by Paul Herron
We make it about ten paces before the escaping gas meets the lit stove burners and the explosion hits.
The kitchen door flies off and slams against the wall, embedding itself into the concrete. A fireball explodes out of the room, rolling into the hallway and surging both ways along the corridor, stopping just short of us. Smoke billows out after the flames, thick clouds rising to the ceiling.
Then the sprinklers kick off, drenching us even more than we already are, pattering softly into the calf-deep water, falling from the ceiling like a fine spring shower.
We move away from the kitchen, looking for a place to regroup. If both corridors are out of action, it means the only way we can get to the north side of the facility is to go directly through each of the prison units. The four Gen Pop units will be bad enough, but what about the Mental Health Unit? The Administrative Control Unit? What the hell has been going on in there since the cell doors were opened?
There’s a lot of mess around us. Toilet paper floating on the water, blood, even what looks like shit smeared on the wall. Up ahead we hear the sound of splashing feet. Jesus Christ. Not again.
“Fight?” asks Felix.
“I don’t have any weapons. You?”
He clenches his fists and raises them. “Only these babies.”
“Jesus, Felix. Seriously?”
“What? You don’t think these are lethal weapons?”
“I think even you would have a hard time stopping a knife with your fist.”
Sawyer has already pulled open the closest door. We head inside and I listen through the wood. And it is wood. Thin. Cheap. Not reinforced. Pointless even bothering to lock it.
I hear the splashing sounds approaching. Then people speaking.
“I’m telling you, I heard voices.”
“Could have been anyone.”
“Yeah. And it could have been them.”
There’s a pause, and then the sound of someone approaching through the water. “Castillo wants an update,” says another voice.
“Ramirez, this is impossible, man. We’ve had to fight off, like, five ambushes already. There’s no way we’ll find them.”
“Castillo wants them, so you keep looking. I don’t give a shit how many motherfuckers you have to fight. Understand?”
“Waste of fucking time.” The voice sounds sullen.
There’s a splash and a cry of surprise. Then something slams into the door, throwing it open so it slams into my head. I stagger back and look up in shock. The massive guy I saw back in reception talking to Castillo and Silas is standing in the doorway, holding one of the Kings up by his neck. He must have slammed the guy into the door.
I’m assuming this is Ramirez. He smiles at me, showing uncomfortably small teeth.
“Hey there,” he says.
There are seven other Latin Kings with Ramirez. Even Felix knows those are bad odds. We allow—well, we don’t have much choice, do we?—them to lead us through the corridors until we reach a set of double doors.
Ramirez pushes them open and steps inside. We follow and find ourselves in one of the staff gyms.
It doesn’t look like it has ever been state-of-the-art, but right now it’s a mess. Rusted dumbbells are strewn across the floor, some of them sitting in pools of blood that blossom around them like ink stains in the water. The benches have been pulled apart, the legs and metal supports probably used for weapons. There are a few old weight machines scattered around, a shoulder press, a rowing machine, that kind of thing.
The changing rooms are off to the left. Two separate doors for men and women.
“Boss!” shouts Ramirez.
A moment later, Castillo emerges from the men’s changing room. He breaks into a grin when he sees us.
“My friends! I’m so happy to see you all. You ran off without giving me a chance to say thank you.”
More of his men exit the changing rooms and join the others who escorted us here. They’re all carrying weapons: knives, poles, pieces of broken wood. By the time the stream of bodies stops, twenty or so Latin Kings surround us. I glance nervously at Sawyer. She’s looking scared. Her face is pale, eyes cast down to the water. I can feel the tension in the air, see the inmates throwing hungry looks at her. Felix, God bless his twisted soul, steps closer to her, glares around at the Kings. I said he was an okay guy. He’s never hurt a woman, as far as I know. Only three cops and a hotshot hostage who tried to rush him when he was robbing a bank.
“No need to thank us,” I say. “Just doing our civic duty.”
