Hawk’s tight jaw bulged with his exertion. Two wet pops and the creature’s eyes yielded to the pressure. The rancid reek of rot escaped her skull as she fell limp and slid down to the bottom of the stairs.
Without looking at them, Hawk wiped his hands on his trousers, picked up his sword, walked to the bottom of the stairs, stepped over the creature, and vanished around the corner into the dark tunnel.
Pale and slack jawed, Olga snorted a laugh. “I guess he doesn’t like it down here, then?”
After a glance at Artan, William said, “This is our last chance. Shall we follow him?”
Artan nodded. “Whatever else he has going on, I think he’ll take us to the ointment.”
A shrug of her shoulders, Olga led the way.
Were they about to make an awful decision? But what other choice did they have? They didn’t know this palace, and whether they liked it or not, Hawk was the most qualified to get them to their destination.
Chapter 18
Shortly after Monica’s final attack on Max, she left. The bulb so close to Max’s face it blinded him to anything in the shadows, so he had to trust what little he could see and hear. The crack of the door being locked behind her and then silence. Had he been left alone?
Max tasted his own blood in his throat, and the ache in his testicles still ran to the pit of his stomach. Connecting with the pain made him want to vomit.
Barp!
The sound continued, unrelenting in its deep and tormenting call.
Crack! The bolt on the other side of the door released. The hinges groaned, screams and shouts from the asylum entering with someone’s footsteps. The chains above Max rattled when he pulled against his restraints. A futile attempt to break free, but the only power he currently had.
Like with his bonds, blinking did nothing to improve his situation. He remained blinded by the bulb’s glare.
Gracie stepped into the light, and Max’s tension left him. She might still be an arsehole, but he would have chosen her over Monica all day long.
She stepped closer than when she’d been in the room with Monica, allowing Max to see her better. She had long ginger hair, which she wore in a thick plait that ran all the way down her back. She had kind eyes and soft features. “What do you want?” Max said.
“You should be grateful I’m not Monica.”
“I am. That doesn’t mean I trust you. I’d rather not be in this situation at all.” Pins and needles ran down Max’s arms from where they were suspended above his head, the ropes cutting into his wrists. “Also, if you lot are so against the guards, why do the one thing to me that you hate? Why restrain me and lock me up, and why are you leaving those women and children locked in their cells too?”
“We’re feeding them.”
Barp!
“Just like the guards would? Why become the very people you hate?”
“Monica has.”
“You’re different, are you?”
Gracie revealed the cup of water she’d brought with her. Her brilliant white-toothed smile disarmed him. “Are you thirsty?”
Max shrugged and swallowed a dry gulp. He lost his words and coughed to bring them back. “Don’t go out of your way for me.”
“I am here to help.”
Barp!
“Until you’ve bled as much information from me as you can, grown frustrated when you realise I’ve been telling the truth about who I am, and then hand me back to Monica. This is the oldest routine in the book. One of you is nice after the other one’s been horrible in an attempt to make me open up. To make me think you’re on my side, even if Monica isn’t. The teachers used to do it to us at school all the time.”
“You went to school? Where are you from?”
“You’re wasting your time.” Max turned his face away from the cup of water. “I’ve told you all I know about this place.”
But Gracie persisted and held the cup to his lips, tracking his head movements when he turned away from her again. He took a sip, his parched throat easing at the cold and wet massage.
“Who are you here with?” Gracie said.
What harm would it do to tell her most of the truth? “There’s seven of us.”
“What are your names?”
“I’m Max. The others are on the roof of the palace.”
“What are their names?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious.”
“Olga, Matilda, Cyrus, William, Hawk, and Artan.”
“And this Olga’s special, is she?”
The chains rattled above Max when he snapped his head back. “W-why do you say that?”
Barp!
Gracie shrugged and smiled. “You mentioned her first.”
Heat spread through Max’s cheeks. Were it not for the bulb next to his face, it might have been more obvious. Or maybe Gracie was just being polite.
Gracie said, “If what you’ve told us so far is the truth—”
“It is.”
“Then when are your friends coming to let you out?”
If he told her where he’d put the key, he’d lose all his leverage.
“There are too many diseased in the wastelands at the moment. They’re stuck on the roof of the palace.”
“So how did you get over here?”
“I got lucky. I’m fast.”
“I think there might be more to this story than you’re letting on. How did you get in?”
Although Max opened his mouth, he had no words.
“Look,” Gracie said, “your story doesn’t add up. If you let yourself in, you need to have a key, and that key is somewhere. If your friends let you in, they need to come back and let you out at some point.”
