Stone Cold Fear | Book 1 | Powerless

by Fawkes, K. M.

  Ryan was just returning with a twenty-five-pound bag of apples. “It’s still snowing,” he said to Pete, and handed him an apple. “There are bags of these and huge blocks of cheddar in the refrigerator that will go bad if they’re left too long. There’s also meat, but we’ll have to build an open fire to cook it, and I doubt the kitchen is set up for that sort of thing.”

  Pete grunted to let him know he’d heard.

  “It’s spooky in there,” Ryan said.

  Pete rolled his head, trying to release some tension from his neck muscles.

  “If you’re still set on feeding the convicts,” Ryan went on, “I’m thinking one apple and one good-sized slice of cheese per man. It’s not like they’re burning calories, laying around.”

  “Makes sense,” Pete said. “I want you on it, and I want Marie with you.”

  Pete took a bite, and the sweet juice flooded his mouth. It tasted like the best thing he’d ever eaten. He was damned tired of ration bars.

  “What are you going to be doing?” Ryan asked, crunching on an apple of his own.

  “I’m going to take Yu and Olowe and check out Cellblock Three. Andersen claims the second floor is sealed off from the first.”

  “And you don’t want Little Miss Fireball to know.”

  “That is correct.” Sadly enough, Pete didn’t want Ryan with him either, but he didn’t want to say that to his friend. “I trust you to get the job done and keep her safe in the process. And I know you’re not buying into her whole kumbaya, we-can-all-get-along routine.”

  “I can do that,” Ryan said. He gave him a funny look. “You know, you could have just asked Blaine to tell you about Cellblock Three.”

  “Blaine?”

  “The guard who was trying to high-tail it out of here.”

  “I forgot about him.” How could he have forgotten about him? He was definitely losing his mind.

  “Or maybe you just wanted to work out a few issues on the warden. Relieve some stress.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  Easy to say. Not so easy to do. Pete wondered if Ryan was right, and he had a secret sadist lurking inside, just waiting for the opportunity to make an appearance. Had he truly taken his concerns out on the warden? It wasn’t like him—wasn’t anything he would have expected of himself.

  So why had Ryan brought it up? Ryan should have thought the same—that it wasn’t like Pete. Why would he?

  No. There were so many problems in front of him already. He didn’t need to make new ones up out of thin air.

  “Also, because we don’t have enough going on, the guards are getting agitated,” Ryan said. “They know we’re purposefully keeping them out of the action, and not all of them are happy about Andersen.”

  Pete growled. “Okay. Let’s gather a few of us and we’ll disarm them. Do you think we should lock them in a room somewhere?”

  “Might not be a bad idea. I know having numbers would help, but I just don’t feel like we can trust them.”

  It worked in their favor that the guards had been keeping to themselves because it made it easier to walk into the room where they were sitting around and surround them. The guards didn’t put up much of a fight—at least until they escorted them to a storeroom.

  “Really?” one of them said. “What if everything turns to shit and we’re trapped in here?”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Pete wondered who he was trying to convince—himself or them. Then, seeing that it wasn’t going to be enough for them, he adlibbed another answer. “You all know the prisoners are on the hunt for you, and we still don’t have them all secured. This is the only way to make sure you lot stay alive, get it?”

  That seemed to do the trick, and Pete and his men walked away from the storeroom, the guards left at least somewhat comfortable inside the space.

  As soon as Pete entered the control room again, Marie told him Sadler had died.

  Pete stood there for a long moment, struggling to come up with something to say. “Okay” would sound horrible, but he didn’t think he’d be able to come up with anything better that was actually sincere. Had he done right by Sadler? Had he done right by the guards? Even if half of them were bad, the other half would increase their ranks by five. Of course, if they’d all been participating in Andersen’s illegal activities—

  “I want his jacket,” Marie said, snapping Pete out of his own head. “It’s warmer than what I’m wearing, which might matter later on.”