Castillo doesn’t answer me. He’s looking straight at Sawyer. “I think congratulations are in order. I don’t know how you’ve managed to avoid the attentions of some of the… hungrier inmates, but here you are. Still walking and breathing.”
Sawyer tenses up even more. Castillo senses it. “Relax. I’m not after you. But I have to admit, those keys you’ve got there. They really caught my attention.”
I glance down at Sawyer’s belt, at the sheriff’s keys. Castillo steps forward. I try to get in front of him, but Ramirez grabs me from behind, pushing down on my shoulders so I can’t move.
Sawyer finally looks up, holding Castillo’s gaze.
“I saw you use them when you opened up A Wing,” says Castillo. He reaches out and slowly unclips the keys from Sawyer’s belt. She stiffens, but doesn’t otherwise move.
Castillo holds eye contact with her the entire time. There’s something obscene about it. Something in his expression. I struggle against Ramirez, but he just digs his fingers deeper into my shoulders. Felix glances at me, unsure. I give a small shake of the head. No point in making a move yet. We’ll be killed.
Castillo holds the keys up and examines them. He sees the name tag dangling from the ring. “Sheriff Montoya’s keys,” he says happily. Then he frowns mock seriously at Sawyer. “You shouldn’t have these, young lady. They’re likely to be very dangerous in the wrong hands. Tell you what, I’ll hold on to them. Make sure the sheriff gets them back, okay?”
Sawyer doesn’t respond.
“I said, okay?”
Castillo stares at Sawyer until she nods. It doesn’t seem enough for him, so she clears her throat. “Okay.”
“Good. Glad that’s cleared up. You should actually be thanking me. After all, I’m only doing my civic duty, right, Constantine?”
“They don’t operate the outside doors,” says Sawyer quickly. “You can’t use them to escape.”
“Perhaps. But you know what they can do? They can open the door into the armory.”
Sawyer throws a look of alarm in my direction. Fuck. I hadn’t even thought of that.
Castillo nods, a huge grin on his face. “Yeah? Pretty smart, huh?”
He throws the keys at me. Ramirez lets go of my shoulder and I just manage to catch them. I look at Castillo in surprise.
“Here’s what I want you to do,” he says. “You and Ramirez go to the armory. Bring back everything you can carry. And for fuck’s sake, lock it behind you, okay? I don’t want no one else getting guns.”
“Why the fuck would I do any of that?”
“Because I’m going to keep your friends here until you come back.”
Sawyer’s eyes widen.
“No,” I say. “No chance.”
“You either do it or I slice open both their stomachs right here and you can watch them bleed out. Then I’ll start cutting off parts of your body.”
I hesitate, glancing between Felix and Sawyer. Christ, I’ve got no choice. If I refuse, he’ll just kill us all.
“If I do this, will you let us go?”
Castillo laughs. “You really think you’re in a position to negotiate?”
“Not really. But what good are we to you? You want to settle grudges with guns, that’s your deal. You want to wipe out the other gangs, go for it. We just want to get out of the way and ride out the storm.”
Castillo thinks about it, then nods. “Okay. Sure. You get my guns and maybe I’ll let you go.”
Castillo looks hurt. “My friend, what kind of a degenerate do you take me for? The woman will be safe. As long as you bring the guns back.”
Ramirez grins, showing his tiny teeth again. He gives me a gentle shove, almost sending me on my ass.
“Let’s go, little man.”
I follow him out of the gym, wondering if I’ll see Felix or Sawyer alive again.
Twelve
1:30 a.m.
I follow a step or two behind Ramirez, making sure not to crowd him but also not falling so far back that he thinks I’m trying to lose him. There’s something about the guy, a constant low-key buzz of barely suppressed violence that I do not want to be on the receiving end of. I could maybe defend myself, but I have the feeling if I tried to land a punch, this guy could turn my fists into Jell-O by squashing them between two fingers.
He’s resting his meat cleaver casually against his shoulder as he walks. There’s a genuine spring in his step, as if he’s actually having a good time.
