Beyond These Walls (Book 7): The Asylum Read online

  The Asylum - Book Seven 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 The Cover Collection

  Copyright

  The Asylum - Book seven of Beyond These Walls

  Michael Robertson

  © Michael Robertson 2020

  The Asylum - Book seven 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

  William woke up shivering. That had happened a lot lately. The familiar damp press of dew-soaked clothes lay against his skin, his chest frigid, the cool moist night boring into his lungs. He drew a deep breath and coughed with a phlegmy rattle. But at least they’d woken to a new day. At least they were moving into spring, and at least he had Matilda by his side. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, but she now sat up, her knees pulled into her chest as she stared out across the wastelands.

  Maybe he should have lain there for longer. His body ached from head to toe, and he groaned as he sat up beside her. Her face pale, her brow beaded with what appeared to be dew, he reached across and wiped the moisture away, pausing on her hot forehead. “You’re sweating, Tilly.”

  Matilda pulled her bandage away to show him.

  A slow writhe turned through William. The wound, at least an inch deep and eight inches long, now glistened with a milky white pus. “How’s it gotten so infected so quickly?”

  Matilda shrugged. “Maybe they’d coated the blade with something. Maybe it was just dirty.” Bags bulged beneath her glazed brown eyes. She continued to stare out across the grassy meadow, thousands of diseased below them. “And it’s not like we can go on a hunt for ointment.”

  “How fast can you run right now?”

  “I’m not sure. But I can feel myself getting slower by the minute.”

  “Shit!”

  “And if I get any diseased blood in it …”

  “We’re screwed,” William said.

  “I’m screwed.”

  “There has to be a way to fix it. There’s always a way.”

  Matilda’s full lips thinned from where she pressed them tight. Her brow wrinkled. Positive affirmations were awful painkillers.

  Olga and Max were stirring. They’d spent the night close, albeit with their backs to one another. They’d work it out with time.

  Hawk had remained on guard on one side of their camp, Cyrus and Artan on the other. They were still staring out across the roof. Had any of them slept?

  Hawk approached them. He remained naked from the waist up, his body tight with his bulging muscles. Deep scars slashed across his torso. He wore his wounds like a badge of honour. Just look at how damn tough he was. Although he put William to shame, who continued to shiver while the hunter stood impervious to the cold. As he drew closer, Hawk fixed on the wound on Matilda’s thigh. A slight wince narrowed his eyes. The jangle of keys, he reached into his pocket and held up a thick ring on the end of his right index finger. “I need to find a way to get Dianna out of the asylum.”

  “You have just looked at the cut on Matilda’s leg, right?” William said.

  Another slight wince, Hawk then pointed at the large industrial building on the other side of the sea of diseased. “Dianna’s in that place. I need to get her out.”

  After working his jaw, chewing the air in front of him, William said, “Allow me to explain myself more clearly. Screw Dianna.”

  Hawk’s muscles tensed.

  “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you and your fucked-up community of sycophants and alpha males. You’ll forgive us for not prioritising your needs and the needs of those affiliated with Grandfather Jacks.”

  “Dianna’s done nothing wrong.”

  “Neither’s Matilda.”

  “I can speak for myself, William,” Matilda said.

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Also”—William leaned to the left to look past Hawk at the asylum—“have you seen the state of that place?”

  “It was bad enough with the lights on in there,” Matilda said. “It must be hell on earth in the darkness.”

  “We need to make the best choices for us right now,” William said.

  “And what about Dianna?” Hawk’s pecs twitched and his biceps bulged. Although he spoke with a quiet tone, a low thunder rumbled beneath his words. “She’s a victim in all this too. As are the other women in there. You’ve been inside the place, Matilda.”

  As pale as ever, still drenched in sweat, Matilda dropped her focus to her lap.

  “And what about all the children?”

  “Children?” William said.

  “The little boys.” Hawk’s voice wavered while he ran his fingers along the rope burns on his neck. He then traced some of the deeper slashes on his chest and shoulders. An involuntary reaction, his fingers relived the memories of his own suffering like a blind person reading Braille. “His angels. How will they fare with the dark insanity inside that place? The screaming, the cold, the damp, that damn noise calling the diseased to the front of the place.”

