Schism

by Britt Holewinski

“You killed someone I love today,” she murmured softly into the air just loud enough for Sean to hear. “You shot him in cold-blood because he was trying to destroy something that should’ve never existed. You think Ben did it to get revenge on you for killing his sister? No. He did it because he knew that no one should have control over something so deadly.” And with that, she closed her eyes.

  Even if Sean asked her one more question, she would remain silent. She knew that any further argument with this narcissist and self-proclaimed savior of civilization was futile, as were any additional threats of torture. Sean had killed her love and friend, and sitting a moment longer in the same room with him was more unbearable than any physical torture.

  “Go,” she whispered. “Just leave me alone. Or just kill me and get it over with.”

  He wasn’t used to being told what to do, but he’d never dealt with anyone like Andy before. He recognized that, and it both intrigued and scared him. Accepting defeat over this round of interrogation, he stood up and left the closet.

  Chapter XXVIII

  26 November 2023

  Andy was no longer in the Empire State Building. Infuriated by her unwavering two weeks of silence in the closet, mere yards from his office, Sean grudgingly transferred her to a lonely cell in an isolated part of Sing Sing Correctional Facility located thirty miles north of the city along the Hudson. It was the only facility that he actually used as a prison. He came to visit her once a week to try to force her to speak, but each time she stubbornly remained mute with an occasional glare as her only form of communication.

  After finishing a particularly disgusting meal of cold soup that tasted more like bleach than chicken broth, two guards approached Andy in her cell and informed her that there was someone coming to see her. She was so tired of having to listen to the things Sean had to say. His visits had become relentless and after thirty-nine days of captivity, she was at the brink of talking.

  She heard footsteps approaching, and a moment later came the now horribly familiar clanging sound against the bars of her cell. It was one of the guards taunting her with a baton, the same ones former prison guards had used for decades.

  “Remember…just two minutes,” he said to the visitor before retreating.

  Andy looked and saw a fairly small person moving toward the bars wearing a baseball cap and a large winter coat. She immediately got up from her stiff bed. It’s not Sean, she thought. When the dim light hit the person’s face, she recognized it immediately.

  It was Susan.

  Her eyes grew wide and she started to say something, but Susan stopped her by putting her index finger to her lips. She covertly reached inside her coat and pulled out what appeared to be a large padded envelope and tossed it between the bars. It flew past Andy and landed squarely in the center of her tiny bed.

  “Open it after I leave,” Susan instructed in a whisper. “There’s a letter inside. Read it and memorize it. Then get rid of it. There’s duct tape inside. Use it to hide everything else underneath your bed.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Drugs. Works every time. Danny’s been a huge help, too.”

  Andy cast her eyes down at her feet. “Ben’s dead.”

  “We know.”

  “Sean shot him.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Andy couldn’t hold back the tears, but as soon as they fell she brushed them away and quickly composed herself. “How are Morgan and Charlie? And Katie?”

  “Good, but they miss you. We all do.”

  Andy suddenly thought of Brian. “Did your brother come back?”

  “He did a couple of weeks ago with Scott. You remember him?”

  Andy smiled weakly and responded with the slightest of nods. “I want to get out of here.” Her voice shook as tears appeared once again.

  Susan reached through the bars and squeezed Andy’s arm. “You will. Read the letter. I need to go.” Without another word, she left. She didn’t look back as her footsteps faded away.

  Andy waited nearly an hour before she opened the package. It had been meticulously packed, each object carefully arranged to fit snugly within the envelope. She removed the contents and placed them on the bed: a wristwatch, a key, a small flashlight, a collapsible baton, a small spool of duct tape, the four separate components of a pistol like the one Sean had taken from her, a loaded magazine, a pair of thick rubber gloves, a construction worker’s mask, and a small bottle filled with a clear liquid. The last item was a small envelope with a letter and a hand-drawn map enclosed. She opened the letter and recognized Morgan’s handwriting immediately:

  Andy,

  Today is the 26th of November. In twelve days, on the 8th of December, there will be a power outage in the entire prison at exactly six o’clock in the evening. The 8th is the day of the next guard turnover. The old guards will be replaced by brand new ones who have never worked at your prison before, making it easier for you to escape…

  Andy reread the word a few times…escape…escape…

  Her heart beat faster as she continued reading.

  The watch has been synchronized with ours and shows the proper date and military time. The small bottle contains an acid mixture that Charlie concocted. Starting today, spray the lock to your cell every day, twice a day. Wear the gloves and the mask while doing this, as the acid is highly corrosive. Make sure it doesn’t contact your skin, and try to spray the lock when you think you won’t be visited by guards or anyone else for at least an hour afterward since the smell can be potent. By the time you’re ready to escape, the acid should corrode the lock enough to kick the door loose. Use the gun if you need to finish the job and to protect yourself against the guards. Same with the collapsible baton.

  The key is for the car that we have staged for you about a mile away from the prison. On the map, you’ll find where we’ve parked it. It’s a red SUV without plates and has a full tank of gas. Jim checked everything to make sure it’s running smoothly. There will be warm clothes and food inside. In the glove compartment is a map and directions to get to where we are now living. We are no longer in Princeton.

