Hideaway (Book 2): An Emp Thriller

by Hayden, Roger

  Marla turned and walked to the door with Carol following. She stepped outside without another word. She couldn't bring herself to even turn around and look at Julian any longer. In the back of her head, however, she knew that being nice to him was the only thing keeping them safe. Brant closed the door behind them and nudged them ahead. “Your room is close. Start walking.” The man they’d encountered earlier, Derrick, was still at his desk. He glanced up, staring at Marla and Carol and avoiding eye contact with Brant.

  Marla continued down the darkened administrative hallway. They passed many empty offices with windows in clear view. Escaping might be very much in the realm of possibility, but Marla knew they couldn't be too eager. They'd have to find the right time. Their treatment so far had been okay, but perhaps that was a false enticement.

  Brant told them to turn right at the end of the hall as he shined his flashlight ahead. She caught a glimpse of dried bloodstains on the tile floor, coupled with bloody handprints on the wall. Her heart beat wildly as she stepped over a SWAT team helmet with a cracked front visor, a sign of the violence that had taken place. They reached a room next to two vending machines that sat empty. The snack machine’s glass was shattered and most of the items were gone.

  “This room here,” Brant said.

  They stood aside as he unlocked and opened the door with its single vertical window slit. Once inside, he shined his flashlight around, revealing what looked like a break room with a refrigerator, counters, an empty table, and several chairs scattered about. A small LED lantern glowed in the corner, offering them a glimpse of light.

  “Come on in,” he said as they cautiously approached. He turned toward Marla first, a small key in hand, and unlocked her handcuffs.

  She pulled them off, feeling a numb mobility in her arms. Next came Carol’s, as Brant began to explain what was clearly visible. He pointed to a few cots in the corner, with blankets and pillows piled on top of them. “This is where you'll be staying, at least for a while. There's no running water or electricity, as you could have guessed, but this is all temporary.”

  “I have to use the restroom,” Carol said.

  Brant turned away and scanned the room with his flashlight, finding a mop bucket in the corner. “There you go. Use that until further notice.” He walked outside of the room, offering them a simple “good night” and nothing more.

  “Wait!” Carol said. “We can’t be expected to live in here! We're women, and we have feminine needs.”

  Sensing Brant's indifference, Marla cut in with a question of her own. “Are we the only females here?”

  Brant thought to himself and then nodded. “As of now, yes, but that's soon to change. All of this will. We're going to construct a new way of life, starting with this prison. You'll come to learn of the First Order as it should be. Sleep well, ladies.” He closed the door behind him and locked the deadbolt. They watched through the sliver of a window as he walked away, leaving them in veritable darkness. Marla turned to Carol and noticed she was shaking.

  “Come on,” she said, placing a hand on her arm. “Let's sit and think this out.”

  Carol shrugged and followed her to the cots. They both sat down with exhausted sighs. For the time being, they were alone. Marla wasn't sure where to begin. There was so much on her mind. But she did know, and was grateful, that they were still alive, they hadn't been assaulted, and they were safe for the time being. But James and Larry would waste no time in trying to rescue them, and that’s exactly what she didn't want.

  She told Carol that they needed to get some sleep. She assured her that they were going to find a way out and reunite with their husbands. They just needed to believe in themselves and have hope. The words sounded naive coming out of her mouth, but she meant every word.

  5

  End of the Line

  Larry steered the wagon off the road and down the bumpy terrain. James gripped his armrest and braced himself as they reached the bottom of a dry ravine. The engine shut off as they opened their doors and stepped outside wearing dirty, bloodstained inmate uniforms, stolen from the dead prisoners. Doyle, the inmate they had spared, convinced him that wearing inmate uniforms was the only way of getting inside without being noticed. If there was any hope, he'd find Marla, but they'd have to blend in. James looked up into the night sky. “How close are we?”

