That had been the last thing going through his mind before the gunshot had gone off. He’d closed his eyes, but the bullet never tore through him. Instead, when he had opened his eyes, the man on the floor was dead. His partner had been next to the door, his gun raised.
He’d asked Leland if he was okay, but Leland hadn’t been able to say anything. All he could think was that he had a chance to give his family another memory of him. He had apologies to make. Issues to work out.
With no more leaves rustling underfoot, Leland knew Henry was hiding behind some tree. He hadn’t been too far when the noises stopped, which meant Henry had a slight advantage in the situation.
“I know you’re not from around here,” Leland said. “You don’t know these woods like I do. You don’t hunt them like I do. I’ve been here a little while now. I know how far you are from everything. You’ve got nowhere to go, and you can’t very well survive out here with your handcuffs on. You might as well just give yourself up and get a hot meal by morning.”
Leland didn’t expect an answer. He tried to calm his own breathing and listen for any movement. He observed the glow of the moon through the treetops, his eyes traveling down as he hoped to catch a glimpse of vapor from Henry’s breath.
It was too dark and the wind started to pick up, brushing leaves across the ground, masking any possible clue to Henry’s whereabouts.
Leland’s thumb rubbed the side of his shotgun as he waited. He was a decently patient man these days, but in the darkness he started to question himself. Was it possible Henry had hit a clearing in the woods and was actually far away by now? That would have explained why the crunching of dry leaves stopped suddenly.
Leland looked behind him toward the road. Large trees blocked his vision. He was in a cloud of darkness, the forest swallowing him as though he were stuck in the bottom of a dried up well in the middle of the wilderness.
He needed to move. He needed to apprehend Henry, but most of all he needed to get back to Hope and see if they were having the same kind of troubles. If he wasn’t there by morning and the entire town was out of power, people would be worried. He would be a voice of reason to them. He would be able to calm their nerves. They looked to him for that kind of thing, even if they didn’t realize it.
He stepped forward. The leaves crunched under his feet so loudly he might as well have had cymbals crashing as he walked. He moved in the direction he had last heard Henry, unaware of how far ahead he was. Twenty yards? Fifty?
“You know if we keep doing this all night, we’re both gonna end up hurt,” Leland said. “We’ll be injured and no one will be out looking for us. I left my coat at Fristo’s, so I’ll probably die out here first. You’re younger, so you’ll make it a little bit longer. But with cuffs and everyone out to get you, I suspect you won’t last much longer.”
Each step brought more fear pumping into his heart. He felt the need to crouch, to hold his hands up in preparation for an attack. Each word he spoke, he hoped to get a reaction—a grunt in defiance or a step in the dry leaves. A sigh would do if the wind would stop. A shuffle in his tired feet. A groan because of his aching wrists.
A bright light shined into Leland’s eyes, and he felt himself falling to the ground. No. Not a bright light. Someone had just smashed his head with a limb.
Leland swore as he fumbled for his shotgun like an old man flailing in search of his glasses. He froze when he heard Henry pull the hammer back on the pistol. He spun, his butt on the ground, his eyes looking up at a shadowy form. His head pounded as he reached up a hand to try and calm Henry.
Henry held the pistol with both hands. Leland was defeated. Calm, but defeated. That was how this job was. One minute you’re sipping coffee too late at night, the next you’re staring down the barrel of your own gun.
This felt only a little different than the time at the drug dealer’s house. There were flashes, but of Travis and Melanie—both had left this world before him. Then, a glimpse of Cora.
Gwen.
The regret flooded in. How much had he stayed away from home because he was afraid to face her—because he didn’t know how to comfort her? How much did he avoid conversations with her because they would force him to expose his emotions to her? How much had she needed him in the last six months? Four years?
Leland clenched his jaw and watched Henry. This boy wasn’t a killer. He may have killed, but he wasn’t a killer. The moment had passed. If he wanted to kill Leland, he would have done it already. If he was ruthless, he wouldn’t have hit him with a branch, he would have just pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger.
“The way I see it, you don’t have much of a choice,” Leland said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re gonna have to kill me.”
“What?”
“You’re gonna have to kill me,” Leland repeated. “If you don’t, you go back to jail.”
“How about you uncuff me?” Henry said. “Then I can lock you to a tree branch or something.”
“You could do that, but do you really want to get that close to me? You get close enough for me to unlock your cuffs, you know I will take you down.”
Leland knew he was making a dangerous bet, but what else could he do?
“You seem too smart to get in close to me,” Leland said. “So, you better just pull the trigger then get the keys.”
This was all Henry’s decision. Leland hadn’t seen a murderer in the boy’s eyes. He had seen someone who was guilty of killing someone he thought deserved it. Leland had seen himself in Henry, though he didn’t want to admit it. If he was right, he would survive this mess.
“Of course, if you take off again,” Leland said, “I’m gonna shoot you in the back.”
“You lost your shotgun,” Henry said.
