Hideaway (Book 2): An Emp Thriller Read online

  “Listen,” Larry said, raising his voice over the crowd. “We'll wait for the fight to begin and then head inside.”

  James nodded as the two guards were brought front and center on stage. Primal taunts and whistles and stomping grew more fervent by the minute. The former high-ranking guards wore tattered uniforms. Their faces were already bruised and bloodied. They stared down in a daze, clearly detached from their surroundings.

  Brant stepped between them as their shackles were removed. “Gentlemen,” he began. “Are you ready?”

  Several inmates in the audience laughed as the two guards cautiously looked around.

  Brant then placed a hand on the captain's shoulder. “I know that it's been a rough couple of days, but there's hope in your futures.”

  Both men looked away as though they had no real understanding of what was going on.

  “This is how it's going to work,” Brant continued. “When I ring the bell, you must fight each other. Anything goes, as long as it's entertaining.” He waited for a response as both men stared at the stage floor with indifference.

  The captain held up a hand and cleared his throat.

  “Hold on!” Brant called out, waving his arms to the crowd. “The captain has something to say.” He looked at Captain Riley in anticipation. “Please. Speak.”

  The captain glanced around, scanning the audience on both sides of them. “Let us go...” he said.

  “What was that?” Brant said, leaning in.

  “I said, let us go,” he said louder.

  Jeers rang out from the dissatisfied crowd.

  “We're not fighting each other,” Lieutenant Graham added defiantly.

  “Oh yeah?” Brant said, amused. “I'd reconsider your objections.”

  Captain Riley stared back at Brant with sheer contempt. “You let us go and stop this madness right now.”

  The roaring boos only grew louder as Brant raised his arms again for calm. “Let's not lose our heads. It's only fair that we give them a choice in the matter.” He looked from Riley to Graham and back as the unruly crowd showed no signs of slowing down.

  James squeezed Larry's arm. “We're not going to get a better chance.”

  Larry nodded, his attention still on the stage. He looked at James. “Okay. Let's move.” They stepped forward, ready to rush through the courtyard, when a single gunshot stopped them in their tracks. Larry dipped behind a burn barrel with James crouching low beside him. The crowd of inmates dropped to the ground as well, out of instinct.

  James peered around the barrel and watched as Brant lowered his pistol into his side holster. “Everyone just calm down,” he said, laughing loudly. “We'll get this party started either way.” A large, bulky inmate suddenly climbed onto the stage. His head was completely shaved bald. He flexed his tattoo-covered muscles as he paraded around the stage.

  “I'm gonna make it easy,” the inmate began. “They can fight each other, or they can fight me.”

  Applause and whistles signaled the crowd’s approval as the two officers looked down without responding. The more James watched, the more he felt they should do something to help the officers but knew they couldn’t. Marla and Carol remained their main objective. Brant strolled the stage like a mediating showman, trying his best to quell the wide-range of emotions on display, now tinged with anger. “Nash, we appreciate your input, but let's not rush things. Give the ranking officers a moment to make a decision.”

  “Fuck that!” he said, circling the two men. “Did any of these pigs give us the courtesy when the shoe was on the other foot? No! They treated us worse than dogs. Now, brothers, it's time to even the score. Justice for the new order!” Cheers erupted as inmates threw bottles over the stage in a hail of glass that shattered against the concrete walls.

  “Gentlemen,” Brant said, placing a hand on both officers’ shoulders. “If you won't fight each other, I might just put Nash in the ring instead. Things could get very interesting.”

  “What do you say, brothers?” Brant shouted, making a sweeping gesture in their direction. “Shall we let Nash even the score?”

  The crowd threw up their arms, with wild cheers echoing throughout the courtyard. The officers looked at each other with true fear in their eyes. Nash stepped forward and basked in the applause around him, clenching both of his hands above his head and then taking an exaggerated bow.

  James turned urgently to Larry. “We have to stop this.”

