by Ethan Cross
“This reminds me of that time in Chicago when the Prophet blasted you with that hand cannon.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
Marcus said, “What does it say about us that memories like that qualify as our good times?”
One of the tactical team announced that they were ready to breach. Sheriff Hall looked to Marcus for confirmation, which Marcus gave with a nod. The group stacked up with the sheriff and the two federal investigators on each end.
As he mentally readied himself to breach, Marcus felt oddly relieved to be out of that conversation and into a situation he could better understand.
*
Maggie and the others rushed up to help secure their new prisoners, who were bleeding and screaming on the ground. She looked at Ackerman, whose face was covered in blood; not his own but from the man who’s ear he had bitten off.
She could think of nothing to say to Ackerman, who just stood there oblivious to the world of humans like a dog who had just pissed on the floor for reasons that had probably seemed perfectly sensible within the mind of the dog.
Warden Powell looked at the carnage and said, “Where precisely did you recruit this gentleman, Agent Carlisle?” Powell’s Louisianan drawl had gotten stronger. He looked pale and exhausted. The exuberance she had seen when he had initially showed her his work was gone. It had been drained away as if someone had pulled the stopper on a bubble bath and all that was left were some surviving bubbles clinging pathetically to life at the bottom of the tub. Powell added, “Was he spec ops or something?”
Ackerman, face still covered in blood, said, “You realize that you’re talking about me, and I’m standing right here. And no, Mr. Powell, I was not a soldier of any kind. I like to think of myself as more of a Jedi Knight.”
Maggie laughed aloud. She said, “First of all, you are far from a Jedi. You’re not even Boba Fett. And second, you’ve never even seen Star Wars.”
Ackerman said, “I read the novelizations.”
She rolled her eyes and directed her attention to the former hostages. They had just rescued seven of the approximately twenty-five guards inside the complex. That was a major win. Perhaps with a united front and Lash in custody they could still end this uprising before it could get its feet under it.
She helped the men up, and they retrieved their weapons from the fallen inmates. She said to the guards, “Have you seen where they’re keeping any other hostages? Or does anyone know where they were taking you?”
The most senior of the correctional officers stepped forward. He was a bearded forty-something man with a beer gut and Bob Newhart eyes. He said, “They’re rounding up everyone still here, guards and staff, and herding them into the chow hall. And I don’t know why, but I heard them say that we all would get new accessories for our wrists and ankles.”
She turned to Ackerman, who was wiping the blood from his mouth onto his sleeve. She said, “You were right. Their plan is to turn the security system against us.”
He said, “That’s a silly thing to say. Of course I was right. But now I foresee an even bigger problem. Mr. Powell, I need to know how your electric restraints remain charged up.”
Powell, with just a twinkle of renewed vigor, said, “That’s actually one of the coolest things about our system. The restraints never have to be hooked up and recharged. They’re powered through a type of inductive charging which uses a magnetic field to wirelessly refuel any kind of device. It’s a technology designed by a company called WiTricity, which was founded by a team of physicists from MIT with the goal of bringing wireless electricity into the mainstream. It’s pretty amazing stuff that will soon be a big part of our everyday lives.”
“I assume that requires some kind of base station to set up the magnetic field. Where are those base stations located?”
“There are four of them throughout the prison in spots that every resident will visit on a daily basis. When they enter those areas, their bracelets and anklets automatically receive juice from the base station. The four current base stations are in the chow hall, the education unit, the yard, and the manufacturing facility. And, of course, we receive an alert if any resident’s restraints are low on power.”
Maggie said, “Why does it matter how they’re charged?”
“Because if I had full control and my fingers on the switches,” Ackerman said, “and I essentially possessed the power of Zeus within these walls, I know exactly what I would do.”
*
The tactical team swept the rooms of the manufacturing facility like the professionals they were, clean and tight and efficient. But they also encountered no resistance. They encountered no one at all. The gate guards had said that Warden Powell had ordered an evacuation of all non-essential personal right before communications went dark.
The western control center was empty. Two of the sheriff’s men stayed behind there to see if they could get security back online, while the rest of the group moved as one through the manufacturing facility toward the residential buildings.
As they worked their way down to the tunnel, Marcus couldn’t believe this case had fallen into his lap only a couple of days ago. It felt like he had been chasing Judas for years.
They arrived at the tunnel’s entrance, and the team leader sent two of his men to scout ahead.
To the tactical team leader, Marcus said, “Do you have enough explosives to blow the door?”
The armor-clad officer said, “We should be able to—”
The noise of automatic gunfire and the screams of combat echoed up the tunnel in a maelstrom of sound and fury.
*
A small security station sitting beside the elevator regulated access to Control Center East and Powell’s office. Every time Maggie had entered Foxbury’s nerve center, the same officer had been running the station from behind the security glass. He had reminded her of Matt Damon, but with red hair and if Damon had gained seventy pounds for a role. Each time that man had given her access, he had been excessively polite and friendly to her.
Maggie didn’t think she had even responded with more than a nod. She had been too wrapped up in her own problems to have paid any attention to him.
