by Donald Wells
While still naked, she stumbled towards the bed to take a seat, but found that she didn’t have the strength to sit upright and fell over atop the comforter.
“Something’s not right,” she mumbled. A moment more, and she was asleep.
Two hours later, Agent Rob Stevens of the FBI pulled up beside Officer Carl Ryan and sent three shots through the window of Ryan’s cruiser.
He then drove boldly onto Jessica’s property as the security system activated, and entered the home by using a key that he had copied days ago.
After disabling the alarm system, he crept up the stairs, but when he reached her bedroom, he thrust the door open and found her lying naked atop the bed. On the floor, the dog lay as still as his owner.
When Stevens tapped her cheek in order to gauge her responsiveness, Jessica’s eyes flickered open and filled with fear.
“Rob...what did you drug me with?”
“You’ll be fine; I just put a dash of Rohypnol in your wine. Tonight was to be our night, Jessica. I was going to throw a world-class pity party and later seduce you with help from the drug. Once our love was consummated, there would have been no going back, but of course that cop, Dent, ruined everything.”
Jessica was having trouble staying awake, but a thought came to her that opened her eyes.
“My dog; did you kill him?”
“No, I spiked his food. I actually like that mutt.”
“And the cop out front?”
“I’m afraid I showed less finesse in dealing with him.”
“Oh God, you’re so sick,”
Stevens ran a hand over her breasts.
“I might very well be insane, but I know what I want, what I need, and at last, I’m going to get it.”
He positioned himself between her thighs and began unzipping his pants.
***
At that same moment, but hundreds of miles to the south,
Joe Cowley watched as the stranger continued his workout. He had lost track of the number of push-ups the man had done somewhere around the count of eighty-two. That was five minutes ago.
There were three of them in the cell, him, the stranger, and the freckled-faced man named Gary, whose freckles appeared sickly against his pallid skin. The fourth man, the man Joe thought of as the accountant, had perished in the game of Russian roulette, while across the hall and two cells down, more of their group languished. They have been kept locked up for weeks, while barely fed, and all three of them sported full beards.
“I don’t know how you can work out like that,” Joe said. “I barely have enough strength to stand.”
“It’s a necessity; as soon as I see a chance to escape I’m taking it.”
They were interrupted by the sound of the deputies approaching. When they reached the cell, they saw that the deputies had the guard named Simmons in handcuffs, and he was bleeding from a beating.
After taking off the handcuffs and tossing him in the cell, the deputies left, and the three of them stared down at their new arrival.
“What the hell is going on?” Joe said.
Simmons rose from the floor slowly, while pressing a hand against his right side.
“They found out that I’m a DEA agent, and my name isn’t Simmons, it’s Szabo, Steve Szabo. I came here undercover to investigate Grayson’s cocaine business, we tried coming at him from the other end and lost three agents. All I’ve learned so far is that he’s laundering drug money through the prison, but I take it that’s nothing compared to what else is going on. They’re making you fight, am I right, they’re making you fight to the death?”
As Joe moved aside, he helped Szabo to a cot, where the agent lay back and sighed.
“They’ve moved on,” he told Szabo, “Now they’re forcing us to play Russian roulette,”
“Good God,”
“Nevermind that, you’re a guard here, were a guard here; is there any way to escape?”
“Escape? You’ve seen the towers, the dogs, the triple fences topped with razor wire, without someone on the inside, it’s impossible.”
“Not impossible, in fact, I have a plan, but for it to work, that electrical panel in the lower level has to be disabled, the one by the kitchen door.”
“Why that panel?”
He threw a thumb at one of the other cells.
“Over there is a man named Patel, he’s an electrical contractor, I described the location of the panel to him and he said that’s the panel that controls the electronic locks on these cells, he also says that it powers the lights downstairs.”
“Okay, so we get out of the cell, but then what?”
“Like I said, I have a plan,”
One of the deputies bellowed, as he approached the cell. It was Fred.
“Hey Szabo!”
Szabo stood up while grimacing.
“That’s Special Agent Szabo, fat boy, I’m a federal agent, and when I get out of here I’m going to see that your ass does hard time.”
Fred laughed.
“You’re not gettin’ out of here, except in a body bag. Good news gents, the games are back on for tonight, and not just for two of you. The Warden says it’ll be last man standing. We’re gonna keep at it until you’re all dead, all but one of course, but if I was the winner I wouldn’t go making any long range plans, ya know what I mean?”
Fred made the pistol shape with his hand and placed it against his temple.
“Bang!” he said, before walking away laughing to himself.
Szabo turned to look at him.
“This plan of yours, I hope it’s a good one.”
***
Chief Dent was finally keeping his promise to take Traci out for dinner and a movie.
They had just left the restaurant and were on their way to the theater when they heard the news on the radio. The body that had been discovered earlier had now been positively identified as Dave Callaway.
Dent slammed a hand onto the dashboard.
“God damn it, I told them not to release the results of the autopsy. I wanted to prepare Sarah for the news.”
He then checked his phone for the third time.
