Early Release

by Jason Michelsen

  "If it makes you feel any better," she replied softly, "I've been the same person for the past seven years, even though I wake up each morning wishing I was someone else."

  "Miss Brittsen, I highly doubt that you'll be the same person when you wake up tomorrow as you were this morning. But even so, if who you are right now is who you've been, I don't see a glaring need for change."

  She smiled, grateful for the kind words, however far from true.

  "But hey," he went on with a mischievous grin, "maybe that's just my slow opinion!"

  She laughed for the first time in what seemed like ages. Tension melted, stress eased, and fears were forgotten as the two took playful verbal jabs at one another. As the light faded from the room, they each crawled into their makeshift beds; his next to the door, her farthest from it. Their mirth faded with the sunlight.

  "Pick one." Lisa wasn't quite ready to accept the silence. "Who were you, who did you become, or who do you want to be?"

  She heard David settle into his blankets before he replied. "I was a Soldier. If the essence of my being had to be distilled down to one word, it would be 'Soldier.' For almost a decade, I devoted everything I had to protecting this country and taking care of the Soldiers in my charge.

  "Those Soldiers were my life. I watched them live and I felt them die. I praised them at promotions, and I scolded them on extra duty. I celebrated with them at their children's birth, and I mourned with them when their children were taken before their time. They always thought I supported them, but the reality was that they were the ones holding me up.

  "But no man is meant to live so many lives. That many celebrations; that many funerals. It took a toll on me, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder accentuated it. I tried to take on all their pain; I couldn't bear to see them hurting. I couldn't stand it all, though, so I drank. I drank until I had a smile on my face as I told them it would be alright. Then I worried that my words weren't enough, so I drank more. At some point, I saw what was happening and I asked for help. They didn't want to treat me and the mental issues that made me drink, though. They wanted to treat the cookie-cutter alcoholic Soldier they thought they knew how to deal with. When I tried to make the system recognize individuals, they locked me up in a psych ward. When I still continued to fight, they kicked me out."

  Lisa listened, stunned at the character and eloquence of a man she had just assumed was a 'cookie-cutter' criminal. We're no different than the people he's talking about, she realized. The prison system would never recognize individuals to rehabilitate.

  "So you really were a hero even before tonight?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood without offending him.

  Judging by the pause before he replied, she failed. "Not according to my ex-wife or my daughter." The revelation, delivered in a pained voice without the slightest hint of weakness, effectively ended the conversation.

  "Get some sleep, Miss Brittsen. Tomorrow will be a long day."

  "Call me Lisa," was all she could reply before sheer exhaustion pulled her off to dreams.

  24

  David lay in the dark for what must have been hours before he fell asleep. When he finally did, it was a fitful sleep plagued by memories of a lost family, dead friends, and his own mistakes. He saw his wife and daughter wandering lost in a world without rules, unprotected after his abandonment. He saw his Soldiers gunned down by enemy fire, unable to react correctly without his leadership. He saw himself slipping into hell, his failure an anchor tied to his foot, submerging him in a lake of fire he richly deserved.

  Another normal night for an American "hero."

  25

  Saul awoke with a start as the first rays of light crept into the room. Lying still, he listened for any indication of danger. Hearing nothing, he crept out of his blankets and set about an inspection of his traps before Brittsen woke. They would have heard if anyone tried to come down the stairwell in the night, but he checked that too, just to be safe.

  Satisfied that they were alone and not in immediate danger, he returned to the storeroom and found the nurse beginning to stir.

  She looked nervous as he entered. "Did you go somewhere?"

  "Just checking to make sure we had no nocturnal visitors. Looks like we're on our own for awhile."

  "Do you think they're waiting for us up there?" she asked, the tremor in her voice almost completely hidden.

