by Matt Rogers
Luis raised his own weapon and prodded it into the guard’s back, directing him towards the booth. As soon as King realised Luis had the situation under control, he wheeled his aim away and trained the gun on the other end of the corridor. They’d spent too much time in one place. He knew either Guardia Nacional or prison guards would follow the trail of incapacitated officials and happen upon them in no time.
Unless the riot in the pavilion had turned into a full-scale bloodbath.
Which it must have, because the corridor remained deserted. The absence of conflict unnerved King. He was in battle mode, primed for conflict, ready for a firefight. The extended period of nothingness bothered him more than a shootout would have.
Which isn’t natural, he thought.
But neither was running through an entire army of prison officials. And he had done so successfully. It sent a ripple of confidence through his system. To any other man, such a feat would have been impossible. Yet he had cut through El Infierno like a hot knife through butter. And now he would soon be on the other side of its walls.
He kept all his focus directed at the end of the corridor. Behind him, he heard movement. Doors unlocking. Raul and Luis were coaxing the guard into letting them out.
So close.
A harsh buzz indicated that the first door had been opened. King registered the noise, but didn’t act. Not yet. It would only take him turning his back for a second to compromise them. Guardia Nacional could charge round the corner and light them up in the time it took to make it through the doorway.
The second door buzzed.
They had a clear path to freedom.
As a deterrent, King squeezed off a volley of shots with the AK-103. They dotted the far wall, taking sizeable chunks out of the plaster. The sound of multiple discharges ricocheted off the narrow walls, blisteringly loud inside the corridor. King felt his ears ringing. He stayed unperturbed. The gunfire would cause anyone nearby to hesitate.
Which gave him more than enough time.
He spun on his heel, dropped the AK-103 and took off for the station. At the same time, he assessed the position of the twins. Raul had been the one to enter the booth with the guard. He was in the process of exiting at full pelt. Luis held the first door open for them. They had to time it so that the guard didn’t trap them in the space between the two doors.
King flew past Luis and snatched the second door, which had popped open when unlocked. He held onto its metal surface so that it didn’t swing back and lock, effectively trapping them in. Now both doors were open. There was a clear path to freedom. He saw sunlight spill into the glass corridor.
Raul burst through the first doorway and rushed past King, leaving the prison. As he did so, Luis let go of the first door and stepped inside the room.
Then King saw it.
A figure rounding the corner at the other end of the hallway, limping badly. One arm dangling uselessly by his side. Blood covering his uniform. His good hand clasping an automatic pistol.
‘Luis, down!’ King roared.
Luis sprinted for the second door, arms and legs pumping like pistons. Behind him, the first door slowly began to swing shut.
Not fast enough.
A single crack tore down the corridor, registering in King’s eardrums at the same time that he saw Luis jerk forward like a marionette thrown by its strings. He locked eyes with the man for a split second, seeing the fear in his stark green irises. Then the side of his head puffed open in a spray of brain matter and he slapped the hard tiled floor with a wet smack.
All tension dissipated from his limbs.
Luis was unquestionably dead.
King saw Rico leering in the distance. The grotesque smile seemed to hover for a brief moment — teeth stained red, nose dripping blood.
Then he turned and fled El Infierno, stepping out into the bright Venezuelan heat. He shut the memory away. Perhaps he would need it later, for motivation. But for now he had to focus on escape.
They hadn’t come this far for nothing.
CHAPTER 27
He knew what came next would be tough. Beyond tough.
He stepped down into a small courtyard — not the one he’d arrived at. This space was a little more claustrophobic, a little more deserted. It was a small inlet carved out of the surrounding trees. A row of rust-pitted dumpsters lined the nearest wall, each leaking disgusting fluids. Broken wood pallets crawling with cockroaches were strewn across the courtyard’s floor. It seemed to be the dumping ground for El Infierno’s unneeded waste.
The inlet exited onto a main road with occasional passing traffic. On the other side of the road, steep hills ascended far above them. A shanty town had been constructed in the side of one mountain. Its rickety houses overlooked El Infierno.
Beautiful view, King mused.
But he wasn’t concentrating on any of that. He gave his surroundings nothing more than a passing glance, because the real problem lay directly ahead in the form of Raul, standing a few feet away from the entrance.
A man who fully expected to see his brother emerge from the doorway after King.
King passed through the doorway and slammed it shut behind him, shutting them both off from any more of Rico’s pinpoint-accurate shots.
Raul’s face fell. His features crumpled. He cocked his head to the side, staring right at King, hoping for some kind of explanation. There was so much King wished he could say.
Don’t worry, Raul, your brother is heading a different way.
He’s perfectly fine.
Nothing to worry about.
He’ll catch up with us later.
But King had nothing for him. He looked into Raul’s eyes, seeing the hurt flaring within them. They were identical to Luis’. He shook his head, a single solemn gesture that said everything all at once.
Raul’s legs buckled.
Whether he was fainting or simply overcome with grief, King could not let him collapse in the dirt. Rico would make his way down the hallway, open the steel exit doors and unload the rest of his clip into the man’s crumpled form if given the opportunity.
