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

to a stop in the kitchen doorway. More inmates have entered the cafeteria. Latin Kings. Fuck. I turn back, Felix and Sawyer following suit, and head for the door that leads out of the kitchen.

The Kings come after us. I let Felix and Sawyer move ahead; then I lean behind one of the ovens and grab the gas hose. I yank it out of the canister, hearing the hiss of escaping gas.

I sprint after Felix and Sawyer. They’ve already vanished through the door into the corridor beyond. I skid out of the kitchen, slamming up against the wall, then turning back and yanking the door shut.

“Run!”

We make it about ten paces before the escaping gas meets the lit stove burners and the explosion hits.

The kitchen door flies off and slams against the wall, embedding itself into the concrete. A fireball explodes out of the room, rolling into the hallway and surging both ways along the corridor, stopping just short of us. Smoke billows out after the flames, thick clouds rising to the ceiling.

Then the sprinklers kick off, drenching us even more than we already are, pattering softly into the calf-deep water, falling from the ceiling like a fine spring shower.

We move away from the kitchen, looking for a place to regroup. If both corridors are out of action, it means the only way we can get to the north side of the facility is to go directly through each of the prison units. The four Gen Pop units will be bad enough, but what about the Mental Health Unit? The Administrative Control Unit? What the hell has been going on in there since the cell doors were opened?

There’s a lot of mess around us. Toilet paper floating on the water, blood, even what looks like shit smeared on the wall. Up ahead we hear the sound of splashing feet. Jesus Christ. Not again.

“Fight?” asks Felix.

“I don’t have any weapons. You?”

He clenches his fists and raises them. “Only these babies.”

“Jesus, Felix. Seriously?”

“What? You don’t think these are lethal weapons?”

“I think even you would have a hard time stopping a knife with your fist.”

Sawyer has already pulled open the closest door. We head inside and I listen through the wood. And it is wood. Thin. Cheap. Not reinforced. Pointless even bothering to lock it.

I hear the splashing sounds approaching. Then people speaking.

“I’m telling you, I heard voices.”

“Could have been anyone.”

“Yeah. And it could have been them.”

There’s a pause, and then the sound of someone approaching through the water. “Castillo wants an update,” says another voice.

“Ramirez, this is impossible, man. We’ve had to fight off, like, five ambushes already. There’s no way we’ll find them.”

“Castillo wants them, so you keep looking. I don’t give a shit how many motherfuckers you have to fight. Understand?”

“Waste of fucking time.” The voice sounds sullen.

There’s a splash and a cry of surprise. Then something slams into the door, throwing it open so it slams into my head. I stagger back and look up in shock. The massive guy I saw back in reception talking to Castillo and Silas is standing in the doorway, holding one of the Kings up by his neck. He must have slammed the guy into the door.

I’m assuming this is Ramirez. He smiles at me, showing uncomfortably small teeth.

“Hey there,” he says.

There are seven other Latin Kings with Ramirez. Even Felix knows those are bad odds. We allow—well, we don’t have much choice, do we?—them to lead us through the corridors until we reach a set of double doors.

Ramirez pushes them open and steps inside. We follow and find ourselves in one of the staff gyms.

It doesn’t look like it has ever been state-of-the-art, but right now it’s a mess. Rusted dumbbells are strewn across the floor, some of them sitting in pools of blood that blossom around them like ink stains in the water. The benches have been pulled apart, the legs and metal supports probably used for weapons. There are a few old weight machines scattered around, a shoulder press, a rowing machine, that kind of thing.

The changing rooms are off to the left. Two separate doors for men and women.

“Boss!” shouts Ramirez.

A moment later, Castillo emerges from the men’s changing room. He breaks into a grin when he sees us.

“My friends! I’m so happy to see you all. You ran off without giving me a chance to say thank you.”

More of his men exit the changing rooms and join the others who escorted us here. They’re all carrying weapons: knives, poles, pieces of broken wood. By the time the stream of bodies stops, twenty or so Latin Kings surround us. I glance nervously at Sawyer. She’s looking scared. Her face is pale, eyes cast down to the water. I can feel the tension in the air, see the inmates throwing hungry looks at her. Felix, God bless his twisted soul, steps closer to her, glares around at the Kings. I said he was an okay guy. He’s never hurt a woman, as far as I know. Only three cops and a hotshot hostage who tried to rush him when he was robbing a bank.

“No need to thank us,” I say. “Just doing our civic duty.”

Castillo doesn’t answer me. He’s looking straight at Sawyer. “I think congratulations are in order. I don’t know how you’ve managed to avoid the attentions of some of the… hungrier inmates, but here you are. Still walking and breathing.”

Sawyer tenses up even more. Castillo senses it. “Relax. I’m not after you. But I have to admit, those keys you’ve got there. They really caught my attention.”

I glance down at Sawyer’s belt, at the sheriff’s keys. Castillo steps forward. I try to get in front of him, but Ramirez grabs me from behind, pushing down on my shoulders so I can’t move.

Sawyer finally looks up, holding Castillo’s gaze.

“I saw you use them when you opened up A Wing,” says Castillo. He reaches out and slowly unclips the keys from Sawyer’s belt. She stiffens, but doesn’t otherwise