by Paul Herron
We have to duck into hiding around ten times as we make our way to the staff corridor, pausing at each turn, listening for sounds of approach, then doubling back and ducking into storerooms and offices until the coast is clear again. I’m not a coward, but I’m not stupid. Trying to get past inmates when they’re hyped up on blood and freedom would be like trying to reason with a kid on a sugar high. It’s not happening.
“This is it,” says Sawyer finally, nodding at a reinforced door.
“That leads into the staff corridor?” I ask. “You sure?”
“I was here just a few hours ago.”
“Okay. So we get in there and we run. We just keep going, right? All the way to the north end of the prison. Then we find a place to lay low for a few hours.”
“Think you can keep up?” she says. “It’s a pretty long corridor.”
There’s a lightness to her tone. I look at her and see a tentative smile on her face, a look of excitement in her eyes. I get it. We’re close to getting out of this. Close to reaching safety. All we have to do is make it to the other end of this corridor and then wait until the eye of the storm comes. Simple.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Don’t worry about me.”
She takes a deep breath and unlocks the door, then hooks the keys back on her belt and pulls the door slightly open, just enough that we can see into the corridor beyond.
Most of the lights are gone. One or two still work, casting small pools of radiance down into the darkness. The roaring of the hurricane is even louder in here. The right wall of the passage is all that stands between us and the outside world.
This isn’t what I was imagining. I was thinking an empty corridor, brightly lit, still locked off from the inmates.
Stupid me.
There are entrances to each of the units along the left side of the corridor, and it looks like they’ve all been opened. There’ve definitely been inmates here. There’s trash strewn everywhere, floating around in two and a half feet of water. Plants from the COs’ offices, photographs, food packaging, shredded mattresses. Toilet rolls that are now mushed-up islands drift slowly around the corridor.
“So… I’m thinking maybe we don’t run,” I say. “Maybe a stealthy approach is called for.”
“Yeah. I think you’re right.”
We enter the long corridor, sticking to the left wall. I can hear shouts and screams coming from inside the units, the sounds drifting back to us through the sally ports. They must all still be open. We wouldn’t be able to hear so much if they were sealed tight like they should be.
We reach the door leading into Unit 1. I gently try the handle, just to check. The door moves slightly but doesn’t open. It looks like it’s been barricaded on the other side. There’s a plastic-covered mattress blocking the window.
We keep moving. A huge expanse of darkness stretches ahead of us. The next pool of light is about a hundred yards away, a strip light that dangles from the ceiling. After that, there’s a light outside what looks like Unit 3, and then another one illuminating the door that leads into the Northside section far ahead.
We keep walking. We reach the first pool of light, and as we do so, there’s a shout up ahead. It isn’t the usual screaming we can hear coming from the units. This is much closer. We stop moving as a man stumbles out of the door and into the light outside Unit 4. He’s holding his stomach, hunched over as he tries to keep his balance.
He falls to his knees. A figure emerges behind him and wades through the water toward him.
Even from this distance, I recognize the features of Malcolm Kincaid.
“Don’t move,” I whisper.
We stand still. We’re directly beneath the light, but I’m hoping if we don’t move, we won’t draw any attention.
Kincaid glances back over his shoulder. Adler and Sullivan, two of his goons from the Glasshouse, emerge into the corridor. They’re followed by a guy who stands about two feet taller than them. His name’s Carter. I’ve seen him around the prison, but have always kept my distance. The guy’s got a bad rep.
Carter is holding something heavy in his hands. A hammer? No, a meat tenderizer.
Without pausing, he swings it around in a wide arc. Even from here we can hear the wet, meaty thud as it connects with the face of the man on his knees. He drops instantly into the water.
Sawyer tries to stifle a cry of shock, but she doesn’t quite succeed.
Kincaid, Adler, Carter, and Sullivan all turn toward us.
Even from this distance, I lock eyes with Kincaid.
He smiles coldly, then turns his head to say something to the three men standing by his side.
