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

Sawyer hesitantly reaches out for the gun. As her fingers curl around the grip, Felix lunges for Kincaid.

Kincaid is expecting it. He slams a fist into Felix’s face, then launches an uppercut as Felix falls. Cassidy and Veitch grab him and yank him back into the chair.

Kincaid has a glint in his eye as he bobs around like a boxer, striking the air with his fists. “Still got it. That’s the problem with you big guys. You don’t think. You think your weight is all you need. See how wrong you are? That’s a lesson for you. Free of charge. You’ve got about three minutes to ponder it.”

He stops bouncing around and squats down, leaning his elbows on the table as he turns his attention back to Sawyer.

She slowly lifts the gun, tilting it forward to locate the bullet in the chamber.

“Uh-uh,” says Kincaid, pushing the gun sideways. “No peeking.”

She takes a deep breath and slowly raises the gun to her head. The tears start flowing again. This time she can’t stop them.

“Look at me,” says Felix. “Sawyer. Look at me. Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

She nods and takes a shuddering breath. She focuses on his eyes. They’re actually quite kind. She’s never noticed before.

He nods gently.

Sawyer pulls the trigger.

The click is so loud in her head she thinks for a moment it really is a gunshot. But then she hears Kincaid laughing and she realizes she’s still staring into Felix’s eyes.

He looks briefly relieved. But the look quickly fades as he stares at the gun, knowing it’s his turn next.

There’s a screech of rending metal coming from somewhere in the staff corridor. The whole unit shakes. It feels like an earthquake, the water surging and slapping up against the walls.

Kincaid waits until the rumbling dies down, then smiles expectantly at Felix.

Sawyer can see that Felix fully expects the bullet to be in the chamber this time around.

He curls his fingers around the grip and slowly raises the gun to his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

Eighteen4:20 a.m.

It’s been five minutes since I acted like a four-year-old kid sticking his head through the railings at a shopping mall and got my arm trapped. Five minutes. And no one has come to look for me. Which means Sawyer and Felix are in trouble.

I’ve managed to pull the sleeve of my prison suit up over my elbow, but it hasn’t done anything to help. The rubble itself is weighed down and off balance. No matter how I move my arm, the concrete and metal shifts and settles again.

The outside wall of the corridor, the part that has fallen diagonally over the passage to my left, is making ominous grinding and crumbling noises. Every thirty seconds or so, I hear concrete splashing into the water and the wind in the corridor increases in strength.

This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And I once tried to leap over a pickup truck coming at me at 40 mph after drinking half a bottle of Jack. But I was hoping there would be a way through. If I’d just been able to get past the debris, we could have avoided Kincaid altogether. There might even have been a clear path along the inmate corridor all the way to Northside. I could have made it easier for everyone.

Could’ve, would’ve.

Moron.

I need some kind of lubrication. Water sure isn’t doing it, but blood might. I steel myself, take a deep breath, then start pushing and pulling my arm against the jagged concrete. I wince at the pain. My arm isn’t actually moving; just the skin, shifting and scraping and tearing. I grit my teeth as the concrete digs in. I can already feel blood, warm against my arm. I keep sawing it back and forth. I don’t want to go too deep, just enough to see if it works.

After a minute or so, my forearm is slick with blood. I brace my shoulder against the rubble, pushing up in an attempt to lift it slightly, and pull. Pain explodes through me, slicing up my arm as the broken concrete digs in. But I can feel my arm moving slightly.

I can also hear the rubble shifting. Stones tumble from somewhere deep inside the huge pile. A few small rocks fall and hit me on the head.

Shit. No choice now. I pull as hard as I can, screaming against the pain. My arm starts to slide free, slowly, too slowly. Rocks tumble down, splashing into the water beside me. I pull harder, feeling my skin tearing away. I grit my teeth as more concrete falls. A huge triangular slab of roofing dislodges from the top of the pile, tumbling end over end to slam into the water about two feet from my legs. I pull harder. I can feel the whole pile shifting ominously. I yank my arm free and throw myself backward, scrambling through the water as the roof and walls of the inmate corridor slide and fall, the entire section of corridor tumbling down. The wind and rain roars inside, the destroyed corridor now completely exposed to the elements. I push myself to my feet and sprint back for the door, making it through just as the outside wall collapses inward. I get a brief glimpse of lightning and solid sheets of rain before I slam the door closed, holding it in place until I find the correct key to lock it again.

The wind buffets and shoves against the door, rattling it in its frame. I take a shaky breath and examine my arm. The skin has been ripped away, exposing patches of fat. The whole of my forearm is dripping with blood. I rip the right sleeve off my prison scrubs, wrapping it around my arm and tying a knot using my left hand and my teeth. Fuck, but it’s painful.

The passage is empty. I glance through the doors opening off the corridor. No sign of