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

Others see it too. Panicked screams break out. Shouts, swearing, people fighting to get to the top of the passage, trying to get away from the windows.

I look around for Sawyer, see her about six feet away. I barge my way through the inmates, grabbing hold of her and half dragging, half pushing her toward the door.

“Get out of the fucking way!” I shout. “Move!

We reach the front of the crowd and shove the door open. At least it wasn’t locked. The surge behind us almost gets us both trampled. We manage to dodge to the side as the inmates cascade through the door into the reception area like sand through a funnel.

The water in here is only up to my ankles. There are gasps and cries all around as people trip or are pushed to the floor. Some of the inmates rush toward the huge desk against the far wall, climbing on top of it in fear that the water will keep rising.

I wait by the heavy door while the others spill through. I peer through a window in the corridor and watch the wave coming. There are still inmates struggling toward Admin. There’s no way they’re going to make it.

The storm surge hits, slamming into Ravenhill.

The whole building shakes. The lights flicker, dim, switch off, then struggle back to life again. I can hear the groaning of tortured stone, the distant crashing of something collapsing.

The inmates still in the corridor stand frozen. They’re all hoping it will pass over, wash over them like the tide washing over rocks at the beach.

But it doesn’t. One of the windows in the passage cracks, splinters, then bursts inward. Leaks spring up all along the walls. Water pours in through the rapidly expanding holes, rising to fill the corridor.

The inmates scramble over each other to get to the door. They’re not going to make it. The water is rising too fast. As I watch, part of the wall by the bottom door collapses. Water and wind surge in. Another section of wall crumbles away. The wind screams through the now exposed passage. A few stragglers are immediately plucked up and sucked into the boiling clouds.

There’s no choice. We have to close the door. I try to push it shut, but a fierce gust of wind slams straight into it and sends us all flying back to land on our asses in the water.

The scream of the wind and the storm is deafening. Lightning flashes. I can hear distant explosions. Collapsing metal, grinding concrete.

The lights flicker one last time and go out, plunging the reception area—and, I assume, the entire prison—into darkness.

I get up and pull myself to the door. Others join me and we try to shove it closed against the wind. I’m looking straight into the storm. Straight outside. The entire A Wing is totally destroyed. Just… gone.

The inmates who made it through before the hurricane flattened the corridor push themselves to their feet and put their weight against the door. We push against the wind until we finally manage to shove it closed.

The screaming wind drops slightly in volume. Sawyer hands me the keys, one of them already selected. I ram it home and turn it in the lock. I can hear ragged breathing behind me, the splashing of water.

Someone farther into the reception says, “Fuck…” in an awed voice.

I lean my head back against the door. All that stands between us and the hurricane is about three inches of metal. I really don’t think it’s going to be enough.

I doubt this place will hold for three hours, let alone five.

TenSaturday, August 2812:30 a.m.

The prison generators kick in. The lights flicker to reluctant life, but none of them are at full strength. They cast a thin, watery glow that fails to chase away the darkness. The generators are at least thirty years old and the last time they were serviced was about eighteen months ago. I know that because Henry and I were the ones who did it. The prison was too cheap to hire actual contractors.

There’s a heavy silence inside the reception as we all listen to the raging of the hurricane. It overpowers everything, a constant booming and crashing, waves of rain slamming against thick windows, random objects pummeling into the roof—I figure road signs, trees, fences, parts of houses, anything that can be plucked from the ground.

And now we have to deal with the storm surges. I’m not sure how they work. If that even was a storm surge. Maybe it was just floodwater pushed into a wave by the wind? I have no idea if they’re going to keep coming. The whole building is vibrating and creaking under the strain.

Some of the inmates are already leaving, moving deeper into the prison to get away from the crowds. Probably a smart move. Others are still distracted, staring through windows at the hurricane outside. But as soon as they realize they’re not about to die, old grudges are going to be settled.

“Gotta admit, I’m not feeling a hundred percent safe hanging around in here,” says Sawyer.

Jesus. Sawyer…

I glance around the room. No one is paying any attention to us—to her. But it won’t be long before they remember she’s here. Probably best for me to hide my face too. Cops, ex or not, aren’t well liked in prison.

We move around the wall, staying in the shadows, sticking to the outskirts of the crowd. I keep my eyes on the inmates, trying to block Sawyer from view with my body.

I catch a glimpse of Castillo. He’s talking to two huge men: Silas, and another guy who looks like he’s around six-five, a solid mix of bulk and muscle.

They stop talking and turn to look at the door we all just came through. Then they start scanning the inmates, searching for something.

Searching for someone…

Shit…

I speed up my pace, heading for the closest door. Sawyer keeps up and we exit the reception area into a