I grab Sawyer’s arm and shove her back toward the door. “Now we run.”
I glance back once and see Adler, Carter, and Sullivan sprinting out of the pool of light and into the darkness. Sawyer and I run as fast as we can back to the entrance to the staff corridor, exploding back into the admin building. Sawyer pauses to fumble with her keys, but there’s no time for that. I grab her and pull her after me.
Eleven
1:00 a.m.
Sawyer and I sprint back through the admin complex, once again ducking into offices and empty rooms to avoid any prisoners wandering around. Every single one of them is armed with some kind of weapon: knives and sharpened pieces of wood, metal poles salvaged from the gyms or office desks, pieces of broken glass wrapped with tape or orange material torn from prison uniforms.
We weave randomly through passages as we try to shake off Adler, Carter, and Sullivan. I’m hoping the inmates we manage to dodge will at the very least delay Kincaid’s men. I’m not sure, though. Kincaid has a reputation. I don’t know if any of the inmates will want to cross him.
“You think we lost them yet?” gasps Sawyer.
“No…” I wince and press on my side. I’ve got a killer stitch going on. “Believe me. Kincaid wants me dead. Now he’s seen me, he’s not going to let it go.”
“Why? What’s he got against you?”
“I… put him in here. When I was a cop.”
“Ah… Okay. I get it.”
She really doesn’t.
I peer around the corner into the next corridor. Looks clear. We start moving again, splashing through the water. I keep looking over my shoulder. We’ve been running for a few minutes, but there’s not many places to go in the admin building. Kincaid’s guys can’t be far behind us.
“Where are we actually going?” asks Sawyer.
“I’m thinking we head over to the inmate corridor on the west side of the building. Hopefully it’s not blocked off like—”
I stop talking as we round a corner into another passage. I hear loud voices up ahead, laughing and talking in Spanish.
I grab Sawyer and rush to the closest door. It opens into a staff bathroom. We duck inside and I push the door until it’s almost closed. They walk past our hiding place, joking around with each other. They’re still wearing their orange prison uniforms. Two of them have white T-shirts on, while the others are bare-chested. I scan the exposed skin. Among all the other tattoos they sport, they all have ink showing a five-pointed crown. That’s the symbol of the Latin Kings.
Castillo’s men.
“Who is it?” whispers Sawyer.
I gently close the door. There’s no point in hiding it from her. I kept quiet back in the reception so she wouldn’t freak out, but she needs to know the danger we’re in.
“Latin Kings,” I whisper. “Castillo’s men.”
“Castillo?”
“The guy we pulled out of the water.”
“Oh… Why are we running from him?”
“What do you mean, why? You think he’s our friend now because we saved him?”
“Isn’t he?”
“Jesus—are you really that naïve?”
“No!” Her voice is defensive.
“Look, any inmate in this prison is going to be after you. Either for your keys or because of… other reasons.”
I look a
t her, make sure she understands. She does. She folds her arms over her T-shirt, trying vainly to disguise any hint of a female figure.
“Exactly. You need to stay out of sight. We both do.”
I wait until the sound of Castillo’s men fades away; then we exit the bathroom and keep moving west. The admin building itself isn’t too wide. We should be close to the inmate corridor by now.
We’re passing a corridor that branches off to our right when I hear a shout. I look over and see the massive form of Carter standing about thirty yards away. He looks to his left and shouts again.
“Over here!”
Fuck. I push Sawyer and we start to run. We only make it a few steps before the lights flicker, then suddenly wink off.
We’re plunged into darkness. Sounds seem to grow louder. Sawyer’s breathing. The sudden slowing of Carter splashing through the water. I hear shouts echoing around other parts of the prison.
I reach out and put my hand on Sawyer’s forearm. She stiffens, almost jerks away, but I tighten my fingers and lean close to where I think her ear is.
“Move slowly.”
