Hell Breaks Loose

by Sophie Jordan

  Someone outside the room laughed as they passed his door. The footsteps faded. Otherwise the hospital was quiet, with that humming quality of a building that never shut off. Like him. He was wired tight. Tension knotted his shoulders as he reclined in the bed. He never shut down. Never turned off. He couldn’t afford to. Not until he was a pile of ashes in a box. Then, he’d rest. Hopefully that wasn’t happening any time soon.

  Doctors, nurses, and other personnel worked the six floors of Sweet Hill Memorial with seemingly little thought to the felon in Room 321. Exactly the way he wanted it. He’d been here eight days. Eight days since he was taken from Devil’s Rock Penitentiary in an ambulance. In that time, he’d been an exemplary patient. He withstood all the poking and prodding without complaint. He slept and ate his fill. You could say whatever you wanted about hospital food, but compared to prison food it was five-star cuisine.

  He’d used this time to store up energy and plot his next move. He had only one chance and he couldn’t fuck it up.

  He’d be sent back soon. He wasn’t hooked up to any beeping machines anymore. His wounds had pretty much healed, leaving only the black lines of stitches and fresh, itching scabs. No threat of infection or continued bleeding. His arm sling could come off in a few days. According to the doctor, he was lucky to be alive. Half an inch to the left and the shiv would have hit his heart.

  Reid had said nothing when the doctor told him that, looking at him so expectantly. As though he might express relief or gratitude. He might be alive and breathing, but he had died a long time ago. He was nothing but a walking ghost now.

  A ghost with nothing to lose.

  Still, starting that fight had been a gamble. He winced, recalling how quickly everything had escalated and turned into a full-on riot. He’d only meant to get himself injured. Instead, inmates had died. Guards were injured. He’d seen North go down in a shower of blood. He felt like shit about that. He’d promised Knox he would look out for the kid. After a few inquiries, he’d learned that North was in a room somewhere else in the hospital. Thankfully, he would recover, but that face of his wouldn’t be so pretty anymore.

  And that sucked. More guilt. More sins to heap at his feet. But it was done. He, better than anyone, knew you couldn’t change the past. He just had to make sure it counted for something. That it wasn’t for nothing. Then he could go back to rotting away for the rest of his life.

  Reid took a deep, mostly pain-free breath as a nurse entered his room for a final bed check of the night. He was the last to be told anything concerning himself, but he knew what was coming. Even if he hadn’t spied the paperwork on the doctor’s clipboard authorizing his release, he knew. His time here was done. It was now or never. He had to act tonight.

  “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything? Another pillow?” Nadine asked as she adjusted the one beneath his head, bringing her chest close to his face. It was a game she liked to play. Tease the hard-up convict. Lingering touches on his body that didn’t feel quite so clinical. It’d been a long time for him, but he knew when a woman was into him.

  The guard who’d accompanied her into the room snorted. Reid leveled his gaze on Vasquez. The man clearly found her compassion toward a scumbag like him unnecessary. Unsurprising.

  Reid looked back at the nurse. “I’m fine.” He smiled at her. It felt a little rusty. He hadn’t done a lot of smiling in the last eleven years, but it seemed to work. She smiled back.

  He picked up the remote control with his arm that wasn’t in a sling. “I might watch some television.” The more noise coming from his room, the better.

  He punched the on button and the TV flickered to CNN, the channel Landers, the day guard, preferred. It was a good thing Landers wasn’t here tonight. He hung out in the room with Reid a lot so that he could watch TV. Vasquez, on the other hand, only entered the room to accompany the hospital staff. The rest of the time he stood watch outside the door.

  “Don’t stay up too late,” Nadine advised. “You need your rest.”

  He nodded, training his gaze on the TV as if he cared about what was happening in the rest of the world.

  Footage of a vaguely familiar female dressed in a boring gray suit rolled across the screen.