When the doors all unlocked and all hell broke loose, the elevator guard would have been an easy target. She noticed blood on the floor. The rolling desk chair was on its side. It didn’t look good, but she hoped that Ginger Matt Damon had simply been taken hostage.
She found the control for the elevator. A big green button marked UP. She pressed it and then joined the others in front of the elevator. The doors buzzed and pinged and parted. She was the first inside. Powell told two of the guards to stay there and hold the station.
The elevator doors closed, and Maggie felt the elevator rise. But it was a painfully slow two floors. The elevator was old and creaky, but it was also sturdy, a big industrial-designed people-mover. Not fancy but dependable. She felt a bit of a kinship with it. Just like the old elevator, she also felt like she was struggling to keep up.
They had plenty of time to prepare for what they would find above. She and Ackerman stacked up in front of the opening with their rifles at the ready. She could feel someone behind her, just a bit too close. It was Jerry Dunn, still holding her snub-nosed .357 Magnum and looking anxious.
The eastern control room was dark except for the glow of the computer terminals and the display wall, which all showed blue Powell Prison Technologies logos and error messages. Maggie and Ackerman fanned out and gave a cursory sweep of the space, while she directed Dunn to check the conference room, which occupied one of the control room’s uppermost corners.
She was about to finish with her side of the room when Dunn screamed and cursed. He stumbled out of the conference room, gagging and hunched over as if he was going to be sick. He slammed the door shut behind him.
Maggie ran up the stairs, reopened the door, and discovered what had upset Jerry. The conference room table was piled with bodies. She didn’t look long, but she guessed it was a c
ollection of four technicians and two correctional officers. The smell was already overwhelming. She eased the door shut.
Jerry Dunn punched the wall and said, “I’m tired of seeing friends die!”
Maggie rubbed his shoulder and said, “I know, but hold it together for me. I’m going to need your help and your head in the game.”
Dunn wiped his eyes and smiled. “Sure thing, coach.”
She gave his arm another squeeze, and then she joined Ackerman on the next level of the tiered room. Ackerman sat at a chair in front of one of the terminals with his feet up on the desk. His hands were behind his head, and his eyes were closed.
She said, “What are you doing?”
Ackerman didn’t open his eyes. “Guarding the control room.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“I’d like to see you try to steal it from me. Also, there is a young woman hiding inside a desk in the next row of workstations.”
Maggie shined the flashlight of her phone in that direction, but she saw nothing. She listened. She heard nothing. Maggie said, “How do you know that? Do you smell her or something?”
Ackerman opened his eyes and growled deep in his throat, like a dog deciding whether to bark or bite or any combination of the two. Maggie found the mannerism disturbing from Ackerman because it was something she had seen Marcus do on occasion. She didn’t like seeing similarities between the two, biological brothers or not.
Ackerman said, “No, little sister, I don’t smell her. Well, actually, I do smell her a little, but the big giveaway are the Hail Marys she keeps repeating. Of course, she stops now. It’s like when your commissary card stops working, and then when you take it to the guard it starts up ag—”
“Frank, I get the idea. You can go back to being deeply disturbed now.”
“Sure thing,” he said and placed his feet back onto the desk and closed his eyes.
Maggie listened again, but this time she heard some soft crying. She traced the sound back to a small inset in the computers covered by some panels that matched the desk’s surface. Lisa Spinelli was tucked into the space amongst a jungle of cords.
Maggie said, “Ms. Spinelli? Lisa, listen to my voice. You’re safe now. Relatively speaking, of course.”
Spinelli said, “Give me another thirty seconds.”
“We need you, Lisa.”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Okay.”
She looked for the lighting controls. They were in the far corner of the room in a poorly planned location, which should have been fixed during the retrofit. But then she remembered hearing that this control room had initially been four floors of offices and treatment rooms. During the retrofit, they had combined four floors. So she supposed the controls were actually just poor planning or lazy electricians. Once she reached the controls, she was able to light the room a bit better. With the space now lit, Maggie noticed the blood for the first time. It coated several spots and was splattered everywhere in a pattern indicating arterial spray. Something horrible had happened here. And this wasn’t the work of revolting inmates. This was someone who took pleasure in death and blood and suffering. Someone like Ackerman.
When the thirty seconds were up, Lisa Spinelli’s head popped out, and she rejoined the world. She had only been standing there on trembling knees for a couple of seconds when Powell caught sight of her. He had been stabbing at one of the computers in the next row. Powell ran down to Spinelli and took her up in a big hug. He said, “I thought you were dead. But I was too scared to look through that pile of bodies and find out for sure if you were there. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Yeah, me too. I need coffee.”
He patted her back and said, “We’ll get you some coffee, darling. No problem.”
Maggie said, “Ms. Spinelli, can you tell me what happened here?”
Spinelli swallowed hard and said, “I didn’t see anyone get killed. I just heard it. But it sounded awful. There must have been a whole crew of them.”
Ackerman said, “This was all the work of one man.”