We wade through the water carefully, so as not to make any noise. I remember the layout of the corridor. It travels ahead of us for about thirty feet, then turns right. We angle slightly until we bump up against the right wall, then use our hands to guide us to the turn.
I hear Carter shouting behind us, calling out to Adler. There’s an answering call even farther into Admin, back toward the staff corridor. I’m not sure if Carter is waiting for backup, but the more distance we can put between us and them, the better.
We’re moving in what I think is the general direction of the inmate corridor. It’s hard to tell. We’ve made a few turns already, right then left, then right again. We need to keep track so we don’t end up back where we started.
“You think the generator has run out of gas?” asks Sawyer.
“Shouldn’t have. It’s supposed to last at least twelve hours.”
I’ve barely finished speaking when the lights flare to life. A few of the strip lights pop at the surge of power, dropping sections of the corridor back into darkness. I hear Carter shouting again. Voices respond—Adler and Sullivan, I assume. All three are much closer than I want them to be, and I hear the sounds of splashing feet as they give chase again.
We run. There are doors all along the hallway, but I skip the first couple, not wanting to make it obvious where we’ve gone.
“Next one!”
Sawyer grabs the door and shoves it open. I follow her in and slam it shut behind me, quickly turning around to see where we are.
It’s a staff cafeteria. Tables and benches are bolted to the floor. On the far side of the room are serving counters, and just to the left of them, the door into the kitchen.
Felix sits at one of the tables, calmly eating a huge plate of fries. I look at him in amazement.
“Felix?”
“Constantine! My man. Glad to see you’re alive. Wasn’t sure you were gonna make it.” He points a sauce-covered fry at me. “But you’re a survivor. I always said that.”
Felix’s orange jumpsuit is torn, covered in blood. He has cuts and bruises on his face and makeshift bandages around his forearm and bicep.
“You okay there?”
He glances down at his wounds and shrugs. “It got a bit dicey, I won’t lie to you. I had to kill a couple of people. Protection, you know? Had to do it in front of some of the others too. Show them I’m not to be fucked with. Seems a few of them forgot in all the excitement.” He dips a fry in a dessert bowl of ketchup, then pops it into his mouth. He leans back and looks appraisingly at Sawyer. “You going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Sawyer, this is Felix.”
She looks at me with wide eyes. “This is the guy you said was your only friend?”
Felix throws a surprised look in my direction. “You said that?”
“Uh… yeah. But I’d nearly just died. You can’t hold me to it.”
“You soft motherfucker.”
“Listen,” I say urgently, “we’re heading to the Glasshouse. Sawyer has a keycard to get out of the Northside staff room. We’re going to wait till the eye of the storm passes over, then head for shelter. You in? Because I really don’t think this place is going to last.”
“This is very true.” He squints at me thoughtfully. “How you planning on getting to the staff room?”
“The inmate corridor,” says Sawyer quickly.
Felix shakes his head. “No chance. It’s gone.”
My stomach sinks. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“Gone. As in absent. Not there. Vanished. Kaput. It has ceased to be.”
“How?” asks Sawyer.
“How you think? Same reason you saying this place isn’t going to last. The hurricane destroyed it. Heard some people talking. They said it came down the same time A Wing was taken out.”
Shit. My mind races. There has to be another way.
“Constantine.”
I glance over at Sawyer.
“Kincaid’s guys?”
Christ, yeah. “Felix, we need to get out of here. Kincaid and his boys are after me.”
“Right. Just let me finish these.”
“Felix. For fuck’s sake…”
“Calm your pants, man. Fine.”
He gets to his feet just as the door slams open and Adler, Carter, and Sullivan enter the cafeteria.
I exchange a brief glance with Felix and Sawyer; then we all turn and sprint toward the kitchen at the back of the cafeteria. I leap over the closest table, sliding across the top and landing in the water, still moving.
We burst through the open doorway. The kitchen is a large square room, red bricks laid into the floor, black-and-white tiles, stainless-steel worktops and huge ovens with gas stovetops around the walls.
