Fortified Dreams

by James, Hadena

  I took a stance that rather looked like I might know some form of martial arts. It was on my list of things to do, had been for years, but the closest I’d ever come was a couple of kick boxing classes when I was in high school. I just wasn’t much of a joiner and classes required participation. Personally, I was more of a brawler by nature anyway. I didn’t believe in fair fights. They got you dead, and I didn’t really want to be dead.

  Deacon moved first, coming at me, swinging his arm. The blade slipped along my bulletproof vest. Kevlar didn’t cut easily, but it did make an awful noise as the metal scraped along it. However, it hadn’t really protected me. The Kevlar vest added about three inches to my front and back section. The fact that he hit it just meant he had hit something standing three inches from my body.

  I reached up, grabbed hold of his arm, and kicked out with my booted foot at the same time. The boot connected with his leg. I was a fan of this move. The legs are among the sturdier parts of the body, but if they are disabled, the user doesn’t move much. They mostly flop around. My boots had two-inch soles because a half-inch plate of steel that ran through them. They were heavy as hell and took some getting used to, but I had been wearing them for a couple of years now and no longer noticed the weight.

  Deacon yelped as the kick landed on his shin. He swung again, blindly. I easily avoided it, let go of his arm and stomped down with all my weight on his foot. Inmates got shoes, but they weren’t real shoes, they were more like rubber soled booties. I ground my boot into his foot, which broke his bones with a crunch. He slashed and caught my leg. The wound I cauterized hours or days ago began to bleed again. Keeping my foot on his, I shoved my shoulder into his chest, pushing him backwards. We collided with the cinder block wall, several drawings fluttering down around our feet. I stomped on the other one. He screamed at me. The pain was evident on his face. I stepped backwards, taken aback by this. He was a psychopath. The calm should have descended upon him as it did me or Malachi, but it hadn’t. His pain was proof that it hadn’t.

  He slashed at me again, but it was weak and half-hearted, hitting nothing but air, not even coming close to me. I moved in, grabbed his wrist, twisted it around my arm and snapped it. The bone jutted out of the skin, the knife clattered to the floor, and his screaming became even louder. He wasn’t fighting with me any longer. He was trying to cradle his arm. Shit.

  I grabbed him around the waist and began dragging him out of the cell. A psychopath in the calm, I would have just left there, but he was just bait for other serial killers. I could leave him there to die. It would not have disrupted my sleep, but it wouldn’t have been fair. I firmly believed in fair. My personal Jiminy Cricket whispered that it would have been wrong. I walked faster, as he dragged his feet and sobbed. If he was feeling, then everything I was doing to him currently hurt. That brought me some comfort considering he had wanted to kill me.

  Patterson

  Patterson watched Aislinn struggling to move Deacon Priest. She was taking him to the cafeteria, a place of protection. He didn’t understand why, considering they had obviously just fought and Deacon had lost, but she was. It had to have something to do with Nyleena’s influence or maybe her mother’s. Aislinn had morals, a rarity for a sociopath. They weren’t hers, per se, they belonged to those around her and she had adopted them. He had been like that once too, before his sister had turned him from family man to monster. He appreciated his granddaughter a little more.

  He also continued to watch. She was vulnerable carrying the larger killer. They were both easy prey for anyone that wanted to make that attempt. Most wouldn’t, but there were a few that couldn’t think their way around a circle let alone figure out that killing Aislinn was a terrible idea.

  Of course, someone on the outside had not been able to think that very same thing through. If they had actually thought about it, this mess wouldn’t have happened. Sending men to kill the SCTU or VCU or Eric or himself, those were not smart moves. They had also given him some very useful information. One or more US Marshals were in on it, at least to a degree. If there were no conspirators among the Marshals, then the mystery man would not have made it into the prison to talk to Yuri Kozlov. The riot would have been put down before turning into an uprising. The Marshals inside the Fortress were not men who stood around, waiting to see if the inmates could work it out on their own. They dealt with every problem as it arose, swiftly, fairly, and in a language the inmates could understand. No, someone with a badge had not reacted to the riot. He had let his fellow Marshals be taken hostage. He had helped create this situation.