  Larry glanced at him, surprised. “Not now. Stick to the plan.” Before James knew it, Larry had stepped quickly past him, offering a simple command to keep up. With Larry exposed in the courtyard, James panicked and looked around, but no one had seen them yet. The complete focus of the inmates zeroed in on the stage. Nash circled the officers, playing the crowd like a TV wrestler, flexing his muscles and grinning to the crowd. Brant took an amused step back to watch the spectacle unfold.

  “Who do you want to fight first, Nash?” he asked.

  Nash stepped in between the officers and then pointed directly at Captain Riley, licking his lips. “I want this one right here. Yeah, he's the one.” He then paused and turned to the lieutenant behind him. “Then I'll take you out next, little man.”

  James watched as Larry hurried along the courtyard wall, halfway to the open doors that led inside the prison. And he wasn't stopping to wait for James to catch up. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he watched for his own opportunity to follow. He crept from behind the barrel and stayed low as the crazed cheering grew louder. Brant paced from one end of the stage to the other, leading the crowd on as he fired two shots in the air, bolstering their excitement. James rushed inside the building and turned around after taking cover.

  “Looks like we have a fight!” Brant shouted with his hands up like an announcer.

  His voice was immediately drowned out by joyous screams, the crowd salivating over what was to come. Nash lunged at the captain like lightning, pummeling his face with several hard blows. Riley stood his ground, trying to block left and right hooks, one after the next. He then fell backward and collapsed onto the stage as Nash jumped atop him body, then lifted him to a half-sitting position and then pounded him with a series of relentless punches that seemed to have no end. James turned from the violent circus and rushed through the darkened hallway that led to a day room. Ahead in the shadows, he saw Larry, standing there as a lookout.

  Larry nodded and then pointed past the scattered tables filling the room to a sign that said Cell Block B. “It's about time you showed up. There it is.”

  They listened as the cheers outside reached a fever-pitch frenzy. James could only imagine the horrific outcome both guards faced. They were never going to get off that stage alive, and if James and Larry weren't careful, they'd suffer the same fate.

  “I hope that almost everyone’s outside,” James said as he looked toward an empty inmate phone center surrounded by Plexiglas, with chairs and individual booths.

  “Can't be too careful,” Larry said.

  They moved together, staying close to the wall and moving across the barred windows. They stopped at a large metal door that led into the cell block. There were a dozen signs posted on the wall next to it, with endless instructions for the prisoners to follow. It seemed that none of that mattered. Larry stopped and peeked through a glass pane on the door. “Hold on. I think I see someone.”

  James kept watch behind them. The cheers were dying out, but the party seemed to still be going on, with the sound of smashing bottles getting louder. He kept his pistol at his side, gripped and ready to fire. But they weren't the only people armed. The inmates had gotten access to the guards' weapons, uniforms, and everything else. Larry tried the door handle, pulling it down with caution. It moved with a rusty squeak but appeared to work. He then pulled at the heavy, vault-like door, opening it a crack. “It's now or never.”

  James looked back at the hallway from where they had emerged. No one was around, and the inmates were still occupied with the sickening di
splay outside. He turned to Larry with a nod and helped him pull the door open as its creaking echoed down the hall. With the door open, they left the day room behind and traveled quickly between cells on both sides, all with bars, nearly half of them open. Each cell looked occupied, with personal belongings and bedding in most of them. Maybe the same cells they had occupied as prisoners. James kept his eye on each bed, both bottom and top bunks, searching for anyone left behind. After seeing what the inmates did to the murdered guards, he no longer felt conflicted about their mission. Survival was the key, and he was ready to shoot anyone in their way.

  6

  Labyrinth

  Four armed inmates sat at a table, playing cards as James and Larry watched them from the hall. They reached a new cell block, dark as all the others. The men didn't appear to be particularly alert guards and seemed disinterested in the sadistic games taking place outside. Smoke from their cigars wafted by lit candles, placed among the beer bottles scattered on the table. Larry scanned the room and pointed to the stairway near the closed cells within the circular lower floor.