  On the other side of this map is a sketch of Sing Sing prison where you’re being kept. Study it and memorize the places we’ve marked where you’ll have the best chances of escape if you can’t get to the main entrance. We’ve done everything we can, but this prison is more heavily guarded than Green Haven. Even with the blackout, it will be difficult…but not impossible.

  We all love you and miss you terribly. Good luck.

  Filled with a wholly unexpected sense of hope, Andy read the letter several more times. She assembled the pistol and loaded the magazine before taping it securely under her bed. Then she donned the gloves and mask and carefully applied the acid to the lock on the door to her cell. The smell from the chemical reaction was intense, but she knew she was safe from detection this late in the day.

  She studied both sides of the map before folding it within the letter and slid both papers beneath her pathetic little pillow. Then she taped the mask, gloves, key, flashlight, baton, and the bottle of acid underneath her bed. Finally, she put on the watch and concealed it beneath the cuff of her sweatshirt, the same sweatshirt she’d been wearing since that day at Green Haven. Forty days of sweat and body dander had made it stiff and malodourous.

  ***

  The wound hadn’t healed properly. The risk of infection had been averted, but his range of motion was significantly reduced. Ben could barely lift his arm horizontally without feeling a sharp twinge of pain.

  He was still inside the closet on the eightieth floor of the Empire State Building. By now his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, but the rest of his body was aching and restless. Today he was shaking more than usual and the urge to vomit was acute. It was always like this after the high wore off, but just when the symptoms became almost unbearable, the door would open and the needle would enter his vein. Then the euphoria would come and everything would be perfect for a few hour
s. He would lie on the floor, though sometimes it felt like he was lying on the ceiling looking down or lying on the wall hanging sideways.

  Today when the needle stuck him in the left forearm, he thought of Andy and looked up at the ceiling just before the Fixer closed the door and the light disappeared. He wondered if she was still above him or if she had been moved somewhere else entirely. During the brief moments of sobriety before the withdrawal symptoms paralyzed him, his memory would taunt him with images of their one night together by the fireplace. He would remember the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the smell of her wet hair, and the sound of her voice. He wouldn’t cry, but his eyes would well up as the mental ache over the loss of her existence in his life overpowered him. But then physical pain would set in and the craving for the heroin would begin again.

  ***

  Day fifty-one

  She checked her watch when she woke up that morning. She’d worn it every day since Susan’s visit. Time was of little consequence in prison but today it was imperative.

  Around four in the afternoon, the guards delivered what she hoped would be her last meal in the cursed place: salty vegetable soup and soggy canned pears. Andy grudgingly ate everything on her plate. She would need her strength.

  After pushing her empty tray between the bars and into the barren hallway, she set the alarm on her watch for five-thirty before lying down for a brief nap. An hour later, she awoke with a jolt. It was time to get ready. She tucked the car key and the baton into her pockets and double-checked the pistol. Then she read over the map of the prison one more time and stuffed it into her pocket along with Morgan’s letter. With the gun in her right hand and the flashlight in her left, she sat on the edge of the bed—and waited.

  The cellblock was quiet. Even the usual hushed noises of guards and prisoners seemed to have faded into silence. Or maybe it was just the ringing in her ears.

  At exactly one minute after six o’clock, darkness enveloped the entire prison. Seconds later, shouts of chaos and confusion filled the air.

  Andy stood up and approached her prison bars. She gave the door a heavy shake and the latch loosened a bit but not enough. She turned on the flashlight and pointed the beam toward the bed to suppress its intensity from view by the guards before giving the door a hard kick with the bottom of her shoe. The corroded latch gave way and the door swung open. She stepped into the hallway and ran.

  Scurrying like a cat, she followed her bouncing beam of light as she passed several prisoners in their cells. Wild yells and whistles erupted as she flew by, but the sounds barely registered to her senses. She took a right turn and then a left and ran into two guards coming from the opposite direction. She raised the beam of the flashlight to their eyes, temporarily blinding them, and then gave the one to her right a sharp elbow to the ear, disabling him. Then she struck the guard on her left with a sideways kick to his knee in the same manner as she had opened her cell door. His leg buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, howling in pain.

  In the dark, the prison was an impossible maze to navigate, but she had memorized and envisioned every turn. When she surprised two more guards, she quickly immobilized them with the help of the baton, all the while maintaining her focus on the prison map in her mind.

  When she reached the prison’s main entry, the chaos stemming from the loss of power enabled her to blend in with the commotion of disoriented guards bumping into one another, and without any further obstacles, she squeezed beyond the last door and emerged into the night.

  The cold air hit her lungs and invigorated her body. The Hudson River was a mere hundred yards west, and the moisture in the air was instantly perceptible. It was the first fresh breath she had inhaled in weeks. The sky was crisp and clear, and the light from the waxing moon was enough to illuminate her path to the car.

  Her brain extinguished the interior prison map and shifted attention to the exterior map. She raced through the narrow parking lot to the footbridge that crossed over the train tracks running north and south outside the prison compound. Once on the other side of the footbridge, she headed south along the tracks for almost a mile. The buildings and trees on her right faded away until there was just a thin strip of dirt between the tracks and the river.