He glances back at me with a grin. “I feel like that guy. What’s his name?”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
“You do, man! The guy with the mask.” Ramirez holds the cleaver up in the air.
“Michael Myers?” I venture. “Jason?”
“Yeah! Jason! Him.” He turns and comes at me in a stiff-legged walk, the cleaver raised to strike. I’m proud of myself for not just turning and running, because that sight is pretty fucking terrifying.
He lowers the weapon and chuckles again. “Maybe when we get out of here, I’ll audition. They’re always remaking that shit, you know? Maybe I’ve got a new career ahead of me. It’ll be hard not to hurt the actors, though. You get so used to finishing people off, and then you have to pretend with that shit? Play make-believe? Not gonna be easy.”
We make our way through the prison toward the armory. Normally I’d be ducking between rooms, hiding from sight until other inmates pass by. But we’ve now encountered four or five different groups of prisoners, and they’ve all taken one look at Ramirez and walked the other way. I briefly consider asking him to come with Sawyer, Felix, and myself to the Glasshouse, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’ll tell Castillo, and I don’t want to have to deal with that bastard while we try to find our way to safety.
And while I finally get my revenge.
Sawyer’s given me another chance. If she hadn’t let me out of my room in the infirmary, I’d be dead. Wright and Tully would be… well, they’d still be alive. Not sure how long for. But that’s not the point. I have another chance to avenge Amy. To avenge our child.
And maybe I’ll even survive the night. Who knows? Maybe after the storm passes over, I can just walk out of here. I’m sure a lot of the inmates have the same idea, but none of them have Sawyer on their side.
Revenge. Survival. Freedom. Things I never thought I’d get another chance at. The hurricane has brought them all to me. They’re all within my grasp.
I think about outside. Where would I go? I’ve never given it any thought, mainly because I didn’t care. I knew I wasn’t going to see the other side of the prison walls for another ten to fifteen years, but now… now the thought of the future worms its way into my mind. I can maybe live again. Once I’ve gotten rid of Wright and Tully, I can start over. Let Amy rest now that she’s had justice.
It would mean living off the grid. Getting my hands on fake ID, a new Social Security number, that kind of thing. Shouldn’t be too hard. You get to know people when you’re a cop. People who can help with that kind of thing.
’Course, all that depends on me surviving the night.
I bring myself back to the present. Water trickles down the walls, forming small rivulets and streams that add to the rising floodwater. It’s above my calves now. I do a quick calculation and I don’t like the answer.
“The water’s rising fast,” I say.
“Hadn’t noticed.”
“It’s gone up a foot in the past half hour.”
Ramirez doesn’t say anything.
“If it carries on like this, we’ll be under six feet of water in three hours.”
“Lucky I’m six-five.”
“Seriously, man. This place is flooding fast.”
“Look, just shut up, okay? Castillo says we gotta get the guns, so we get the guns.”
“You always do what you’re told?”
Ramirez spins around, his freakishly small teeth bared. “The fuck’s your problem, man? You want me to just cut your throat, tell Castillo you got taken down?”
I raise my hands in the air. “Hey, man. Chill.”
“Don’t fucking tell me to chill!” he shouts. “I don’t like it when people tell me to chill!”
“Jesus. Okay! Fine! Just… lead the way.”
I gesture ahead, hoping he’ll just turn around and carry on walking. He doesn’t. He stares at me for a long-drawn-out moment.
I watch warily. I can almost see the thoughts running through his head, trying to decide if it would be easier to just get rid of me now. Finally, with a muttered “Prick,” he turns and sets off again, kicking through the water like a spoiled kid.
I need to be more careful. Especially if there’s a chance I could get out of here.
Ramirez throws a look over his shoulder. “What the fuck are you waiting for?” he shouts. “You want me to come back there?”
I set off after him. Ramirez shakes his head in disgust, then turns and wades through the water again.