I grab Sawyer’s ax from her. She doesn’t protest, but keeps moving. I take a step to the side of the door and swing the ax in a wide arc. It connects with Adler’s midriff as he sprints into the kitchen. I feel it cut through his jumpsuit, slice through the skin, and dig deep into his stomach. I twist and pull it out again.
Adler gives out a weird burp, an expulsion of air and pain, and staggers to a stop, staring down at his own intestines as they loop slowly out of his stomach, spooling in the water like sausages thrown into a pot.
Carter and Sullivan barge into the back of him, shoving him forward. Adler drops to his knees. I swing the ax over my head, aiming for Carter, but he sees it coming and raises his arm, blocking the shaft before it can connect.
I hold on. We stand frozen, both pulling as hard as we can. Carter raises his other hand and hits me in the face. He loosens his grip on the ax as he does so, but so do I. It splashes into the water as I stagger back, trying to evade Carter’s punches.
We move deeper into the kitchen. I keep my arms raised to protect my face, but more and more blows are landing. I hit up against the kitchen counter and attempt to fight back, but every time I lash out, Carter uses the gap to land a blow. The guy has boxing training. I haven’t.
Then suddenly Carter stiffens, his eyes going wide. I straighten up, see Felix standing to the side. He’s just rammed a knife into Carter’s ribs. I’m not sure if he had it all this time or found it in the kitchen.
Doesn’t matter either way. Carter roars and slams his elbow into Felix’s face. Carter is big, even bigger than Felix, and Felix goes down, hitting the water and slamming his head hard on the tiles.
Carter lumbers toward Felix. I go after him, reaching out to twist the knife still sticking out of his side. But just as my fingers graze the handle, Sullivan grabs the collar of my prison uniform and yanks me back. The material digs sharply into my throat. It feels like someone has rabbit-punched me in the larynx. I’m jerked off my feet and land on my back, breath exploding from my lungs.
Sullivan drops to the ground behind me, wrapping his arms almost gently around my throat.
I gasp fo
r breath, but I can’t get any air into my lungs. I reach up and grab Sullivan’s head, pull him closer by his ears. He tries to jerk away, but I hold on, crabbing my fingers around his face until I find his eyes.
I dig my thumbs in, pushing as hard as I can. Sullivan screams, his grip loosening. I smash my head back into his face. He cries out again and lets go. I lunge forward and stagger to my feet.
Sullivan is on his feet too, lurching around blindly. I grab him and slam his head as hard as I can into the metal countertop. He drops immediately.
I turn around and see Sawyer trying to pull Carter away from Felix. She looks tiny next to him. Carter turns casually toward her, grabs her hair and uses it to toss her sideways. She slams into the oven. She tries to steady herself, then cries out in pain and snatches her hands away. The gas rings are burning and a pot of oil still sits on the heat. Felix and his French fries.
Sawyer grabs the pot and spins around with it, throwing the whole lot into Carter’s face.
Carter screams in agony as the boiling oil coats his skin. His face and neck instantly turn red, angry welts and blisters flaring up. He staggers back. His eyes have gray-white films over them. He carries on screaming, arms outstretched, flailing around. Sawyer is pressed up against the counter, trying to avoid his swinging arms.
I dart forward and pull the knife out of Carter’s ribs, then jam it into the back of his neck. His screams stop and he drops into the water.
I grab Sawyer. By this time Felix is back on his feet, and we hurry back to the cafeteria.
We lurch to a stop in the kitchen doorway. More inmates have entered the cafeteria. Latin Kings. Fuck. I turn back, Felix and Sawyer following suit, and head for the door that leads out of the kitchen.
The Kings come after us. I let Felix and Sawyer move ahead; then I lean behind one of the ovens and grab the gas hose. I yank it out of the canister, hearing the hiss of escaping gas.
I sprint after Felix and Sawyer. They’ve already vanished through the door into the corridor beyond. I skid out of the kitchen, slamming up against the wall, then turning back and yanking the door shut.
“Run!”