  Though weak from nearly two months of incarceration and insufficient food and water, her will propelled her forward as she hopped between the tracks. She stared down at the wooden ties in order to maintain her footing until she passed the old Scarborough Post Office on her left and a tiny parking lot squeezed between the train tracks and the river on her right. The lot was empty except for a red SUV sitting alone in the dark.

  Andy hopped off the tracks and ran to the vehicle, out of breath, and reached into her pocket to retrieve the key. Within a minute, she was steering the SUV east across a small bridge that ran over the train tracks. She drove for a few miles to distance herself from the prison before pulling over along a quiet residential street. She opened the glove compartment and retrieved three different maps and a short handwritten note. After reading the note, she poured over the maps and spotted her final destination, marked with a red X on the third map. The location surprised her.

  In the back of the car, she found the food and water, nearly frozen, beneath a winter coat, a hat, and gloves. Also in the trunk were three five-gallon cans filled with gasoline. Now armed with warmth and sustenance, she read over the maps once more and used the route highlighted by her friends.

  An hour and two bottles of water later, she pulled off the highway and into a strip mall with a drugstore. She went inside the drugstore and began to scour the shelves with her flashlight. Her bladder was about to burst, but she did her best to ignore the intense discomfort until she found what she was looking for.

  When she finally found the right shelf, it was empty. Desperate, she got down on all fours and flashed the light underneath. To her surprise, not one but two boxes of what she wanted were beneath the shelf. After removing her gloves, she pressed her cheek against the dirty carpet and strained her left arm under the shelf until her fingertips barely brushed the first box. With her insides screaming for relief, she freed the box and strained once more for the second, and just as she thought she couldn’t take anymore, her hand achieved a precarious hold on the second box. With a grunt, she finally secured it and scrambled to her feet.

  The bathroom door of the drugstore was locked and there was no time to find the key. She ran back outside and turned on the SUV’s ignition. After flicking on the headlights, she glanced once at her surroundings before squatting down in front of the vehicle. Her bare hands struggled in the cold to open the two boxes. Inside each were two sticks wrapped in plastic. After tearing apart the plastic from each stick, she gathered all four exposed sticks in her left hand and yanked her filthy jeans and underwear down around her ankles with her right.

  Though air chilled her bare skin, the urge to relieve her bladder was far greater. After adjusting her position, she carefully aimed the stream of urine on each stick before tossing them aside on the ground. After pulling her pants back on, she paced around the parking lot and waited.

  As the minutes ticked by, she grabbed one of the empty boxes and read over the instructions on the back. Then she picked up the first stick.

  The pregnancy indicator in the middle displayed an unmistakable symbol.

  END OF BOOK ONE

  Epilogue

  January 2024

  With an average of a quarter-million vehicles crossing between Virginia and Maryland daily, the Woodrow Wilson Bridge was once a traffic nightmare for residents of the Washington DC Metropolitan area. More than a mile long, the bridge spanned the Potomac River at the southern end of the Capital Beltway.

  Riding a motorcycle, Chad’s was the only moving vehicle in sight as he headed east from Virginia into Maryland. The rusted-out skeletons of dozens of abandoned cars, trucks, and SUVs still littered the highway in both directions of the bridge; permanent reminders of a past that would never return.


  Chad zoomed ahead a few more miles beyond the bridge as a cold, winter rain pelted his helmet and jacket. He exited the Beltway and made his way onto Andrews Air Force Base. After parking his bike within a particular hangar, he walked beneath the canopy before stopping directly in front of a UH-1N Iroquois twin-engine helicopter. Daunting in size and scope, the helicopter stood in the same position as it had for over six years, seemingly frozen in time. As he stared up at the impressive machine, a rare emotion stirred in Chad: fear.

  The aircraft seemed to be taunting him, almost daring him or anyone who gazed at it to give it a spin. Without realizing it, he took a step backward. He’d never flown in an airplane before, let alone a helicopter. The sound of an approaching vehicle pulled his attention away, and he glanced at his watch.

  Five minutes early.

  Resorting to habit, Chad reached into his back pocket and pulled out his knife. He began flipping it back and forth between his hands as three people exited the SUV and approached. Two were boys, Brandon and Calvin, each around sixteen or seventeen and both Infantry officers reassigned to Chad. The third individual was a tough-looking girl about the same age. She had shorter, dark hair and wide brown eyes, and she seemed to wear a permanent smirk.

  “Megan?” Chad asked as the girl drew closer.

  The girl gave a half-hearted nod. “Yeah, that’s me.” She didn’t regard Chad, or anything else except the helicopter towering before her. She walked around it slowly, touching a few rivets and joints here and there, her eyes examining the aircraft studiously. “It’s not in terrible shape, but it’ll take some time to fix,” she declared after completing a lap. “I should have it running again in…a month. Two, at most.”

  Chad raised his eyebrows skeptically. “A month? You better not be messing with me.”

  “Maybe two,” she quickly repeated before turning back to the aircraft. “You got someone who can fly this thing?”

  Chad looked at the two boys, one of whom nodded. “Let me worry about that.”