They hadn’t come this far for that.
King scooped a hand under Raul’s armpit and hauled him to his feet. Raul sobbed, eyes already watering, tears sliding down each cheek, destroyed by the loss of someone so close to him in the seconds before they both found their freedom. King felt the same emotions deep down, threatening to bubble to the surface and faze him out.
But as always, the necessity to succeed at the task at hand overpowered whatever shock or anger or grief he felt.
He shoved Raul hard, spurring him forward, heading for the main road. The morning traffic passed by frequently enough for King to be confident they could seize a car. Raul stumbled once, and faltered. King saw the expression on his face. He didn’t want to leave El Infierno behind, because that meant Luis had been confirmed dead. He clutched onto a strand of hope. He hadn’t seen the body for himself.
Perhaps his brother had miraculously survived…
‘Raul, there’s nothing that can be done,’ King said. ‘I saw it myself.’
‘You can’t be sure.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘We need to go back and…’
‘We’ll die.’
He pushed Raul again, double-handed, his actions full of urgency. Finally, the man reacted. He took one last look at the enormous brick structure looming in the background. Then he spat on the ground and set off at a jog down the gravel path, his eyes bloodshot.
King followed, glancing back every so often to ensure the exit door remained firmly shut. He didn’t expect Rico to be able to make it down the corridor very fast, and he assumed the guard monitoring the station wanted nothing to do with them. Nevertheless, he kept his AK-103 at the ready.
They left the scraggy brush behind and burst out onto a two-way asphalt road. It ran along the lee of the mountains opposite, great sweeping valleys of green and brown that ascended into the sky. The shanty town overlooked
them, thoroughly dilapidated. To the north, the road trickled down through the city of Maiquetía until it met the coastline. It ran parallel to the ocean, stretching into the distance for as far as the eye could see.
‘We need a place to hole up,’ King said. ‘Where did you used to live?’
Raul said nothing. He stared vacantly at the cars passing them by, detached from reality.
‘Raul!’ King roared, snapping him back to the present. ‘Talk to me. We need to focus these next few minutes. Understand?’
The man nodded.
‘Where do we go from here?’
‘We’re going to die, man,’ Raul whispered.
‘What?’
‘The Movers will want us both dead. They’ll tear the whole city apart looking for us. My mother, my sister…’
‘Where are they?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t been able to contact them for a year. But I hope they’re still in our old home.’
‘Did you used to live there?’
Raul nodded. ‘Me and Luis both. Before we were arrested…’ He trailed off, choking up at the mention of his brother.
‘It’s down in Maiquetía?’
Raul nodded again.
That was all King needed to know.
Time was sparse. Even now, word of two prisoners’ escape was likely flooding through the prison grounds, drawing the full force of the Guardia Nacional to this side of the complex. They had to get clear of the area before they were overwhelmed.
He waited for a break in the traffic and stepped out into the middle of the road. In his lane, a dirty olive hatchback crawled up the hill a hundred feet away, heading straight for them.
He tucked the Kalashnikov rifle behind his back and held up a hand, feigning distress. There were no visible signs to indicate he was an escaped prisoner. He still wore the same clothes from a few days ago, albeit dirtier.
The car slowed. Through the windscreen, King saw the driver gesticulating, yelling inaudibly in Spanish. Cursing the idiot blocking his path. The tyres bit the asphalt until the man had slowed his vehicle to a crawl. It crept slowly towards King’s motionless form.
He brought the AK-103 into sight and held it double-handed, one hand wrapped around the trigger guard, the other tight on the fore-grip. An intimidating pose. With the barrel of a very real, very dangerous weapon pointed directly at him, the driver baulked. He stamped on the brakes and threw his quaking hands in the air.
King sometimes forgot how intensely civilians reacted to death threats. He considered situations like these normal. Which was probably how he’d ended up in such a predicament in the first place. He gestured with the barrel, motioning the guy out of the car.
The man complied.
King passed him as he went to slip into the driver’s seat. He took one look at the guy’s dirty shirt, straggly hair, oversized slacks and beat-up ride. He didn’t imagine the guy was in a comfortable place financially. The loss of his automobile would only make that worse. King didn’t ignore his conscience.
He couldn’t.
He slipped a hand into his jeans pocket and withdrew the wad of bolivares within. Equivalent to roughly five thousand U.S. Dollars. He peeled off half and tucked them into the shaking driver’s shirt pocket. The guy looked at the money and raised his eyebrows.
They didn’t speak the same language, but King nodded his thanks for letting the incident transpire smoothly. The guy nodded back. Probably awfully confused. Yet a little reassured by the payment. He shuffled to the side of the road without a word of protest and watched King and Raul drive off with his car.
‘The fuck was that?’ Raul said, sprawled across a passenger’s seat full of holes and cigarette burns.
‘A bit of decency,’ King said. ‘Been a while since I showed any.’
