by Paul Herron
We wade through the water, skirting around the bodies. I check them out as we pass. Puncture wounds, bruises, slit throats… Some of their faces are so messed up they don’t even look human anymore.
Felix reaches the door ahead of me and opens it a crack. He peers through, then pulls it open all the way. It’s the same as the last two units. An empty corridor with the door into the Unit 3 sally port about ten feet in front of us.
The screaming and shouting is much louder out here. I can hear specific words now, chanted over and over. “Bloods, Bloods, Bloods!”
Same drill. Along the sally port passage and pause outside the door. Felix cracks it slightly. The roars explode into the passage. It reminds me of a boxing match.
He peers through, then moves aside to let me and Sawyer look.
All I can see are the backs of inmates as they jostle and shove each other, trying to catch a glimpse of something happening in the middle of the rec room floor. They’re jeering and shouting, hands raised in the air. There are more inmates leaning on the railings. They’re all staring down, cheering and laughing.
The crowd is so thick that I think we might actually have a chance. If we can circle around the outside of the spectators, maybe we can get to the door on the other side while everyone’s attention is focused on whatever’s going on.
“Are we really going to just walk through that?” whispers Sawyer. She doesn’t even attempt to hide the fear in her voice.
“I’m open to alternatives.”
“There aren’t any,” says Felix. “Okay, here’s what I suggest. I go through first. No offense, but you two kind of stick out. If I’m caught, I’ll holler something so you know not to come. If I don’t, you follow on.”
“What are you going to shout?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Depends on the situation. Maybe something like ‘Why did you stab me, you asshole?’”
He slips through the door and makes his way left around the ring of inmates, disappearing from sight. Sawyer and I wait, straining our ears for his shout.
“You think we’re going to make it?” I ask.
“Do you?”
“If the storm was, like, an hour behind where it is now, maybe. But honestly, I think this building is going to come down before the eye of the hurricane hits.”
“If you think that, why are you still trying?”
“What else am I gonna do? We all need goals, right? Some people want to make CEO by the time they’re thirty. Some people want three kids and a picket fence. I want to kill Wright and Tully with my own hands.”
“That’s it? That’s really what’s keeping you going?”
“That’s it,” I say cheerfully.
“Constantine… are you all right? You’ve been acting weird since you came back from the armory.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Happy, I suppose. Buzzed.”
“Call it a Zen-like acceptance of what is.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
I shrug. “Just what I said.”
I think Felix must have made it to the other side by now. There’s been no shout of warning, so I think we’re all clear.
“Same rule as Felix,” I say. “I’ll go first. There’s more chance I’ll be seen. Listen out for my shout.”
I head into the rec room. The screams and cheers surge in volume. There’s an animalistic sound to them. A bloodthirstiness that makes them seem barely human.
I keep low as I move around the outskirts of the crowd, keeping close to the wall and trying to stay out of view of those on the second floor of the pod.
There’s no sign of Felix anywhere ahead of me. Which is good news. Well, for him. He blends in.
I wonder what he’ll do if I’m caught. I wouldn’t blame him if he hung back. No point in him being taken down with me. Still, I’d kind of like to know where he stands. Call it curiosity.
The crowd gets denser the farther into the room I go. The press of bodies forces me right up against the wall. I’m jostled and elbowed, but nobody actually turns around to see what they’re hitting and bumping into.
I’m about twenty feet from the door when a huge cheer explodes in the pod and the inmates all start jumping around as if celebrating. I’m shoved up against the wall. An elbow smashes into my head. I instinctively shove back, harder than I mean to. The person I push stumbles forward, then whirls around to fight back.
Shit.
He stares at me in surprise as I slowly straighten up.
“Hey!” he shouts. “Look what I found. A little white boy trying to sneak past.”
People turn to see what’s going on. It’s only a matter of seconds before hands grab hold and drag me through the crowd toward the center of the room.
I’m shoved forward. I stumble out of the crowd and steady myself against one of the tables. I finally see what all the cheering is about. The inmates surround an open area in the rec room where two prisoners were in the middle of a fight.
Everyone is looking at me. Even the fighters.
Jesus. I peer closer at them. It’s Travis and Deacon. Both of them are Woods. I haven’t seen them since cleaning out the Glasshouse earlier in the day. They both look exhausted. Deep cuts and gouges cover their faces, dripping blood into the water.
“Mr. Constantine,” calls a voice.
I look up. Leaning over the second-floor railing is an inmate called Dexter. He’s a Blood, though I don’t think he was ever the leader. More a lieutenant who did what he was told. But judging by the way everyone turns their attention to him, he’s the boss in here.
“Welcome to our courtroom,” he says.
I look around. There are bodies lying off to one side. All of them Woods. “Seems more like an execution chamber.”
Dexter shrugs. “You say potato, I say righting a thousand years of wrongs done to the black man.”
“Right…”
“Don’t stress, though. You’ll get your turn to sacrifice yourself to the cause.”
“I’m not big on charity work.”
“That’s okay. You can just stand there and get killed. All the same to me.”