  Her callousness, or pragmatism, whichever it was, made him feel marginally better about his inability to be sad about Sadler’s death. Pete laced his fingers together and pressed his hands down on the top of his head.

  “Are you going to argue about it?” she asked.

  “No. Just steeling myself for the job.” He lowered his arms. “Sadler was incompetent, but I served under him for years. I’m not relishing the task, is all.”

  Marie nodded and got started, moving Sadler’s arms so she could slip them through the arm holes. Pete helped, keeping his eyes away from Sadler’s face, which had a noticeable blue tinge to it. As soon as they’d removed the jacket, Marie slipped it on.

  “Baggy and reeks of BO,” she said sharply. “But it’s definitely warmer.”

  She was tough as nails. A pain in his backside, certainly, but tough.

  Pete called in a couple of men and asked them to put Sadler’s body with the body of the dead guard. When his captain’s remains had been removed, he told Marie the plan.

  “I’d like you to go with the men and see if you can figure out which of the prisoners will cooperate with us,” he said. “Make a list if you can. That information might well come in handy as we move forward.”

  He wanted her to believe he was giving her a legitimate responsibility. He didn’t want her thinking he was going to do exactly what she’d told him he should. That sort of belief would go right to her head. Holding his breath, he waited for her response.

  “I’m glad I finally got through to you,” Marie said. She moved toward the door, reached for the handle, and turned back. “I hope what you got out of Andersen was worth it.”

  “Time will tell.”

  Pete waited until Ryan, Marie, and most of the men had gone, then left the injured men in charge of the control room, and Bahar, who’d found some parts and was working on the radio, taking Olowe and Yu with him for backup.

  According to the map he’d seen, only one of the stairwells led to the second floor of Cellblock Three. Locking and unlocking the doors on the way was time-consuming, but he’d already decided that he had to treat this prison like a submarine. Like the hatches that prevented water from moving through the ship, each secured prison door was one more that Clyde, and whoever he’d convinced to join him, would have to come through to get to them. If those doors were locked, it would be a whole lot harder for them to accomplish that.

  When they reached the door that would open onto the second floor of Cellblock Three, Pete turned off his radio. “Eyes peeled,” he said. “We don’t know whether Clyde’s had access to a set of keys or not. And not a peep. If you have to sneeze, cough, fart—don’t.”

  Hoping to minimize any sound it might make, Pete turned the key slowly and took equal care with the door. This section of the prison was built with a high ceiling, with the second floor being more of a half-floor, a walkway that passed in front of a row of cells set against the walls. They should be able to see down onto the first floor the way you’d be able to see down into a courtyard. They should come out of this door into an area where they wouldn’t be seen from below. Providing the prisoners had actually been trapped on the first floor.

  But that was a whole lot of guesswork, and it didn’t make him feel any better.

  When the door was wide enough, he squeezed through the space, taking one perfectly silent step and then another. He looked in all directions, then turned to the men behind him and gestured for them to proceed.

  Ahead of him, he saw a s
hort tunnel, and then the walkway. The rail would block them from view if anyone standing in the open section below looked up, but the tunnel was shallow enough that they wouldn’t have much room to move around before they became visible. They’d have to stay pressed against the wall here for their own safety.

  And they wouldn’t be able to see what was happening below if they didn’t get to that rail.

  He leaned back and breathed out, trying to plan his next move. As Ryan had warned him, there was none of the yelling and chaos they’d come up against in the other cellblocks. Pete would have preferred the noise, since it meant the men inside were disorganized and out of control. The low hum of conversation here spoke of order and cooperation, and of big problems for Pete and his men.

  They made their way out of the shallow depression and then along the wall, backs pressed to cement and then cell bars as they moved toward the sound of voices. Pete held up his hand, letting Olowe and Yu know he wanted them to stay put.

  Then he lowered himself to his belly and shimmied forward until he could peer over the edge of the walkway. There he saw Clyde about twelve feet below him, holding court. A small group of inmates listened, enraptured. Where were the rest of them?