‘Luis, man…’
He grew quiet. King spun the wheel and floored the vehicle in the other direction, slicing in between two nondescript sedans heading down into Maiquetía. The sun had only just risen and it cast a warm glow over the seaside city. At any other moment in time, King would have enjoyed the scene.
But not when an entire drug gang wanted his head. Not when he had just escaped from a horrid third-world prison. Not when he’d just witnessed the death of an ally.
Right now, he couldn’t care less about the view.
They drove in silence. King didn’t let his focus fade. He made sure to constantly check the rear view mirror for signs of trouble. Approaching military vehicles, or armed drug dealers, or any of the other countless people that wanted him dead.
How did you manage to end up in a situation like this again?
He knew what would be best for him. Drive straight to the hotel and retrieve his passport and all the other items he’d left in his room, which by this point had probably been cleared out by housekeeping. Head straight for the airport. Catch the next flight out of Vargas state. Leave all this brutality and bloodshed and savagery behind. If he couldn’t retrieve his passport, he could get into contact with old friends in high places. They’d sort him out.
That’s what he should do.
Yet against his better judgment, he found himself glancing across at Raul. The man was an emotional wreck. He had no idea how to contact what family he had left. He’d just lost the brother who’d helped him survive a year in El Infierno. He was in no state to search for his mother and sister alone. Especially not with every Mover in the state hunting for his head.
That brought King to the mental image of Rico firing his rifle into Percy’s chest, killing the defenceless man in cold blood without a shred of empathy. King pictured his leering face, and the look in his eyes when he hit Luis from the other end of the corridor. It angered him all the way down his spine.
He gripped the wheel tight, letting out his frustration. Then he continued descending the hills.
He would stay. He would try to help Raul. He would try to find Rico — and finish it.
He wondered exactly what would result from such a decision.
CHAPTER 28
‘What will you do now?’ Raul said, his voice soft and raw with emotion.
The arid scrubland all around them morphed into rows of dilapidated apartment buildings. They had entered Maiquetía. Passersby saw King driving the vehicle. Their gaze lingered. He guessed that tourists in these parts was something of a rarity.
‘I’ll get you to your mother and sister,’ King said. ‘Then I’ll try and find Rico.’
Silence.
King looked across. ‘What?’
‘You don’t want to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘You just broke out of prison. I don’t know how much more luck you think you can have.’
‘Luck didn’t get us out of there.’
‘Then what did?’
‘Me.’
‘Who are you?’ Raul said. ‘Like, who are you really?’
‘I’m just a guy, Raul,’ King said for what felt like the millionth time. ‘Same as you. Except I’ve seen a lot more.’
‘You don’t know what I’ve seen.’
‘I don’t. But no matter what, I know I’ve seen worse.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Trust me.’
‘Is this your mysterious past we’re talking about?’
King nodded.
‘You want to get into that yet?’ Raul said. ‘I’m curious.’
‘Not at all. Where’s your old place?’
‘Stick to this road. I’ll tell you when to turn.’
The trip passed uneventfully. They trawled through slums and busy intersections. They passed groups of young children loitering on street corners, smoking cheap cigarettes. They saw men wielding rifles clearly purchased on the black market, who stared at each passing car with open aggression. But amongst all that, King saw families bustling to and fro. Friends laughing. Civilians enjoying life. Hopefully Raul could find his family amongst this crowd.
Raul directed him down a side street branc
hing off from the main road. The hatchback entered a rundown neighbourhood. Some houses had been abandoned long ago, evident by shattered windows and peeling paint and overgrown lawns. Traffic in these parts was non-existent. King drew the attention of every pedestrian in the area as he steered the car down street after street. He saw a muscular thug in a loose-fitting singlet gesture to a pistol tucked into his waistband as they passed.
‘You grew up here?’ he said.
Raul nodded. ‘We managed. But I wanted to get the family out of here. That’s why we both joined the Movers. It was only temporary…’
‘Don’t worry,’ King said. ‘I’m not judging you in the slightest.’
‘We’re not bad people, man…’
‘I know.’
Raul held out an open palm, indicating for King to stop. He brought the car to a halt in front of an apartment complex that looked as if it would collapse at any moment. The place was an enormous white block of flats. Its once-pristine exterior had long since been stained yellow by the heat and the dust and the filth.
‘Here,’ Raul said.
King pulled into the small carport out the front of the property. It contained a trio of nondescript vehicles, all at least ten years old and falling to pieces. Yellowed newspapers and shards of glass from smashed car mirrors littered the ground.
‘Mamá’s car isn’t here,’ Raul said. His voice turned increasingly quiet as he studied the complex. ‘I don’t know, King…’
‘Do they have a phone?’
He sighed. ‘I can’t remember the number. It’s been a year.’
‘There’s ways to find out if she still has a residence.’
‘Maybe. Let’s just check the apartment. I don’t have a good feeling right now…’
It was unnervingly quiet as they exited the car. What King imagined was normally a neighbourhood bustling with life had become dead. He couldn’t hear a sound save the faint echo of commotion from the main road.
‘Is it usually this quiet?’ he said as they headed for the building.