  Patterson was determined to ferret out that individual or individuals. He might not care much for his fellow housemates, but they deserved a little more than this. The Marshals deserved even more. They were putting their lives on the line to protect each other and one of them was a traitor. If justice were truly blind, she wouldn’t think twice about them turning on him once he was discovered.

  However, how did one tempt a US Marshal within the walls of the Fortress to betray his fellow Marshals? These were the only people that understood the SCTU. They were all former military or lifetime Marshals. They were dedicated and loyal to each other, to justice, to the preservation of human life. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be on this detail. This wasn’t a cushy job with lots of perks. It was a tiring job. It required hypervigilance. It demanded attention to detail. It commanded respect, not just by others in law enforcement, but even among the prisoners. The Marshals treated the serial killers and mass murderers within these walls like humans, even when they didn’t deserve it. It was why so many were loyal to the men that guarded them.

  Malachi and Gabriel moved outwards, helping Aislinn with Deacon Priest as she neared the entrance to the cafeteria. Several people were missing, such as Caleb Green, Xavier Reece, and Christian Hunter. Patterson moved out into the opening that led to the cafeteria.

  “Have you lost people?” He asked, looking only at his granddaughter.

  “If you are asking if they died, the answer is no.” Aislinn looked at him. “You should get in here before someone else comes down this hallway.”

  “Most of them are busy. Where are Xavier, Caleb, and that new one?”

  “Reece and Christian Hunter are outside. Green went to do what you did. Have not heard from him yet,” Aislinn answered.

  “You left the doctor outside?” Patterson pointed to her leg.

  “Yes, this is minor. We needed someone in the guard towers. Reece got nominated,” she answered. She was not going to tell a room full of killers that she had demanded Xavier be left outside because of a bleeding disorder. Patterson applauded her loyalty.

  “So, Caleb was last seen where?”

  “Entering an air duct near the lobby,” Malachi answered. “I’ll go with you to look for him.”

  “No need,” Patterson waved him to stay. “I have certain privileges that you don’t. Besides, at least one man in uniform is a killer. This all started with the death of Yuri Kozlov. Before he died, he came to Eric and me to let us know that a strange man had come to see him this morning. They wanted us killed. My guess is they poisoned him because he was talking to us. He vomited up blood and died. Now, there is no way a strange man got into this prison without the help of a US Marshal. They met in the visitor’s room, which means he has to be a guard. If another Marshal or an FBI agent had walked in a strange man, they would have met with Yuri in an interrogation room. I’ll find Caleb; you find the traitor.”

  Patterson set off the way he had come. He had little doubt where Green was. The man was a psychopath, not an idiot. The control room of the secure ward was the most secure location in the prison. If he had dropped down from the ceiling like Patterson, he was still there with the door shut firmly, and his gun trained on the ceiling. Those inside the prison had no way of knowing that Patterson had done a few other things while he was roaming about, like put the prison in lockdown. No one was getting out of here without some serious help. Even the warden cou
ldn’t remove the lockdown. Only Peter Kingsworth could do it. Patterson had no doubt that Peter was currently outside the prison, waiting for word that control had been restored. He would be pissed as hell that Malachi Blake was trapped inside, but there were worse things in life. Besides, Malachi was in very little danger, considering the company that surrounded him.

  He entered the secure ward. Caleb Green couldn’t be seen, but that wasn’t surprising. The secure ward only had small portal windows. He looked in one and rapped on it at the same time. A head appeared. Caleb did indeed have his gun drawn. He stared at Patterson through the small window.

  “I’m here to take you to the rest of the group,” Patterson yelled, knowing that Caleb probably did not have the sound turned on inside the control room. The door opened and Caleb jerked the smaller man inside, shutting it behind him. ”I’m here to take you to the rest of the group.”

