CHERUB: Maximum Security

by Robert Muchamore

  James looked at Curtis, shaking his head with frustration. He rolled another coin. This time Golding looked put out. Too lazy to stand up, he slapped his newspaper down and wheeled his chair backwards towards the coins.

  ‘What’s going on there, Scottie? You got a hole in your pocket or something?’

  As Golding spun his chair around to look down the corridor, James and Curtis both fired. The rounds hit Golding in the chest and stomach. His chair shot backwards, before tipping over. The fat man roared as he blasted the chair out of his way with a powerful kick and rolled over, struggling to stand up.

  James’ ears were whistling from the gun blast as he ran towards Golding and drenched his face in pepper spray.

  ‘See what we do when we catch you,’ Golding gasped, as he slumped blindly back to the floor, trying to rub the spray out of his eyes. ‘Scott … Amanda … Where the hell are you?’

  ‘They won’t be along any time soon,’ Curtis gloated.

  ‘When we get you two in the hole, I’m gonna come in after you and bust every bone in your bodies.’

  Golding had plenty of fight in him and James didn’t fancy a tussle with somebody so heavy. He pushed another plastic round into the gun and held it menacingly in Golding’s face. Although classed as a non-lethal weapon, the baton round was deadly if fired into a vulnerable area from close range.

  ‘Hands in the air, fat boy,’ James shouted ferociously.

  When the muzzle touched his face, Golding put his arms up and allowed Curtis to knot them together. After this, he let Curtis stuff a piece of cloth in his mouth and tie a gag over it. Meanwhile, James located the rack of handcuffs Scott had told him about.

  It took both boys to drag Golding a few metres across the polished floor towards the staircase leading down to the reception room. James cuffed Golding’s hands around the top stair rail. Curtis cruelly stepped on the bracelet, so it closed down a couple of extra notches.

  ‘Remember when you put them on me?’ Curtis snarled. ‘You like them nice and tight, don’t you, Golding?’

  Golding screamed curses into his gag as the boys ran back to grab their guns. James noticed Golding’s backpack under the console. He tossed out a baseball magazine and sandwich box and stuffed the pack with baton rounds, pepper spray and stun grenades before slinging it over his back.

  Curtis found a lightweight black jacket with the Arizona Prisons Department logo on, which had belonged to Amanda Voss. He zipped it over his black T-shirt and found that it fitted OK.

  The boys sprinted downstairs, emerging through an unsecured door into the reception room on the ground floor. James jogged towards the exit door and swiped Amanda’s card through the lock. He smiled with relief when it clicked.

  ‘Keep calm,’ James said, as they stepped out into fresh air. ‘Remember, it looks suspicious if we run.’

  James swiped the card again and they passed through a wire gate into the main prison compound. The tarmac road went arrow-straight, all the way down to the exit. The only light came from a few lamps around the wire fences of the cellblocks and the glowing watchtowers around the distant perimeter.

  A passing refuse cart and a wave from a hack taking a cigarette break was the only excitement during the eight-minute walk towards the sally port, but James tortured himself with images of sirens, gunfire and the savage beating he’d undoubtedly take if the hacks recaptured him.

  A hundred metres shy of the vehicle gates, there was a giant signpost ordering everyone to follow a colour-coded line painted on the asphalt: red for inmates under transportation, yellow for visitors and green for staff. The area beyond the sign was floodlit and CCTV cameras were perched every place you looked.

  Curtis’ voice was quaking. ‘We’re never gonna pass through this.’

  ‘Act normal,’ James whispered. ‘We’re dressed like staff, we have swipe cards. Unless the emergency siren goes off, there’s no reason for anyone to look at us too hard.’

  The green line ended at the door of a small metal shed marked Staff Only. James peeked through a window into a small room with a line of vending machines. A miserable looking hack sat on a plastic chair drinking from a tiny cup. James swiped his card in the entrance door, went up two steps and cautiously poked his head into a narrow corridor that smelled of floor polish.

  ‘Looks sweet,’ James said.

  They stepped inside, passing by the frosted glass entrance of the room with the vending machines, then dashing along the corridor towards the staff exit.

