Free Hell and Gone by Duane Swierczynski

Hardie to take another step forward, come on, now, that’s it, that’s a good boy. Welcoming him into their communal bosom, all smiles and cheers and even a few woo-hoos . Hearty cries of congratulations in languages he didn’t recognize—but the overall meaning was clear.
    The bearded one broke ranks and nervously shuffled forward, still pounding his hands together. Smiling through his dark, neatly trimmed beard.
    “Welcome, Warden,” he said in a broad Australian accent. “Boy, are we glad to finally have you here.”
    Warden?
    “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”
    Hardie looked over the Aussie’s shoulder and saw cages, and two figures sitting inside those cages.
    All at once Hardie realized what this was.
    This was a secret prison; these were the guards.
    And all this applause bullshit was the mockery before the crucifixion, and here were his tormenters. Fucking with Your Victim, New-Testament Style. Sure, yeah, now they were shouting and proclaiming him the King of the Jews and shit. Next they’d be dividing up his new suit in dice games and shoving a crown of sharp thorns down on his tender scalp.
    Not if he could help it.
    Hardie took a step forward, scanning the four guards quickly. Three men, one woman. All wearing the same uniform. Tools and gadgets hanging from their belts. Plastic restraints. Tasers. A few syringes topped with sturdy plastic caps. Still applauding and opening the circle up wider for Hardie.
    No doubt getting ready to pounce his ass.
    Hardie switched the cane into his other hand, using his weak arm to balance himself, hoping it would be enough to support his own body weight. Because the moment the bearded Aussie took another step, Hardie lunged out and grabbed up a fistful of the guy’s uniform and then pulled him in for a violent head butt.
    Skull bone made contact with nose bone; bright lights flashed. Hardie’s head suddenly felt like it had been blown apart by a cherry bomb. But so what? His head already hurt like hell. What was pain on top of pain?
    The Aussie guard’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. He was not expecting the forehead-to-nose action. Hardie tightened his grip and used the Aussie’s body to support himself as he spun around and whipped the wooden cane across the head of the next advancing guard—a blond, pale guy. The guy cried out as his head snapped to the side. Turning his attention back to the bearded guard, Hardie gave him a push in the direction of the other guards. The Aussie became a human bowling ball; his friends the pins. Then, as fast as he could, Hardie started to make a beeline for the door he’d just stepped through.
    Hardie knew it was practically useless. It was four against one, and he was down two limbs. But Hardie also wasn’t about to stand around for mockery and whatever else they had in mind. He vowed to fight until he stopped breathing. At least then there was the illusion of control.
    Who knows? Maybe he’d luck out, and they’d skip the torture and kill him quick.
    Hardie found the handle, pulled open the door enough so that he could throw himself inside the metal cage. He half turned and yanked the door shut behind him—but two hands shoved through the space between the metal door and the frame.
    Fine. Hardie let it open a few inches to give himself enough room…and then he really pulled the door shut.
    The screams were otherworldly—strange profanity in a foreign tongue. Fingers wriggled like white worms in the crack between the door and the frame. Hardie pulled even tighter and relished the agonized screams. Oh, please. Here’s hoping it made these bastards so furious that they killed him immediately rather than drag it out.
    “NO!” a female voice shouted.
    “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, MATE!”
    “DO NOT GO UP!”
    “NO! NO NO NO!”
    Hardie let the door open a fraction of an inch, giving the wriggling worms enough room to remove themselves from the situation. As soon as the last fingernail cleared the space,