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

my head, wet prison fatigues billowing against my body. Debris flies through the air. Broken wood, stones, bricks even, thrown out of the hurricane wall like missiles.

The eerie silence that accompanied the eye of the storm is gone. The wind howls and shrieks, whistles in my ears and roars like a demon. The light drops suddenly, like someone has flicked a switch. I shield my eyes and look up. The blue sky has vanished, shifted way over to my left. Roiling gray clouds toss and writhe above me, the wall of the hurricane folding into them and starting to drop down toward me like a collapsing wave.

I try to move faster, but for every step I make, I’m pushed two steps to the left.

There’s a huge downed tree about fifteen feet ahead. I remember that tree, an enormous sycamore that cast shade over the grass outside one of the rec yards. Now it lies half submerged in the water, pointing toward the Glasshouse.

I bend low and aim straight for it. The wind grows stronger, louder, screaming in my ears, slicing water into my face so hard it feels like glass shards.

The tree doesn’t seem like it’s drawing any closer. I keep my feet firmly on the ground as I try to reach it. The wind picks up even more. I’m shoved upright, almost thrown over onto my back. I drop into the water, knowing that if I’m tossed even a few feet back, I’ll never make it to the Glasshouse.

I keep my whole body except my head submerged, pulling myself along the ground, clutching at rocks and grass, anything I can grab hold of.

The hurricane wall is about thirty feet away. The door into the Glasshouse is fifty feet to my left. I almost scream in frustration. There’s just no way I can get ahead of the wall. Not at this pace.

My fingers curl around the roots of the tree. I grip them tight, yank myself forward, pulling myself arm over arm until I’m able to grab the trunk. I use it as a windbreak and keep moving, dragging myself up to the branches. By now I’ve covered ten feet. I glance at the hurricane wall. It’s twenty-five feet away.

The water level drops as I climb the last bit of the hill toward the Glasshouse. I keep going until the water sits below my thighs, then my knees.

And that’s when I can run.

I put everything I have into that final sprint. The wind tries to fight me, tries to shove me away. It’s like a huge hand trying to throw me back into the water.

I see Felix and Sawyer waiting at the metal doors to the loading bay, watching with wide eyes as I draw closer. I also see the looks they throw over my shoulder and I know the hurricane wall is closing in. There’s a terrific crashing sound, and a second later, a massive tree branch hits the water directly in front of me, almost crushing my head. I leap over it and keep going, putting everything I have, everything I’ve ever had, into that last burst of speed.

I make it with barely a second to spare.

I leap forward and splash to the ground. As Sawyer and Felix drag the shed doors closed, I roll onto my back, gasping for breath, staring up at the corrugated roof as it billows and rolls like waves on the ocean.

I feel hands dragging me up, hear Felix shouting at me. I struggle to my feet, following them through the door and finally—finally—into the Glasshouse itself.

I slam the door shut behind me and slump against it.

We made it.

We fucking made it.

“Jesus Christ!” shouts Felix. “I mean… did you see that? I absolutely cannot believe what we just did.”

I feel a tremor of excitement rush through my body. It’s tangible, contagious, like a jolt of adrenaline to the heart. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Ever since I walked down those stairs and found Amy lying in the living room.

I straighten up, pull out my gun, and eject the magazine. Five bullets left. Plenty. I ram it back in place, stick it in my waistband, and start walking.

“Constantine?” says Felix. “Where you going?”

I turn back. “Where do you think? To find Wright and Tully.”

Sawyer looks at me with disappointment. I’ve just confirmed her fears.

“What about the door?” says Felix.

“You guys can do it. I’ll find you later.” I start walking again.

“Jack!” shouts Sawyer.

“I’m doing it, Sawyer. You always knew I would.”

“I can’t let you do that, Jack.”

I can hear a shift in the tone of her voice. Something there I haven’t heard before.

I turn around to find her pointing her gun at me.

“I need you alive, Jack. I can’t let you out of my sight.”

Twenty-Four6:40 a.m.

I stare at Sawyer in confusion. “What are you talking about? Need me alive for what? What difference does it make? I’ll take Wright and Tully out. I’ll even open the cells for you. Help you be the Good Samaritan and get the inmates down to the tunnels.”

“No. I need to keep my eyes on you.”

Felix tenses as if getting ready to move for her gun, but I hold out a hand to stop him.

“Let her talk.” I shift my attention back to Sawyer. “Why? Why do you need to keep your eyes on me?”

“Kincaid.”

“What about him?”

“You framed him.”

She knows about that? Did I tell her? I don’t think so. Did Felix tell her? I glance over at him, but he gives a subtle shake of his head.

“He deserved it.”

“I’m not saying he didn’t.” Sawyer takes a shaky breath. “My little brother was running in his gang at the time. He was just a kid. Twenty-two. Pulled in by Kincaid’s lieutenants. I was trying to get him out. He was finally talking to me. He was ready to come live with me. Ready to get clean. Then you turned up. My brother got taken down with Kincaid. He’s serving ten