  Damn it, why hadn’t he gotten a true headcount from Andersen before he’d come up here? He needed to know exactly how many prisoners he was dealing with!

  Because Andersen didn’t know, his inner voice reminded him.

  That got Pete scowling. Right. Andersen’s inability to keep track of details. He just hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the end.

  “There’s a new world coming, boys,” Clyde was saying. “One in which we can make our own rules. I have a vision, and I invite any of you to help me see it to fruition. As for those of you who aren’t interested, I only ask that you follow my orders until we have control of this facility. After that, you’re welcome to go your own way.”

  Clyde started to say something else, something Pete badly wanted to hear, but then Pete heard the shuffle of a foot and a startled inhale and turned his head toward where Olowe and Yu waited.

  Marie was there, which was what had caused the men to react. Before Pete could shout a warning, the worst happened. A convict appeared out of the same door they’d come through—evidently, they had found a set of keys—ran up behind her, and caught her around the waist.

  Three seconds later he had her dangling over the railing, his eyes on Pete.

  Marie screamed and Pete leaped to his feet, no longer worried about keeping his presence a secret. Marie was struggling, but at soon as she realized she was making things worse, she stopped moving. The convict let her drop further until he was only holding her under her armpits, and then by the wrists, and then he let go.

  She screamed as she fell.

  Pete moved quickly toward the rail and looked over, praying—though he wasn’t sure what he was praying for. What he saw impressed him. Marie somehow managed to hit the ground rolling. Her gun skittered out of her waistband and slid across the floor, but she came up on her knees, seemingly unhurt.

  With a roar of rage, Olowe grabbed the convict and hurled him over the railing. The guy didn’t manage the roll, and the sound he made when he landed was horrible. Pete looked down and saw him lying on his back, his neck twisted at an impossible angle.

  “Sorry, Lieu,” Olowe said. “I shouldn’t have done that. We might have been able to trade him.”

  Pete waved him off. Clyde didn’t care about the other men. And he’d never give up ground for one of them.

  Below, Marie had jumped to her feet and was trying to run, but as soon as she took her second step she cried out and fell, clutching at her ankle. With all the commotion, and with Pete now standing in full view at the railing, their cover was effectively blown.

  One of the prisoners was already moving quickly toward Marie.

  In a voice meant to carry, Pete said, “David Clyde doesn’t give a shit about you, no matter what story he’s selling.”

  “Ah, Lieutenant Marshall, we meet again.” Clyde picked up Marie’s Glock. “I’m surprised it took you so long to get here. I’ve had poor Walter”—he looked at the dead convict—“up there waiting and waiting. I’m almost offended that I wasn’t your first priority.” He sauntered toward where the convict held Marie.

  “I guess you aren’t as smart as you thought,” Pete said.

  Clyde guffawed, folding at his waist and slapping his knee. “It’s definitely not that. I’d given you more credit than you deserved.”

  A bunch of the convicts laughed, and Clyde took Marie’s arm.

  “Keep your hands off her.” Pete raised his rifle.

  “Or what?” Clyde said. “You’ll shoot me?” He pointed the gun at Marie’s head. “You can do it, but she’ll die too.”

  Pete lowered the rifle. God damn it. Why couldn’t she just have gone with Ryan? Leaving her with Clyde might be worse than shooting Clyde and getting her killed in the process.

  Neither option was good. He just didn’t know if there was a third option where she got to live.

  “Tell you what, Lieutenant,” Clyde said. “Come back in an hour, so my men and I can finish our conversation. Then we’ll talk. In the meantime, we won’t do any further harm to the girl.”

  “Pete, I’ll be okay,” Marie said. “It will… It will give me a chance to talk to him about what’s going on here.”

  Brave words, but Pete didn’t miss the way her voice was shaking. She might have thought she wanted the interview. He doubted she’d pictured it happening like this.