  James swiped Amanda’s card through the lock on the door. A man’s voice came out of a loudspeaker. James hoped it was the friendly Mr Shorter in the central control room, but he had no way of telling.

  ‘Look up at the camera, state your name and staff ID.’

  ‘Voss, Amanda, Y465,’ James said, trying his best to sound like a girl.

  ‘Who’s your buddy?’ the loudspeaker asked.

  Curtis looked uncertainly up at the camera. ‘Warren, Scott, KT318.’

  ‘Hey Scottie, you don’t sound so good tonight. You got flu or something?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Curtis said uncertainly.

  ‘Sorry to hear that, man. You go home and catch yourself a good rest.’

  The door buzzed to indicate that it had been unlocked. James and Curtis passed through and walked along a wire-enclosed path. They stood behind a red Wait sign, while a chunky door built into the armour-plated wall of the sally port rumbled backwards. Once it was fully open, the boys stepped into a tunnel.

  When the door at their backs closed fully, a green bulb began pulsing above the door at the opposite end. James realised there was a slot for a swipe card. He couldn’t remember if he was supposed to get interviewed a second time and was relieved when the metal door began rumbling.

  As they stepped out of the secure compound, James spotted the sign pointing towards the staff car park and headed off briskly. Curtis was so shocked that he could barely open his mouth.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ Curtis mumbled. ‘Unbeeeeelievable. You’re a genius, James.’

  ‘Don’t count your chickens,’ James said, as they strode along a paved path through the night air. ‘This is only the beginning.’

  23. CARS

  James couldn’t risk hanging out in the car park too long, but there were more than fifty parked vehicles and he couldn’t walk straight up to Scott’s without Curtis wondering how he knew which one it was. James aimed the plipper at every car, until he got a blip and a set of flashing lights from a Honda Civic in the next row across.

  As they cut between two cars, a battered pickup rolled over a speed bump into the car park. The boys instinctively ducked as the truck pulled in a few spaces along from the Civic. The driver swung out his legs and paused on the edge of his seat to light a cigarette. James recognised the face as it glimmered in the match light.

  ‘Frey,’ Curtis whispered anxiously.

  James had read Superintendent Frey’s personnel file. It said he was a hard worker who thought of cellblock T as his personal property, but nobody had expected him to turn up three hours before a shift. This was bad news. James had to think fast.

  Frey was wearing a football shirt and jeans, but even allowing time for him to change into uniform, maybe drink a coffee in the staff lounge and walk up to block T, he’d still be discovering the tied-up hacks and raising the alarm within half an hour.

  Taking Frey out was the obvious option, but the boys were on open ground and there were CCTV cameras everywhere. James decided to let Frey go unmolested. He was far from certain it was the right decision, but he remembered how the PERT team had treated Dave and he didn’t want Golding’s prediction of them ending up in a dark cell getting a beating to come true. The further away from the prison they were if they got caught, the greater the chance that John Jones and the FBI team would be able to pull James out before the hacks got hold of him.

  Once Frey had locked his truck and headed off down the cactus-lined path towards the staff entrance, they ran across
to the little Civic and jumped inside. It was a flash model: racing seats, ten-spoke alloys and a beefy engine. James pulled a red seatbelt across his waist and hit the start button. He remembered what had happened the last time he’d driven a car, but there was too much adrenalin flowing for him get hung up over it. He had to get on with the job.

  James kept the speed down on the road leading out of the prison, but once he hit the interstate he couldn’t hang about. The sporty little car had a firm suspension and the steering felt sharp. James got a sense of invincibility as he dodged between the three lanes of traffic.

  The twelve-mile ride to the dirt road turnoff took less than ten minutes. A Ford Explorer with bull bars on the front was parked up, with its headlamps switched on, a few hundred metres past the junction.

  ‘Grab the weapons,’ James said to Curtis, as he pulled the Honda up alongside the Ford and flung open his door.

  Lauren had left the engine of the four-wheel-drive Ford running and was already belted into the front passenger seat. James climbed into the driver’s seat and hit the gas as soon as Curtis slammed the door behind him.

