Breakout, Paul Herron [chrome ebook reader .txt] 📗

I wade to a door about six feet away and peer through the window into the corridor beyond. Most of the lights have been destroyed. The thick Plexiglas coverings have been ripped away, the globes smashed or stolen. Some of the casings have been ripped right out of the ceiling, the wires dangling from circular holes. Paper and torn books float on the surface of the water like leaves in a lake. There are more blood smears on the walls.

My stomach clenches up. This is reminding me too much of Afghanistan. My whole body is screaming at me not to go any farther. To find a place to hide, to find weapons, anything except go forward.

But just like then, I’ve got no choice. I have to stop thinking. Just act.

I take a deep breath and pull the door open. I half expect to hear someone shout out. Or jump at me brandishing a knife. But nothing happens.

I step into the passage. The light above the door is gone. The area surrounding me is cloaked in shadows. Sawyer follows. I wonder how she must feel. If she gets caught by the inmates…

I can’t help glancing over my shoulder at her. Christ, if they get hold of her…

“What?” she says softly.

I shake my head. “Listen, I don’t want to sound patronizing here, but you need to stay out of sight, okay? Even if someone attacks me… you need to keep hidden.”

“A gallant murderer. How sweet.”

“I’m not a murderer,” I snap. “Don’t call me that. I punished someone who killed my wife and baby. And I’d do it again. I will do it again. Soon as I get to the Glasshouse.”

She looks at me, surprised. “I thought we were going to the Glasshouse to find shelter. Are the men who killed your wife there?”

“They are now. And there’s no reason I can’t do both.”

She gives me a long look, but doesn’t respond. There’s nothing to say.

We start moving again, wading slowly along the passage, making our way toward the corridor that connects A Wing to Admin and Ravenhill itself.

There’s a faint rumbling sound that’s bothering me. It’s just on the edge of hearing, but it seems to be getting stronger. It’s not the wind. It sounds different. Somehow… deeper. I’m about to ask Sawyer if she can hear it, when we hear frantic splashing coming from up ahead. Then:

“No…!” A shout trailing off into a scream.

I grab Sawyer and push her through the closest door. I catch a brief glimpse of shelves of books—the library—then turn and quickly close the door. Not all the way. I keep it open just enough so I can see through the gap.

A figure sprints into view, his face twisted with fear. A wolf-like howling echoes from the passage behind him, trailing away into a series of yips.

The guy sees the library door. He leaps forward and tries to push it open.

I don’t let him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sawyer whispers fiercely. She tries to pull the door open, but I hold it firm.

“Let him in!”

“Don’t be stupid.”

I use my hip to shove her aside and put all my weight on the door. The guy on the other side is pushing hard, forcing the small gap wider. He realizes that someone is actually holding the door closed, and he peers inward, locking eyes with me.

“Let me in!”

“I can’t.”

“They’re going to—”

Four figures suddenly appear in the corridor, ululating in triumph. They leap through the water. One grabs the terrified inmate by the neck, slamming his face against the door. I jerk back, trying to hold it steady.

The attackers throw the guy to the floor, then lay into him. Kicking him in the face, the ribs, stamping on his head. He starts out screaming and moaning, but it’s only a few moments before he falls silent.

Still, the beating continues. Then one of the figures pulls out a long bread knife that must have been stolen from the kitchen. He leans down and slices it across the unconscious figure’s throat. Blood pools out, slowly spreading and darkening the water.

The four inmates watch for a few moments, then stroll off, laughing and joking as they go.

I turn—

—straight into Sawyer’s slap.

I stagger back, eyes wide with amazement. “The fuck?”

“The fuck? The fuck? You just let that man die!”

“There was nothing I could do!”

“You could have let him in!”

“And then what? Those four would have come after him. We’d all be dead now. I was protecting us.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off.

“Save it. Look, I’m sorry you feel shit, but it was him or us.”

“You’re responsible for his death!”

I frown, but not because of what she said. There’s something…

“All you had to do—”

I hold up my hand. “Shut up.”

Sawyer actually takes a step back to get a full look at me, as if she’s not sure she heard correctly. “Did you just…?”

“… tell you to shut up? Yes! Now shut the fuck up! Listen!”

She stops. We both stand in silence, surrounded by books and water that I suddenly notice is almost up to my knees.

“What…?” she says.

“Look.”

I point to the water. Ripples are spreading toward the center of the room. I put my hand on the wall. I can feel it thrumming, a vibration that’s growing stronger by the second.

Sawyer and I lock eyes. I can hear a noise now, a low roar that rises above and beyond the constant background cry of the hurricane. It hits me like a heavy bass beat in the chest.

Something is coming.

I feel a primeval fear in the very depth of my being, the fear of being at the mercy of something I have no control over.

“What is that?” whispers Sawyer.

The ripples in the water are growing larger, faster, lapping up against my legs. I can feel the vibration through my feet now. The roaring sound is growing louder and louder.

I look around desperately, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. We’re trapped.

The noise increases in volume,