Without warning, he sprinted towards her, arms outstretched, his eyes hungry. Amy turned and bolted back around the corner. The rapid footfalls behind her drew near. She ran as fast as she could, pushing her body to its limit. Her legs felt heavy and her breathing laboured, but she pushed on.
Her footsteps echoed around the empty corridor. The cannibal screeched. He was faster than her. He was getting closer. Amy looked ahead as a tall male stepped into the corridor ahead. He held a large sports bag and a jacket that draped his arm.
“Help!”
She watched a frown crease the man’s face as he turned. She grabbed his shoulder to slow herself.
“He’s killing people!” she cried.
The man dropped the sports bag as the cannibal lunged at him. “What the hell?”
The lunatic squealed in excitement as he collided with the pair. The impact pushed Amy aside as the other two fell to the ground. She gasped as the cannibal wormed his way on top of the man. He lurched forward, trying to bite his struggling victim. The man held the lunatic under the chin, forcing his mouth shut and his head backward.
“The bag,” he said. “Open the bag.”
Amy grabbed the long sports bag. Inside there were several items used in cricket. She could see balls, wickets, shin guards, and two cricket bats. She grabbed the first bat and turned to face the pair. Although the man held his attacker by the throat, the distance between them had decreased. The cannibal was only inches from his face. In a brief motion, Amy lifted the bat over her shoulder and swung it sideways with all her strength. She hit the cleaner above his temple, sending him hurtling into the wall.
The broad man jumped to his feet.
“Quick!”
He snatched the bat from her. Raising the weapon above his shoulder, he swung it in a downward arc. It cracked on top of the lunatic’s head. The blow sent him crashing to the ground, smashing his face into the tiled floor. They watched as he twitched for a few seconds before laying still. Amy stared in silence, waiting for a sign of movement. The man with the bat eyed the maroon stain on the edge of his makeshift weapon.
“I think I killed the bastard.” He dug into his pocket and produced a two-way radio. “Geoff, it’s Ben, we’ve got an incident outside the East Wing changing rooms.”
“We’ve got incidents everywhere, Ben.” Static tainted the man’s voice.
“Yeah? Well, I got a psycho here who could be dead or just unconscious. We need some more security, police and medics.”
“Jesus, Ben, I don’t have anyone to spare! The police are on their way, though. I just had a call from some woman saying there’s a bloke biting people!”
Amy felt Ben’s gaze on her, but she didn’t look up. Her eyes were fixed on the motionless corpse.
“Yeah, I think I got him. Just send them to the East Wing corridor when they get here.”
Ben returned the radio to his pocket and rounded on Amy.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Amy remained silent, her eyes still glued to the dead body.
3
The harsh buzz of the alarm stirred Frank from his slumber. He rolled onto his side and winced at the searing pain in his ribs. The clatter of opening cell doors came from a distance. He could hear the laughter and conversing of inmates as guards ushered them down to the canteen. He rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes tight in response to the powerful overhead lights. His body ached from the previous night. His knuckles were sore and his nose throbbed as he lifted himself out of bed.
The white-wash walls adorned with medical charts seemed unfamiliar at first. He glanced around, taking in the alien environment before he realised he was lying in an inpatient bed. He’d only been there twice in the past. The first time was after his futile brawl with Big Tony. He could remember that day well, and the excruciating pain he had suffered.
The second time had been a few months later in another of his fights with a prisoner called Charlie Clapton. The man had been a supposed ‘easy opponent’ to make Frank a bit of money. It was true. The fight was over in less than twenty seconds after a few well-timed body shots that had instantly floored Clapton. It was then that things got worse. As Frank turned his back on the downed opponent, the man produced a shiv and attacked him in a fit of rage. Frank had suffered multiple stab wounds from the vicious onslaught and had spent over a week in hospital. Charlie Clapton had not been seen since.
Frank looked around as he reminisced about his previous visits. Not much had changed except a few new light fittings and two extra beds in the corner. His roaming eyes eventually fell upon a guard stood in the doorway. The man’s dark moustache stretched across his face as he grinned, bearing yellowed teeth. His cold, brown eyes were fixed on Frank.
“How are you feeling, Lee?” Henderson asked as he stepped forward.
“Like a nun in a brothel.
