by Bowman, Dave
The stairs opened to the third floor. Jack was disappointed there was no roof access, but maybe it was better this way. They could take cover behind the walls and aim their rifles out the windows of the third floor.
They would pick the guards off sniper style.
They walked to the southernmost office, which was an open floor plan dotted with vandalized workstations. Jack positioned himself behind a small window that had been left open. Brent chose to set up a few yards away, aiming the barrel of his rifle out a busted-out window.
"You remember what to do, right?" Jack asked, breaking the silence of the dark office.
Brent nodded. "Stay calm, keep covered, and get out of here as soon as the guards are down."
"Right. And if I get hit, don't waste any time. Just clear out of here no matter what. Find a place to hide until things calm down, then head north to the interstate."
"I remember," Brent said evenly.
"Good," Jack said, turning his eyes toward the guards below. "Are you ready?"
Brent took a deep breath. "Ready."
Jack aimed at a man holding a flashlight who paced back and forth along the sidewalk across the street. Brent trained his rifle on a large guy wearing a headlamp nearby.
Jack moved his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger.
He steadied himself, focusing all his concentration on that man's chest down there. Not only his concentration, but his outrage and fury, too. These people couldn't be allowed to get away with all they were doing. This was Jack's chance to set things straight. Not just for Naomi, but for all the people trapped in this town.
He pulled on the trigger and felt the recoil slamming the rifle against his shoulder.
Down below, the man fell to the ground.
Brent began firing. As Jack anticipated, his aim was terrible.
The guards scattered, running for cover and reaching for their weapons.
Jack chose another guard – the fastest of the bunch, who had already begun firing toward the third-story office building. Jack missed, going too high on the first few rounds. Finally, though, he hit his target, and the man fell to his knees, then collapsed on the ground.
Brent's target had run behind a car and begun firing at Brent. The man's aim was good, and Jack turned his rifle toward this guard. When the man next raised himself to take aim after reloading, Jack hit him in the head.
Jack turned toward the man in the left end of the parking lot who was shooting toward Jack. But while he was focused on this target, Jack saw movement in his peripheral vision.
A tall, chubby guard circled around the parking lot and began to cross the street toward the office building. His intentions were clear – he was planning to attack Brent and Jack in their sniper’s nest.
Jack swiveled his rifle toward the man and tried to aim, but he was too late. He had already disappeared out of sight. In moments, he would be entering the building. And maybe he would bring backup.
Brent continued firing at the man in the parking lot, getting closer to his target. To Jack's surprise, one of Brent’s rounds hit the guard. The man stumbled and fell backward, his rifle crashing against the asphalt.
Jack knew they were running out of time. They would have to leave their posts and face the attack that he knew was coming from behind.
But first, he turned his sights on a man who had snuck across the street, unnoticed at first. The man was sending bullets through the brick walls and getting dangerously close to Jack's position.
Jack opened fire on the man, breaking the glass of the vehicle the man crouched behind. For a moment, there was no return fire.
Was he down? Reloading?
A barrage of bullets pummeled from the rifle down below once more. Jack struggled to keep up with the guy. Flying debris from the bullets blasting through the bricks got in Jack's eyes. He blinked, keeping his focus on the man below.
The guy raised up just a little too much, exposing his upper chest through the vehicle window for a split second before he ducked down. Jack was too quick, though. He put a bullet in the guy's chest.
Jack glanced over at Brent, who was reloading with shaking hands.
"We've got to get out of here!" Jack shouted over the roar of bullets pounding into the brick wall. "They're on their way up now."
Brent crawled away from the window and pushed himself to his feet. He looked over at Jack.
Jack gave one last glance toward the hotel below. What he saw made him do a double take. Brent turned to get one last look as well.
A stream of female prisoners had began rushing out the front entrance of the hotel. Wielding weapons of every description – knives, shovels, folding chairs – they descended upon the guards.
As their enslavers continued shooting toward the office building, the prisoners crept up silently, fanning out through the street and parking lot.
Then, they attacked.
Two women beat a male guard with shovels. Nearby a young woman plunged a kitchen knife in the back of another guard. Across the parking lot, a female prisoner let out a war cry as she lunged at a guard with a rifle she had picked up off a downed guard. She hit the guard over the head with the rifle, then ran off to the south, disappearing from the scene.
Jack and Brent watched as more women ran screaming from the hotel, adding to the chaos of the scene below as they charged at the people who had tortured them.
A rebellion was beginning.
Footsteps in the stairwell broke their trance. Jack motioned for Brent to follow him toward the door.
The two men hid behind the open door to the south office, out of sight. They listened as the man exited the stairwell and moved slowly through the hallway. Within seconds, the overweight guard stepped in the office, panting for his breath. His rifle was raised. He was clearly expecting to take care of the snipers easily.
From behind the door, Jack kicked the door out and made contact with the guard, who dropped his rifle.
The guard began to crawl on his knees, lunging at his gun. But Jack kicked the man square in his belly.
The guard slumped on the floor, groaning in pain. Brent appeared at Jack's side. Brent stared at the guard for a moment. Then in one sudden, frenetic movement, he hit the man's head with his rifle.