  And he didn’t like the way Clyde was smiling.

  Clyde and Marie were two peas in a nut-house pod, but Pete wasn’t going to abandon the woman, any more than he’d leave one of his men behind.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” he asked.

  “You don’t,” Clyde answered.

  Pete racked his brain, and came up with nothing. He wasn’t positive he had a choice here. That didn’t mean he was going to give in without a fight.

  “If I stay, I can make sure you take a bullet,” he said.

  Clyde shrugged. “Ball’s in your court. Make a decision.”

  In his head, Pete was shouting a string of obscenities.

  “One hour,” he told Clyde. “I’ll be back.”

  Clyde smiled smugly, like he’d known how Pete would respond.

  He probably did. Shitbag can probably read minds, too.

  Chapter 14

  For the entire sprint back to what had become their home base, all Pete could think about were the things he wanted to say to Ryan, and where and how hard he was going to punch him. What had happened to Marie wasn’t strictly Ryan’s fault, but Pete needed to be mad at someone, and Ryan was an easier target than Marie, considering where she was now.

  The combination of rage, fear, and the sense of his own unreasonableness made him feel deranged. Judging by the careful glances Olowe and Yu kept tossing his way, he looked as crazy as he felt.

  How far do you have to push a man until he cracks? he wondered, and then scolded himself to quit whining. He needed to figure out how to get out of this mess. How to get Marie back, while keeping her alive. Beating himself up wasn’t going to get that done.

  It was just as well Ryan wasn’t there when Pete arrived back at the control room. Except when the men in the common area outside got a load of Pete, they stopped what they were doing and stared. Then they started gearing up, getting ready for action.

  Pete had run a good portion of the blind rage and panic out of his system, which had cleared his head. That clear head suddenly reminded him that he’d turned off his radio—and that the radio could get him in touch with Ryan.

  “Ryan, do you copy?” he said into the device.

  “Ryan here. Before you tear a strip—”

  “Clyde has her.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “Where are you?” Pete asked.

  “Just outside Cellblock Four with the chow.”

 
“He’s given us an hour,” Pete said, “during which time he claims he won’t harm her.”

  “An hour for what?” Ryan sounded incredulous.

  “Probably for him to decide the multitude of ways he plans to fuck us over and take control of the prison.” Pete paused. “God damn it. Why didn’t you just make her stay with you? She can’t weigh more than a buck twenty.”

  “I didn’t know she’d snuck off until it was too late. She played along like she couldn’t wait to get in here and start converting prisoners into good citizens. I’m not even sure when she peeled off and went her own way. This whole situation is fubar. Do we really care what happens to the guys in here?”

  When Pete didn’t answer, Ryan continued, “We’ll head back now.”

  “No. Stay put,” Pete said. “Let me think. He has at least some of his cellblock eating out of his hand. It’s not going to be easy to get in there and get her back—or take him down.”

  The sound of gunfire came through the radio, then, and Pete tensed. What the hell was going on out there?

  “Oh, shit. They’re out of their cells,” Ryan said, and his radio went silent.

  “Fuck!” Pete roared.

  Working quickly and instinctively, he told Bahar to change the code on the door and close it behind him. “I’ll shout when we’re back so you know it’s me. In the meantime, don’t open this door for anyone.”

  Then he led his men, including the injured ones, to Cellblock Four. He almost released the guards from their storeroom prison, but concluded that he’d rather have a few trustworthy men than an army filled with potential traitors.

  When they got to Four, they found Ryan’s men pinned between two groups of convicts. The convicts weren’t all armed, but there were a few guns among them. Enough to be a problem.

  “Use your ammo carefully,” Pete warned. “Make every shot count.”

  Then the shooting started, the sharp scent of cordite filling the air. Within seconds, Lark was hit in the neck and bled out while brass shell casings bounced and rolled around him. Someone in Ryan’s group shot out three of the yellow emergency lights, making the area gloomier than it had been.