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

Mexico and has made landfall at Johnson’s Bayou, Louisiana. Her path will take her through Alabama, where winds will reach 190 mph (305 km/h) as she passes into Georgia. The cyclone is forecast to increase from Category 3 to Category 4 by Saturday, August 28. Hannah will negatively impact any Josephine-related evacuation plans of the states to the east and south, including Florida. Those remaining are advised to wait for her to pass into the Atlantic before attempting evacuation.

WARNINGS

If not already evacuated, find shelter immediately.

$$

Forecaster Mills

TwoFriday, August 277:00 a.m.

Keira Sawyer sits in a hard plastic lawn chair, the kind usually found out in the garden. Her hands twist nervously in her lap as she listens to the wind raging outside the office window. The blinds are closed. She’s not sure if it’s because whoever’s office this is doesn’t want to see the weather, or just because they haven’t settled in for the day yet.

It was a mistake to come in. She knows that now. Hell, she knew it this morning as she was driving through flooding roads, passing lines of traffic going in the opposite direction. Stupid. Dangerous. Insane.

But she had no choice.

The door opens abruptly and a short woman wearing a CO uniform enters. She’s holding a clipboard and looks stressed and annoyed. Even more so when she sees Sawyer sitting there.

“I thought he was messing with me.”

Sawyer hesitates. “Who?”

“Wilson. He said the new girl was here. I said don’t be crazy. No one’s stupid enough to start their first day during a hurricane. And yet here you are.”

Sawyer lets the insult slide. The woman has a point. “I… didn’t think I had a choice. I mean, no one told me not to come in.”

The woman stares hard at her. “You must really need this job.”

Sawyer nods. “I do.”

The CO sighs. “Fine. I’m Martinez. Looks like I’ll be your tour guide today. Come on.”

Sawyer stands up. Martinez looks her up and down. Something about what she sees makes her even unhappier.

“What do you weigh? One hundred ten?”

“One-fifteen. Why?”

“Height?”

“Five-six.”

“Jesus. They’re going to eat you alive.”

Sawyer straightens up slightly, defensive. “I’m tougher than I look.” She instantly regrets saying it. Even to her own ears it sounds childish and whiny.

“For your sake, honey, I sincerely hope so. Come on.”

She follows Martinez out of the office and into the corridor beyond. It’s empty, lit by harsh fluorescents recessed into the ceiling.

“Stay close,” says Martinez. “Seriously. Don’t get within grabbing distance of any of the prisoners. You’re new. You’re cute. Fuck, they’re going to have a field day with you. Do not, under any circumstances, show fear. Understand? Don’t look uneasy. Or panicked. And don’t smile. Don’t try to be their friend. You do any of that, they’ll remember. Word will spread and they will use it against you.”

Sawyer hurries to keep up with her. “How am I supposed to look?”

“What?”

“You said don’t show fear. Don’t smile. What am I supposed to do?”

“I bet you get hit on a lot in bars, right?”

“I suppose.”

“The look you put on when you want to show you’re not interested? That’s how you’re supposed to look.”

“You mean resting bitch face.”

“I mean permanent bitch face.”

Martinez leads her along the corridor, through a door and into an open-plan office area. There is staff here, some sitting, some just passing through, heading into corridors that lead into other parts of the prison complex. Martinez heads straight for a set of double doors on the far side and shoves the bar down to push them open. Sawyer follows after, letting the doors slam shut behind her. The corridor stretches far ahead of them, so far she can’t even see the end of it.

“Okay, so the Ravenhill Correctional Facility is about two square miles total. It’s big. Right here we’re in the administrative building. It’s the hub of the prison. It’s way bigger than you’d normally see in modern prisons. Basically because it was left over from the army days.”

“Army days?” Sawyer asks, confused.

“I’ll get to that. In Admin we’ve got a couple religious resource rooms, a staff gym, warehouses for storing commissary and other supplies, a loading dock, an armory, an indoor firing range, the sheriff’s office, staff offices, you name it.”

“But—”

Martinez half turns and holds up a hand. “Just wait. Questions later. You’ll need your breath.” She turns back again, striding along the wide passage. “This right here is the staff corridor. It travels from Admin all the way to the staff section on the north side of the prison. We just call the building up there Northside. There’s a cafeteria there. More offices. Staff changing rooms. Same thing we have on the south side of the prison. Depending on where you’re assigned, you’ll either park your car Northside or down here.”

“You said this is the staff corridor?”

“Yeah. No inmates allowed.”

“How do you transport them?”

“There’s an inmate corridor on the other side of the prison. Exact duplicate of this one, travels from Admin all the way to the Northside too. Make sure they stay in the red line when you’re on escort duty.”

The corridor they’re moving through looks like it’s never-ending. It stretches into the distance, seeming to grow narrower the farther it goes. Martinez catches her look.

“Yeah, you’re not gonna have any trouble getting your ten thousand steps in. Not here. I’ve done forty on a shift before.”

“Forty?”

“Thousand.”

“Steps? But that’s like…” Sawyer does a quick calculation. No, that can’t be right, can it? She looks at Martinez in shock.

“Twenty miles? Yeah.”

“Jesus.”

“Tell me about it. Okay, listen up. I’m going to explain the layout of this place. Heading north of Admin, we have seven separate living units.” She gestures to the wall to their left. “They’re all in there.”

“Units? Not blocks?”

“No. Some of the older inmates still call them that, but no one else. The first four complexes are general population—Gen Pop. Just your average criminal doing his time. Not nice people, but they don’t give us too much shit. Or if they do, they know