  “. . . an inside White House source reports that the First Daughter has been missing for over twenty-four hours, ever since Wednesday afternoon following a luncheon with the Ladies Literacy League in Fort Worth, Texas, where she delivered a speech on the . . .”

  Nadine tsked. “Can you believe it? Someone abducted the President’s daughter. What’s the world coming to?”

  He shook his head as if this was indeed something he gave a fuck about.

  “She probably took off for a weekend to Padre Island,” Vasquez grumbled. “Meanwhile, every law enforcement agency in the state is on full alert, wasting time and taxpayers’ money searching for her.”

  The timing couldn’t have been better as far as Reid was concerned. Deep satisfaction pumped through his veins, mingling with the swelling adrenaline. That meant they would care less about one escaped convict.

  He didn’t bother pointing out that the dark-haired female—who looked anywhere between the ages of twenty and forty—was the least likely candidate for a wild weekend at Padre.

  “Haven’t you been watching the news?” Nadine asked Vasquez. “They suspect terrorists,” she pointed out with an indignant sniff.

  “What does the media know?” The guard rolled his eyes. “Watch. She’ll show up on Monday with nothing worse than a sunburn.”

  Nadine shook her head, clearly not in agreement, and looked back to Reid. “Good night.”

  Reid fixed a smile to his face as she slipped from the room, the guard close behind her.

  The door clicked softly shut, and he sat there for a long while, letting the minutes tick past, letting the hospital sink deeper into night, his hand twitching anxiously at his side. It was hard being inactive for this long. If you were idle on the inside, you didn’t last very long.

  CNN streamed a constant feed of First Daughter Grace Reeves while reporting absolutely nothing new or enlightening. Graduate of some all-girls college. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin. She was dating the White House communications director, with rumors of an engagement imminent. Surprising, since she didn’t look the type to be with the slick-looking guy mugging for the camera.

  They flashed pictures and footage of Grace Reeves from a braces-wearing awkward adolescent to current day still-awkward-looking adult. You would think the President had someone on staff that could coach her on how not to look so pinch-faced. Maybe they could dress her better, too. Not like a middle-aged bureaucrat.

  When the clock on the wall read 12:34, he decided he’d waited long enough. They had left him unrestrained. Injured and wearing a sling and with a guard standing watch twenty-four/seven, they deemed it unnecessary. Fortunately for him.

  The trick would be getting out of the room—and out of the hospital—undetected.

  He rose from the bed and slipped the sling over his head. Dropping it on the ground, he moved his arm gingerly, experiencing only a slight twinge of discomfort from the deepest of the lacerations in his chest, but not the arm itself. The arm felt good. He’d had worse.

  He fashioned a lump under the covers, doing the best he could to make it look like a body. He turned off the light above his bed. It might pass for him if someone took a cursory peek inside the dim room.

  Moving quietly, he slipped the surgical scissors out from where he’d stashed them under the mattress and moved a chair beneath the ceiling access panel.

  A draft crept through the back slit of his hospital gown as he climbed up on the chair and lifted his arms, working two of the tiny screws loose in the panel. It swung down soundlessly.

  Sucking in a breath, he pulled himself up through the panel, grunting at the strain in his still sore muscles. The square space was barely wide enough for his big body, but he managed to heft himself through, stretching to his full h
eight.

  Above his room, the space was dark and crowded with conduit pipes and hot water valves. He hunkered and ducked his head, walking on pipes, carefully choosing his steps so he didn’t crash through the Sheetrock.

  Light trickled in from another access panel ahead. Reid peered down between the slats, identifying the hallway outside his room. He kept going, looking through the square metal panels until he finally came to one that overlooked a break room.

  He listened to the rumble of voices below and glimpsed the top of one man’s balding head as he changed shirts. “See you tomorrow, Frank.” A locker slammed shut. “Tell your wife to make some of those cookies again.”

  “They’re supposed to be for me,” Frank complained.

  “I’m doing you a favor,” the other guy laughed. “You’re fat enough.” He left the room and it was just Frank for a few more minutes. He was out of his range of vision, but Reid could hear him rustling around. Soon, another locker shut and his footsteps rang out as he strode from the room.

