Kingdom of the Wicked

“Are you sure I won’t get stuck?” she asked.

“You don’t have a choice,” Skulduggery said. “They’re on the way back to you. You’re going to be crawling to your left. Move!”

Valkyrie took a deep breath, and plunged in.

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t was tight.

It was small and tight and dark. She couldn’t even raise herself up on to her hands and knees. She shuffled forward on her elbows.

“See?” Skulduggery said. “I told you you’d be fine.”

She kept shuffling until she froze. She closed her eyes, turned her head so she could whisper into the phone. “Get me out of here. It’s too small. How am I going to get out? I can’t turn around.”

“It won’t do you any good to panic.”

“I’m going to get stuck in here, I know I am.”

“Shh. They’re in the room behind you.”

She quietened. She could hear them, their raised voices, arguing among themselves. One of the voices got suddenly louder, and she twisted to look back. A head appeared in the shaft, examining the space. He couldn’t see her, lying there in the dark.

“Valkyrie,” Skulduggery said, very softly. “There aren’t any cameras in the room. I can’t see what they’re doing.”

She didn’t answer. The head ducked back out and the voices started up again. Valkyrie crawled on, as fast and as quietly as she could. There was a series of loud noises behind her.

“They’re in here with me,” she whispered. “They’re following me.”

“Just keep going,” she heard Skulduggery say. “You’re going to pass four more covers like the one you just opened. The fifth one will overlook a stairwell that should be empty. That’s where you’re getting out.”

The first ventilation cover was up ahead. Already her muscles were burning. Her hair fell over her face but she didn’t have room, or time, to tie it back. She crawled on, phone in one hand, screwdriver in the other.

The closer she got to the vent, the louder the alarm sounded.

She didn’t want to glance back, didn’t want to see anyone moving back there. She kept her eyes front, kept her elbows working. She reached the vent and glanced through into a dark room. She moved on. She could hear voices behind but she did her best to block them out.

There was another vent ahead. Light streamed in through the slats. There was some movement outside. People running. She reached the vent and shuffled onwards, but a voice behind her drifted up.

“You see that?” the voice said. “There’s someone up there.”

She froze.

“No there’s not,” said another voice. “Just keep going, will you?”

“Just look. See? They were moving just a second ago. Hutchinson, get up here. See that?”

“Yeah,” said the third voice, the one they called Hutchinson. “Hey there! Hold on a sec!”

Valkyrie took a deep, deep breath and started crawling again, as fast as she could, without caring about the noise she was making. The men behind her shouted but she couldn’t hear the words. She didn’t want to hear the words. They were far behind her and there was no way they were going to catch up.

Her muscles burned and she stopped for a moment, heard frantic movement close behind her and glanced back, saw a grinning face moving through the slotted light.

“Hey!”

It was the one called Hutchinson. He was small and thin and squirming through the ventilation shaft like a rat. She started crawling again but it was no use. She felt his grip on her boots and tried to stamp her foot back into his face. His soft chuckle echoed as his hands wrapped round the back of her knees. He hauled himself forward, moving over her kicking legs centimetre by centimetre. He got another handhold, the waistband of her trousers this time. She squirmed, reached behind her and tried to keep him away, but he pushed her hand down and now he was squeezing in on top of her. He wasn’t heavy but he was filling every space now, and she couldn’t even move her arms.

“It’s OK,” he whispered as he crawled up her back. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She could hear the smile in his voice. He tried to slip his right arm round her throat but she tucked her chin down. His fingers worked beneath her jaw. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “Shhh …”

He pulled her hair with his free hand, but didn’t have the space to make it unbearable. He abandoned that tactic, tried to make her loosen up by jabbing at her, but she kept her chin down. Even so his right hand was getting in there. He was going to get in eventually. She readied the screwdriver.

His hand slipped through and suddenly his arm was round her throat. She jabbed blindly over her shoulder with the screwdriver and he squealed, started thrashing as she heaved herself ahead of him. He didn’t try to stop her. He fell against her legs and she grunted, kicking back to shove him off. She’d lost the screwdriver but it had been worth it, and now he was an obstacle to the men crawling behind him.

But his screams had attracted attention. There were shouts from up ahead, and someone started kicking the vent. If they got it open, she’d be trapped.

She stuffed her phone into her jacket pocket, and crawled faster.

The men behind were shouting now, trying to make themselves heard over Hutchinson’s screams. And then there was a horrible cracking sound, and the screams stopped. Valkyrie didn’t have to look back to know what they’d done.

“Kick it in!” one of them shouted. “She’s trying to get by!”

The kicking resumed. Intensified. The covering started to buckle.

Valkyrie reached it, didn’t even glance through the slats.

“There she is!” a man shouted. “Get it open!”

Multiple boots, kicking. She got by but the ventilation cover burst open behind her and a man reached in, grabbed her ankle.

“Got her!”

She kicked, kept kicking, kept slamming her heel on to his hand, even as she was hauled backwards. She looked over her shoulder, saw more hands reaching in, grabbing her, and now her feet were out of the duct, and she was dragged out after them.

She slid across the floor, men in prison uniforms staring down at her. She got her legs free and scrambled up, burst through them into the corner of the room then turned, hands clenched, teeth bared. Exhausted, sweating, terrified.

The men formed a semicircle, cutting her off from the open door. Four of them, and now two more crawling out of the duct. All the shouting had ended. All the cursing. Now they looked at her, and she looked at them, and none of them said anything.

One of them, the biggest, started to grin. It started small, then spread across his face. “I haven’t killed anyone so pretty in years.” He stepped forward.

Another man, a skinhead with facial tattoos, put a hand on his arm. “No,” he said. “We use her as a hostage. She’s our ticket out of here.”

The big man tried to shake the hand off. The skinhead held on. A scuffle broke out, and then a fight, and suddenly all six men were slamming into each other. One of them, a man with yellow teeth, reached for her, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her through the gap he had made.

“Run!” he shouted, and cried out as the big man snapped his neck.

Valkyrie ran, kept running, found herself skirting the top tier of the Observation Deck. Two convicts were sitting against the wall up ahead, just talking, looking like they’d opted out of all the violence going on down below. She ran past them and they stared at her, but didn’t try to follow. There was a shout and she glanced back. The big man was coming.

She saw an AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY sign and followed it, sprinting through a narrow corridor that ended with a door. A convict was on his knees by the door, trying to pick the lock. He gave a little cheer and stood up, opened it and turned with a smile on his face that she wiped off with a flying elbow. She didn’t even see him crumple to the ground, and now she was in a stairwell, jumping down the steps.