  Larry grabbed his rifle from the front seat and lightly closed his door. “About a mile down the road. Just stay out of sight.”

  They walked on as James tried to ignore the patronizing remark. Emerging onto a desolate road, they continued down the darkened path leading toward the prison. The hour was unclear, and there were no guarantees they would succeed.

  “How do you feel about this?” James asked, hoping for an honest assessment.

  “Good,” Larry said, clutching the straps of his backpack. “We've got plenty of ammo. Just have to use it wisely.”

  “I hope it doesn't come to that,” James said. If they could get in and out of the prison without firing a shot, he'd be happy. Such an outcome, however, seemed unlikely, given what they had been through so far.

  “We'll take position outside the prison and watch,” Larry continued. “Nothing too hasty. But we must get in before dawn. We’ll never make it in the daytime.”

  The Audrain County Correctional Center was a vast facility of interconnecting buildings. According to Doyle, many of the inmates unaffiliated with the cult had supposedly left the prison days prior. They were free and roaming the countryside. That left only the cult members to contend with. Their numbers, Doyle had estimated, were in the hundreds. Finding Marla and Carol would be a challenge, but it wasn't an impossibility.

  As they walked, they stayed to the tree line along the road. In the distance, a large structure was visible. It was one of several buildings that James could see outlined far ahead, surrounded by dozens of light posts that were dark. He could see the concertina wire on top of the fences that were at least twenty feet high.

  “This way,” Larry said, hurrying deeper into the trees off the road.

  He followed Larry across rocky ground and down a clay-like slope, where Larry made a beeline toward a second stand of trees. He could hear faint cheering in the distance, the sounds of a rowdy gathering that sent chills down his spine.

  Larry traveled up a small hill and took cover behind a flattened boulder, perfect for staging. He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the prison as James rested against the rock, catching his breath. They had reached the prison. Now, they just needed to find a way inside.

  From their vantage point, it looked next to impossible with the endless fencing surrounding the compound. There appeared to be no way to get handholds or footholds to scale it. A guard shack sat outside the gated entrance.

  Through his thermal binoculars, Larry examined the entrance. “There's three men at the guard shack.”

  There were no visible lights on inside or outside the prison. The blackout gave them a way to move around without being seen if they were careful. Once they got inside, the sprawling cell blocks would take time to search.

  “We might have better luck behind the prison near the loading docks,” James said, feeling revived now after his brief rest leaning against the rock.

  “Or maybe Doyle is sending us into a trap,” Larry said.

  “You have a better idea?”

  “We stay in the shadows and move quick,” Larry said with confidence. “And be ready to take out anyone in our way.”

  “Not everyone will be armed,” James said.

  Larry took a step back, examining him with amusement. “Listen to you. James the pacifist.”

  “I don't want to get caught in some crossfire,” James said defensively. “That's my only point.”

  “You think I want this?” Larry asked, incensed. “I wanted a quiet evening at the cabin. But no, you had to go exploring.”

  “Okay, you’ve made that clear enough,” James said with his hand in the air. He didn't want an argumen
t, especially given the task at hand. “Are we going in or what?”

  Larry spun around with his back toward James, staring at the prison, rifle slung over his shoulder. “East side, near the courtyard.” He began walking down the hill, flanking the prison.

  “The fences, though,” James said. “There's concertina wire--”

  “I've got cutters in my bag,” Larry said as though it was just another item on the list.

  “I take back whatever I said about you,” James said as they embarked on a downward slope, nearing the road.

  They laughed as they hurried along the path, staying low and out of sight. They slowed to a halt across the street from the far side of the prison. Grass reached to the lower mid-section of the fence. The several dozen light posts that surrounded the fence offered no light. Larry crouched behind a guardrail on the side of the road and scanned the front of the prison once again. James used his own binoculars and noticed a large tarp covering the grass near the outside courtyard.

  “You see that tarp?” he asked.

  Larry moved his focus to the side. “Where?”