  Reid waited a few seconds and then worked the screws loose until the panel swung open. He lowered himself down, clutching the edges of the opening until his feet landed lightly on cold tile.

  He moved swiftly, starting with the lockers, hoping there was one whose combination lock hadn’t shifted and would lift open for him. He got lucky on his sixth try. Even better, a pair of men’s scrubs and a hoodie hung inside. Several dollars and loose change littered the bottom of the locker floor along with a pair of tennis shoes and a pocketknife. Reid grabbed it all and shut the locker. Arms full, he disappeared into one of the bathroom stalls to change.

  The shoes were a little snug, but the scrubs fit. He tightened the drawstring at his waist and slipped on the hoodie, zipping it halfway up. Snatching up his hospital gown, he stuffed it into a trash can on his way out.

  He walked out into the hallway like he belonged there. Squaring his shoulders, he slipped one hand in the pocket of his hoodie and immediately brushed the cold cut of metal. He wrapped his fingers around the clump of keys, thumbing the clicker. Sweet. Lifting a car would be simple enough.

  Reid didn’t pass anyone as he strolled down the hall. He dove through a corner door that led to a stairwell and hurried down the flights. Vasquez could check on him any time. He needed to be far from there when that happened.

  The first floor had a little more life to it. An orderly turned the corner before him, humming a tune as he pushed a cart. A nurse passed him as he strode toward the front lobby. She barely glanced up from the chart she was studying. He felt the stare of the camera in the corner but kept walking. It was like he was invisible.

  Later, they would study the footage and marvel at him walking bold as day down the hall. But by then it wouldn’t matter. He would be long gone.

  He passed through a set of automatic doors and sent a smile to the woman behind the circular counter of the admittance desk. She gave him a distracted nod as she spoke into a phone.

  Only two people sat in the waiting area. One dozed. The other stared at the TV in the corner where footage of the First Daughter ran in a constant loop.

  His heart stalled and then sped up at the sight of the security guard near the door. His attention was focused on the television screen, too. As Reid approached, he looked up and locked eyes on him. This was it. If there was going to be trouble it would happen now.

  “Evenin’,” Reid greeted as he neared the door. Almost there.

  The guard glanced him up and down before nodding. “Have a good one.”

  Reid didn’t breathe fully. Not even once he stepped out into the night. Every bit of him pulled tight. He didn’t let himself feel free. Not yet. It wasn’t time to drop his guard. He still had a long way to go to accomplish what he needed to do.

  Glancing around, he pulled out the keys from his hoodie and pressed the unlock button. A distant beep echoed on the night. He moved in that direction, weaving between cars. He pushed the unlock button again and this time spotted the flash of headlights.

  He advanced on an old Ford Explorer and pulled open the driver’s side door. Ducking inside, he adjusted the seat for his long legs then turned the ignition on and drove out of the parking lot.

  He headed east for thirty minutes, stopping at a gas station to fill up the tank with the money he’d found in the locker. This late, the place was deserted. He kept his head low as he paid the sleepy-eyed clerk and avoided looking directly at the security camera in the corner.

  Reid pulled around the back, where a lone car sat parked beside the Dumpster, presumably the clerk’s car. He swapped license plates with it. The guy probably wouldn’t even notice anytime soon.

  He’d still have to get rid of the Explorer, but this would give him some time. He could ditch the vehicle after he got where he was going.

  Satisfied, he hopped back behind the wheel and drove a couple more hours through the night, putting Sweet Hill far behind him. His adrenaline never slowed. He constantly glanced up at the rearview mirror, half expecting to see the flash of headlights. They never appeared.

  The highway was dark, the passing car rare on this isolated stretch of road. He rubbed a hand over his close-cropped hair and settled into his seat. Desert mountains lumbered on either side of him, dark beasts etched against the backdrop of night. He flipped through radio stations. No news of an escaped convict. It had been a long time since he was this alone. He still didn’t feel free, though. He doubted he ever would.

