Beyond These Walls (Book 6): Three Days Read online

  Three Days - Book Six of Beyond These Walls

  A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

  Michael Robertson

  Contents

  Edited and Cover by …

  Copyright

  Reader Group

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  About the Author

  Reader Group

  Also by Michael Robertson

  Edited and Cover by …

  To contact Michael, please email:

  [email protected]

  Edited by:

  Pauline Nolet - http://www.paulinenolet.com

  Cover design by Dusty Crosley

  Copyright

  Three Days - Book six of Beyond These Walls

  Michael Robertson

  © Michael Robertson 2020

  Three Days - Book six of Beyond These Walls is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, situations, and all dialogue are entirely a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not in any way representative of real people, places, or things.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  Chapter 1

  The hard rain assaulted Olga, coming down on her as if nails were being fired from the clouds. It forced her to walk with a stoop, but at least she slowly sated her thirst, her tongue poked out to catch the muddy-tasting water. Her thin layer of clothes clung to her like a second skin, and she shivered from the biting cold, her muscles tense, cramps streaking up the side of her face from how hard she clamped her jaw. A hard kick to her lower back sent her stumbling several steps forwards. She pulled against her tight bonds, the rope wrapped around her wrists cutting into her skin. Her hands bound behind her back, she clenched them into fists and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m walking! What more do you want from me?”

  About six feet two inches tall, Carl had white hair and a fat face. Waxy skin with ruddy cheeks, his green eyes were stone cold in stark contrast to his wonky and yellow-toothed grin. He wore jeans and a shirt with a high collar that poked from the top of his sodden coat. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing scars similar to the ones Hawk had around his neck.

  Matilda—her hands bound like Olga’s—shoulder barged her friend to encourage her forwards. “He’s just trying to get a reaction from you.”

  Olga took Matilda’s guidance and moved on, but she wouldn’t be silenced. “Maybe I should react. Show these pricks we can’t be pushed around.”

  “I’m not sure that would send the correct message in our current state.” Matilda shrugged as if to highlight her restricted mobility.

  Peter—the other retired hunter tasked with taking them to Grandfather Jacks—walked beside Carl. Much shorter than the large angry man, he stood at around five feet and six inches and had skin as dark as William’s. Different to Carl in almost every way, the most striking feature to mark him out resided in his compassionate face, his brown feline eyes glowing with a serenity absent from Carl’s chaotic stare. This task clearly gave him little pleasure, and he spoke with a soft voice. “You might want to listen to your friend.”

  Like Olga should trust the good cop, bad cop routine. They were both horrible bastards. Forget that and she might as well walk herself to Grandfather Jacks. Aches ran across her gums when she bit down harder. A flick of her head to keep her hair from her face, Olga said, “Screw Max.”

  “Huh?” Matilda said.

  “I can’t stop thinking about what he’s done. Screw him.” Olga’s pulse quickened and her breaths grew shallow. “He made me look like a fool in front of everyone.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t you dare excuse him.”

  “I wasn’t going to, but how’s thinking that way helping us right now? You should try to stay calm.”

  “How will being calm help?” Before Matilda could reply, Olga raised her voice. “The last thing I need is to be calm. I’m going to be ready for war. What kind of ridiculous name is Grandfather Jacks anyway?”

  Although Olga winced in anticipation of another kick from Carl, Peter’s calm words met her question. “He’s the High Father. The prophet. The only one amongst us who can commune with heaven.”

  “That sounds like bullshit to me. Besides, if there is a god, or High Father, or whatever you decide to call her, I’d say she left us a long time ago.”

  “He,” Peter said.

  “And you know that for a fact, do you?”

  “In my heart.” Peter drew a deep and calming breath as if feeling the presence of his god inside him. “Anyway, all will be revealed in time.”

  “You’ll introduce me to the big man, will you?”

  “We will all meet our maker in the end.”

  Already sodden, the long grass dragged on Olga’s steps, seeds coating her soaked trousers. “That’s a convenient way of avoiding the issue. You don’t know the answers to any of life’s big questions. None of us do. You might have faith in your convictions, and I might even be able to respect that should you choose to present them in that way, but to offer them as facts? You—” Olga’s words were cut short by another shove. It sent her several paces forwards before she slammed down, her knees sinking into the muddy ground.