“What’s wrong?” Traci said.
“Ryan, he’s supposed to check-in by text every half hour. He’s now six minutes late.”
Traci took out her phone.
“Jessica’s not answering either,”
The chief made a sharp U-turn and mashed the pedal.
“There goes the movie,”
Traci placed a hand on his arm,
“Hurry, Jack.”
***
As Rob Stevens gazed down upon Jessica’s naked form, he loosened his belt and began unzipping his fly, from outside came the sound of a car skidding to a halt and Stevens jumped off the bed and went downstairs to see who was there.
He opened the door to find Sarah Callaway charging at him with a gun in her hand, as her tears threatened to blind her.
She screamed, “You killed my brother!” as she raised her arm to fire.
Stevens was quicker though, and shot her just under her left eye, and Sarah was dead before she hit the ground. He walked over and gazed down at her, but then jerked his head up, as headlights approached along the winding driveway.
***
After finding Ryan bleeding in his cruiser, the chief radioed for an ambulance and back-up.
As he and Traci were donning their vests, they watched with alarm as Sarah Callaway appeared and made a reckless turn into the driveway, to race towards the house.
They jumped back into the chief’s car and followed just seconds behind, even as a shot rang out in the night. As they made the final turn and their headlights illuminated the home, they saw the body of Sarah Callaway lying by the stairs.
***
Jessica had fought the effects of the drug and stumbled downstairs while holding onto the banister with both hands, in the pocket of her robe was a gun.
While halfway down, she heard Sarah Callaway’s anguished cry, and the shot tha
t followed. As she made it to the doorway, she gazed outside and saw Traci and the chief getting out of their vehicle.
“It’s Rob,” Jessica said. “He’s here!”
An instant later, the trunk of Sarah Callaway’s car popped open and Stevens shot Dent twice in the chest. Traci returned fire, but missed, and Stevens fired again, hitting Traci in the right leg, and she fell to the ground as her gun tumbled away.
Stevens walked over and took aim at her face, and that’s when Jessica fired. The bullet struck him in the back of his left shoulder and passed clean through while spinning him around. He sent Jessica an astonished look and then sprinted towards his car, to drive off in a squeal of tires.
Jessica once more succumbed to the drug and slid to the floor of the porch, as Traci crawled over to Jack.
“He’s not breathing! Jessica! Help me!”
Jessica stumbled over and examined Jack.
“The bullets didn’t penetrate his vest,” Traci said. “Why isn’t he breathing?”
“The impact must have caused trauma to his heart,” Jessica told her, as she began CPR. When Jack didn’t respond, she pointed towards the house. “In the closet under the stairs you’ll find a red case with a drawing of a heart on it. Bring it to me.”
Traci ran inside as fast as her damaged leg would allow and returned with the case.
“What is that?”
“An emergency defibrillator,”
Jessica had removed both the vest and Dent’s shirt while Traci was in the house. She ripped open the case, powered it on, applied the electrode pads onto Dent, and the machine spoke.
“Running Diagnostic”
“Shock Advised”
“Stay clear of the patient”
“Press the flashing button to administer shock”
Jessica depressed a button on the defibrillator and Dent twitched, but a check of his pulse still found no heartbeat.
“Oooohh Jack nooo,” Traci moaned.
“Stay clear,” Jessica said, and shocked him again, and this time when she checked, he had a pulse. “He’s back, he’s back,”
A squad car raced onto the property with an ambulance following behind.
As Dent was being loaded aboard the ambulance, Traci spoke to the other cop. A man named Wilson. With Dent out of commission, Wilson was in charge. Wilson was a seventeen-year veteran of the force, although he was only thirty-eight-years-old.
“How’s Ryan?” Traci said.
“He’s gonna make it; he’s already on his way to the hospital, but damn girl, look at you, that’s a nasty leg wound you got there.”
“I’ll ride along with Jack. What about the APB on Stevens?”
Wilson shook his head.
“We’re putting up roadblocks now, but Stevens is probably already out of the area. We got nothing. It looks like he’s gotten away.”
Jessica grabbed Traci by the arm and guided her towards the ambulance.
“Enough talk, go get yourself treated,”
“I will. Officer Wilson here will take care of you, and Jessica, thank you, thank you for saving Jack, and me, a moment more and Stevens would have killed me.”
“It was my pleasure,” Jessica said, as she gazed over at the body of Sarah Callaway. “I only wish I could have saved that poor girl too.”
***
Szabo stared at him.
“You call that a plan? It’s suicide.”
“So is a game of non-stop Russian roulette, at least this way there’s a chance for those that remain behind.”
“You’ve got a point there,” Szabo said. “But what if they get both of us before we destroy the electrical panel?”
“Then we’ve simply died a few minutes ahead of schedule, but if one of us succeeds, then the corridor will go black and they won’t dare shoot, for fear of hitting each other. That’s when we make our break through the mess hall, along with the men left here in the cells. The guards will have to divide their forces to capture all of us, and with luck, we might get a chance to breakout.”
“Yeah, but what if there’s no luck?”