  ‘You got the car up here OK?’ James asked Lauren, as he pulled on to the dirt road.

  ‘Uncle John didn’t wake up,’ Lauren nodded. ‘I got his road maps and worked out the route to Los Angeles.’ She looked behind. ‘And you must be Curtis.’

  ‘Hey,’ Curtis smiled. ‘Good to meet you Lauren. Where’d you learn how to drive?’

  ‘Me and Dave taught her,’ James explained. ‘We took her with us a couple of times when we were out on the rampage.’

  ‘I’m a bit short to reach the pedals,’ Lauren added. ‘But there’s hardly any traffic on the road up from our house.’

  ‘What you got in the backpack over there?’ Curtis asked.

  ‘Clothes, money, toiletries,’ Lauren explained. ‘I even managed to sneak into the bedroom and get John’s forty-four.’

  ‘We’ve got a proper gun?’ Curtis asked. ‘Where is it?’

  Curtis didn’t need an answer; he spotted the huge revolver on the armrest between the two front seats.

  The 4×4 seemed like it was on sleeping pills after driving the nippy little Honda. James pressed the gas pedal as they hit the interstate and it felt like nothing happened at all.

  ‘Forty-four magnum,’ Curtis grinned as he picked up the gun. ‘Dirty Harry special. You can blow a guy in half with one of these.’

  Lauren looked out the window as the donut place whizzed by. ‘James you tit, we’re going the wrong way.’

  ‘What?’ James gasped.

  ‘You turned the wrong way when we pulled on to the interstate.’

  ‘Arse.’

  There was a metal barrier between the lanes. James started looking for a junction where he could pull off and turn around.

  ‘Didn’t you tune that radio?’ James asked.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Lauren said, reaching forward and flicking it on.

  ‘We saw the superintendent of our cellblock in the prison car park,’ James explained. ‘We’re not going to get anything like the four hours we’d hoped for. We’ll be lucky if we get another twenty minutes before the police are on our tail.’

  James spotted a break in the barrier and swung the tall car into a wide arc, across a strip of scrub in the middle of the road and into the opposite lane. A sedan car blasted its horn, as the driver slammed her brakes to avoid shunting them up the back.

  ‘Whoops,’ James said, as he floored the gas pedal and began slowly picking up speed. ‘So how far is it to the border with California?’

  ‘Just under sixty miles,’ Lauren said. ‘Los Angeles is two hundred miles further than that. It’s a five-hour journey if we don’t stop.’

  ‘We’ll have to stop at least once, for gas.’

  Traffic was light and the unlit road almost straight. When James checked the speedometer he was doing eighty miles an hour, which was over the limit, but in line with what most of the other traffic was doing at this time of night. If he drove any faster, he’d look conspicuous.

  The radio station was holding a phone-in and the topics were Are there alien beings walking among us? and Who is the greatest popular musician of all time? As far as James could work out, most of the people who rang in believed that the answer to both questions was Elvis Presley.

  The digital clock on the dashboard said 03:43 when the DJ cut off a caller and got seriously excited.

  ‘…We’re picking up breaking news of an escape from Arizona Max. Two male escapees, both aged fourteen. That’s one four, folks, not four zero … One prison officer is believed to have died during the escape. Arizona police are setting up roadblocks at strategic locations. The escapees are described as white skinheads, going by the names of James Rose and Curtis Oxford. Both are convicted murderers and police say that you should treat the boys with the same degree of caution as you would if you spotted a dangerous adult offender … That’s red-hot news, listeners, stay tuned, because were gonna be keeping you up to date on this all night long …’

  ‘You killed someone,’ Lauren gasped.

  Scott Warren’s faked death had always been part of the plan, but they had to act surprised in front of Curtis.

  ‘We didn’t kill nobody,’ Curtis said.

  ‘One of the hacks must have had a heart attack or something,’ James said.

  ‘This is so bad,’ Curtis said. ‘If you kill a hack, you’re done for. They stick you in solitary and the hacks make your life hell: spitting in your food, playing loud music right outside your cell until it drives you nuts …’

  ‘Then we’d better not get caught,’ James said.

