Jezebel in one hand, the ceramic pot in the other, William nudged the doors with the toe of his right boot, but before he could push them wide, Olga pulled him back. “What is it?” he said.
“Give me the ointment. You can’t fight with only one hand free.”
William pulled the clay pot into his chest. “No offence, but we’ve done a lot to get this. I can’t give it to anyone else.”
“Fine,” Olga said. She tossed her sword so it flipped in the air, and caught it by its tip, offering the handle to William. “Take this and give me Jezebel.”
When William paused, Olga tilted her head. “Don’t tell me you can use that axe one handed? At least you have some chance with my sword.”
William handed the clay pot over. “Take care of it, okay?”
“Obviously.” Olga rolled her eyes and shook her head as she gripped the clay pot with one hand and held her sword with the other.
“You ready?” William said.
“I’m not sure it’s us you need to be asking,” Olga said.
“Fine.” William waited for Artan’s nod. “On my count. Three, two, one …” Right until that moment William had expected himself to be cautious. To push the door open slowly to see what waited for them in the hallway. But something changed during the countdown, adrenaline flooding his system, driving him forwards as he kicked the doors wide and charged out with Jezebel raised above his head.
Artan and Olga on his heels, the muscles in William’s arms twitched from where he kept Jezebel raised. He looked one way and then the other. “Huh?”
“Where the hell are they?” Olga said.
Barp!
Daylight shone down the corridor from one end. Olga peered that way, standing on her tiptoes as if it would somehow allow her to see through walls. “Looks like that noise works, then. I’m guessing they’ve all gone to the asylum. I didn’t …”
Although Olga continued talking, William stopped hearing her. He stumbled towards Grandfather Jacks’ comfort room. The chain he’d tied around the handles now lay on the floor. It had been untied and discarded.
Artan’s face ashen, the knives in both of his hands twitched. “You think someone has been through here since we went into the basement?”
“It seems like the only logical conclusion.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s the correct one,” Olga said.
Artan shrugged. “You have another explanation?”
“No.”
“So what’s your point?”
“We need to be ready to fight,” Olga said, “but there’s no point in fighting enemies in our heads. We need to be prepared, but standing in this hallway talking about what might be on the other side of this door won’t give us any answers. Chains aren’t the easiest things to tie knots in. Maybe a diseased knocked it off?”
She made sense. They at least needed to see what waited for them inside the comfort room. Without the countdown this time, William hit the button beside the door three times and entered with Jezebel raised.
The four diseased they’d dropped on their way in remained on the floor. Their blood had pooled around them. Sallow cheeks and dry crusty eyes. “If this is all we have to deal with,” Artan said, “then that’s fine by me.” A breeze ran through the room until Olga hit the button three times to close the door behind her. “But did we leave the window open?”
William shrugged. “I don’t remember closing it.” His palms sweating, his heart in his throat, his mouth dry, he pulled in a long breath through his nose. “Like Olga said, we can only deal with what we can see.”
Artan moved like a lizard. One step on the small table by the window, he slipped outside and pulled himself up, his boots vanishing from sight before he called down, “All clear.”
William took the ointment from Olga, who went out of the window next.
The small table wobbled when William stood on it, a surge of panic quickening his pulse before he sat on the window ledge. Blinded for a few seconds by the bright midday sun, tiredness and sweat added to the burn in his eyes. He handed the clay pot to Olga, who took it and placed it on the roof before she leaned down to take Jezebel.
But before William could hand over his weapon, two hands wrapped around his ankles. A tight grip on each, they tugged hard, yanking him away from his friends. The rough window ledge tore fire up his back and he whacked his head. A tone like a struck bell rang in his ears as he lost sight of the blue sky and Olga staring down on him.
Chapter 27
Max dragged Gracie away from the downed Monica. His punch had knocked her backwards, and she slammed her head on the wall behind her. She currently lay slumped on the floor. The only head start they’d get, they had to make it count.
The tone continued unrelenting and with metronomic regularity. It timed their escape and how long it would be before they were caught. It mocked their efforts. Did they really think they could get away from Monica? Were they really that naïve?
More screams and cries, almost as if every inmate had tuned into Max’s galloping pulse. As if they were invigorated by the thrill of the chase.
Each long and shadowy corridor looked like the next and the previous. The first chance Max got, he turned right, dragging Gracie with him as he tore down a corridor exactly the same as the one they’d left behind.
His steps clumsy, his breathing heavy. His damp clothes rubbed against his burns. Whatever happened, at least Sally had gotten hers. The toxic bitch deserved to be taken out.
Still holding hands with Gracie, their grip sweaty, Max took them down a sharp left.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Gracie said.
Max slowed down and listened to the asylum.
Barp!
The same shrieks and cries from the inmates. They were enraged circus animals on a full moon. Tormented by their incarceration, when those doors opened, they’d come flooding out as the personification of madness.
“First,” Max said, “we lose them.”
“And then?” Gracie’s face glistened with sweat.