  “At least that’s stopped,” William said.

  Hawk shrugged. “Don’t you care?”

  “I care very much. I care about what’s go
ing to happen to Matilda because of what she’s been through. I empathise with Dianna and the others, but I’m sorry, they’re not my priority.”

  “William’s right.” Max had moved closer to the boys. He stood with his feet planted, his legs wide to give him a strong base. He held his war hammer across his front with both hands and glared at the scarred hunter. “Hawk, you’ve caused this group nothing but trouble since we met you.”

  “I kissed him, Max,” Olga said, “not the other way around.”

  The twist of Max’s features ran counter to his words. “You think I give a shit about a pathetic kiss between you two?”

  Olga’s face reddened. Where she usually fought everything, she stepped back as if shoved by his words.

  “You weren’t there when we were out hunting,” Max said. “When he handed us over to Magma.”

  Artan and Cyrus joined the group.

  Max continued. “It might have done us a favour if you were. You might have been able to keep him distracted so he didn’t send us to our death.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Hawk said. “I wasn’t thinking straight.” Again he rubbed his neck and chest. “Sometimes I don’t think straight.”

  “Forgive me, Hawk,” William said, “but if you can’t take responsibility for your own thoughts, how do you expect us to risk our lives helping you?”

  “Helping Dianna!”

  Max clenched his fists at his sides and stepped closer. He bared his teeth when he spoke, his face red. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you from this roof right now.”

  “Why don’t you?” Another ripple of tensing muscles ran across Hawk’s torso. “You’d be doing me a favour. I’m better turned into one of them than standing up here knowing Dianna’s suffering and there’s nothing I can do to help her.”

  “If you’re so worried about Dianna,” Max said, “why did you leave her in there?”

  “It’s dark enough in that place with the lights on.” Hawk’s eyes lost focus. “When the power went, the place turned pitch black. I couldn’t see a thing. Also, when that damn sound stopped, what was keeping the diseased around the front of the asylum? At some point they were bound to get bored, and … well …” He swept his hand out over the wastelands.

  “So you were scared?”

  “Worse than scared,” Hawk said. “The lack of electricity rendered me utterly impotent. If I waited too long, I would have also been trapped.”

  “It’s bad in there, Max.” Olga touched his shoulder, but he pulled away from her. “It was hell with the lights on. I can’t even imagine what Dianna’s having to go through now. She could be tied up. She might be submerged in water. She has no one to let her out. No one to feed her.”

  “Why do you care so much?” Max said.

  “Dianna was kind to us.”

  William’s stomach sank when Matilda nodded along with Olga. “She untied us when we were bound and helped us understand what we were facing. Without her warnings, I’m not sure we would have gotten out of there.”

  Max stepped away from Olga’s touch, her hand falling limp at her side with a gentle slap. He moved a step closer to Hawk. No more than two feet separated the boys. Max stood as the taller of the two, although Hawk had pecs like rocks and biceps like baseballs.

  The size of the boy didn’t deter Max. He put his war hammer down so the head of it rested on the tiles. He removed his top. “Max,” William said, “what are you doing? Put your clothes back on, man.”

  Max scrunched his top into a ball and threw it at Hawk. It hit the boy’s wide, scarred chest and fell to the tiles. Instead of watching it, Hawk remained fixed on Max, the sides of his face widening from the tight clench of his jaw.

  “You’re not a hunter anymore,” Max sneered. “You look ridiculous.”

  Another shimmering wave of tension rippled through Hawk’s upper body at Max moving closer. He remained statue still, his glare unwavering when Max pulled the keys from his hand. He turned his back on the boy and stormed off.

  “What are you doing?” Olga said.

  “Going to the asylum.”

  Although Olga opened her mouth, she said nothing.

  Without looking back, Max jumped down to a lower part of the roof. William stood up and followed the boy, watching his back as he climbed from the roof into the meadow filled with diseased.

  Twenty to thirty feet away from the palace, Max spun around at the scream bursting from the building.

  Four people emerged: one woman and three men. Hunters by the look of it, the men naked from the waist up. They charged Max, their weapons raised as they yelled fury at him.