“Maybe I did,” Leland answered. “I have a feeling you can’t see my hands very good. Whatever the case, I’m not gonna beg for my life. You either need to shoot me now or give up the gun.”
Leland couldn’t see the expression on Henry’s face, but he knew there was anger in it. He’d bet on knocking Leland out with the blow to the head. Had he succeeded, he would have been able to get the key and escape. The knock hurt. It hurt badly. But Leland was as alert as he’d been all day.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“I know, kid. I know.”
Leland knew the kind of place he would be sending Henry to. He was glad he didn’t know what Henry had or hadn’t done. He hated the thought of a kid like this—a kid barely older than Travis would have been—being sent to a prison like Lone Oak. Even if he wasn’t in there for the rest of his life. Even if it was just twenty years, or if it was just one year, it would change him. And not for the better. A place like Lone Oak didn’t rehabilitate anyone. It broke them. It made them less than human.
Henry walked slowly toward Leland as the sheriff stood up. He shoved the pistol into the sheriff’s palm and started walking toward the road.
Leland wasn’t sure, but as he passed, he thought the moonlight might have shown a glimmer on the boy’s cheek. The kind of sparkle only water and light could make.
Leland holstered his pistol and found his shotgun on the ground.
He was alive, but he didn’t feel like he’d won.
Chapter Eleven
Alex was troubled by how easy it was for the inmates to storm the guard towers and obtain weapons. He wasn’t sure, but he guessed by the number of convicts running through the prison yard, and by the weapons they carried, he was probably the only guard alive. That was only because Jim Savage wanted him alive for some reason.
The bald leader spread out his arms with a wide grin on his face as he breathed in the open air.
You’re not free until you step outside the fences.
Alex wondered how long it would be until law enforcement would show up. Surely a call had gotten out somehow, though looking around, he thought it was possible no one knew about the prison riot. He didn’t have anyone waiting
for him at home. He didn’t have a wife who would be up worried, or a kid who would ask about him in the morning.
That was probably why it was easier for Alex not to show too much fear. His lack of attachments was keeping him alive. He was no braver than anyone else he knew, but when the doors had opened to the security room, he had resigned himself to death. There hadn’t been a point in begging Savage to spare him. And now he stood among them. Still breathing.
In a lockdown, the guard towers should have been shining their spotlights, yet their beams of light remained shut off. It was the same for the rest of the prison. He’d known the lights were out inside, but he hadn’t expected the pitch darkness to be everywhere.
His head pounded. Savage had allowed a few hits from a couple of prisoners, which had produced a throbbing cheek, a cut above his eye, and a drum pounding in his head. That could have been from Roger, though.
Idiot.
He was thinking about himself as much as Roger. He should have kept tabs on the rookie’s movements in the room. As soon as the prisoners had brought the warden into the hallway, Alex should have stepped up and restrained his partner. Now, Roger was dead and Alex figured it was only a matter of time until he was dead too. Savage would get bored with him soon enough and probably realize he wouldn’t need a prison guard hostage after all.
He wasn’t sure why Savage kept him alive. The murderer had been intrigued by the fact that Alex hadn’t begged for his life, but Alex guessed the leader wanted to make sure all the keys did what they were supposed to. He probably needed to make sure they didn’t have questions only a prison guard could answer.
Once the outer gates were open, once the prisoners could go free, Alex was of no use to them anymore.
Alex had been searched and stripped of his radio, which didn’t work. Some of the prisoners had found guard cell phones in a locker room, but they wouldn’t turn on. None of the other phones throughout the prison worked either.
Whatever this problem was, it was bigger than the prison. It had to be.
Alex watched helplessly as a large group of prisoners gathered around Savage. At a glance, he counted about twenty, then thirty, then he lost count.
There were hundreds of other prisoners piling into the yard, too, though they left Savage and his group alone. To his left was a group with bolt cutters, tearing open the first layer of fences. To his right were prison gangs fighting each other with whatever they could get their hands on. One man was on the ground as another stomped on his chest, then his head.
Alex looked at the dark ground in front of him, unable to watch. Savage spoke as though these forty or so men were the only ones in the prison.
“If we are to make it outside these gates,” he said, “we need to stick together for the time being. There is a town not too far from here where we can stock up on supplies, then be on our way.”
“What about local law enforcement?” a voice called from the crowd of inmates.
Several more inmates joined the group.
Savage looked at each of them and smiled. “How many guns do we have?”
“Five,” someone said.
Savage nodded. “We’ll be fine. I don’t know what’s going on with the power, but it would seem to be a widespread problem. He pointed behind him. “There’s a radio tower about three miles to the south. It should have blinking red lights for airplanes.”
Heads turned in unison toward the dark canvas of the night sky, each man looking out as though they were supposed to see something.
“The outage is at least that far out,” Savage said. “And if it’s done this kind of damage to the prison, I can safely assume it’s done the same thing to nearby towns.” With all the chaos around them, the fighting, the screaming, the death, he let his words hang in the air for a moment. “This is an opportunity. We shouldn’t squander it.”