“I got in before the palace fell. Did you notice when the alarm stopped?”
“Of course.”
Barp!
“Like I said to Monica, that’s when the palace fell. I knew that because my friends had a plan to cut the electricity and let the diseased into the palace. That’s what was going to kill Grandfather Jacks.”
“So you don’t know for certain whether he’s dead or not?”
Max pressed his lips tight. The more he told her, the deeper he dug his hole.
“So ignoring where you’ve put the key, or when your friends are back, what are you doing in here?”
“I’ve come to break someone out.”
“Not doing a very good job of that, are you?”
“I found her.”
“You just weren’t expecting Monica to use her as bait.”
“What’s Dianna ever done to Monica? She’s an innocent girl from Umbriel.”
“All of the women here are innocent, and half of them are from Umbriel. That’s where you’re from, is it?”
“We passed through there.”
“On your way to …?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“What made you leave Umbriel?�
�
“They tried to kill us—”
“You and your friends on the roof of Grandfather Jacks’ palace?”
“Yeah. They tried to kill us boys while they brought Olga and Matilda here.”
“And they failed in their attempts?”
“Obviously.”
“Remember who’s tied up, Max.” She looked him up and down as if to highlight the bonds holding him in place. “There could have been more of you. So you got Olga and Matilda out?”
“They got themselves out. We just caught up to them here.”
“How come it’s you breaking out Dianna and not one of the girls if they’ve managed to get free of Grandfather Jacks? That’s no mean feat, you know.”
Barp!
“Because I’m the one in the asylum.”
“There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”
“I could say the same for you. What’s your deal? Monica seems batshit crazy, but from what I can tell, you’re not.”
“How can you tell?”
“Your words are reasoned. Your tone even.”
“Hardly an expert diagnosis.”
“It’s the best I’ve got.”
Gracie smiled and nodded. “Sometimes you have to pick sides. You asked me about those women and children who are still locked up. I picked a side, which means I’m not in a cell anymore. All I want is to get out of here. If you can help me do that, I can help you.”
“I still don’t trust you.”
“I don’t blame you. We don’t know each other. But you know what they say about when you’ve hit rock bottom.”
“There’s only one way to go?”
Barp.
“So what do you have to lose in trusting me? You’re in a world of shit right now; you might as well roll the dice.”
“Do you know Dianna?”
“I was in the cell with her.”
“Did you knock me out?”
Gracie shook her head. “That was Monica.”
“Has Dianna sided with Monica?”
“She failed to see the possible opportunities of joining her gang. But she’s alive, and I don’t believe Monica will kill any of them. Although, she’s not the easiest woman to make predictions on.”
“Where’s Dianna now?”
“In another cell.”
“So what’s your story?”
“I’m from a community farther south.”
“South of the wall?”
Gracie laughed and shook her head. “No, of course not. You think I’d come back to this shithole if I was?”
Barp!
“How did you get here?”
“I was out hunting. I got separated from my hunting party, and I got jumped by a group calling themselves the Nomads.”
“Scruffy bastards with bones in their hair and dreadlocks?”
“You’ve met them?”
“They’re dead now.”
“You’re sure?”
“I watched them die. They also brought Olga and Matilda here. They were trying to keep us away from them.”
For the first time, Gracie’s shoulders slumped and she said, “They brought me here a few weeks back. I’ve been hoping my dad would have found me by now.”
“Your dad’s important?”
“We live in an underground community and he’s the leader. He has a lot of people willing to do as he asks.”
“How long are you going to wait for him to turn up?”
“Until today I didn’t realise I had a choice. Hopefully I’ll get out of here and I won’t have to wait any longer. From talking to Monica, if you’re too old to be on Grandfather Jacks’ radar, you could be waiting in here a long time.”
“No wonder she’s lost the plot.” Max said. “If I’d had to listen to that—”
Barp!
“—for most of my life, I’m not sure I’d be the full ticket either.”
“But it looks like I might have a way out of this mess now,” Gracie said.
“As long as Monica believes you’re on her side.”
“And we’ll have to make sure she does, right?”
“What’s stopping me telling her?”
“Your story has more holes in it than a fishing net. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do the same. I think we can help each other when the time’s right. Maybe neither of us need to rely on Monica to get out of here.”
“And you can help me get Dianna?”
“I can try.”
Chapter 19
William stepped over the diseased’s eyeless corpse after Olga. Tears of blood ran down its cheeks. “Why didn’t the diseased in the arena bleed like the ones we’ve seen in the wild?”
“What are you talking about?” Olga said, her voice echoing as she entered the tight corridor.
