Asylum - 13 Tales of Terror Read Online Free PDF Page A

effort.
    “I asked you a question young lady,” he snapped.
    The woman stamped hard on the breaks and the car slid to a stop; she executed a clumsy three point turn around in the road. As soon as they were facing away from her pursuers she stepped hard on the accelerator again.
    Julian sagged in his seat; he could feel blood seeping through his shoulder and into his expensive suit. His biggest current concern was suddenly just how he would ever manage to get his clothes cleaned properly. Tiredness and shock were on the march as the car ate up the road before them. His eyes drooped again and his mind drifted as the machine spluttered, unable to deal with the violent turn of events.
    The explosion of pain woke him from his slumber; one minute he had been drifting warmly through a deep sleep and the next he was bolt upright, and a scream was vomiting from his mouth and scorching his lungs.
    “Sorry,” the woman mumbled as she cleaned his wound.
    He found himself topless and blood soaked down one wounded arm. He risked a glance towards the small hole in his shoulder and his stomach lurched in protest.
    “Don’t look,” the woman offered weakly.
    She was pouring water into the injury and wiping the blood away with part of his now shredded shirt.
    “There’s a bottle of whisky in the trunk,” he said through a pinched expression.
    The woman only looked at him with a puzzled face.
    “The boot,” he said remembering the colloquialism. “The alcohol should help to disinfect the wound,” he said hoping that the movies were right. The expensive bottle of whisky had been a gift for the new manager in Dartford. His mind was already wondering just how he was going to make the meeting on time to get back on plan.
    The woman quickly retrieved the bottle and also brought a sweatshirt from his case in the rear of the rental.
    “Who were those men?” He asked again, a little more gently.
    “I don’t know,” the woman said quietly, “William, my husband and I were travelling through here when they stopped us,” she began crying softly at the mention of her spouse.
    “What did they do?” Julian asked, looking at her torn clothing and fearing the answer.
    “They flagged us down with flares. One of the men said that there had been an accident up ahead so we pulled over. They were as nice as pie at first, chatting away all friendly enough. One of them, a big bastard, just kept staring at me; he was starting to give me the right creeps. Then some bloke who seemed to be in charge called William over; he went, and then they killed him.” A great sob wrenched free from her chest, “They just shot him through the head at close range. So much blood, so much blood,” she sobbed.
    “But aren’t they the police or something?” Julian asked incredulously.
    “They’re bastards, every last one of them,” she spat.
    “How did you get away?”
    “Oh they had other plans for me,” she sneered venomously, “I was…, I was assaulted.”
    Julian didn’t need to ask in what manner; the look of her torn clothing made it evident enough.
    He took a sharp intake of breath as the woman fashioned an awkward dressing from the car’s first aid kit and stuck it onto his wounded shoulder. He quickly pulled on his sweatshirt; glad of the warmth against the cold night, but still slightly aggrieved and unsettled by his badly matching outfit.
    “I don’t know your name my dear,” he suddenly thought to ask.
    “Gemma, Gemma King,” she said sadly as though the married surname was yet another reminder as to her loss.
    “Look, I think that the best thing to do in these circumstances is for us to find some more appropriate help,” Julian stated firmly. “Let me try my phone,” he said as he searched the glove box for his mobile.
    “It won’t do any good; we were trying earlier this afternoon. There’s no signal out here,” Gemma said glumly.
    “Well I’ll try again and we’ll see,” Julian took his cell phone and was disappointed