  “They've got people locked up,” he said in a hushed tone. “Prison guards, I would think.”

  James squinted ahead but couldn't see past the glowing candles on the table the inmates were using for their card game. Larry readied his rifle, aiming from the shadows.

  James grabbed the barrel and pushed it down, much to Larry's dismay. “You want to start a firefight? What about those men locked in the cells?”

  Larry yanked his barrel away. “What do you want to do, crawl by and hope they don't see us?”

  James hesitated as he examined the room, trying to think of a plan. Perhaps Larry was right. The raucous party outside wouldn't last forever. They had to find Carol and Marla before it was too late.

  “Just wait,” he said as laughter erupted from the card table. “We can do this smart. Keep one alive and ask them where our wives are being held.”

  “Which one?” Larry asked.

  “I don't know,” James said. “You figure it out.”

  He moved to the other side of the doorway as Larry stood across from him. The men sat roughly twenty feet from them, lost in their own activities. James took a closer look and noticed a disturbing sight among the beer bottles and cigar smoke. As they played each hand, the men tossed severed fingers into a small pile. He barely muffled his gasp in time.

  “Ante up,” a bearded man seated in the middle said.

  A skinny mustached man with long hair, sitting at his side, spoke in an annoyed tone. “I'm all out of fingers, but I've got some teeth.” With that, he tossed a handful of teeth onto the table. They bounced like pebbles, bloodied at their roots. It was all James needed to see. He aimed his pistol toward the men as Larry did the same. “Keep the bearded one alive,” James said. “I've got a hunch about him.”

  Larry crouched down, the scope of his rifle against his eyes. If gunshots were heard by anyone within earshot, their entire plan would be compromised. So be it. James shifted his stance, steadying his aim. Ambushing the men felt wrong, despite the situation. He supposed they really had no choice. If they ever made it out of the prison alive, he'd put it all in the past. Larry inched forward with the back of his rifle pressed against the tip of his nose. “On my go.”

  James held his finger against the trigger with his heart racing. The room was dark, obviously hard to see in, but the lit candles gave him an idea of where to fire. There were four pistols and a shotgun lying on the table within reach of the inmates. One wrong move would prove fatal.

  The first gunshot rang out from Larry's rifle, deafening in its blast. James then fired his pistol at the inmate sitting with his back to them, but nothing happened. The bullet was lodged in the chamber, jammed. The man ahead spun around, confused and panicked, as he reached for a handgun. Larry fired again, taking out two of the inmates in succession.

  They fell back in their chairs with barely a grunt as the bullets ripped through them, splattering blood across the table. But there were still two they hadn't shot yet. James pulled his slide back and unjammed the round just as the men fired shots at them.

  A bullet whizzed past his ear, sending James to the floor for cover. Larry shot two more rounds, striking one man in the head and the other through the chest. “Stop!” he shouted at the bearded man as he reached for one of the pistols. “Hands in the air!”

  James rose from the ground and felt blood on his ear. One of the rounds had nicked him. He moved with Larry, both their weapons aimed at the only man left.

  “Keep 'em up,” Larry said. “Nice and easy.”

  As they closed in, one of the shot inmates launched up from the table, scattering cards everywhere. He had a pistol aimed directly at Larry. James saw this before anyone else and shot the man in the middle of his face. Red oozed from his mouth and he fell back, motionless on the floor. The bearded man jumped back from the table, terrified, with his hands in the air.

  Larry charged, telling him to stand up. The gunfire had echoed through the prison hall. “Where'd they take the women?” he asked, his rifle aimed at the man's head, his voice full of danger.

  James grabbed a small flashlight from the table and pushed the switch. Miraculously, it worked, though the flickering beam of light was hardly sufficient for the entire cell block.

  The bearded man backed against the bars of a cell, hands trembling. “What women? What are you talking about?”