  Another hard blow into the centre of her back, Olga fell face first into the grass. Fire ripped through her shoulder blades when Carl pulled her bound wrists, forcing her nose into the ground. Mud on her lips and in her mouth, she fought the urge to scream. Don’t give them the satisfaction.

  Peter positioned himself between Carl and Olga, forcing the sadistic guard to let go. He then lifted her to her feet, a hand beneath each armpit. “Now get up and shut up.”

  When Olga stood upright, Carl shoved Peter aside and kicked her a second time. She ran at the edge of her balance, tugging against her bonds until she finally fell again, face first onto the ground.

  Squelching footsteps closed in on Olga. She rolled onto her back and lifted her knees. But Matilda prevented Carl from reaching her
, shoulder barging him aside, so his kick hit thin air instead of the intended target of Olga’s head.

  For a second time Peter got between Carl and the girls and held his hands up as if to calm his fellow guard. “Think about what Grandfather Jacks will say if you beat these two black and blue.”

  His green eyes wide, his nostrils flared, Carl’s barrel chest rose and fell with his heavy pants. He loomed over the smaller man. If he so desired, he’d overpower him in an instant. The rain had turned his thin white hair so damp it revealed his pink scalp beneath. “You think I give a shit about what he thinks?”

  Adrenaline surged through Olga as she got to her feet and shivered, awaiting Carl’s next outburst.

  A gentler shove, Peter encouraged Olga forwards. “Move before this situation gets away from all of us.”

  A nauseating clamp to her stomach as they set off again, Olga spoke so only Matilda heard. “I promise you, before these clowns can deliver us to Grandfather Jacks, I’m going to cut both their throats.”

  “And if the moment comes, I’ll be right beside you.” Her brown eyes calm, Matilda said, “But for now, we have to accept they’re the ones in control. Besides, we don’t know what’s happening with the boys.”

  “Are you saying we should wait to be rescued? Firstly, how the hell will they know where we are? It would be quite a lucky guess for them to find us. Secondly, I’m no damsel in distress. I plan on getting myself out of this.”

  “I’m saying we should pick our moment, and it isn’t now.”

  “Less talking, more walking,” Carl said. “You two don’t know how lucky you are, let me tell you.”

  “Don’t,” Matilda said, catching Olga’s reply before it left her mouth.

  Carl continued. “I’ve heard what some of the hunters do with their hostages before delivering them to Grandfather Jacks.”

  “But we’re not those types of guards.” Although Peter aimed his words at the girls, he clearly meant them for Carl. The deep-voiced sadist grumbled an indecipherable response to his friend. Hopefully an acceptance. Olga hated the fact, but Matilda was right. The odds were not in their favour.

  Olga breathed through her nose and shook her head. “I will wait for the right moment, but I swear, they will die at my hand.”

  “What’s that, little one?” Carl said.

  Matilda stepped closer to Olga. “And I’ll be at your side when the moment’s right.”

  The meadow stretched out ahead of them, the wind controlling the long grass. Olga’s eyes stung with tiredness, grief, and the glow of the rising sun as it found gaps in the grey clouds.

  Olga might have let it go, but Carl clearly hadn’t. Even though she refused to look at the vile man, she heard the grin in his voice. “Come on, little one. Surely you have more fight in you? Tell me all your complaints so I can forward them to the ‘I don’t give a shit’ department.”

  A surge of adrenaline turned Olga’s pulse into a bass drum. She spun and charged Carl. The man might have been twice her size and have full use of his fists, but he didn’t have her spirit. He smiled and dropped into a crouch, his hands balled.

  The squelch of Matilda’s steps joined Olga’s as she joined the attack.

  Spirit or not, Carl moved fast. The air left Olga’s lungs. The first she knew of the blow was when it hit her stomach. Her feet lifted from the ground as she wrapped around his clenched fist. She turned weightless and flew backwards, landing bottom first with a squelch, her diaphragm locked in violent spasms.

  Despite gasping for breath, Olga tried to sit up as Carl landed a right cross on Matilda’s chin with a crack! Her friend’s legs turned bandy and she crumpled.

  Close to vomiting, Olga rolled forwards while Carl punched the already unconscious Matilda again. “Stop!” Olga gasped, unable to get her words out because of her need to breathe. “Stop!”

  Carl kicked Matilda in the stomach, flipping her onto her back.

  “Leave—” Olga got up onto one knee “—her.”

  Peter grabbed Carl across his chest and pulled him back.