Dexter turns his attention back to Travis and Deacon. Travis realizes the fight is about to kick off again and doesn’t wait around. He rushes forward, leaping over one of the tables and launching himself straight at Deacon.
Cheers and screams erupt once again. Deacon turns in surprise. Throws his arms up to catch Travis in midair. They collide. Travis’s arm is already moving. A blur. In and out, in and out. I can see something plastic in his hand. A toothbrush, by the look of it. Deacon uses the weight of Travis landing on him to flip him over and body-slam him onto a table. He brings his forearm down, trying to hit Travis in the throat. Travis rolls off the table. He lands in the water and surges to his feet. He’s a wiry guy, fast.
The shouting and cheering is deafening now. Deacon is faltering. The adrenaline stopped him from maybe feeling the stab wounds, but now he looks down at his side. There are about ten small puncture marks there, all of them streaming blood.
Travis grins and goes for him again. He leaps in the air, kicking Deacon full in the chest. They both land in the water. Travis scrambles to his hands and knees, grabbing hold of a struggling Deacon and jamming the toothbrush into his throat.
Jesus. I wince as the volume of the crowd goes even higher. Inmates screaming in joy, others swearing and cursing over Deacon’s body. Small bits of paper change hands. These guys are betting on the fights. God knows what they’re using for currency.
Dexter raises his hands in the air and the Bloods gradually fall silent.
“We have a new contender!” he shouts. “Jack Constantine. Ex-cop, ex-army, ex-husband…” I tense up as this raises a few laughs. “An intense guy, I think we can all agree. Someone who likes to act as if he’s pretty cool. Am I right?”
More cheers. The Bloods closest to me give me mocking shoves, and I stagger forward a few steps into the cleared circle.
> “Now we’ll see what all that experience has done for him. Never let it be said I’m an unfair man. Seeing as our friend here has had training, I think we need to even the odds a little.”
He raises two fingers at someone in the crowd. The Bloods clear a path and two men are shoved forward into the circle.
I’ve seen them around. Sanchez and Jensen. They’re not Woods, though. I think they’re Ñetas. They’re both armed. Sanchez has a bread knife, while Jensen is holding what looks like part of an office chair, a long piece of metal with the coaster still attached. Not sharp, but it’s enough to brain me if it connects with my head.
The two of them share a look, then split up, coming at me from either side. I look desperately around. Most of the inmates surrounding us are armed. I try to grab a metal pole from one of them, but he holds on tight. Those standing next to him punch and shove at me until I’m forced to let go.
I turn back just as Sanchez comes for me, swiping the knife back and forth through the air like he’s a ninja or something. He looks ridiculous. I wait for him to get within reach, throw a dummy punch that he jerks his head back to avoid, then lash out with my foot, kicking him in the nuts. He folds over and I follow through with a fast jab to his face. His head snaps to the side, but instead of going down, he lashes out blindly with the knife.
I jerk back out of reach. This is bullshit. I need a weapon. I lunge at the closest inmate and punch the guy in his throat. He’s holding a smaller version of the cleaver that Ramirez carried around. I grab it from his hand, whirl around, and am barely in time to block a slash from Sanchez’s knife.
I shove him away and bring the cleaver down on his forearm. I grabbed the cleaver the wrong way round, and it’s the blunt edge that connects. I hear the crack of breaking bone. Sanchez cries out and drops the knife, falling to his knees.
Jensen has disappeared. Only one place he can be. I swing the cleaver around behind me and slam the same blunt edge into his windpipe. He drops, gagging, choking for breath.
There’s a change in the noise coming from the crowd, a sudden drawing-in of breath. I whirl around and drop into a crouch. Sanchez’s knife stabs into the air where I’ve just been standing.
Sanchez kicks me, sending me sprawling. The cleaver falls from my hand. He tries to kick me in the face. I grab his foot and twist, then shove him as hard as I can. He falls back on his ass and I scrabble around in the water in search of the cleaver. I hear him coming back, splashing noisily. My fingers curl around the handle and I roll onto my back, taking a chance and launching the weapon through the air.
It hits Sanchez right in the forehead, bringing him to a sudden halt. The shouting and cheering stop. Everyone stares at Sanchez as he just… stands there. Then a trickle of blood slides right down the center of his face and over his nose. He tips forward, falling into the water.
The crowd screams, laughing and howling. I push myself wearily to my feet—
—and something slams into my back. I grunt in pain and stumble forward, half turning just in time to stop Jensen’s chair leg hitting me again.
I throw myself toward Sanchez and yank the cleaver free, then surge to my feet, and slam it hard into Jensen’s ribs as he runs at me. He screams and drops to his knees. Blood bubbles from the huge gash in his side, pooling out between shattered ribs.
The crowd is chanting, “Finish him, finish him.”
I hesitate, trying to catch my breath. I glance up at Dexter. He’s waiting to see what I do.
Three gunshots ring out. Panicked shouting erupts as everyone tries to scatter, unsure where the danger is coming from.
Then something flies into the center of the room, spraying clouds of white powder everywhere. The inmates push and shove each other to get away. The object rebounds off a wall and shoots past Dexter, clipping him on the side of the head as it does so. He goes down.
