Let them rot! All great artists had failures leading up to great successes.
The Warden pressed a button on his desk and waited. "Come in."
Coming through the door, Shanks strode forward until he was standing in front of the Warden's desk. Hands behind his back, he looked like a soldier standing at attention.
"Have you found her?" asked the Warden.
"No. But Shanks confident that he will."
The Warden slammed his hand on the desk. Gritting his teeth, he tried to rub some feeling back into the extremity. "She must be found. This," said the Warden, pointing to the air around him, "will come crashing down if we do not find her."
"Nothing on camera?" asked Shank.
The Warden shook his head and rose from his seat. "No. The cameras are not picking up anything. She thinks she is smart. But I think not. We shall find her. We must find her before the first shipment leaves. If she escapes before then..."
Walking towards his viewing portal, the Warden looked out of it. The blackness of space greeted him like a lover, offering to take away all of his troubles. How easy would it be to just take a ship and leave?
"Shanks, Do you remember what it was like before?" asked the Warden.
"Shanks try to forget."
"Well, I also try to forget. But sometimes, I remember. I am haunted by those memories. Memories of always looking over your shoulder. Never sleeping because so many people want you dead. Always fighting, never resting. Moving, moving. Because if you don't..." The Warden turned around and snapped his fingers. "I try and forget those times, Shanks, I do. But they don't allow me to. Do you know why?"
Shanks shook his head and said nothing.
"Because it's my way of surviving. If we forget where we came from and what we did to get here, then we get lazy and sloppy. All this will be easily taken away from us. So because of that, Shanks must find her. Oh, he must. Because if he doesn't, bad things will happen," said the Warden
"Bad things?" Shanks whispered.
"Bad things. You remember those bad things, don't you?" The Warden smiled.
As he nodded his head, Shanks's bottom lip quivered.
"Good. Then find her. Find her quick."
Shanks turned on his heels and made for the door.
"Oh, one more thing, Shanks. Give the order to send Mr Jones to the particle chamber I think he has spent long enough in our company. Oh yes, he has," said the Warden.
38
Phoenix sat on the cold prison floor, legs crossed, head bowed down. It could have been a few days or a few weeks. Time just seemed to crawl ever so slowly, he wasn't sure anymore.
What a sad state of affairs things had become. Freedom was so close at hand, he could have tasted it. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. But now?
He had done the one thing he swore he never would--let his guard down and trusted people. He had allowed them to see some of the cards he was holding. He hated to admit it, but he had grown close to Plowstow and Freyan. How could he not? He had spent so many days in their company, it was just bound to happen. He couldn't change that, no matter how much he wanted to.
Back home, it was easy to distance himself from people. He had the space to. But in here, piled together like a pack of sardines, well...
The nights were long and cold and people just spoke to one another. There wasn't much else to do but talk, share, and trust.
How alien that word was to him--trust. It had cost his parents their lives. They always wanted to help out, were always willing to share, to offer their home to any and all customers. He remembered the day well. He could still feel the rain on his shoulders.
Rain poured from the heavens, soaking Phoenix from head to toe. Slightly drunk and worse for wear, Phoenix stumbled towards the road where his folks lived. He had been on a party bender for the last few days, losing his phone in the process. It had been a wild one. The cocktail of drugs he had taken was enough to put an elephant under before it went into surgery.
Phoenix's foot slipped on something, threatening to trip him up. Looking down, he saw a beer bottle rolling away. Was that his?
He scratched his head as he walked after the bottle to get a better look. Bending over, he toppled forward but caught himself before he face-planted. Lifting himself back up, he took a big gulp of air to try and calm the war going on in his stomach.
"Easy, boy. Easy. Not much further to go."
Phoenix stumbled onwards, trying to recall the past few days' events, but it was like looking through a greasy window. Every so often, he got glimpses of something clear, but it would slip away again in the forest of his mind, spooked, frightened.
He ran his tongue across his teeth. It came back gritty.
Pulling a face, he tried to spit out the taste, but failed miserably. Looking towards the heavens, Phoenix opened his mouth and tried to catch as much rain as he could. Using the minuscule amount of water he had collected, he gargled and spat it back out.
"Much better."
He dreaded the talk he would get from his father. It would either be about how he was wasting his life, or questioning his plans for the future. He could hear his father's voice now, telling him he was too old to be acting like this. That he needed to grow up.
The old man had his best interests at heart. But the faster and more carefree you lived life, the more you could see and do. Never knowing where you would end up one minute to the next was a true adventure in itself.
Phoenix looked down at himself. Shirt torn, shoes scuffed, watch missing, phone lost, he could kind of see the old man's point.
"Oh," said Phoenix, remembering something.
Patting his pockets down, he could add missing wallet to the list. Okay, maybe the old man had more than a point.
Phoenix pulled out a pair of red panties from his back pocket and stared at them, mystified. Shrugging his shoulders, he stuffed them back in his pocket and kept on walking.