“Then we get out of here.” But he didn’t set off.
Gracie looked back over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”
“What if we opened the cell doors now? We’d be much harder to find if we let this insanity out into the hallways.”
“You’re probably the only man in this place,” Gracie said. “You’ll stand out like a beacon, even in the relative darkness. You have the key hidden somewhere, right?”
“Of course I do,” Max said.
Barp!
The thunder of footsteps came towards them. Max took off and Gracie followed. They were fast. They could outrun Monica and her crew.
Another sharp left and then another right. Every corridor made from the same dark grey stone. The same smells of dirt and human waste in the air. The same uneven ground. But with so many twists and turns, it meant the building took the echoes of their slamming steps and scattered them to the four corners of the compass. It would have sounded like they made several different escapes, so which one would Monica and her band of women follow? A group that small could only split so many ways.
Several twists and turns later, Gracie pulled on Max’s right shoulder, slowing him to a halt. A few seconds passed where she leaned forwards and rested her hands on her knees, her mouth wide, her long plait hanging down in front of her face.
All the while, Max clenched his jaw against the buzzing sting in his burns, the unrelenting throb burrowing deeper into his body like three white-hot worms.
“I think we’ve lost them,” Gracie finally said. “We need to get out of here before it’s too late.”
He had to admit it sooner or later. Stepping back a pace, Max winced when he said, “How well do you know this place?”
Barp!
The poor light cast grotesque shadows across Gracie’s twisted face. “You don’t know the way out of here? What the fuck, Max? We just … You just killed someone back there.”
“I�
�m sorry—”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”
“This place is a maze.”
“You’re only just realising that now?”
“No, it’s just—”
The flush of exertion gave way to a glow of fury. Gracie stepped close to Max, her face inches from his. She radiated heat. “It’s just what? What possible excuse is there for you putting my life in this much danger?”
Bang!
Someone kicked the door of the cell on their right. A child cried while skinny arms reached out for them. “Please,” the woman said, “please let us out of here. We’ve been in this place for so long. We just want to be free. We won’t cause any trouble.”
The urge to open their cell twitched through Max’s right hand, his fingers tensing and relaxing. But like Gracie had said, as the only man in the place, he’d stand out from a mile away. Not only the only man in the place, but the only person who knew the location of the key to get them out of there. Things would turn sour very fast.
“Come on.” Max pulled on Gracie’s hand, leading her away. “We definitely won’t get out if we stand here arguing. Let’s go.”
Chapter 28
Thankfully William had given Olga the ointment first. Not much he would have been able to do armed with a clay pot of liquid he didn’t want to spill while his battle axe lay on the roof of the palace.
The boy must have been three to four years younger than William. Topless and covered in scars, his dirty face locked with a twist of pure hatred. He held a steel bar with both hands and brought it crashing down.
Clang! William lifted Jezebel’s handle, blocking the blow.
The boy threw another two-handed attack, and William blocked it a second time, deflecting the steel pole. An inch closer to his right hand and the boy would have shattered his fingers.
William rocked forwards, sat up, and drove the end of Jezebel’s handle into the boy’s face. He connected with his nose with a deep crunch!
As the boy stumbled backwards, his wide eyes watering, William threw a kick at his hand. He dropped the pole with a clang!
The boy came at William with swinging fists, blood pouring from his nose.
Ducking one attack and jumping back from another, William used the end of Jezebel’s handle again. This time he caught the kid’s cheek. “Why are you trying to fight me?”
Even with what must have been a broken nose, partly blinded by his own watering eyes, and a welt growing on his cheek, the boy yelled and charged. He hadn’t come here for a conversation.
William kicked the boy in the chest. He hit him so hard, the boy stumbled backwards. His arms flew wide when he tripped on one of the downed diseased and fell back into the wardrobe, the doors now open from where he must have burst from it. The boy slammed into the back wall with a crunch!
Heavy breaths rocked through William and he wiped his damp brow. “Are you finally done? I really don’t want to have to kill you.”
The boy didn’t reply.
“Are you operating on your own?”
The boy still didn’t reply.
“What’s going on? Who are you here with? Why did you attack me?”
At that moment, Olga landed in the room, her feet hitting the stone ground. “Uh, William, I think he’s dead.”
“Huh?”
The boy’s mouth hung open and his eyes were glazed. His ragged breathing had stopped. He stood motionless in the wardrobe, his arms hanging by his sides. Blood leaked from his nose and dripped from his chin. Pegs ran along the back of the wardrobe. Each one about four inches long and half an inch in diameter, they pointed upwards from the back wall. One of the pegs had entered his skull through the soft part at the back.
To be sure, William slipped two fingers along the kid’s still-warm neck. They came back coated in blood. “No pulse. Shit!”
Olga pushed William aside and closed the wardrobe’s doors. “He shouldn’t have come at you. There was no need for that. He made a choice, and you had to defend yourself.”
A lump swelled in William’s dry throat. Gulping did little to soothe it. “He was only a kid.”