  “Near the basketball hoops.”

  Larry nodded. “I see it.” He paused and adjusted the focus of his lens. “I see bulges though, underneath.” So far, it didn't seem as though the side entrance was being guarded. The gate itself was closed and locked with chain. James only hoped there was no one watching them from the several guard towers behind the fence.

  “Coast is clear,” Larry said, scanning the area. “Let's go.”

  They sprinted across the street and into the grass, twenty feet from the endless fencing that surrounded the complex. They crouched down, out of breath, and listened to the sound of faint laughter and cheering coming from the prison. Within the concealed darkness that was gradually fleeting, they moved alongside the fence toward the back of the prison. It was there that they saw a parking lot half the size of a football field with at least thirty or so vehicles, including police cruisers and prison buses among the abandoned.

  Larry knelt at the fence, opening his backpack. There was a chain wrapped around the fence entrance gate that held it shut. Beyond that fence was another, and farther beyond that was the courtyard. “Keep a lookout,” Larry said, handing James his thermal binoculars.

  James brought the binos to his face and scanned the buildings beyond their path. He saw red flashes of light in some of the windows, along with trailing smoke. “All clear so far,” he began. “I think they've got a fire going.”

  “Doesn't surprise me,” Larry said, completely invested in cutting the chain-link with his tool. Their clothing helped keep them hidden. Larry had on black gloves, matching his jacket and skull cap. James wore a dark jacket over his inmate uniform, and his own jeans and shirt were hidden underneath. He watched as Larry attempted to cut the links out, hand slipping as he grunted in pain.

  “You all right?” James asked quietly.

  Larry shook his hand out, relieving the pressure. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  James moved closer. “I'll take a stab at it.”

  Larry handed James the cutters, its ends sharp, circular shears attached to plastic-handled grips. Larry had managed to cut half of a circle from the chain link, James only needed to complete it. Once they got through the fence, they would have to determine the best way to move through the prison undetected.

  From outside, there looked to be hundreds of rooms and cell blocks. Their advantage, however, lay in the map Larry pulled from his pocket, unfolding it. Doyle, the man he had nearly killed, gave them the map to spare his life. It was a valuable blueprint, identifying the different sections of the prison and who inhabited them. It wasn't an exact representation of the interior, but it provided them with crucial knowledge to successfully navigate their way through.

  Carol and Marla, Doyle explained, were most likely being held with the other prisoners in Cell Block B. Larry studied the map as James squeezed the end of the cutters along the chain link fence. Breaching the fence was no easy task. James could feel the strain in his hand and wrist already. As he continued, the cheering in the distance increased. Larry perked up and grabbed his binos. James stopped cutting for a moment and tried to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. He returned to cutting and sheared a hole that looked big enough to crawl through.

  “Ready,” James said.

  “One more fence after this one,” Larry said, folding the map.

  James crawled through first as Larry followed, bending the cut section back in place and hoping it wouldn’t be noticed. They reached the next fence, and James resumed cutting. The cheering echoed from behind a concrete wall near the courtyard. He cut link after link as Larry knelt, examining the buildings. “Nothing yet.”

  “Maybe we should try the loading dock,” James said, reaching the final link.

  “That's on the opposite side of the prison. It sounds like a celebration is taking place. We might be able to slip right past it.”

  “Oh,” James said mockingly, “so let's go to where the most inmates are gathered.” He let out an exhausted grunt. “Brilliant plan.”

  “We'll move quickly and keep to ourselves,” Larry said with his usual air of authority. “Most important thing is getting to Cell Block B.”

  James finished cutting as he pushed the fence out, creating another hole to crawl through. They moved in haste, crawling across rough pavement. They reached the grass of the prison yard and both half-stood, remaining slightly crouched. James hurried toward the courtyard as they drew closer to the first building. The plastic tarp came into view with its rows of bulges. James could only assume what was underneath. The closer they got, the more potent the decaying stench.