Blue flashing lights caught his attention up ahead. Squinting, Phoenix tried not to look directly at them. Head down, he continued his journey.
The lights weren't moving. They seemed to grow brighter the further he walked down the road.
Phoenix quickened his pace. He didn't know why, but this road led to a dead end, and the only houses belonged to people he knew, people that had watched him grow up. Arms pumping, he went into a brisk power-walk. The war in his stomach had died, the victor picking its dead foes' bones.
Police tape blocked his path.
Nobody in his life knew where he lived. He had made sure of that. The people in his business would use that information against him. Maybe he had been too careless. Mind going back to his lost wallet, he ran through its contents. Had he left something in there that would lead anyone here?
As the blue lights from the police car bounced off the puddles, Phoenix could clearly see the cops were at his parents' house.
It was like he had found the world's best hangover cure. His mind was clear in an instant.
As he moved past the tape, someone tried to grab his shoulder but he brushed them away and kept going. He felt something else pull at him, stronger this time, but he ignored it. His single focus was on the house ahead of him, the house he had grown up in, the house he had loved, which held all his most precious memories.
Phoenix stopped and looked around, seeing three faces staring at him. They were saying something, but he couldn't understand. They all sounded muffled, out of focus. A face turning red appeared to be shouting at him, but the words didn't penetrate his skull.
Phoenix pointed at the house, then back at himself. Pushing past the officers once again, he moved forward.
Something hit him hard from behind. He went down in a heap of limbs. Acting on impulse, he began to fight back. He could see his body moving, but he was powerless to stop it. He was above it all, watching. Simply a bystander to the events happening around him.
"Phoenix! Phoenix!" A familiar voice called out his name.
He stopped and
allowed himself to be dragged off the ground. His auntie was in front of him, crying and shaking. She said one word, and it was like a spell broke the silence.
"Dead!"
Phoenix held her close while she cried on his shoulder. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. Allowing a neighbour to take her away, it was only then that Phoenix had found out the truth.
"How did it happen?" Phoenix asked one of the officers.
"Your parents found a Mr Rogers going through their things. He was staying with them and in the process of stealing all their possessions. Do you know why they would allow him to stay at their place?'
"My folks were kind to a fault. They would give you their last drop of water, even if they were dying of thirst," said Phoenix.
"Well, it appears they stumbled across him and things turned nasty. The neighbours said they could hear shouting, then a woman screaming, then silence. Shortly afterwards, an eyewitness saw Mr Rogers running from the house and down the street. We're in the process of looking for him now," said the officer.
"Did he hurt--did he...?" stuttered Phoenix.
"No, sir. Your brother and sister were staying with your aunt at the time. I believe they're still there."
Phoenix closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.
"Do you have any idea were Mr Rogers would have gone?" asked the officer.
"None," lied Phoenix.
"Well, if you think of anything, don't hesitate to contact us," said the officer, walking away.
Phoenix opened his eyes and brushed away the tear that ran down his cheek.
Later, he found Mr Rogers and made him pay. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't supposed to be; it was what needed to be done.
Metal scraped against metal and the door to his cell slowly opened. A hooded figure stood in front of him.
"Mr Jones, your time is up."
39
Phoenix stared into the cells he passed. Eyes that appeared to glow stared back at him. Phoenix could feel the menace in their stares as he was led down the corridor. Cell after cell, each one had a pair or more of eyes looking out.
Staring, watching, waiting.
The silence of the place made it like a cemetery after dark.
Phoenix tried to lift his hands up to scratch his face, but it was no use. Gravity handcuffs weighed him down and made movement with his hands almost impossible. Feeling a slight push at his back, he continued down the path.
The robed figure had said nothing more since they first met, and Phoenix couldn't see his face or hands. It didn't matter anyway; he was hardly going to begin a conversation with his executioner.
Three guards formed a semicircle behind him, as their eyes went from shadow to corner, corner to shadow. The echo of footsteps loud as gongs was the only sound that could be heard.
The smell of urine and faeces was so strong it made Phoenix gag. "Doesn't this place ever get cleaned?" he asked, not expecting a reply back.
Another push in the back signalled for less talking and more walking. Taking the hint, Phoenix continued on his way.
A disfigured limb shot out from one of the cells. Leaping back, Phoenix stared at the thing in shock. It appeared to be a hand of some sort. Or it was, once.
Now it resembled nothing more than a claw, as the digits on the hand had fused together. Open sores could be seen all over it. Phoenix didn't know if whatever the prisoner had was contagious, but he didn't want to find out. Avoiding the limb as best he could, he carried on.
This is it, huh? This is how far you got? What a shame.
When they reached their destination, a pair of doors slid away, revealing a bleak room. The walls were grey and bare. Nothing occupied it apart from a single chair in the middle of the room. The chair was made out of silver and stood at odds with the drab room. It had what appeared to be a shower head above it.
"Really? The electric chair. Can't you space travel? Isn't this all a bit...backward?" asked Phoenix.
