by Bowman, Dave
Oscar had always been one for depressants, but not Dox. He preferred stimulation. He liked the feeling of racing, flying.
He snorted his drug of choice and stood up. He would soar above them all.
And he knew exactly how to show everyone who was the new sheriff in town.
31
Light streamed in the open door, startling Jack awake.
He glanced at the opposite corner of the room. Steve was already gone.
It was odd to Jack that he hadn't been awakened when Steve was moved. But then again, Jack had been weakened by thirst, hunger and intense pain. He must have passed out.
In the doorway stood – not Kyle as Jack had expected, but another man.
Jack squinted at him, then a flash of recognition washed over him.
It was the guy who had been seated next to the leader in the adobe house. The one who had assigned Jack his number, 154C, and written it on a piece of paper. The one called something strange – what was it?
Dox.
Why was he standing in Jack's door? What did he want now?
Jack watched him, confused and groggy, as the guy stood there. He was short, but he seemed to enjoy standing tall over Jack's spot on the floor. He walked inside the room a few steps and stopped.
“It's you,” Dox snarled.
Jack waited. He could tell the guy was enraged as he stood there breathing heavily, clearly trying to control his anger and giddy excitement.
“You thought you could disrespect us,” the man growled, speaking rapidly. “You thought you could disrespect me. Well, things are different now. I'm in charge. And I won't tolerate the likes of you.”
Jack pushed himself up to sitting. He wanted to get a better look at the guy who stood before him.
The short man wore clothes that were too big for him, and his khaki pants were cuffed at the bottom. Though he was probably pushing forty, his baggy clothes made him appear child-like. His beady eyes were close-set and bulging. His normally pale face was now flushed and bright red. He stood with his hands curled into fists at his sides.
He seemed excited, bursting at the seams. Clearly, he couldn't wait to tell Jack something. Couldn't contain the news any longer.
“154C, you are sentenced to death,” he said, sneering down at Jack. “For insubordination. You'll be executed publicly after sunup. I want everyone to see what happens to people like you.”
Having made his announcement, his spirits seemed even more lifted. He spun on his heels and headed toward the door. His movements were quick, sped-up.
“What?” Jack asked. “Insubordination? I've been locked up in this room all day and night. I haven't even spoken to any of you people except to ask for food.”
Dox stopped and turned to face him again. He bent down and brought his face close to Jack's. Jack recoiled at his breath as his round little face hovered in front of his own.
“You called us cowards!” the man screamed.
Jack stared at Dox, whose veins were bulging in his forehead.
“You won't get away with it,” Dox said, rising to standing again. He now wore a crazed smile on his face. “I'm going to make an example of you for everyone to see. They have to know who's the boss around here!”
He spun around once more and stomped across the room.
“What about the people I came here with?” Jack asked hoarsely.
“They'll be there to watch you die,” he said, grinning.
Opening the door, he gave Jack one more glance.
“Enjoy your last hours,” he said. “And don't even think about escape. I have my guys keeping a close watch on you.”
He slammed the door shut behind him, then locked it with a key.
Jack felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. He gasped for a breath, his heart pounding.
You'll be executed publicly.
Was Dox serious? The guy had seemed high on something. Maybe he had just wanted to threaten Jack, to scare him a little.
But no, Jack had to take the threat seriously. Dox had seemed enraged, as if Jack had personally affronted him.
Dox had been sitting beside Oscar, the leader, when Jack had been captured. He had been the second in command. And now he was the leader.
Perhaps he had killed Oscar and taken over. And now he wanted to prove his authority for all to see.
By killing Jack.
Whatever his concern, he seemed convinced that punishing Jack would help his new position.
Jack felt his chest contract.
Jack had gotten so far. He had survived the EMP detonation and the bomb. He had managed to escape LA and bring two people along with him. Against all odds, he had found a vehicle. He had gotten so close to his goal.
But now, he had failed.
Brent and Naomi had been captured. If they weren't already dead, they would be worked like slaves by the new leader. They had trusted Jack to get them to safety. And Jack hadn't been able to prevent their capture.
But he had failed his wife most of all.
Annie was somewhere out there, alone and afraid. He shuddered to think what she might be going through out there. She was probably hoping and praying for him to make it home to her. And now, all his efforts would be for nothing. He would never see her again.
He would be shot like a dog in the street, used as a pawn in some criminal's struggle to claim power.
Jack sat in the dark room, his head hanging downward in defeat. His mind reeled as he angrily considered all his mistakes.
He should never have given Brent and Naomi the responsibility of standing guard on the interstate. They didn't know what to look for. They were inexperienced and young; barely older than kids. He never should have let his guard down while he was getting gas for the Pathfinder.
How could it end like this?
He let himself wallow in misery for a few moments.
The motel was quiet. The man upstairs had either grown quiet, been moved, or died.
It was so quiet Jack could almost hear his heart pounding in his chest. He was nauseous from hunger and the pain. Every breath hurt his lower ribs and back. The pain in his shoulder made him long to be free of the handcuffs.
