James Axler – Cold Asylum

Outside, the rain had eased from a blinding torrent to a normal downpour.

The ville had been built with a view to defense. It took nearly two hundred rounds from the Armalites to shoot away the hinges of the stout door in the wall.

But once through that they faced another door, almost as strong, and in such a confined space that it was difficult for Guiteau’s men to attack it.

He had glanced sideways at his mistress, surprised that she seemed to be showing no emotion. He realized, with a shudder, that her eyes weren’t looking at him, weren’t looking at anything. They were staring inward, a half smile showing she was already savoring the orgy of torture and sexual murder that she saw awaiting her that evening.

Guiteau wasn’t quite that confident.

THE SEVEN FRIENDS were grouped at the landing by the three dead men, looking down into the black stairwell. Ryan held one lamp, J.B. the other, but their mellow glow only reached a few steps into the darkness.

“They get in, then they’ll likely come straight here,” Ryan said. “Guiteau’ll know we’re after the blasters. What we need now is to get outside again before they realize we’re gone.”

“They’ll know this place like a rabbit knows its own warren,” Krysty said. “They can hunt us down and take us by sheer numbers. Listen.”

The gunfire was louder and clearer than before.

“Through the first door.” J.B. looked behind them. “Can’t be long before the rest of the garrison starts wondering what all the noise is and comes running. Then we get caught between the hammer and anvil.”

Ryan nodded, his mind racing through the options, selecting and rejecting to go deeper into the core of the ville and then buy some time, or try to get out as quickly as possible.

There was only one realistic chance.

“We’re moving,” he announced.

“Where, Dad?”

Ryan jerked a thumb down the stairs, toward the shattering noise of the sec force trying to break into their own fortress. “There.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Marie Mandeville’s horse was alongside Guiteau’s, and she was leaning from the saddle to speak to him. Despite the pouring rain, he could almost taste the feral scent of excitement that oozed from her body through the soaking clothes.

“I will have blood if they aren’t all taken quickly,” she promised.

“I know that, Mistress. They can’t get out. The rest of the ville’s secure. And we’re out here. There isn’t any way they can escape us, eventually.”

“Eventually?”

Like most of the men in the ville, Harry Guiteau had spent a little while as bedmate of the woman. The look in her eyes made him shudder with memory. And he had escaped more or less whole from their couplings.

He had been one of the lucky ones.

“Eventually, Mistress. But if they split up and try to hide within Sun Crest, it could take some time to snare all of them.” For a fraction of a moment Guiteau thought he was going to feel her silver-hilted whip across his face, and he flinched instinctively. But Marie controlled herself. “Yet we will take them all,” he added hastily.

To his relief, he heard a great cheer from behind him and turned to see his men beckoning and calling out that they had finally managed to break down the second sec doors to the north tower.

He dismounted and ran forward, Marie at his heels, leaving their horses to be taken care of.

“Keep away and let me go first!” he bellowed, forcing his way through, aware of the instant relief of being out of the teeth of the chem storm.

The vestibule was as black as pitch, and Guiteau almost immediately stumbled over something.

Someone.

“Woman,” he said, raising his voice to order the chattering group of sec men to keep quiet. “They chilled a woman. Must be up the stairs, getting their blasters back.”

“Let’s go get the outland bastards,” someone shouted. In the echoing vault the sec sergeant couldn’t recognize the voice, but it drew an enthusiastic yell from the others.

Guiteau pulled a face in the darkness, whistling softly to himself. If Ryan Cawdor and the others had really gotten their blasters back, then there was some blood going to be spilled in the next few hours.