The hooded figure said, "Oh, this chair doesn't work like that. Oh no. It's quite ingenious, really. What it does is break up living cells into particles, thus destroying you cell by cell. Judging by the screams of the prisoners who have partaken of it, it appears to be quite painful. The practice has been outlawed, but the Council turns a blind eye to this sort of thing. You know how it is. Politics, ay?"
Phoenix looked at his executioner with a raised eyebrow before shaking his head and looking towards the chair.
"Shall we?" asked the executioner.
"You first," said Phoenix.
The barrel of a gun poked him in the back, prompting him forward.
Was this the finish line? Did his journey really end here?
A slight tremble in Phoenix's hands made him clutch them into balls. Phoenix looked towards the executioner, who pointed at the chair.
"Don't make me force you. That's no fun for anyone, trust me."
Phoenix looked into the dark hood of the executioner, searching for a face, but he couldn't see one. Sitting down as a king would on his throne, Phoenix stared ahead.
"Well, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" asked the hooded figure.
"It all depends on who's doing the sitting now, doesn't it?" said Phoenix.
"I guess you're right."
As the executioner moved behind him, Phoenix's thoughts turned to the events that brought him here. Could he have done anything different? Not confide in Plowstow, for one. But he'd needed his help and without him, the escape plan would have been almost impossible to pull off. But with "almost impossible," he still had a chance. Now? What chance did he have to save anyone?
His luck had finally run out.
"You're going to feel a little prick, then it will all be over. I'm joking, I'm joking. The pain will be unbearable and you'll probably go insane before you die. But if one can't have fun while they work, what's the point of working at all?" said the executioner.
Phoenix heard metal descend towards him from behind. He could hear the device hum with power. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Don't I get any last words?" asked Phoenix.
"No."
"Oh."
"I am all done. This is going to hurt," said the executioner.
Then it went black.
40
Utter darkness greeted Phoenix's senses.
Is this what it feels like to die? Am I already dead?
As these thoughts shot through his head, he tried to calm his mind and assess the situation. He moved his hands, and they still felt heavy. Gravity cuffs still attached--check. As he shifted his body, the hard, cold surface of the chair signalled its presence.
"What in the universe has happened? Why can't a job ever go smoothly? Is that too much to ask?" said the executioner.
One annoying prick--check and double check.
"I guess the universe has--"
Boom!
A blinding light filled the chamber as the doors were blown inward. Moving with some force, the doors slid forward like two bodies doing the moonwalk. Stopping halfway in the room, they fell forward and landed with a bone-shattering bang.
"Other plans for me," said Phoenix, finishing his sentence.
"What is going on? What is--" said the executioner.
A dull hum sounded above their heads, silencing them all. With it came a faint, red light that shone from overhead. The eerie glow it cast made the room appear like it was bleeding.
"Sir, it seems we've lost power," said a guard.
"I can see that, you fool! I want to know why! The backup engines should have taken care of this. I want to know what happened to those door--"
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
All eyes stared at a small, round object as it rolled inside the room.
"Take cover!"
"Why--"
Whatever the hooded figure was about to say next was cut off as a blinding flash erupted from the round ball.
Phoenix shut his eyes, but he could still see a flash of light und
er his eyelids, like the dawning of the morning sun.
Screams broke the silence that followed. Phoenix heard high-pitched sounds echoing through the room. Something heavy fell close to him. His vision was blurred; he still couldn't see clearly.
"Request backup! Request backup!"
"I'm trying, but the coms don't appear to be working."
"Try again--"
Another high-pitched sound cut the voice dead.
"Shit!"
"Come in, please come in! We're taking heavy fire in the particle chamber, we need assistance. Do you copy? Please--"
As silence once again rained down on the room like a tropical storm, Phoenix's heartbeat went into overdrive. His breathing was ragged; he could smell burnt flesh and death dancing together like tango dancers in the room.
"He's in here, I have contact," said a familiar female voice.
Now able to see, Phoenix saw the hole where the doors had once been. Twisted metal stuck out from the entrance like outstretched fingers.
Saoirse swooped into the room with what appeared to be a gun of sorts. Even with the red glow from the lights, Phoenix still found it hard to follow her movements. Her skin blended in perfectly with the darkness.
"You alive?" asked Saoirse.
"You took your sweet time!" said Phoenix.
"You should be thankful I didn't let you rot here. How did you know we would come for you anyway?"
"I wasn't a hundred percent sure, but I hoped... What made you change your mind?"
"Plowstow. You have him to thank for me being here," said Saoirse, pointing to Plowstow as he came through the door. "Plowstow sent a message through the cells saying he needed to talk. He told us you wouldn't give us up, that you wouldn't tell the Warden anything. That was noble. For that, you have the thanks of my bloodline. After we learned what happened, we rescued Freyan. He and L are waiting for us in a hangar. Hopefully with a ship all ready to--"
Breakout: (Space Outlaw 1) Page 14