Jack grabbed the man's rifle and hurried over to the hallway to look for any more guards. He waited and listened for a moment, then went to the stairwell. It was empty.
He returned to the office. Something had snapped in Brent. He had lost control of himself and he was beating the man over and over with the gun.
Jack grabbed his arm before he could lower the rifle on the man's body again. Brent looked up at Jack.
"Let it go," Jack said.
Brent looked down at the man and blinked, rousing himself from his trance. The guard was unconscious.
He followed Jack to the window, where they watched the unfolding scene of the rebellion.
Women continue to attack the guards, though there were very few guards standing anymore. A few new guards came running up, having heard the outbreak. But they were ambushed by the women, who now were armed with guns. They shot down several guards. Another group of guards, late to arrive on the scene, saw what was happening, and fled in the other direction. Three armed women took off after them, chasing them down the street.
Jack kept his eyes on the front doors, hoping to see Naomi. But woman after woman escaped, until only a few stragglers emerged from the building now and then. But Naomi never appeared.
The female inmates ran off in every direction, crazed by the excitement of the rebellion and their newfound freedom. Most of them scattered in random directions, seemingly unsure where to go.
But Jack noticed a group of about five women run from the hotel and head south in a determined way. They ran uphill, evidently focused on a predetermined location. They knew where they were going, unlike all the others.
The group disappeared out of sight, scrambling up the street on a mission.
Brent si
ghed. "I guess Naomi isn't in this hotel. How many women's prisons could they possibly have?"
But Jack didn't answer. He was focused on the sudden noise of engines starting. Several blocks to the south, two or three vehicles cut through the noise of the violence breaking out down below.
"Let's go," Jack said, turning and running toward the stairs. "They're going after the cars."
27
Naomi was on cleanup duty again.
In the dark, dingy kitchen of the motel where she was kept prisoner, she worked by candlelight to wash stacks of dishes. Joanne poured water sparingly from one-gallon bottles in short spurts as needed, just enough for Naomi to scrub the food from the plates.
If Joanne was a little too liberal with the water, the guards barked at them.
"Conserve water!" the guard known as Morticia screamed. "Don't you idiots know we have to conserve water! Do you think we can just turn on the tap when we need more?"
"Sorry," Joanne said nervously. When the guard turned her back, Joanne rolled her eyes at Naomi.
Naomi gave a weak smile at her friend. Joanne was the only person who made this nightmare bearable. If the older woman hadn't been so kind to her, Naomi would already have been dead. More and more, Naomi was depending on Joanne’s support.
Naomi glanced over at Brooke, who worked cleaning the knives nearby. Brooke gave Naomi a smug, condescending smile. She was gratified whenever the other inmates got in trouble. Brooke was a fellow prisoner, but she had kissed up to the guards enough to get special privileges, like less work and bigger portions of food. She was the only one allowed to use and clean the kitchen knives. Fearing attack, the guards didn't trust anyone else with them.
Naomi looked back at the plate she was scrubbing, then nodded for Joanne to pour the water while she held it to be rinsed clean. Dinner was over, but she was still hungry. The food rations were much too small for the amount of work these people expected.
Naomi grabbed another dish, this one encrusted with dried food bits. She felt her stomach turn, both from revulsion and hunger pains.
Across the room, four other prisoners worked at the big, industrial sink, scrubbing pots and pans. A couple of women nearby worked to clean the gas stove, and another pair of women washed dishes at a third sink in the corner. Two or three other prisoners put the food away and swept the floor. Four female guards patrolled the women as they worked.
If they were anything, the guards were organized. They demanded order and tidiness from the prisoners at all times. They ran a tight ship, and their intolerance for any deviation from orders seemed to be a tool they wielded. The guards expected total obedience, and anything less was viewed as insubordination and would be punished.
A loud noise from outside startled the women, making Naomi jump and nearly drop the plate. A wave of relief washed over her when she caught the dish in time. After all, breaking something would result in a beating.
But what was that noise? Was it a gunshot?
Several more loud bangs made their way through the dark kitchen, then the noise grew louder.
Naomi and Joanne looked at each other, then around the kitchen at the dozen or so other female inmates. They stared at each other silently as if to ask the same question.
What was going on out there?
"Back to work!" Morticia hissed, glaring at them. "Do you think I wanna stand around here all night while you silly girls make eyes at each other?"
The women returned to their labor, keeping their eyes down. But outside, the noise increased in volume all at once.
It was definitely the sound of guns. Rifles, probably.
And every moment, there seemed to be more guns firing. Naomi felt her heart pick up its pace as she listened. It sounded like a war zone outside.
It was hard to discern where the noise was coming from because of its echo through the hills. But the roar of the gunfire was so deafening that it couldn't have been very far away.
Naomi stood frozen, listening. She met Joanne's eyes, and they both stared at each other in disbelief.
"Get back to work, now!" Morticia yelled, breaking herself out of her own trance as she listened. Naomi could hear the rising frantic edge in the guard’s voice.