  Saul thought before replying. "The Prophet has a firm grip over that group now, but even he risks losing it if he keeps them inside these walls too long. We have to assume the lack of emergency response personnel means whatever happened was widespread, which translates to a get out of jail free card for all of us. Most of these guys were facing a few decades, they won't risk missing the opportunity to make a break for it."

  "Who's the 'Prophet'?"

  "Not even sure of his real name, but he's a seriously demented killer, and he's leading that mob. Big guy, too. Stands almost six and a half feet, built like a tank. Blackest eyes you'll ever see. You would definitely know him if you saw him."

  "Hutchins," Lisa nodded, "Matthew Hutchins is his real name. Every time he walked into the clinic, the place would go silent. He was always polite and respectful, but somehow he made even common courtesy seem threatening." She shuddered noticeably at her recollection of the man.

  David tried his best to sound reassuring. "It's a good thing he's gone then. We can get out of here, and you can go home and forget about him altogether."

  Silence hung in the air for several moments before Saul excused himself to check on alternate ways out. He hoped in his exhaustion the previous night he had missed something helpful.

  As he examined the basement, he deliberated the unmentioned aspects of their situation. What would they do if they ran into law enforcement? What if Lisa's home was destroyed? How far did the cataclysm reach? Was this really the end of the world?

  One step at a time, he told himself. They needed to get out of this basement, only then would any larger concerns even matter. Besides, these were the sort of things he needed Brittsen's input on. He had already decided that she was his responsibility until he placed her somewhere safe. The old Soldier in him looked like it was making a comeback.

  26

  While David made his rounds, Lisa found an old mirror and tried to straighten herself up. Running water would have been nice, but at least the mirror could keep her from looking too disheveled. She knew it meant nothing, but she was desperate to hold onto what she suspected were the final days of civilization as she knew it.

  As that thought crossed her mind, tears came unbidden to her eyes. Pressing them back, she pushed her resolve into overdrive. She would not let David Saul see her cry. Unsure why it was so important, she made that promise to herself anyway. Then she walked back to the storeroom with her head held as high as genetics would let her.

  "Any progress on a way out of here? I'm starting to feel like a prisoner in this place!" As the comment left her mouth, Lisa wondered if it had left any room for her foot in there.

  David just looked amused. "Should I even respond to that?" he asked with a glint in his eye.

  "Yeah, yeah; I have a talent for saying remarkably bright things, so sue me," she replied, then added, "If you can find a lawyer."

  "With my luck, that's one group that came through all this with flying colors."

  Lisa was again amazed by how easily they had fallen into this casual attitude with each other. Twenty-four hours ago she would have called him Inmate Saul, if she spoke to him at all. She wouldn't have even entered a room with him unless he was cuffed to something. Now they bantered back and forth like old friends the morning after a slumber party. An odd mental image of her trying to braid his hair fluttered through her mind, but she dismissed it quickly.

  "As for the progress," he said, returning to the task at hand, "nothing new. Looks like we pull the door open and hope it collapses to give us a clear path."

  "And if it doesn't?"

  "Then we think of something e
lse and try that. Don't be negative."

  "I just want fair warning before we resort to cannibalism."

  That drew a laugh, but Lisa made a mental note that he didn't deny the possibility of such extreme measures. Interesting.

  David busied himself securing a rope of bedsheets through the door handle so they wouldn't have to be in harms way while they pulled at the jammed door. Content that it would hold, he positioned them back about fifteen feet.

  "I don't know how tightly it's wedged, so I can't even begin to guess how fast this will work. If it will work. Just stay back, and be ready to move if the concrete starts falling towards us."

  She was very aware of the possibility of their makeshift avalanche coming back to her. Given her overpowering fear of being buried alive, Lisa had already imagined a hundred scenarios where this plan went wrong and she suffocated--or was eaten by enormous rats--under tons of concrete. This was not a fact she was about to share with her new partner; she could imagine the jokes he would have--if they survived.

  "Ready?" he asked. She was amazed how confident he looked.