“When we went to a main event in the arena back in Edin, the diseased didn’t bleed like those in the wild. It was like their blood was congealed in their veins. I thought it was the same for all the diseased.”
“They bleed them out,” Artan said, stepping over the corpse and joining the others at the bottom of the stairs. “It makes them more docile. Easier to fight.”
“How do you know that?” William said.
“It’s the one useful thing my dad told me.”
Maybe William should have asked that question sooner. “Before all this happened, going to a fight in the arena was the best. Now I feel like those days belonged to an entirely different person. Like I’m observing memories in which I played no part.”
“None of us are those kids who went on national service,” Olga said.
Around the bend, the small corridor’s floor, walls, and ceiling were made from grey stone. Every surface glistened with damp, and the occasional drip of water fell from the hanging bulbs running down the centre of the ceiling. A door at the far end of the corridor, four more ran down the wall on their left.
Artan said, “Where do you think Hawk’s go—”
Crash! It came from the first room on their left, the door open.
“That answer your question?” Olga said.
William went into the room first. He jumped aside as a splintered baton of wood hurtled towards him. As long as his forearm and several inches thick, it slammed into the wall on his right.
As Olga shoved her way in, William pushed her down, the clang of a steel bar flying over her head.
Hawk had a bat in his hand. A paddle of some sort, it looked like a torture device. While holding it in a two-handed grip, he took down the shelves along one wall, small clamps, gags, and thumbscrews tinkling when they hit the stone floor.
William slid the remaining chains from around his neck and threw them to one side. No wonder Hawk had been so distracted by them.
A stocks built for children sat in one corner. Tears glistened in Hawk’s eyes and he grunted with the effort of his blows, hammering shots against the wooden frame.
At first it looked like the stocks wouldn’t break. But Hawk redoubled his efforts, slamming blow after blow against it, faster and more furious with each attack.
The frame collapsed with a splintering crack.
His arms hanging down, his body rocking with his ragged breaths, Hawk left the room, barging William aside.
In the aftermath of Hawk’s fury, the room trashed, Artan said, “So what do we do?”
“I think he needs to get this out of his system,” Olga said.
“So we let him?” The bang of the door in the next room being kicked open, William pointed in the direction of the sound. “Have you heard how much noise he’s making?”
“This is clearly important for him.”
“What about what’s important for Matilda?”
“We’ll get her ointment, William. How can we possibly understand what Hawk’s been through? I’m hoping this will be the catharsis he needs.”
Into the next room first, William tried to piece together what it might have looked like before Hawk entered. A small table and chairs in one corner. A small bed in
the other. Small leather masks and outfits hung on a rack above the bed. Hawk had used Cyrus’ sword to tear holes in the leather and currently stabbed the mattress.
Tears streaked Hawk’s cheeks, his teeth bared as he yelled a broken wail, cutting the mattress and duvet with his repeated attacks.
An outback hat hung over the back of one of the chairs. As Hawk picked it up, Olga said, “Grandfather Jacks used to wear them.”
Hawk threw it on the bed, opened up the front of his trousers, and pissed on it, turning the worn brown leather limp.
William checked the corridor, poking his head from the room. It seemed clear. When he turned back, he nearly slammed into Hawk. “Uh …” William said, “I totally respect what you’re going through, man.”
Olga watched on with wide eyes.
“But will you please tell us when we get to the room containing the ointment? And will you please make sure you don’t destroy that too?”
An animalistic grunt, Hawk dipped his head and barged William aside, his strength damn near knocking William onto his arse. William couldn’t leave Matilda’s life to chance. He set off after him, but Olga grabbed him and pulled him back into the room. “Stay away from him. Let him do what he needs to.”
“Even if that means sacrificing Matilda’s life?”
A shake of her head, Olga said, “I don’t think it will mean that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I can’t, but—” her shoulders lifted with her wince at the crashing sound from the next room “—do you want to get in the way of that?”
They entered the room in time to see Hawk jump from a table and deliver a flying kick to a standing cupboard. A whip hung on the wall to William’s left. The flayed leather end had glistening strips of razor-sharp metal woven through it.
The crashing and banging of Hawk destroying the room, William unhooked the whip and lifted it for the others to see.
Hawk yelled, raised a wooden chair above his head, and slammed it against the stone ground. Before he could kick over the other free-standing cupboard, the doors burst open and a diseased fell out. Stumbling at first, it turned left and right before snarling at Hawk.
But Hawk fixed on William rather than the creature. William, who stood in the doorway with the whip in his hand. The whip that had no doubt torn the scars into Hawk’s torso.
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