  ‘Oh god,’ Curtis said, shaking his head and sobbing.

  ‘What do you want me to do,’ James shouted bitterly. ‘Go back and kiss him better?’

  ‘What if there’s a roadblock?’ Curtis asked. ‘We’ve only got one proper gun and they’ll shoot us to pieces if we try to ram through.’

  ‘Just stay cool and give me a chance to think,’ James said. ‘Lauren, how far are we from the California border?’

  Lauren looked at the map spread out across her legs. ‘Thirty-five miles or so.’

  ‘They can have roadblocks in California too, you know,’ Curtis said.

  ‘Of course,’ James said. ‘But there can’t be many cops out here in the desert and they don’t know what way we’re going. The further out you get, the more roads they’d need to block, so if we hit a roadblock I’d bet on it being sooner rather than later.’

  James watched the lines of cat’s eyes whiz by for a few more minutes. A woman called the radio phone-in and said that the escapees should get the death penalty, even though they were only fourteen. The follow-up callers all agreed.

  ‘… OK folks. A little more news on the jailbreak. Police are now looking for a silver Honda Civic IS. Apparently that’s a distinctive Jap box with fancy wheels and a little wing over the back window …’

  James smiled. ‘We’re one step ahead of ’em.’

  ‘The cops will check out your uncle’s house pretty soon,’ Curtis said. ‘They’ll find this car is missing.’

  ‘But it buys us some time,’ James said.

  ‘Up ahead,’ Lauren squealed.

  Sitting on the right gave Lauren half a second’s advantage in spotting the flashing blue lights blocking the road.

  Roadblocks are usually positioned after bends, so that approaching traffic doesn’t get a chance to pull off, although they have to leave stopping room or cars would smash into them. There was a queue of about a dozen cars, passing through a single lane that had been created by parking two cop cars with their lights flashing across the other two lanes of the interstate. Every car was being stopped while an officer inspected the passengers inside with a flashlight.

  James pulled into the side of the road and slammed to a halt. He looked back over his shoulder. All four tyres screeched as he did a backwards U-turn through the traffic. If the cops hadn’t seen this manoeuvre, they
certainly heard the horns of two approaching cars blasting as they swung out of his way. One car sideswiped the metal barrier in the centre of the road, making a shower of orange sparks as it juddered to a halt.

  ‘Dammit,’ James shouted, as he pushed the stick back into drive and rammed the gas pedal, heading into the oncoming traffic.

  The police cars in the roadblock sounded their sirens and began moving towards them, as James noticed a break in the metal barrier and ploughed across the central reservation on to the correct side of the road.

  ‘Lauren,’ James said anxiously. ‘Where’s that backpack I brought with me?’

  ‘Down by my feet,’ Lauren said.

  ‘Take it, it’s full of weapons. They’re not looking for you, so soon as we stop I want you to jump out.’

  Lauren nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘You can’t stop,’ Curtis screamed. ‘We’ve gotta get out of here. If they catch us now that hack’s dead, our lives won’t be worth shit.’

  ‘I got you this far,’ James shouted back angrily. ‘Just calm down.’

  ‘Screw you,’ Curtis hissed, furiously grabbing the magnum off the armrest as the car pulled up in the sand at the side of the road.

  Lauren dived out with the backpack and rolled down a modest slope into some scrub. Both cop cars pulled up, one in front and one behind the 4×4. A cop jumped out of each car with their gun pulled: one male, one female.

  ‘There’s no way I’m going back to prison,’ Curtis yelled.

  The man stood behind in a covering position, while the lady cop jogged through the headlight beams towards the big Ford with her handgun pointing.

  ‘Turn off the engine and put your hands on the steering wheel,’ the lady cop shouted.

  James did as he was told, but he heard Curtis cocking the gun. The cop didn’t see Curtis until she got in close because of the tinted windows.

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ the cop said.

  James assumed Curtis had the magnum pointing at the cop, but he glanced in the driver’s mirror and realised Curtis was pointing it at himself.