  Olga stood up, still fighting for breath. “Leave her alone, you prick.” She charged Carl yet again. This time she read his attack and stepped aside, evading his blow. As the man pulled back, she jumped like a salmon, a white flash bursting through her vision when she headbutted him.

  Fury glowed in Carl’s glare, but before he could get to Olga, Peter stepped between them again and pushed the guard back. “Grandfather Jacks will hang us out to dry.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “I do, so stop it!”

  Although Carl finally stepped back and some of the tension left his frame, he remained fixed on Olga, his shoulders rising and falling with his ragged breaths.

  A stinging throb where her forehead had met Carl’s nose, Olga stumbled back several steps from Peter’s hard shove. She ground her teeth and remained fixed on Carl, his top lip coated with blood. Let him come at her again. See what happened.

  Too fast for Peter to react, Carl sidestepped his partner and kicked Matilda in the chin. Her head snapped back. As Peter went to Matilda, Carl charged Olga. “You won’t get me twice, you little shit.”

  A flash from where Carl punched her. Her sinuses on fire. Olga’s legs gave out and her world turned dark.

  Chapter 2

  The long and sodden grass whipped William’s legs as he jogged through it. Cyrus, the slowest of the pack and least able to defend himself, ran in the middle of the group, dictating their pace. And of course William had thought about leaving him, but at least he hadn’t said it aloud. Max took the lead ahead of Cyrus, mainly because he seemed to want to be on his own, and Artan ran behind William. The lashing rain and boggy ground made Cyrus even slower. How much of a lead did the girls have on them already, and was it growing because of their pathetic pace?

  As Cyrus slowed down in front of him, William clamped his jaw, held Jezebel with just one hand, and shoved him in the back.

  Cyrus stumbled, his arms windmilling as he fought to keep his balance. William growled at him through clenched teeth, “Keep running.”

  Cyrus nodded several times as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He ran like he walked, his gait awkward as if his feet were too large for him to control. He stretched his mouth wide as he fought for breath.

  Less than a minute had passed and Cyrus’ steps grew clumsier as his pace slowed again. Before William could shove him for a second time, Artan said, “Let him rest.”

  “You think we have time for that?”

  “What other choice do we have? We’re a team, remember?”

  “Tell that to Max.”

  If Max heard him, he hid it well. The mood had turned darker since they’d found out what had happened to the girls. Sure, William could have managed himself better and maybe been more civil, but none of them had gone as dark as Max.

  “Max,” Artan said, “we’re taking a break.”

  Max let his arms fall at his sides, slowing to a halt before facing the sky and opening his mouth to let nature quench his thirst.

  “Jesus,” William muttered, slowing down a few steps after the others. He too sated his dry throat with the downpour. He spun Jezebel in his two-handed grip so the wide double-bladed head turned. His chest tight, he tried to regulate his breaths to slow his pulse. They didn’t have time to rest.

  The rainclouds had blocked the sun for most of the day, the dark grey turning darker as they edged closer to evening. The long grass in the meadow swayed, a gust of wind hitting William so hard he stumbled a step to the left. For the briefest moment, it felt like his strength might abandon him.

  Artan sidled over to William and spoke beneath his breath. “Go easy on Cyrus, yeah? He’s not as fit as you or I. And truth be told, we all need the rest. We’ve been running for the past hour.” Of the four of them, Artan appeared to need the break the least. His skin only damp because of the rain, his breaths even.

  “But we don’t have time,” William said. �
�You heard Mary and Rita. They said it’ll take a couple of days to get to Grandfather Jacks’ community.”

  “And we have three until the full moon.”

  Both Max and Cyrus joined them, both of them panting from the run. “What if Grandfather Jacks chooses his bride sooner?” William said.

  Artan shrugged. “We don’t know for sure, but if we’ve learned anything from our time in Umbriel, it’s that Grandfather Jacks loves routine and ceremony. Why would that change now? As far as they’re concerned, we’ve been given to Magma. They won’t be expecting us, so it makes little sense that they’d break their routine.”

  “But what if the girls think we’re not coming? How can you be so calm?”

  “You’d prefer it if I shouted and ranted?”

  For the past few seconds, Cyrus had stood with his mouth stretched wide while he faced the sky. The rain had gathered in his mouth, and it now sounded like a filling cup. William said, “Jesus! Will you just swallow that? It’s like hanging out with a damn child.”