Death Sentence: Escape from Furnace 3
Alexander Gordon Smith
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Alex's second attempt to break out of Furnace Penitentiary failed. This time, his punishment will be much worse than before. Because in the hidden, bloodstained laboratories beneath the prison, he will be made into a monster. As the warden pumps something evil into his veins―a sinisterly dark nectar―Alex becomes what he most fears . . . a superhuman minion of Furnace. How can he escape when the darkness is inside him? How can he lead the way to freedom if he is lost to himself?
they didn’t leave. ‘Simon, what do we do?’ said the youngest. ‘Can we get him out?’ ‘No,’ answered the bigger kid. ‘He’s too far gone. Look at him, for Christ’s sake. I’ve never seen that much nectar hooked into the vein.’ ‘We can’t leave him,’ said the third boy. I studied his face and was surprised to see that every trace of weakness had gone. His expression was set in stone, a look of fierce determination, and it sent chills down my spine. I knew that look. I knew it because I had worn
another corridor, this one lined with several openings that resembled the storerooms on the other side of the prison’s underbelly. He marched down the passageway, casting his words over his shoulder. ‘It isn’t wise to come here alone, only if they call on you.’ ‘But what are they?’ I asked, my heart still running up and down my ribcage. I thought back to my dreams, visions of young men in trench coats and gas masks, and found myself answering my own question. ‘They’re the same as the men in my
right?’ ‘Right,’ Simon and I said together. ‘So …’ Zee said, leaving the statement unfinished. It didn’t need to be said. One of us was going to have to stay here. PAPER, SCISSORS, STONE ‘There must be a way of blocking it, tricking the system, wedging it open, anything!’ Simon spoke as he paced back and forth, rubbing his head so hard I thought his hair was going to fall out. The inner door still stood open, the exit to gen pop so close and yet so far away. ‘Blocking it won’t work,’
floodgates opened once again and the mayhem cascaded into my head. I fought it, fought to remember who I was and what had happened to me. But the film on screen was a tide of violence that consumed me, and as I drowned in the endless parade of blood and bruises I realised I could no longer remember what I looked like. All I saw in the charnel house of my mind was a blacksuit I knew was me, kicking and punching my enemies until there was nothing left of them. And the true horror was that it felt
bringing life to every blade of grass, every flower, every pebble. I shifted my eyes to the horizon, the skyline of the city burnished by a copper glow as dawn prepared to roll out over the world. Somewhere a bird was singing, the sound so alien to me that I didn’t understand what I was hearing. It was all too much – the sights, the sounds, the smell of the rain, the wet earth beneath my fingers – too much to be real. It couldn’t be real. I clamped my eyes closed, feeling the universe spin.