  “I heard you.” Caleb pointed to the console. “I do know how to run most of this equipment. Why?”

  “Why am I taking you to the group or why me?”

  “Both,” Caleb responded.

  “Well, I’m taking you to the group because I would prefer both my grandchildren survive this situation. As for why me, well, Malachi offered to come, but I’m more determined than he is, so I volunteered. Besides, I knew where you were.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m the one that opened the flood gates for the real monsters to swim among the killers of this prison. When they told me you had come to do the same, I knew you would still be here. You hadn’t been when I was in here, and the ceiling had been intact at the time, so you had to have arrived after me. Your chances of surviving a run in with one of these guys by yourself are slim, so you stayed put.”

  “I will never understand how you out psychopath the psychopaths.” Caleb shook his head.

  “There isn’t much to understand about it. I’ve had it a lot longer than most of these guys, been using it a lot longer than most of these guys, and I have things to live for, unlike most of these guys. It’s why you and Malachi are so good. You have things to live for aside from your next shot of adrenaline. When the only thing you have to live for is killing, it is very hard to stay alive. The body might keep going, but everything else just withers away until you are a shell of the monster you used to be.”

  “I’m not sure I buy that,” Caleb told him.

  “Fine, I do have one other strength,” Patterson admitted. “I should be here and not in the general population.”

  “That I believe. No eighty-year-old man should have your spryness.”

  “Eighty-four,” Patterson corrected. “I turned eighty-four on my last birthday. Most of these guys don’t blend in because of the growth hormone problem that accompanies their psychopathic tendencies. I don’t have that, exactly, so I do.”

  “Ah,” Caleb nodded a few times. “You didn’t get the height or weight, but you got the super human abilities.”

  “Yes,” Patterson answered. “And it works a little like the Fountain of Youth. I might be eighty-four, but I might as well be forty-four.”

  “That’s terrifying and interesting,” Caleb said.

  “I would ask that you keep it a secret.” Patterson looked at him.

  “I’m guessing Xavier knows.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Aislinn doesn’t.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not going to let that cat out of the bag. She might shoot the messenger.”

  “She might or stab him repeatedly,” Patterson agreed.

  “Eric has it too.”

  “Yes.” Patterson looked at him. “Aislinn does not.”

  “I know. If it wasn’t for her psychopathic construct, she’d be just another sociopath and have far more bad days.”

  “You’ve seen her brain,” Patterson was slightly surprised by that.

  “I’m a doctor, just like Xavier. We have been known to compare notes.”

  “Malachi versus Aislinn.”

  “Malachi, Aislinn, myself, and the rest of the psychopathic population. We keep wondering what makes us different from them. In Ace’s case, it’s obvious. Malachi and I, not so much.”

  “Yes it is.” Patterson looked at the younger man. “You are a high functioning psychopath. Same for Malachi. What makes you different is your desire to find out what’s different. These guys are all brilliant, but when it comes to understanding themselves, they couldn’t care less. That is why you and Malachi are on the outside and they are on the inside. We should go. At least one of the US Marshals that guards the Fortress let this happen. I have concerns about his safety.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Caleb hit a button and the door opened. “You should have started with that. I hope they haven’t already lit the roasting pit.”

  Ten

  Patterson’s ominous words ran through my head again. Somewhere among the protected was a traitor. There could be several outcomes, some more severe than others. Eric was already gazing at the faces of those in Marshals’ uniforms. His gaze never landed on Dominic Lazar. It skimmed past him, meaning Eric trusted him.

  “Ace,” Gabriel whispered. I turned around to see Malachi and he were bent together in conference with Demetrius Lazar.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Tell her,” Gabriel said.

  “For a couple of months, my brother has said that something hasn’t been right inside this place.” Demetrius Lazar looked at me.

  “My brother did not even take notice of Dominic Lazar,” I said. “So, Eric trusts him.”