The thought occurred to him that his body was somehow still alive despite everything he had put it through. The exhaustion, the thirst and hunger, the beatings. No matter what, his heart had somehow kept ticking.
He hadn't been broken. Not in body or mind.
He didn't have to give up. Not yet.
As long as he was still breathing, he would fight his way out of this.
Dox had said Jack would be shot after sunup. Jack guessed that meant he had a few hours to try to come up with a plan.
If he could only get his arms free.
He yet again tugged at the metal cuffs, but they were on tight. He pulled at his leg bindings. Nothing – they didn't budge.
His stomach growled. If only he had gotten something to eat, he might have been able to think more clearly. Or have more strength.
Jack suddenly thought of his brother, Paul. Since they hadn't spoken in years, his brother didn't enter in his thoughts very often. But now a childhood memory came to him.
When they were kids, Paul was always showing off his strength. Jack was amazed to see his big brother lift things that Jack, who was a few years younger, couldn't budge. Once, on a bet from the neighbor boys, a young Paul was able to pick up a huge cattle feed bag and carry it for several yards.
“It's not just muscle. It's in here, too,” Paul used to say, tapping his head. “You've gotta focus.”
Jack took a deep breath and pulled the leg chains against the bedpost. He strained, using all the strength he had. He pulled for several moments, groaning under the effort.
He let his legs drop, clanking the chains as they fell against the carpet. Nothing had budged.
Jack sighed.
He had to do this. It was his only hope.
He took another breath, then moved his legs into position. But as he f
lexed his knees, he felt something move in the tension of the chains.
Something had shifted. The bed leg was loose.
Quickly, he started tugging again.
This time, he pulled at a slightly different angle, flexing his legs behind him. He dug his shoulders into the carpet, using his body as a lever.
The post of the bed was finally coming loose.
He gritted his teeth as he gave one more quick pull at the chains. The metal bed leg made a creaking noise as it bent upward, pulling away from the floor.
The chains were finally released from the post. They fell to the floor.
He quickly kicked the chains off his ankles, and they clattered to the carpet.
Jack's legs were finally free.
He collapsed against the carpet, spent from the effort. But he was happy. Finally, he'd made some progress.
Catching his breath, he looked up at the window. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could wrangle the plywood off the window. But how could he escape from a third-floor room? The fall would likely kill him. And with his hands bound behind him, he couldn't climb or hold onto anything.
He froze.
Someone was at the door.
They had heard him. They had heard him pulling on the chains, and they were coming to kill him early.
The door flew open and Dox stood in a wide stance.
“Change of plans,” Dox growled. “You're coming with me now.”
Jack watched him breathing rapidly. He was in some kind of fit. Dox's giddiness of before had been replaced by pure hate and rage.
“You said I had until morning,” Jack said.
“I'm not waiting any longer,” Dox said, his face in a scowl. “They have to know who's boss,” he muttered under his breath, as if to himself.
He held a large key ring in his hand – either the same one Kyle had carried earlier, or a similar one.
“And don't even think about trying anything,” Dox said, this time louder. “You're going to die, either in here or outside. Don't make this harder than it has to be.”
Jack quickly realized he was wrong – Dox hadn't heard him wrest his legs from the chains. He didn't know Jack's legs were free.
Jack's heart began to race. He couldn't mess this up.
Dox fiddled with the keys, then selected one as he bent down to open the lock on the chain.
Jack knew he had only one chance.
Now.
“What the hell –”
Dox saw that Jack was free of the chains.
Just at that moment, Jack kicked him in the face.
Dox yelped. His pistol went flying and fell somewhere off to the side. His hands went to his face.
“You son of a bitch!” he screamed.
Jack delivered another kick, this one long and sweeping. Dox's legs were knocked out from under him and he fell on his back.
“You're dead!” Dox yelled as he struggled on the floor.
Jack pushed himself up to standing. Dox was just about to come to his feet. Jack landed another kick in his back.
Adrenaline coursed through Jack's veins. Jack kicked him again and again. He wouldn't let up until Dox was flat on the floor, groaning. His hips pivoted as his shoes made impact with Dox's body and head.
Jack stopped, out of breath, and looked at him.
Finally, Dox was silent.
Blood leaked from a wound on his forehead. He was unconscious.
Jack didn't have much time. Any second now, the guards would be running in that room.
He had to get out of the handcuffs.
Jack found the key ring that Dox had dropped. Lowering himself to his knees, he grabbed the ring with his cuffed hands and fumbled blindly through the keys behind his back. There was a series of fatter, cylindrical keys. He started with the first one.
His breathing was fast and shallow. Maneuvering his hands behind his back was difficult. But he was able to line the key up with the hole on the cuffs. It wouldn't enter.
He moved on to the next key. No luck. The third key didn't work either.
Jack's breathing quickened. His palms grew sweaty and slippery.
As he fumbled with the keys, he began to inch toward Dox's gun where it had fallen on the floor.