  Eleven years had passed since he’d been out, but he expected to find Zane in the usual place. His brother was simple that way. He liked his routines. Reid would bet that the cabinet was full of the same cereal they ate as kids.

  The cabin sat several miles behind the main house on 530 acres located outside Odessa. The land had been in his family for almost two hundred years, granted to them after the Texas War of Independence.

  The authorities didn’t know about the cabin . . . or the hidden dirt road that veered off the county farm road you had to take to get there. The old Explorer bumped along the unpaved lane. It was so overgrown with shrubs and cacti that it couldn’t rightly be called a road, which was the point.

  After an hour the road suddenly opened up to a clearing. The cabin stood there. Three trucks and a few motorcycles were parked out front, confirming that the cabin was still in use and far from forgotten.

  The front door opened as he emerged from the Explorer. Several men stepped out onto the porch, wielding guns. He spotted Zane at the center of them. His chest squeezed. His brother had visited him a couple times his first year at the Rock. Nothing since then.

  Time had not been kind to his younger brother. He was stockier, the baby roundness gone from his face. He was shirtless, too, and Reid marked the dozens of tats covering him that had not been there eleven years ago. Most notable was the eagle sitting atop a vicious looking skull. Most of the guys staring Reid down had the same symbol inked on their necks or faces. Once upon a time he would have been the one standing there wearing that eagle and skull. If fate hadn’t intervened . . . if his eyes hadn’t been opened.

  If he hadn’t gone to prison.

  He swallowed against the acid rising up in his throat and fixed a smile on his face. “Hey, little brother.”

  It was a bitter pill. This was his baby brother. The reason he hadn’t taken off for parts unknown when he graduated from high school was because of this guy right here. He hadn’t wanted to leave Zane alone with their crackhead mother and a deadbeat dad who showed up every few months. Fat lot of good sticking around did his brother. He’d ended up in jail, and his brother was running with a bunch of low-life thugs. His brother was a low-life thug now.

  “Holy shit,” Zane declared, hopping down from the porch, still holding onto his rifle. “Son of a bitch! What are you doing here?” He slapped his thigh as if he’d just seen something amazing. Something like his older brother who went away for a life sentence standing in front of him.

  Reid lifted his chin and tr
ied not to stare too hard at the emblems of hate riddling his brother. He nodded at the rifle. “Is that any way to welcome me home?”

  Zane hesitated a moment and then flung his arms wide. As if the past were forgotten. As if bad shit never went down. As if Reid could still be one of them again. “Welcome home, brother.”

  Zane embraced him, clapping him hard with his free hand. Reid pulled back and eyed the other men, meeting their dilated gazes head-on. Not a single one was sober. They were all high on something. Even so, several looked at him with distrust. Evidently not everyone had forgotten that before he went to prison not everything had been copasetic. They clearly remembered that he and Sullivan had grown contentious with each other.

  Rowdy, his brother’s second-in-command, wore a grin for him, though. Even if that grin did not quite reach his eyes, Rowdy reached out and clapped hands with him.

  “Good to have you back.” Rowdy looked him over. “Looking fierce, man. Guessing they didn’t release you for good behavior.”

  “Nah. Thought I’d just go ahead and let myself out.”

  Zane and Rowdy laughed. “Same ol’ Reid.”

  “You couldn’t have come back at a better time.” His brother’s eyes glinted with excitement, reminding him of the kid he used to be, and that only made his chest ache harder.

  “That right?” Reid asked.

  Zane nodded eagerly, gesturing to the cabin. “Yeah.” He shared a look with Rowdy and the other guys, and Reid got the sense that he was missing out on some joke. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Reid followed him inside and did a quick scan of the living room, noting how run-down the place had gotten in the eleven years he’d been gone. It had never been the Four Seasons, but now the house smelled of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. The upholstery on the arms of the couch had worn off. Dirty white threads tufted up as if trying to escape from the piece of furniture.