He shrugged.
“It’s a chance, Szabo, and once they strap us in those chairs and lock the door, we’ve no chance at all.”
Szabo offered his hand.
“I’m in. I’ll snatch Amos’ gun, while you go for one of the other guards.”
The man with the freckles mumbled something.
“What was that, Gary?” he said.
“I said what makes you two so sure that he’ll choose both of you to take down first?”
“Hate, the guard Amos hates both of us, me because I killed his friend, Dooley, and Szabo because he’s trying to stop them.”
“I want to go.”
“What?”
“I said I want to go first. I can’t take any more of this, and plan or no plan they’re going to kill every one of us. I just want to get it over with.”
The sound came of approaching feet and they knew the time had come.
Gary rushed to the bars and talked to the deputies.
“Take me! I don’t care who else you take but take me down now. I can’t stand the waiting anymore.”
The deputy named Amos, the one Joe thought of as Fred, turned and spoke to Barney.
“Ain’t this some shit?”
Joe hopped off his cot and walked over.
“Take me too, I’ll give you a show, I promise.”
He grabbed Joe by the shoulders and turned him around.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Take care of your wife.”
“What?”
“Take care of your wife when you see her,” Joe said, he then thrust his hands behind his back and offered the deputies his wrists.
As the deputies led Gary and Joe away, Szabo came to stand beside him.
“What the hell just happened?”
“He’s going to sacrifice himself.”
“Do you think he can take out the electrical panel?”
He gripped the bars with both hands.
“Just be ready,”
***
Joe trembled as Fred took off his cuffs, as they stood outside the death room. To his left, the stainless steel kitchen counters gleamed in stark contrast to the darkness in the hearts of the men around him.
After taking a deep breath, he pushed past Barney and sprinted into the kitchen.
“Hey!” Fred bellowed behind him. “God damn it! Don’t make me chase you down.”
Joe ran to the cabinets on the other side of the room and began a frantic search.
There’s got to be some here somewhere, there’s got to be.
He nearly yell with joy when he found what he was looking for, and then dropped down on his hands and knees and maneuvered around the counters and preparation tables until he reached the appliances and crawled behind them.
“What did you do?” Fred said. “Did you grab a knife from one of the drawers? A knife ain’t gonna help you, and when I find you I’m gonna kick your ass before I strap you in the chair.”
Someone whistled, and Fred looked over to find Barney pointing at the wall where the stoves were, as Fred craned his neck, he could see a foot sticking out. He walked over and stared down at Joe, who was lying on the floor, but a second later, he wrinkled his nose, as the odor of the gas reached him.
“What the hell?” Fred mumbled, as he saw the wooden match in Joe’s hand, in Joe’s other hand was the gas line he’d freed from the industrial oven.
Joe smiled up at Fred. “Yabba Dabba Doo,”
And then he lit the match.
***
When the explosion occurred, it took out not only the electrical panel, but demolished nearly half of the prison. The gas line of the oven was fed from the same source as the water heaters and the furnaces. It was also connected to the gas heaters in the guard towers, which on this chilly April night had all been running.
In all, sixteen separate explosions occurred almost simultaneously an
d not only disabled the locks on every cell in the prison, but the blast from the underground pipeline collapsed the east wing. With bribes, the use of sub-standard construction materials and the refusal to build in redundant systems, Warden Grayson had saved millions when the prison was constructed.
Tonight, he was about to regret every penny of it.
***
Inside the Warden’s house, the chandelier over the desk tinkled as the very ground shook beneath them.
Both Grayson and Maynard ran to the window and took in the carnage. The light from a massive fire could be seen on the east side and every guard tower in view was smoldering at its summit, as the bodies of the dead guards continued to burn. Meanwhile, a steady stream of prisoners had begun escaping their confinement, through what could only be a hole in the prison walls.
“Jesus!” Maynard exclaimed.
Grayson gave him a shove.
“Don’t just stand there you idiot, call the town and get the fire department here.”
Maynard began laughing.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“Hell, Taylor, the town ain’t had a fire department for years now.”
“Son of a bitch!”
Maynard looked up.
“Hey, how come we haven’t lost power over here?”
“The house is on a different system than the prison.”
“So we’re safe here?”
“Yeah.”
“How many guards here?”
“There’s just one right now, but if anyone comes near, he’ll shoot them on sight, and anyway, the fence will keep them out.”
***
Both he and Szabo were knocked off their feet by the blast. As he stood, he reached down and offered Szabo a hand, then, he pushed against the bars and watched as they slid aside.
They emerged into the main area along with the men from the other cell and found chaos. Amidst the semidarkness of the emergency lights, the inmates were running about wildly, and the few unlucky guards that had been within reach were being beaten to death.
They followed the breeze that was mixed with smoke from the fire, and along with scores of other inmates, emerged outside through a hole in the wall of the east wing.
Szabo started towards the fences with the other men, but he gripped his arm and pulled him back.
“What are you doing?” Szabo asked.
“Not that way, this way,” he said, and pointed towards the warden’s house.