  “The two women you kidnapped earlier,” Larry shouted. “We know they're here.”

  James watched the exits for anyone coming. He then hurried toward a row of cells and shined the flashlight through the bars. Inside, he saw neither Marla nor Carol. Uniformed prison guards peered up from their beds with bruised, beaten faces. Their uniforms were torn, and they showed no emotion beyond catatonic fear. Many of them seemed to have just awoken, with no idea what was going on. James asked about Marla and Carol as he circled the room, hoping one of the guards could help them.

  “Your women ain't here,” the bearded inmate shouted. “You got me?”

  Larry pressed his barrel against the man's chest. “Where's Julian? Maybe he knows.”

  A guard from a nearby cell suddenly pleaded with them to release them from their cells. There were ten in all. Marla and Carol were being held somewhere else, perhaps another cell block altogether. He knew, however, that they'd be outnumbered and outmatched if they didn't find a way out soon. “Has anyone seen our wives?” he asked, circling the cell block once again. The flashlight scanned across sunken faces, pressed against bars and staring out into nothing. “Marla and Carol are their names.”

  “Let us out of here, please!” a guard shouted from his cell.

  “Unlock the fucking doors!” another testy guard added, pulling against his own bars in fury. Most of them were up now, alert, and eager to escape. After what he had seen, James couldn't blame them.

  Larry noticed the growing commotion and pushed the bearded inmate back. “You heard the men. Let them out.”

  “I-I don't have the key,” he pleaded. His back pressed against the bars, he extended his flabby arm and pointed to one of the inmates lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. “He's got it. Check his pockets!”

  James rushed over and knelt next to the fresh corpse with a hole in its head. He frantically searched his blue jumpsuit and found a ring of keys hanging from his pocket. He yanked the keys from his pants and stood up, looking around the room for the nearest cell to unlock.

  “Good job, James,” Larry said. He then turned to their prisoner. “Now, take us to Julian.”

  “I can't,” the man said. Before a single word could follow, Larry kneed the man directly in the gut, causing him to hunch down in immense pain. “Care to reconsider?” he asked. Suddenly, one of the guards lashed out from behind the cell, locking his arms around the bearded man's neck and pulling him back. The bearded man thrashed in the air, gagging and unable to get out of the choke hold. Curious, Larry took a step back. The bruis
ed and beaten guard squeezed his biceps around the inmate’s neck harder as the man's arms went limp and his eyes closed.

  “All right, that's enough,” James said, stepping forward

  “No!” the crew-cut guard shouted from inside his cell. “They all need to die.”

  James rushed forward and socked the guard in the face. The single blow made him stumble back and release the bearded inmate, who then fell to the floor, gasping for air. James approached the cell and apologized to the guard. “We need him alive.”

  The guard held his face and glared at James. His wild eyes, tattered, blood-stained clothes, and smashed face indicated that he'd been through hell. “Your wife? I've watched these animals drag a dozen women through these halls. We never see them again.”

  James gripped the bars, infuriated. “You want out of here, or what?”

  The guard immediately stepped away from the bars, backing off. The bearded man remained on the floor, catching his breath. Larry lunged downward and yanked the bearded man up by the back of his collar.

  “Get up. Let's go.” He held the man up and then spoke to the guard in his cell. “What the hell happened here? How'd they take over the prison?”

  The guard just stared, stubbornly speechless.

  James then tried a more specific question. “Who's Julian?”

  The guard dabbed at the blood on his face with the sleeve of his shirt as others pleaded for their release. Their cries rang throughout the cell block.

  “Julian Monroe,” the guard continued. “He's something of a celebrity around here. Cult leader from the eighties serving life.”

  For the first time, the name connected with James, but not in the way he might have thought. It brought him back to a time he sat in front of the TV watching morning cartoons, when a newscaster interrupted to announce the capture and arrest of “notorious cult leader Julian Monroe.” He couldn't believe that nearly twenty-five years later, he was hearing the name again.