Read Online The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst by Robin Crumby - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Crumby
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They had asked him about Hurst, how many were there, how they were armed. So many questions. They had injected him with something. That explained why he was still a little woozy, light headed. His thoughts remained cloudy, muddled. He sat bolt up right, adrenaline surging through him as one painful memory broke through the fug. They had killed Bob. Why, why? They didn’t need to kill him. Shot him in the head. The neat circle in his forehead, the blood on the carpet. His anger boiled over and he slammed his fist down against his knee. The self-induced pain helped clear his head and brought his situation in to sharper focus.
The hospital room was virtually bare, a private overnight room for one person. Other than a tired looking hospital bed, there was a cheap pine wardrobe and a side table with flowers in a vase that had long since wilted and died, the water green and stagnant. In the corner was a plastic-looking chair with brown vinyl upholstery with ridges running vertically. A grey metal wall bracket for a TV screen long since removed and an aerial socket, were all that remained of creature comforts.
He checked the drawers of the bedside cabinet. There wasn’t even a bible. But wait. Was he getting confused? Maybe only hotels had bibles next to the bed? He couldn’t remember, it was all such a long time ago since he’d stayed in a hotel on holiday. The clean sheets, the buffet breakfasts. A thin layer of dust covered the whole place. The broken blinds allowed through a few shafts of sunlight that struck the whitewashed walls next to the door. Dust hung heavy in the stale air. Other than the pervasive smell of disinfectant, there was something else bad that lingered. He couldn’t quite place it. His mind wandered momentarily as he thought of his first job helping out in a meat processing plant in Sandton, back in South Africa, working with chicken carcasses. It was the smell of death and it made him swallow involuntarily, his mouth suddenly dry and devoid of saliva. The window rattled a little on its hinges, not quite closed, cool air seeping in. He got to his feet and leaning as far as the cuffs would allow him, he managed to flick the corner of the white aluminium blinds, allowing a fleeting glimpse of outside. He was on the second floor and down below he could make out a series of heaps on the tarmac. The blinds fell back into position again and he stretched and flicked them again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized that one of the heaps was piled with shoes. There were hundreds of shoes, of all shapes and sizes and colours. Children’s shoes, high heels, brogues, slippers. So many shoes.
He flicked the blinds again, leaning as far as he could reach without the handcuffs cutting too badly into his wrist. The heap next to the shoes was even larger and towered precariously with what looked like clothes of every description. There were trousers, shirts, dresses, coats, hospital dressing gowns, and socks. It reminded him of a scene from a war movie he had seen years ago. What was it called? When Allied soldiers had liberated prisoner camps, they had found heaps just like these of clothes and shoes, gold teeth, reclaimed from the bodies, surplus to requirements. It made Will shudder remembering. He looked again beyond the piles where smoke was billowing from a fire pit.
He turned away quickly as the blinds fell back into place. He realized with horror that the discernible shapes he could make out in the smouldering remains were human.
Will closed his eyes and wept.
Chapter Fourteen
A time later, Will wasn’t sure how long, but he was beginning to feel better. His head had stopped throbbing so much. There was a light tap on the door and the sound of keys rattling in the lock. The heavy fire door with a small viewing window swung open and the large frame of a bearded man filled the doorway. He had a rifle with a wooden stock slung just visible behind his
The hospital room was virtually bare, a private overnight room for one person. Other than a tired looking hospital bed, there was a cheap pine wardrobe and a side table with flowers in a vase that had long since wilted and died, the water green and stagnant. In the corner was a plastic-looking chair with brown vinyl upholstery with ridges running vertically. A grey metal wall bracket for a TV screen long since removed and an aerial socket, were all that remained of creature comforts.
He checked the drawers of the bedside cabinet. There wasn’t even a bible. But wait. Was he getting confused? Maybe only hotels had bibles next to the bed? He couldn’t remember, it was all such a long time ago since he’d stayed in a hotel on holiday. The clean sheets, the buffet breakfasts. A thin layer of dust covered the whole place. The broken blinds allowed through a few shafts of sunlight that struck the whitewashed walls next to the door. Dust hung heavy in the stale air. Other than the pervasive smell of disinfectant, there was something else bad that lingered. He couldn’t quite place it. His mind wandered momentarily as he thought of his first job helping out in a meat processing plant in Sandton, back in South Africa, working with chicken carcasses. It was the smell of death and it made him swallow involuntarily, his mouth suddenly dry and devoid of saliva. The window rattled a little on its hinges, not quite closed, cool air seeping in. He got to his feet and leaning as far as the cuffs would allow him, he managed to flick the corner of the white aluminium blinds, allowing a fleeting glimpse of outside. He was on the second floor and down below he could make out a series of heaps on the tarmac. The blinds fell back into position again and he stretched and flicked them again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized that one of the heaps was piled with shoes. There were hundreds of shoes, of all shapes and sizes and colours. Children’s shoes, high heels, brogues, slippers. So many shoes.
He flicked the blinds again, leaning as far as he could reach without the handcuffs cutting too badly into his wrist. The heap next to the shoes was even larger and towered precariously with what looked like clothes of every description. There were trousers, shirts, dresses, coats, hospital dressing gowns, and socks. It reminded him of a scene from a war movie he had seen years ago. What was it called? When Allied soldiers had liberated prisoner camps, they had found heaps just like these of clothes and shoes, gold teeth, reclaimed from the bodies, surplus to requirements. It made Will shudder remembering. He looked again beyond the piles where smoke was billowing from a fire pit.
He turned away quickly as the blinds fell back into place. He realized with horror that the discernible shapes he could make out in the smouldering remains were human.
Will closed his eyes and wept.
Chapter Fourteen
A time later, Will wasn’t sure how long, but he was beginning to feel better. His head had stopped throbbing so much. There was a light tap on the door and the sound of keys rattling in the lock. The heavy fire door with a small viewing window swung open and the large frame of a bearded man filled the doorway. He had a rifle with a wooden stock slung just visible behind his
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