The Radcliffe Asylum
T he drop to my knees awakens me instead of bringing me down. Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes all you need to get your will and energy back is a knock on the head. And boy, am I fueled right now.
“We need to fix this fast.” I stand up, addressing Tom Truckle. “We need to escape the Asylum. Now!”
“I can do that,” Tom says. “Follow me.”
I stop in my place. “What about the Mushroomers?”
“What are you, nuts?” Tom spatters spit into the air.
“I wouldn’t have been admitted here if I weren’t,” I say. The Mushroomers grin next to me.
“They’re a burden, Alice,” Tom says. “I only know of a little trick to get you and I out of here. Don’t risk your life for them.”
“They’ve always risked their lives for me,” I say. “Besides, we’re one. We’re insane. We’re supposed to be Lewis’ army.”
“It’s not going to work.” Tom grits his teeth. “The police are all over the place. I was going to dress you up and get the guards to protect us while we ducked out from one of the back doors and escaped.”
“So there isn’t really a way out of here,” I comment. “We’re practically trapped. How come this asylum isn’t designed for such an emergency?”
“It is, but not the way you think it is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tom sighed. It’s a long sigh, and his breath smells like a medicine cabinet. “It’s a protective system. I was going to use it once when Fabiola was here.”
“What kind of protective system?”
“I push a button and we’re locked inside with bulletproof walls until the enemy gives up.”
“That’s absurd.”
“It’s how Lewis designed it. We have a year of food and supplies and air inside, and we spend the time waiting in here until our enemy backs off.”
“Are the walls that strong?”
“They weren’t in the past, but I’ve upgraded them through the years. They’re a fortress now. No one gets in or out if I press the button.”
I think it over. It’s a stupid solution. I can’t believe we’re going to die in here.
“You want me to push that button?”
“Of course not. It’d be our last resort. I hope things don’t get that hard.”
“I wouldn’t be as optimistic as you are.” He points at the TV screen and raises the volume.
A man in a police uniform speaks through a loud speaker. He addresses us as the Inklings, then as Mushroomers. He isn’t quite sure what or who we are, but is following orders. Non-negotiable orders. He says we should step out of the asylum and turn ourselves in for crimes against humanity.
“I feel like I’m Hitler,” Tom mumbled. “Crimes against humanity, really?”
The police man waits for a reply, but we’re too shocked and confused to even consider responding. After an agonizing minute of silence, the policeman gives the alternative, in plain English: “You have twelve hours to turn yourself in, or we’ll break into the asylum and shoot every living thing.”
“I don’t think that’s legal,” The March Hare comments.
“I don’t think he can say this with all the cameras broadcasting everywhere,” Tom adds.
I end the conversation with the only words that come to mind. “In an insane world like the one outside the asylum, the police can do whatever they want, as long as they have a warrant.”