I scramble into the crowd, staying low. Everything is chaos as the white powder sprays over the rec room. I head for the door leading out of the unit, shoving inmates out of my way. I see Sawyer to my left, sprinting around the side of the wall as she runs through the pod.
The missile drops into the water, spinning around and around, still spraying spirals of white powder. I suddenly realize it’s a fire extinguisher that’s been punctured. Simple as that.
I hold the door as Sawyer bursts past me, then pull the key out of my pocket and shove the door closed. Some of the prisoners try to get out, but Felix is there waiting, and he holds the handle up while I ram the key home and lock the door.
I let out a shaky breath and sink down into the water, my back resting against the door.
“You okay?” asks Felix.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re damn lucky to be alive.”
“Yeah. I could’ve done with some help in there.”
“You had it covered. I was watchin’.”
I turn my attention to Sawyer. “Thanks. Quick thinking.”
“No problem.” She holds up the gun. “Actually, slight problem. There were only three bullets in the magazine. I used them all.”
Felix snatches the weapon from her. “Where the hell did you get that?”
“Carl gave it back to me. Guess he liked me.”
“And you used all the bullets?” He ejects the magazine and stares at it in dismay.
“I didn’t know there were only three left.”
“Neither did we,” I say wearily. “Doesn’t matter now.”
Felix angrily rams the magazine home and throws the gun along the corridor. It spins through the air and lands with a splash.
“What the hell, man? We might be able to find bullets for it.” I push myself to my feet and wade through the water, heading toward the door leading to the inmate passage.
“Just leave it,” calls out Felix. “We’re not gonna find any bullets.”
I ignore him, feeling around with my feet as I get close to the door. My foot bangs into something heavy and I bend down to grope for it. As I do so, something catches my eye. The water seems to be pulling away from me, currents streaming toward the door. I move closer and see that the door has been pushed inward. There’s a gap between it and the frame.
I frown and straighten up. I put my hand in front of the gap. There’s wind, but not much. I crack the door slightly. It opens at my touch, moving inward.
The sounds of the storm grow louder. I can feel gusts of wind, but nothing like what I would be feeling if the whole corridor outside had been destroyed. I open the door wider. Still, nothing. No wind sucking me out to my death. No lashings of rain.
Now I’m confused, because Felix said this corridor had been destroyed. I pull the door wider. The area outside seems to be intact. Dark, but dry.
I hear Sawyer calling out. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s probably telling me not to do anything stupid. I ignore her and step out into the passage. Wind hits me from the left, shoving me forward. I steady myself, turning to face it. The wall to my right—the outside wall of the prison—is still holding together here. The whole thing has collapsed, leaning in against the wall to my left to form a sort of triangular passage.
I duck down and take a few steps, peering into the darkness. There is a blockage up ahead. I crouch down, my hand touching the leaning wall just above my head. Felix was right. The corridor has been totaled, twisted wreckage and bricks lying everywhere, broken stone piled up and blocking the way. Wind buffets through unseen gaps, blowing against my face. I gently prod the rubble, but it doesn’t shift.
I turn around, facing back toward the right. I can’t see from here, but if the corridor is still in one piece going north, we can use it to slip around Kincaid’s unit. We won’t even have to go through Unit 4.
I retrace my steps through the water, moving at a crouch as my head skims against the tilted wall. I move past the door leading back into the passage and keep going, blindly feeling my way. I count about twenty paces before I trip over something beneath the water
, almost falling flat on my face. I throw my hands out to steady myself and hit up against another blockage in the tunnel.
Shit.
I stretch up, feeling along the fallen rubble. It goes right up to the ceiling, but there’s a breeze coming from somewhere. More than a breeze. It’s a steady wind.
I follow the flow of air to a gap in the rubble, then get down on my knees and peer through. There’s light coming from somewhere on the other side. I reach through with my arm, trying to test the thickness. I can feel a breeze on my fingers. I reach up, then down, but all I can feel is cold metal and more bricks.
Shit.
I briefly consider pulling on the rubble, seeing if I can bring the blockage down, but I manage to stop myself. That’s the kind of thinking that gets you killed. Best to just head back to Felix and Sawyer.
I start to pull my arm out. The bricks shift suddenly, the grating sound of concrete echoing around me.
I freeze.
The sound stops. I slowly move my arm again, pulling it back toward me.
Then the whole pile shifts and a heavy weight slams down on my arm. I try to yank it out, but I already know it’s too late. The shattered concrete and debris only digs deeper.
Jesus Christ. Please do not tell me this has just happened. I tug gently, but I can feel the edge of the concrete digging into my skin.
“Hey!” I shout. “Guys!”
Nothing. Where the hell are they?
Seventeen
4:10 a.m.
Sawyer watches Constantine disappear through the door into the inmate corridor. She throws a shocked look at Felix. “Uh…?”
“Don’t look at me like that! I checked the corridor from Admin. There was no way in.”
“Looks like there is now.”
Felix brightens up. “Well… that’s good for us. It means we don’t have to go through there.” He gestures to their right, then suddenly freezes. “For fuck sake.”
Sawyer follows his gaze to find two men standing by the door into Unit 4.
Two men holding M9s.