  "As I'll ever be." She had no doubt that she failed to match his confident appearance.

  While David counted down from three, the gruesome death scenarios in the nurse's head climbed to around a thousand, give or take.

  He pulled the rope.

  27

  Heaving with all his might, David budged the door no more than three inches. Some gravel sized debris cleared out of their path, but not nearly enough to climb through. While a couple medium sized boulders shifted slightly, this plan seemed destined for failure. After a few more minutes of pulling for all he was worth, he sat down defeated, and feeling like substantially less of a man.

  Lisa came out of her safe hiding place around the corner and plopped down across the hall. She looked like she wanted to speak, but kept the silence. David knew she was putting on a brave face, but couldn't help feeling he had failed her--like he did so many in his life. No, don't go down this road again. He had learned the hard way that blaming himself excessively could land you in many prisons, but could never set you free.

  "Any ideas?" he asked, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

  "I don't know, maybe you just keep pulling and eventually it falls? Or maybe if we both pull? This is stupid! Do you know how many people have escaped from this place? And we can't get out through an unlocked door with no guards? I work here, for Pete's sake!"

  He could see she was losing it as she got to her feet and paced the hall, ranting all the while. He couldn't blame her, so he just let her get it out of her system.

  "Yesterday I had a radio and could get anywhere I wanted just by asking! Today I can't get up one stupid staircase with a broken door?" She emphasized the stupidity of the staircase and door with a tug on the handle. It had about as much effect as promising in the Warden you'll be good if he lets you out.

  "I don't want to die stuck in the basement of my workplace with no friends or family, and just one stupid convict as a witness!" David briefly considered protesting his classification, but as he watched the tears fall down her face, he began to feel she was right.

  "I just want to go home! And I want a dog or a cat or a fish so I have a reason to go home! And I'm hungry!" She was bawling now as she kicked the door, erasing every inch of progress he had made. The whine of twisting hinges echoed as she went on. "Why does this happen to me? Why do inmates get to leave, and I get stuck here? Why the--"

  As her complaints turned more abstract and colorful, David's head snapped up. Twisting metal shouldn't echo in a small hallway! Bounding to his feet, he bolted across the hall and tackled the nurse into the broom closet behind her. As they hit the ground, with her bony elbow driving the air from his lungs, the groan of bending hinges turned to a shriek. Just a split second later, the pressure was too much for the ruined steel and a stairwell's worth of rubble poured into the basement.

  As he rolled off of her, trying to get his wind back, Lisa jumped to her feet and peered through the dust. Looking up at her, with her dirty blond hair falling over tear-stained cheeks, he thought she looked like a kid who had just discovered that grandma had not, in fact, been run over by a reindeer.

  Getting to his feet, he threaded his way through the rubble toward the nurse at the foot of the stairs. She turned and smiled up at him as new tears made their way down her dusty cheeks, this time for hope instead of helplessness.

  "It's clear," she whispered, amazed, "I kicked the door down!"

  Yep, David thought, definitely less of a man.

  28

  Lisa's elation was quickly put in check by the Soldier's caution. While she wanted to race up the stairs and find an exit, he made them return to the storeroom to collect their supplies and listen for awhile. When he was satisfied that there was no one waiting for them, David finally allowed them to return to the first floor. Leading the way in an annoyingly chivalrous fashion, he took her back through the hole into the staff breakroom and onward to the reception area. His motion was tightly controlled; not an iota of energy wasted. Watching him reminded her of an action hero in one of her books, never off balance, never unaware. As he approached the warden's office, he slowed.

  "If they left the institution, it was probably through here. It's also our best shot."

  Lisa nodded her understanding of the implicit danger in using the same escape route as the band of roving lunatics who wanted them dead.