“I saw. But he attacked you. The more important question is, are there any more of them?”
“I hope not.” William stepped over the four diseased corpses on his way back to the window. “We need to get up to Matilda and Cyrus to check.”
A slight nod, Olga said, “I think so too.” She clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
Chapter 29
Back on the roof, the tiles uneven, the pitch sloping down to William’s right. A low-level buzz of fatigue ran through his limbs. Olga walked beside him, Artan higher up beside her.
Barp!
The wind dried William’s sweat and he shivered. The asylum stood resolute. “It’s so close.”
“But with that many diseased between us and it, Max is still on his own,” Olga said.
Artan said, “How long do you think it’ll take for all the diseased to go around the front?”
Olga shook her head. “Too long.”
Cyrus waved when they crested the next peak in the roof. “Where’s Matilda?” William said. He quickened his pace. “Where’s—” She sat on the roof holding her thigh. He jogged over to her with the clay pot. “You’re okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.” Matilda winced, the same pale and glistening sheen to her skin. “But please tell me you found the ointment?”
William held up the pot.
“Where’s Hawk?”
While sitting down beside her and untying her bandage, William said, “He’s still in there. We found a tunnel leading to the asylum. He went down it.”
The wind made the dirty bandages flap while William exposed the deep cut on Matilda’s thigh. A layer of milky pus covered it. His hands filthy and coated with dried blood from the boys in the cage and the one in the wardrobe, he handed Matilda the pot.
Although she took it, she stared at his hands.
“It’s a long story. But I think it’s best you do it. I don’t want to rub more infection into your wound.”
Matilda lifted the lid and poured the brown gloopy ointment. When it landed in the gash, she drew a sharp breath. The wound about an inch deep, the liquid filled it and shimmered, her leg trembling.
“How does it feel?” William said.
“It burns.”
“Shit.”
“But in a good way. I think it’s supposed to burn.”
The others watched on before Olga nudged Cyrus forward. “You need to put some on your hand too.”
The boy still held onto the steel guardrail they’d given him when they left. He crouched down in front of Matilda and held his hand out.
Like Matilda had, Cyrus pulled in a sharp breath, gritting his teeth against the clear burn from the ointment.
The glazed eyes of the boy in the cupboard stared at William in his mind’s eye. “Have you two seen anyone up here?”
“No.” Cyrus shook his head. “Are there more survivors?”
After sharing a glance with Olga, William sighed and his shoulders sagged. “We don’t know.”
“What’s happened?” Matilda reached over and held William’s hand.
“We ran into a boy inside who attacked me.”
“And now he’s …?”
William pressed his lips together and shrugged. “I tried.” His voice strained through the lump in his throat, he added, “It was him or me.”
Matilda squeezed a little bit harder. “Well, I’m grateful for the outcome, then.”
“Hey!” William said. Artan and Olga had walked away from the group. “Where are you two going?”
The sun in her eyes, Olga squinted when she looked back, the wind tossing her hair. “There are still two of us in there. We’re going back in to find Hawk and Max. Hopefully Max has already found Dianna. We need to show him there’s another way back. He might be able to cross the meadow, but she can’t.”
Still holding Matilda’s han
d, William said, “Can’t we wait a little bit longer?”
“You don’t have to come,” Olga said. “Why don’t you stay and rest? Be with Matilda for a while. You’ve spent a long time apart. Artan and I will be okay.”
But he couldn’t let them go on their own. If they didn’t make it back and he’d waited on the roof with Matilda, he’d never forgive himself. A damp weight in his chest, William hooked the thumb of his free hand over his shoulder. “I need to—”
“I know.” Matilda smiled, her brown eyes glistening. “You’ve done all you can for me and Cyrus. The others need you more right now. Just make sure you come back, okay?”
“Of course.” William leaned forwards and kissed Matilda. He lingered with their lips touching before pulling away and filling his lungs. If he didn’t leave her now, he never would. Artan and Olga had continued to walk away. Maybe they sensed his hesitance and wanted to give him every opportunity to stay. “I love you, Tilly.”
Her smile stretched wider. “And I you. Now go!”
His fatigue no better for the shortest of rests, William got up on wobbly legs and ran after his friends. Max and Hawk needed them the most right now.
Chapter 30
“We will find our way out of here,” Max said, “I promise.”
“Unless your promises are made from maps, I’m not sure they’re worth anything.”
And she had a point. Max had coerced Gracie into helping him, and he’d now well and truly let her down. How the hell would he find their way out of this place?
“I’ve put my life on the line for you.”
“I know.” His breathing came in gasping waves, and his face twisted against the pain of his burns. He nodded, his voice growing weak. “I know.”
Barp!
His legs leaden, his steps heavy, each one falling into the next, Max said, “At least there are only about ten of them. With the screams from the other prisoners, that damn tone running through the place, and the seemingly infinite choices of which way to turn, surely we can lose them? How hard can it be?”
Beyond These Walls (Book 7): The Asylum Page 12