Here’s a preview for Dark Season VII: Testament, which is out later this week. As usual, it’ll all make sense (kind of) when you’ve read the whole book:
It takes six of them to pull me from the bed: two on each arm, two on each leg, one to keep my head steady and a sixth standing by with a tranquilliser in case I manage to get free. As they carry me to the wheelchair, I start to struggle. They don’t understand, they’ll never understand, what it will be like for me if they take me through that door.
As they try to put me in the wheelchair, I manage to get an arm loose. I grab the head of one of the orderlies, pull him towards me, then slam his face down into the arm of the wheelchair, breaking is nose and a few other bones. He falls away, blood pouring out of him, and I feel the familiar prick of a needle sliding into my shoulder from behind.
“Get him out of here!” shouts one of the orderlies, as the injured man is helped away.
The straps are tightened around my wrists and ankles. For a moment, just a moment, I feel the tranquilliser start to do its work, coursing through my veins. But it doesn’t really work. They’ve tried everything, up to and including industrial elephant-grade drugs usually used by veterinarians to bring down large animals. It’s cute, but they never really have any effect.
“We’re going to take you to the observation room, John,” says one of the orderlies. “Just for a short visit, do you understand? No-one’s going to hurt you?”
I turn and stare at the door, which they’ve left open. They don’t understand what’s happening here.
“John, we have to take you to the observation room,” the orderly continues, speaking carefully and clearly. “There’s really nothing to be scared of. Just relax and we’ll be back in your room in no time, okay?”
The wheelchair is turned to face the door. I’m calm, but there’s a reason: I’m gathering my strength, every ounce of my power, because one thing is very clear. There is no fucking way I am ever leaving this room.
“Okay, John,” says another orderly. “Calm down and enjoy the trip”. He starts to wheel me towards the door. At first, I don’t do anything. I’m waiting until I have as much strength as possible. Finally, as the wheelchair is about to leave the room, I get to my feet and smash the wheelchair into the faces of two of the orderlies, ripping my arms and legs free in the process.
I feel three or four little needles slide into my back, and I turn to face the final orderly, who has stabbed me with the last remaining syringes.
“Don’t hurt me,” he begs. “Please don’t hurt me!”
I make a mistake. I pause for a moment and regard him with something approaching compassion. I could snap his neck, or rip his head from his shoulders, but for just a split second I consider letting him live. And those few seconds are all he needs to run towards me, pushing me backwards and out through the door. By the time I hit the ground, the ringing has started in my head and the agony is so intense that I have to scream.
“Come on -” says the orderly, who has landed on top of me, but I throw him into the wall and manage to crawl back into the room. I pull the door shut. The ringing has stopped now, and the only sound is the moaning of a few injured orderlies who I should have killed anyway. When will these people learn? I must never leave this room. Not ever. All our lives depend on this.