What if the key to his cuffs wasn't on this set? Maybe Kyle alone had the set to open his handcuffs.
On the fifth key, he heard voices in the hallway. Kyle and someone else. They were raised, excited.
They were coming for him.
And that key wasn't working.
Jack lined the next key up against the lock. His hands were shaking.
The key entered the lock.
He turned it, tugged at his wrists, and the cuffs snapped open. Finally, his hands were free.
Jack sprang at the gun lying near him on the floor.
Kyle appeared in the doorway. His eyes darted from Dox on the floor to Jack crouching nearby.
Jack fired once, then a second time.
Kyle fell to the floor. His shotgun fell in the hallway.
Jack crawled behind the bed to take cover. Footsteps in the hallway were getting closer.
The tall man in the police uniform appeared. Jack aimed, then fired the pistol.
He missed, and the man fired back.
Bullets buzzed past Jack's ears, sending a cloud of cotton tufts and feathers from the pillows and mattress flying into the air.
When there was a break in the fire, Jack raised his gun again and pulled the trigger.
This time, he hit his target.
The guard was down.
Not wanting to waste any time, he turned toward Dox. Jack aimed at Dox square in the chest and fired.
Dox's body jumped a tiny bit. Then the blood began to seep out of the wound.
Dox was dead.
Jack waited for a moment and listened. There were no footsteps, no movement.
He caught his breath, then ran toward the door. He picked up the guard's AR-15 and tucked Dox's pistol in his waistband.
He looked down the dark hallway. Empty.
Stepping over the bodies of the two men in the doorway, Jack bolted through the hall.
He flew down the stairs, clutching the rifle, his heart racing. When he got to the ground level floor, he stopped. Listened.
There was no sound.
He inched into the hallway, looking down the corridor lit by a few candles.
Empty.
He rounded the corner, heading for the opposite direction he had passed through yesterday. He was hoping to find a back entrance where he'd be less likely to be spotted.
A deafening roar came from behind him. Someone was shooting a rifle from the opposite end of the hall.
Jack flattened his back in the nearest doorway and returned fire. In the darkness, he could only see the muzzle flash.
He kept shooting, guided only by the flash.
Finally, the shooter stopped. Jack didn't know if they'd been hit. Jack used the pause to reach down and try to turn the doorknob. Maybe he could take cover behind the door.
Locked.
He paused. He was too exposed, and it wasn't safe to move from his spot. He didn't know how much ammo he had left, either.
He heard a door being opened. The shooter was running away – or perhaps going to reload. Either way, Jack took off in the opposite direction.
As he ran, he heard movement in the room at the opposite end of the hallway. In another couple of seconds, there would be another round of fire coming his way.
He came to a set of double swinging doors. He pushed, and they snapped open.
He slipped inside and swept the room with his vision.
Four women stood huddled in a corner of the kitchen, their hands raised. They were unarmed.
“Is there an exit back there?” Jack asked in a low voice. A line of sweat was dripping into his eyes.
The women didn't speak. They just stared at him, frozen in terror.
“Is there a way outside?” he asked again, impatiently.
&nb
sp; One woman nodded and pointed behind her across the large, dark space.
“Back there,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
Jack ran to where she pointed, glancing at them as he ran. They watched him, immobile.
“There's someone out there,” she added in a tiny voice just as he reached the big, metal door.
Behind him, the doors to the kitchen entrance were swinging open. Jack had to take his chance with the guard outside.
He turned the doorknob of the exterior door, then kicked it open. Suddenly, he stood face to face with Billy, the guy who had delivered him to C Block.
Billy's mouth was open in surprise when Jack shot him. The big guy fell to the ground without a word.
On the other side of the door, the women in the kitchen were screaming. Jack took off sprinting through the rear parking lot of the motel.
A chain-link fence ran along the exterior of the lot. If Jack could get there fast enough, he could scale it.
But the rear door of the motel flew open, crashing into the wall.
Jack hit the ground, crawling to shelter behind the rear bumper of a small sedan. He lay down on his belly and pointed the rifle under the car.
He heard the guy running. He saw his boots slamming into the pavement, and nothing more.
Jack didn't know if the guy had seen him or not.
A line of sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. He felt his pulse thumping at his temple.
There was only a chance it could work.
Jack aimed and fired.
Immediately, the guy returned fire, aiming at the space under the sedan.
Jack shot back, only able to shoot toward the guy's feet.
The front tires blew out. Air hissed out as the car lowered a bit to the ground.
Jack fired again and again.
The guy screamed and fell to the ground. He had been hit in the ankle.
But Jack wasn't safe yet. The guy was on the ground, but he still held his rifle.
Hardly missing a beat, the guy began firing again. And this time, the fire was coming closer to Jack's spot.
Suddenly, Jack's rifle wouldn't fire. It was out of ammo. Jack cursed under his breath. He didn't have any extra.
He dropped the rifle and began shooting with the pistol.
A bullet from his opponent's rifle hit the ground a couple inches away from him. One of the rear tires blew out.
