The Asylum: Book seven of Beyond These Walls - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller by Michael Robertson

Author:Michael Robertson [Robertson, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-03-25T22:00:00+00:00

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.

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