  If anything, Max’s grip on his hammer eased and his shoulders relaxed. He slowly shook his head at his approaching attackers and lowered his weapon.

  The diseased slammed into them from all sides, hitting them hard and piling on top of them as they went down. Snarls drowned out the screams. Blood sprayed away from the palace’s escapees.

  “What were they thinking?” Hawk said.

  William shook his head at the stocky boy. “They must have thought they could move through the diseased like Max.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure that’s the right question.”

  “What is, then?”

  After taking down a diseased and stealing their top, Max jogged towards the asylum. William tapped the tiles beneath him with his toe. “How many more of them are below us right now? At least the diseased are predictable, and there’s no chance of them climbing up onto the roof. What if we’re outnumbered by survivors too?”

  Hawk stood as dumbstruck as Olga, his mouth slightly open as if the thought of a reply lay on his tongue. William nodded back at the scrunched-up shirt he’d left behind. “Are you going to wear that top?”

  Hawk shook his head.

  Retrieving Max’s shirt, William sat down next to Matilda. Even in the short time they’d been awake, she seemed to have turned paler. Her skin a light shade of green, the sun hit her sweating face like it hit the dew-soaked grass. Holding the shirt up and then turning it around to show her the back, he said, “I’m going to wrap this around your leg. It’s cleaner than that other bandage.”

  While biting on her bottom lip, Matilda breathed through her nose as if even the thought of dressing her wound caused her pain.

  William’s hands shook as he swaddled her thigh. What if they couldn’t find an ointment to deal with the infection?

  Chapter 2

  How many more survivors were there in the palace? And how many watched Max now as he ran towards the asylum? The large grey stone building dominated the landscape. He’d not heard the tone for long, but what he’d give to have it in the background now. The repeated barp calling the diseased to the front of the ugly institution. Dragging them away from him and, more importantly, away from the people he intended to liberate from the imposing prison.

  The meadow packed with the vile things, their reek so strong it damn near clogged his nostrils. Max slammed into one after the other, sending several of them sprawling as he shoulder-barged his way through. They might have shrieked and cried, the clack of their snapping teeth as they chewed at the air around them, but they had no interest in attacking him.

  Sometimes their growls and howls sounded like they called his name. Max. Mad Max. But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. They couldn’t speak, so how could they be calling to him?

  Vinegar, rot, the glistening film of pus covering their septic wounds. Loose jaws, long and greasy hair, they surveyed their surroundings, hatred twisting their faces. These creatures had two modes. Rage and torment. Neither were directed at him.

  Mad Max. Or were they?

  The ground uneven, Max stumbled as he ran. The need to turn around pulled on him, but what good would it do? He’d left Olga behind again. Left her back there with him. Maybe they didn’t feel anything for one another. But should they really trust Hawk? After what he’d done to them when they were out hunting. But he had saved their lives in the funne
l. Had Max gotten him wrong?

  Mad Max. Max shook his head to try to banish the imagined calls.

  The clack of teeth snapped close to him, and Max pulled away, stumbling from his sudden movement. Not that they were trying to attack him. They never tried to attack him.

  A once woman shrieked when Max slammed into her, sending her spinning away as she fell on her arse. She searched for prey through her crimson glaze but clearly saw nothing. Blind to anything but the uninfected, she yowled and got to her feet again on wobbly and atrophied legs.

  The asylum had no windows. The stone structure standing as imposing as the funnel. Of course he didn’t want to go in there, but what else could he do? Say no? Leave innocent women and children inside? They were cold, alone, and no doubt losing their minds. And even if they conquered all of that, at some point they would starve to death.

  Mad Max.

  His shoulders on fire, each connection with another diseased aggravating the pain in his bones, Max bit down against the sensation and pushed on.

  If only he’d spoken to Olga in the night. They’d sat together for hours. They’d watched the sun set and rise again. He should have swallowed his pride. He should have told her he understood. He could have accepted responsibility for not speaking to her when they were in Umbriel. For not explaining why he’d kept her at arm’s length. But instead he sulked. He spent the entire night thinking about himself. About how she’d done him wrong. And now he’d gone again. Left her with Hawk again. And who could blame her for giving up on him? He’d given her no reason to persevere.