  “Okay, does that get us anywhere?” Gabriel said.

  “Seriously?” I asked. Malachi raised an eyebrow.

  “Eric might not like cop killers, but he doesn’t like dirty cops either,” Malachi said.

  “I know that, I’ve heard the stories,” Gabriel said.

  “So, if Eric trusts Dominic Lazar, he has a reason to do so. He wouldn’t just give that trust to him blindly,” Malachi said.

  “The blood on Dominic’s uniform,” I said, “it is Eric’s. I would say that when things went south, Dominic tried to get Eric to safety because Eric was wounded.”

  “How badly is your brother wounded?” Demetrius asked.

  “I do not know,” I answered and turned away from them. I grabbed Eric, wrapping an arm around his stomach in an embrace. My other hand searched his back, found the hole and I stuck my fingers in it. The blood was dried, the wound clotted, but it went deep. As I removed my fingers, they were slick with a fresh coat of his life’s fluid. Thankfully, Eric was like me and had plenty to spare. “Do you want a doctor or a quick and dirty?” I whispered to my brother.

  “I’d rather have a doctor, if it’s all the same to you,” he answered. “And no, it doesn’t hurt.”

  “I did not believe it did or else you would have winced when I stuck my fingers in the hole. Do you know what it was?”

  “A knife of some type. It disappeared from Alejandro’s hands after he fell. I don’t think it was taken by an inmate.”

  “Who was near you?”

  “Lazar pulled me under the table when the riot really got started, but Lazar isn’t the kind of man that would betray his fellow Marshals without a damn good reason. Besides, he was protecting me. There are five new guys, only four in this room. I don’t know where the fifth disappeared to. My first bet is it’s a new guy. After that, I’d say it was someone on their way out and very few of these guys are close to retirement.”

  “You saw Yuri?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know he helped me with a case?”

  “No,” Eric said. We were still standing awkwardly close.

  “He did. The Russian mob sent me to him.”

  “Yuri’s brother, Stanislav Kozlov is one of the big boys. Stanislav’s son is a sadist and probably belongs behind these walls.”

  “A man going by the informal Slavi sent me to Yuri. I guess he and Stanislav Kozlov are one and the same.”

  “
That would make sense. Yuri’s name was Yaroslavl. They were twins, but fraternal.”

  “You were on good terms with Yuri.” I was not all that surprised.

  “Yes, we both got things done and he agreed with me. While he wasn’t fond of being stuck in the Fortress, he understood the necessity for it and he would never have agreed to stage an uprising against the guards. The marshals service has always been good to him here. He doesn’t have the comfortable lifestyle that he did when he was working as a contract killer, but he was allowed to keep paint and a few paint brushes in his cell for his art. He was deemed non-dangerous by the warden and staff.”

  “Non-dangerous?” I asked.

  “We each get assigned a level of risk. Yuri was a non-dangerous risk, meaning he wasn’t going to start butchering anyone, including the staff. I’m low risk, Patterson is high risk. Brent Timmons is high risk. People like Deacon Priest are extreme risks. Then you have the secure ward, where they are deemed unsafe for contact. Staff does not interact with them even to give them food. They have trays and doors with levers and locks and pulley systems so that the trays and doors can’t be manipulated from inside.”

  “Why are you low risk? I have heard about your added body count.”

  “I like cops, not killers,” Eric said.

  “I’ve been told that is an unhealthy obsession.”

  “What?”

  “Hating yourself,” I told my brother, finally letting go of him.

  “I’m aware of the dichotomy of my situation and the irony. Would you like to focus on finding your traitor?”

  “I’m,” I told him. As I had been standing behind him, prodding his wounds, my gaze had been focused on the crowd. They had polarized to a degree. It was just a natural tendency to split into groups of people you trusted when an unknown person was plotting against you. As the moments ticked by, the groups had become more distinctive. Surprisingly, the Marshals had sort of paired off in small groups with killers.