Maggie hadn’t noticed him move from his relaxed position in the desk chair, but he was now on his feet and looking down on them from the next tier.
Maggie looked back at Spinelli and said, “You didn’t see anyone?”
“No.”
“Or where they went? It’s strange that anyone would take this place and then abandon it.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Ackerman said, “Where were you when this happened?”
“I was in the server room, below us.”
“But the elevator—”
“You can only access it through a maintenance hatch in the back of this room.”
Ackerman laughed. “Ms. Spinelli, you’re a lifesaver. I was about to start shooting my way through the floor.”
Maggie said, “What are you talking about?”
“Earlier, while you thought I was slacking off, I was actually listening to see if the person who did all this is still here. I didn’t want a Trojan horse hiding among us.”
“And you found a Trojan horse?”
“Yes, I believe so. I heard something directly below us, but I didn’t know about the server room. Our friend is probably waiting down there for an opportune moment.”
“You know who’s down there?”
“His name is Demon.”
*
Maggie stared at the two access hatches for the server room. One was five foot by five foot wide and designed to drop in equipment. The other was a two by two tube and ladder like you’d find leading to lower decks on a ship. Spinelli had already explained the layout of the room. Although, Maggie wasn’t excited at the prospect of dropping down into a sealed room with nothing but server clusters and the man who had just murdered a bunch of people and stacked them on a table like he had hunted them for supper and was just waiting to skin and cook them.
She covered the hatch with her rifle and then gave Dunn the nod to open it. When he did, she said, “We know you’re down there. Leave any weapons behind and come up slowly. You have nowhere to go. We have Tasers and will subdue you by force if necessary.”
She waited for a moment and then heard movement below. A voice replied in a thick Scottish accent, “No need for that. I’m coming up.”
Watching the man called Demon ascend from that hatch was one of the most surreal experiences of Maggie Carlisle’s life. Everything had a reddish tint because of the emergency lighting. The hatch cover swung away from them, toward the wall. The ladder rungs had been positioned so that Maggie would immediately see Demon’s face when he emerged. And when that happened, the killer certainly looked the part. He was shirtless and coated in blood. His dark hair was slicked back with it. It was under his fingernails and in his nose. His feet were exposed, but he wore the blood as shoes. Even with the gore, she could see the scars beneath, and those were more disturbing than the blood. The scars spoke of a long and checkered past. Lots of wins and losses. Lots of battles. Lots of times he killed and survived to kill again.
Maggie looked across the room to where the guards had herded Lash and his lieutenants. She was fine with holding the ULF leader like that, but this Demon was a different story. They would have to come up with something more secure.
Demon ascended slowly and then stood with his hands raised, his arms bent into non-threatening ninety-degree angles. She felt his gaze slithering over her. Then this creature—which a few seconds prior had emerged from a hole in the ground covered in blood like some kind of under-dwelling monster—smiled and said, “I can see why you like her, Jerry.”
Everyone kept their weapons trained on Demon. Maggie said, “Friend of yours, Officer Dunn?”
Jerry replied, “No, and I think I would remember him. I haven’t even seen him here at the prison. He must be a new transfer.”
Demon again looked at Maggie. He said, “She does have a certain something, Jerry. I’ll at least give you that. You may have found a keeper this time.
That last girl you screwed up a mission for was nothing special.”
With more than a little apprehension, Warden Powell stepped forward with a set of restraints they intended to place around Demon’s wrists. Maggie didn’t let her aim waver from Demon’s heart. If he sneezed, she would end his day.
Without allowing her aim to falter, she said, “Jerry, what’s he talking about?”
She allowed a glance in his direction. Jerry’s gun was pointed at Demon, but his eyes were on the floor.
Demon said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Then, with only a slight hesitation, Officer Jerry Dunn grabbed Spinelli by the neck and, yanking her over as a human shield, placed the barrel of Maggie’s .357 against Spinelli’s temple.
Jerry said, “Weapons down. All of you.”
*
Maggie stared at the floor as they were lined up and restrained in the same spot where they had been holding Lash earlier. Now, with their roles reversed, Lash and his men had secured all of them and forced them to their knees.
To Demon, Jerry said, “I was just waiting for the right moment. I don’t even know why you’re here. Are you checking up on me?”
Demon said, “It’s not you who’s brought me. Just keep your mouth shut. We’ll talk privately later.” Demon continued, turning his attention to Maggie, “The kid genuinely had you fooled, didn’t he?”
She glared at Jerry, who wouldn’t meet her gaze. She had noticed that his speech impediment had faded away completely. Although the limp seemed to be real. She said, “He was very convincing.”
Demon smiled and said, “I know, he’s so cute. You just want to put him in your pocket and take him home and let him sleep at the foot of your bed. Notice that I did not say in your bed. He uses that innocent routine on the girls, though don’t let him fool you. He’s not as dopey and helpless as he wants you to think. He had raped and murdered eleven women when I found him, and I helped him hone his craft on a few others. He’s incredibly capable. But he’s a killer and a sexual predator who fixates on women to the point of obsession. You’re not the first. Not even close.”