We’ve been walking for another few minutes when Ramirez snarls suddenly and rushes into a side passage. He moves surprisingly fast for such a big guy. It reminds me of the burst of speed a hippo puts on when it attacks.
I follow him, wondering what’s set him off now, and am shocked to see him dragging Henry through the water by his leg. Henry’s the old guy I work with in the maintenance shed, fixing all the broken shit in the prison. He’s coughing and spluttering, water washing over his face, going up his nose, into his mouth.
I rush in and shove Ramirez. It’s like trying to shove a house.
“The fuck are you doing?”
“He was going to attack us.”
“He’s like a hundred years old!”
Ramirez looks down at Henry and reluctantly drops his leg. I help him up. Henry is almost comically pleased to see me. He grabs me by the shoulders, squinting shortsightedly into my face.
“Jack? Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
He pulls me into a hug. “Oh, sweet Jesus. I never thought I’d be happy to see your ugly face.”
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Yeah.” Ramirez frowns. “You sure you weren’t attacking us?”
Henry glares at him. “What’s your problem? Does it take a while for the blood to reach your brain? I’m seventy-seven years old.” He glares at me. “Not a hundred.”
“Not really important right now, Henry. What are you doing out here?”
“Trying to stay alive.”
“And you think walking around the corridors of Admin is the best way to do that?”
“I’m looking for a place to hide. Anyway, Admin is probably the safest place in the prison.”
I frown. “Explain.”
“Admin is… no-man’s-land. As soon as you get into the units, it’s fucking insane. The gangs are going at it, Kincaid’s doing his thing, acting like Emperor Nero. Fucking Preacher and his psychopathic followers are running around everywhere cutting people’s heads off. The Kings, the Bloods, the Crips, the Ñetas, they’re all set on proving to each other who’s the strongest.”
Wonderful. Sawyer, Felix, and I have to find our way through all that. “So do you have somewhere in mind? Or are you just going to wander around until you see something that catches your eye? I mean, if you don’t know where you’re going, you can come with us—”
“No he fucking can’t,” growls Ramirez.
; Henry ignores him. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really like the company you’re keeping, Jack. I think the best thing for me is to stay as far away as possible from you and your pet gorilla.”
Ramirez takes a threatening step toward him. Henry yelps and runs back along the corridor. Ramirez watches him go with a look of disgust, then turns and starts walking again.
About five minutes later, we’re approaching the corridor and sally port that leads into Unit 1, the first of the four General Population units.
We pause outside and listen. I can hear screaming. A lot of screaming. And objects hitting against metal, the sound echoing out along the passage.
It sounds like Henry was right. It’s chaos in there.
We move on, heading deeper into Admin. According to Sawyer’s map, the armory’s only a few corridors away now. Our pace picks up. I don’t know about Ramirez, but I want this over and done with as soon as possible. I feel totally exposed walking around like this. Kincaid might have sent his other goons to look for me. In fact, I’m sure he has. It’s just a matter of time until they find me.
As we turn into yet another featureless corridor, Ramirez freezes and throws a hand up for silence. I open my mouth to ask what he’s doing, but his glare causes the words to wither and die on my tongue.
A moment later, I hear it. Approaching footsteps slapping through the water, accompanied by a lot of voices.
The corridor is empty. Nowhere to go. I run ahead and peer around the corner. Nobody there, but I can hear the voices approaching from around the next turn.
There are doors in the corridor I’m looking into. I gesture for Ramirez to follow me and run for a door about ten feet away. I hear his raspy breath behind me, hear the voices and footsteps approaching up ahead.
I grab the door handle and turn.
Locked.
“Oh, fucking excellent,” says Ramirez.
We sprint back the way we came.
“Hey!”
I keep running, but throw a quick look over my shoulder. I see about five black guys with their scrubs cut off at the waist and one of their prison uniform legs rolled up. I catch a quick glimpse of the letters MOB tattooed on a few of them. Another has a picture of a dog paw. These guys are the Bloods, and they do not get on with the Latin Kings.