  Larry urged caution as they got closer. “You don't know what's under there.”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” James said, noticing the dark stains on the tarp and seeping onto the pavement like a blanket.

  Larry moved past him and raised one side of the tarp with his gloved hand, exposing a line of decomposed bodies with open wounds, some in police uniforms, others dressed as inmates. James wasn't quite prepared for the stench of death that overwhelmed them. He nearly fell to his knees gagging as Larry dropped the tarp, covering the bodies. “Just like I thought,” he said.

  James got up and moved away, leaning against a cement wall with a line of windows directly above him. He did his best to suppress the coughing that was tearing at his chest. The jovial cheers had increased since their arrival.

  James turned to Larry with his eyes watering and the stench of death fading in the slight night breeze. “Sounds like they're having a hell of a party.”

  “Keep moving,” Larry said, looking around. “This could be the distraction we need.” He opened the map once again, reading it over in the dark. “This building should get us to Cell Block B.”

  They continued along, staying close to the concrete building with its barred windows, soon reaching a separate courtyard, also surrounded by concrete walls, with an opening in its side and no roof. In the distance, fires burned in open barrels. They drew closer to the commotion, watching all sides. The exuberant cheers were unsettling. A sizable crowd had gathered inside the courtyard, resembling a racquetball court. Larry held his rifle low as they approached the open entrance.

  Flames illuminated the large crowd. There were anywhere from a hundred to two hundred men gathered around a center stage, their backs to James and Larry. They were cheering wildly as a man walked to the center of the stage, his arms raised. James recognized him immediately as Brant, the bearded man in the long leather jacket and fedora who had led the attack on their cabin. If he wasn't the leader of the rowdy men, he was certainly the most visible.

  “Are you ready for a fight!” he shouted to even more ecstatic cheers from the crowd. A bottle suddenly flew over his head, thrown by one of the inmates. Brant ducked and then rose with a smile, immediately launching a beer bottle of his own back into the crowd. The bottle smacked against the one of the inmates below,
hitting him hard in his face.

  A greater roar of applause sounded as the inmate collapsed. James and Larry watched the scene unfold, shocked by the intensity of the atmosphere. There were cases of beer in one corner, torn into and nearly depleted. The men who circled the stage seemed well under the influence. The sight of them filled James with hope. With such festivities unfolding, he and Larry could likely get in and out of the prison undetected. Four tin barrels burned on opposite sides of the courtyard. To the left of the stage were double doors, leading into the prison.

  “What do you think?” James asked.

  Larry shook his head, staring at the crowd. “Hold on.”

  He pointed to the shadows near the door where two men stood with semi-automatic rifles in their hands. Not everyone was so distracted as the cheering mob. Larry knew they could keep moving, but curiosity about what was to unfold kept them there. It might be important to know. There were only two armed men in view. The other hundred or so were too busy hollering and drinking around the stage. Most of everyone was too enthralled to pay attention to anything else that was happening. You could almost smell a thirst for violence.

  Brant paced around the stage, reveling in the rowdiness. “We have something very exciting tonight. A rumble like you've never seen.” He stepped center stage, arms out to the crowd. “We have our very own Captain Riley and Lieutenant Graham going head to head tonight. If we're lucky, they'll give us quite a show. For you see, we've made a deal with our former captors.” He paused as the crowd went quiet in anticipation. “The winner shall be set free of this prison. The only question is, who wants freedom more?” Buoyant cheers followed as two men suddenly emerged from the shadows, cuffed at their hands and ankles and limping in pain. They were led to the stage by the two armed inmates no longer guarding the door as bottles flew and broke against the concrete building.

  “Oh my God,” James said, shocked.

  He had imagined the level of brutality occurring behind the prison gates. That much was evident in the sprawl of decomposing bodies in the open prison yard. In only a week, the prison had turned upside down into a dystopian nightmare.