Many of the prisoners had already gotten out of the prison—most through the newly made holes in the layers of fencing. Savage didn’t want to leave that way. Alex could see it in the man’s eyes. He wanted to leave through the main gate, like a free man, like a man who was supposed to leave.
Alex wasn’t surprised by Savage’s eloquence—his ability to speak confidently and in a way that made the other prisoners want to follow him. These fifty or so men needed a leader. They needed someone to tell them what to do. Many of them had been told what to do for most of their lives.
Alex didn’t know what someone like Savage had in store for a small town like Hope. Without power or many protections, these fifty prisoners could wreak havoc on the relatively peaceful town.
Alex stood in the middle of the group of prisoners. There were no handcuffs around his wrists, no guns pointed at him. He wore his uniform, which was enough of a restraint. If he tried to run, he would be torn apart.
With keys they had stolen from the security room, some of the inmates pushed open the front gates.
They were free.
Savage walked up to Alex, and the prison guard tensed as though getting ready to be executed.
“What do you know about Hope?”
“I grew up there,” Alex said, “but I live in Northrup now. Haven’t been to Hope in years.”
“What do you know about it?” Savage repeated.
Alex shook his head. “It’s fewer than a thousand people. There are shops and restaurants though.”
“Is there still just the one officer? A sheriff?”
“I think so,” Alex said.
Savage smiled.
“It’s the county sheriff,” Alex said. “I don’t remember his name. Like I said, it’s been a long time since I’ve been there.”
“Do you have family there?”
Alex had been willing to provide Savage with truth up until this point. He wasn’t about to let his parents become an object to be used against him somehow.
“They live in Northrup, too,” Alex said.
Savage stared at him, a cold, emotionless stare that Alex assumed to be the same look he would give his victims before cutting their throats or strangling them. Savage liked to read people. He liked to assess them and be right about them. The fact that he couldn’t read Alex seemed to be the only reason Alex was still alive. That said, it would seem Savage didn’t believe him about his parents. Whether he did or didn’t, however, Savage let it go and turned toward the opened gates.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Twelve
Jim Savage had no expectation of living through the night. Part of him didn’t want to, but another part of him needed to.
The Sheriff.
All his thoughts and effort and planning had always been about the sheriff. Now that he was free and Hope was only miles away, his desire grew stronger.
The sheriff had broken Savage’s law and justice was coming for him.
One thing he didn’t want was to go back to prison. He would die before going back to that hell.
He didn’t let the absurdity of the situation escape him: fifty-three convicts and a prison guard were walking down a highway in the middle of the night.
He would love to see the face of someone driving up on them, discovering a prison crew not cleaning up the litter on the side of the road, but instead holding hostage a prison guard and walking with the determined steps of free men.
Logic said he should be running through the woods and doing what he could to change his appearance, but he had his own reason for going to Hope. Sure, if any of these men were going to escape for good, they would need to stock up, get new clothes, and be on their way. But they followed him. They trusted him. These were his men.
And he was going to use that to his advantage.
He still wasn’t sure what to do with the prison guard. There was something about him he wanted to figure out—something that kept the man from fearing him.
Savage wanted people to fear him. He wanted to see terror in their eyes when they saw him. Fear gave him power. Fear made him the man at the head of this group of prisoners. Fear had al
lowed him to escape. Fear would let him dominate Hope, if even for a night. For all he knew, he was leading these men to their arrests and possible deaths. What was it to him? They trusted him? That was part of being in power. They expected him to lead them to freedom? None of them would ever truly be free. This was a large-scale power outage. Nothing more. The power would kick back on within twelve hours and the police would devour them like vultures on a carcass.
What kind of mayhem could they create in that time? What could fifty-three prisoners do to a town before the night was done?
For Savage, this wasn’t about survival or escape. This wasn’t even about the thrill of overtaking a small town and causing mayhem. Freedom didn’t have the same definition to him. He wanted to get to Hope for a different reason. He didn’t know what this night would turn into or what kind of world they would find for themselves come morning. All he cared about was finding the officer responsible for catching him, the one who ultimately put him here. Worse than that, the man had shot and killed Savage’s daughter—the only person in the world that had ever meant anything to him.
Ultimately, these prisoners could do whatever they wanted in Hope, so long as it didn’t keep Savage from dealing out justice. As long as it didn’t keep him from killing Sheriff Leland West.
Chapter Thirteen
Leland didn’t say much to Henry as they traveled the road to Lone Oak Prison. The two of them had kept a better pace now that Henry knew he wouldn’t make it very far in cuffs. The boy was defeated, and in a way, it pained Leland to see it. Normally, he would have tried to make casual conversation, even with a convicted killer, but tonight was different. There was a heaviness in the air that worried him. True, he was anxious about Gwen. He hoped she hadn’t woken to see him gone. If she had, she would have sent him a text, but since his phone wasn’t working he couldn’t know whether she was awake or not. If she was, she would be worried.
Fallen Earth | Book 1 | Remnants Page 5