  David eased the door open and crept into the office. Lisa followed on his heels, letting out a gasp of surprise once inside. So this is where our budget goes! She looked around the lavishly appointed office, where the furniture, wall hangings, and electronics must have cost a quarter of the prison's annual budget. Nice couch, I guess that's why we had to stop providing cold medicine for sick inmates. In a truly amazing fashion, this one room doubled her cynicism all by itself.

  Brittsen marveled at the irony of the Bureau of Prisons being part of the Department of "Justice," David cleared the room and began observing the rec yard for signs of activity. His vantage was a large picture window set behind a massive polished oak desk. The glass was gone, and a firehose hung down twenty feet to the yard below. It seemed that Hutchins and his men had used this path, as expected. Creeping up to the other side of the window, Lisa got an idea of how extensive the damage was. Large fissures ran through the concrete pad that made up the yard. The perimeter wall was cracked all over, and in some places it had crumbled completely. It was easy to see that escape was a forgone conclusion once anyone made it this far.

  "What is that?" she asked, indicating pillars of dark smoke that dotted the horizon.

  "That's the reason no one is coming to our rescue." David stated plainly. "To see smoke like that from this distance, they're probably entire towns or farms blazing from the quakes. Every gas station and propane tank for a hundred miles must have exploded."

  Across her entire field of vision they spread, darkening the morning sky as they darkened her hopes for the future. Lisa would not feel comfortable until she made it to her own home to assess the damage.

  Next to her, David let out a long slow breath and sat back against the wall. "Looks like they're gone. You ready to get out of here?"

  Her spirits lifted slightly at the prospect of putting at least this first nightmare behind her. With a little luck, she would be sleeping in her own bed tonight, curled up with a good book. Something boring, it would not be an adventure story tonight. Looking across at the man that had led her here, she wondered where he would go.

  Her wandering mind was interrupted as David shrugged his shoulders and took hold of the hose. "Ever climb down one of these before?"

  "Of course," she answered with a healthy dose of sarcasm, "in nursing school we devoted an entire semester to it."

  "Great, we're good to go then." With the firehose in hand, he vaulted through the window and dropped out of sight.

  "You know I was joking!" Lisa screamed as she leapt to her feet. Her fear
ebbed and changed to embarrassment when she heard laughter just below the window sill. Peering over the edge, she saw a man she used to think was a nice guy looking up at her with an insolent grin from just below the ledge.

  "Oh yeah, you're funny," she scowled at him.

  David climbed back up and explained the simple process of a hand-over-hand descent down the firehose. He went first to guard against any tragedy of her clumsiness, but she followed without incident. Just like that, they were into the rec yard and a short climb over a tumbled wall from freedom. The nurse laughed to herself as she realized how quickly she had come to view herself as a prisoner.

  She turned to the felon next to her. "Inmate Saul," she said sternly, "I hope you know I cannot condone your escape attempt."

  "Nurse Brittsen, I hope you know I plan on reporting you for leaving before your shift is over."

  Laughing in the hazy sun and dust-filled air, a very unlikely pair scaled the rubble and made their long awaited exit from federal prison.

  29

  Screams receded into the blackness of the coffin, and he briefly wondered when they had stopped. Time held no meaning anymore; the earth herself had finally screamed out her protest to the depravity of her inhabitants.

  With slow, trembling hands, he pushed open the lid to his hiding place, made more difficult by the debris on top and the cramps that tortured every muscle in his body. Stumbling out of the old equipment locker, weak knees dropped him to the blood smeared floor. Here in the Special Holding Unit--the SHU--the darkness was nearly complete, making it difficult to identify the motionless lumps of flesh in tattered uniforms scattered around the halls. Inmates and guards alike had devolved into primeval beasts, tearing at each other's flesh until every soul had been sent to the hell it deserved.

  Except for one. He was smarter; he hid from the frenzy. Now he was free. Free from the tomb he sheltered in. Free from the rules and restrictions of the prison that had hung over him like cobwebs, remnants of a less enlightened time, for so many years. Free from all the responsibilities of life that interfered with his true calling.