Outside, the battle raged on.
She felt a small, stubborn bit of hope deep within herself. Something big was happening out there.
But a sudden blow against her ribs knocked all the optimism out of her. The guard had suddenly elbowed her in the back. Naomi felt the wind forced out of her chest.
"Don't let me catch you slacking off again," Morticia screamed at Naomi inches from her ear.
Naomi hurried to resume washing the dishes, disgusted by her own cowardice. If she had been brave, she would be able to stand up to that guard. She remembered how she had stoically faced the guard’s abuse before. But now, after carrying the scars and bruises, she was afraid. Now, when push came to shove, she would do anything to avoid provoking their violence.
"Are you okay?" Joanne muttered under her breath when the guard had turned away.
Naomi nodded her head as the pain washed over her. The sooner they finished, the sooner they could take refuge in their own rooms.
She darted her eyes over at Brooke, who was drying a chef's knife with a dish towel. Brooke seemed on edge like the rest of them, and she snuck furtive glances at the guards supervising the women's work.
Suddenly, a wailing noise from outside filled the air.
Again, the women in the kitchen stopped their work and looked at each other. Naomi caught a glimpse of fear on Morticia's face.
It took Naomi a moment to realize what the this new wailing sound was. It was the sound of women screaming at the top of their lungs.
The prisoners were escaping.
The sound came from the big hotel several blocks away. Naomi had seen the hotel earlier that day, from a distance. It was another female prison.
Could it really be happening?
The voices rose in intensity, some of them growing louder as the women ran in every direction through the neighborhood.
Yes, it was true. The women were rebelling.
Naomi looked down at the plate she was holding. Her hands were shaking so much that she nearly dropped it. Placing it in the sink, she snuck a glance at the scene nearby to her left.
In an erratic frenzy, Morticia lunged at Brooke, who was carefully drying a sharp knife.
"Give those to me!" Morticia screamed.
The guard snatched up the case of knives from the table. She grabbed the chef's knife from Brooke’s hands. Brooke watched in surprise and fear. Morticia worked furiously to pack the blades away in the folding wooden case.
Meanwhile, Naomi heard bits of murmured communication among the women in the room as they stared, wide-eyed, at each other.
"We have to do something," Joanne said under her breath to Naomi.
"Keep quiet!" another guard roared, stepping toward the middle of the room. "I don't want to hear another peep out of any of you!"
"Get them to their rooms!" a third guard called angrily from the back of the kitchen.
Two of the guards reached for the nearest prisoners and began snapping handcuffs around their wrists. One woman was cuffed to the stove while the guard moved on to the next prisoner.
Nearby, Morticia slammed the case shut and stashed it in a high cabinet. She moved to fit the padlock around the chain and secure the cabinet. She strained to reach overhead as she positioned the chain.
Just then, a prisoner lunged at the guard, bringing a heavy skillet down against Morticia’s head.
And that was when Naomi lost track of what was happening.
Confusion was breaking out all around her. Morticia stumbled forward, grabbing hold of the counter’s edge to keep her balance. Her attacker reached toward the cabinet where the knives were stashed. Several women screamed in the room as a guard drew her handgun.
“Get down!” Joanne screamed.
Joanne ducked down by the sink, pulli
ng Naomi to the floor with her.
An enormous bang filled the room. Naomi felt her heart lurch as she and Joanne crouched as low they could.
Just a few feet away, the woman who had attacked Morticia gasped. A moment later, she fell to the floor. Her body hit the tiles with a thud. The dead woman’s eyes stared lifelessly in Naomi’s direction.
Naomi felt paralyzed as she looked around the room in confusion. Some of the prisoners were struggling with the guards, trying to wrench their guns out of their hands. One prisoner grabbed a guard’s rifle just before the guard could shoot her with it. The prisoner ripped it out of her hands and bashed the guard’s head.
A moment later, that prisoner was shot dead by a third guard. Meanwhile, another guard was handcuffing the prisoners, one by one. The guard was headed toward the four women at the big sink nearby.
Naomi looked up at Morticia. She was hanging on to consciousness by a thin thread, and she fell to her knees. She wavered unsteadily, then slumped down to the floor.
Joanne looked at Naomi.
“Now’s our chance,” Joanne whispered. “We have to get out of here before they send more guards in.”
She began to crawl along the floor toward Morticia. Looking around her to make sure no guards were watching, she silently reached for her rifle. Joanne clumsily held the firearm and rose to her feet, still crouching and unsure what to do with the gun at first. But she quickly found her bearings, and pointed the gun toward the guard nearby.
Across the room, the fourth guard scanned the room. Any moment now, she would notice Joanne's movements.
"Wait!" Naomi whispered to Joanne.
But Joanne had already lifted the rifle and was aiming at the nearest guard.
Joanne pulled the trigger long and hard, showering the guard with bullets. That guard fell to the floor.
The prisoners nearby screamed and ducked.
The fourth guard pivoted toward Joanne.
"No!" Naomi screamed.
Before Joanne could turn toward the final guard, another round of bullets tore through the room.
