“Ah… well, I’m glad we cleared that up. So, listen — I’m going to have to ask you real nice not to press that alarm, okay? Under any circumstances.”
The guard smiles. “Too late, asshole.”
Shit.
“They’re maybe three minutes out.”
Double shit.
I cast another glance at Ruby, whose mental act is visibly giving way to concern.
Any advance on double shit?
“We’ve also sent them your picture, taken from our security feed,” says another guard, probably the oldest of the five. “Turns out, they’re really interested in you, boy! They’re sending two units to make sure you play nice.”
There it is.
Triple shit.
“Yeah… I don’t know what it is you’ve done, but they couldn’t believe their luck when we told ’em about you!”
He smiles, and that pisses me off. I take a deep breath, in and out, to focus my mind. Being in this place has really thrown me off my game, but shit just got serious. If the FBI are coming, and they know I’m here, then I’m shit out of luck because the CIA won’t be far behind…
“Gimme the keys,” I say to Ruby without taking my eyes off the guards. I reach to the side and she places them in my hand. To the guards, I say, “Right, listen up. My friend here isn’t crazy. She’s extremely dangerous, and a damn fine actress, but she ain’t crazy. She’s here to hide out because she’s actually an assassin. You boys have been doing her a favor all this time, which I’m sure she’s grateful for.”
They shuffle uncomfortably on the spot and exchange glances of uncertainty and concern. It’s all in the eyes, you see. Even though what I’m saying sounds ridiculous, the practiced intensity in the stare I’m fixing them with makes them believe me.
“Myself, on the other hand… well, I’m definitely dangerous and arguably a little crazy as well. The FBI are gonna waltz in here and try to arrest me, and they’re gonna need to climb over your unconscious bodies to do it. And they’re gonna fail. Wanna know why?”
No one answers. No one moves.
I lunge forward, jabbing the business end of the cattle prod into the stomach of the guy nearest to me. It buzzes quickly and loudly, like when a fly hits one of those Insect-O-Cutor devices you see in restaurant kitchens. The guard screams and shakes before dropping to the floor, out cold and twitching.
I step over him swinging the stick around, catching another guard on the jaw. As he starts to drop, I spin around, thrusting the stick forward, hitting the next guard I see in the groin. His eyes go wide. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. I’m guessing the pain is literally too much to process…
I feel a little bad about that one.
That’s three down in as many seconds. The two left are the ones farthest away from me on either side. I step toward the one on my left as I throw the cattle prod, shiny end first like a spear, at the guy on the right. It hits him squarely in the chest, taking him out of the equation.
I raise my arm, blocking the swing of the remaining guard’s own weapon with ease. With his head and chest exposed, I hit him hard in the jaw with my fist. He staggers back, dropping his stick as he hits the wall. He’s groggy, but awake. I whip my leg up, kicking him hard in the gut. He wheezes, doubling over and sinking slowly to the floor. Another swift kick to the side of the head puts him down for good.
“That’s why.”
I look back at Ruby.
She’s standing, out of character, staring at me with a disbelieving smile on her face. “Well, aren’t you a pleasant surprise! You live up to your reputation, I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks. Now, come on.”
We run to the metal gate, which I open for us and lock again once we’re through. We stop at the desk at the top of the stairs, which is now deserted. I point down the opposite wing of the building. “What’s down there?”
“More cells. Why?”
I move around the desk and sit at the computer. “We need a distraction.”
I’m thinking about what Ruby said before. All the cells apart from hers and the one opposite are controlled centrally. That means this computer must be able to open them. I just need to figure out how.
I tap away at the keyboard, navigating my way through the various menus and submenus, using what knowledge I’ve picked up from Josh over the years to quickly work out how to open all the doors.
I hope the FBI is prepared for a riot…
I press a button and the loud click of every cell opening in unison echoes down the corridors.
Ruby’s eyes go wide, and she punches my arm. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have any idea how dangerous these inmates are?”
I shrug. “Are they any worse than the FBI? Worse than me?”
She’s breathing heavily, probably from adrenaline. She doesn’t respond.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to blend in and sneak out before the FBI can regain control. It’ll be fine.”
Her gaze glances past me for a split-second, looking at the corridor we came from before refocusing on me. “That’s a good plan, Adrian. A brilliant plan. But we might be safer leaving with a couple of SWAT teams.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She points behind me. “I am far from the worst thing in here. There are people in here that make me look like someone from Desperate Housewives.”
I note the pop culture reference. I’m impressed!
I turn and look over my shoulder. There are nine people walking toward us. I shit you not, it’s like a scene from Dawn of the Dead! They’re staggering slowly down the corridor with glazed, medicated expressions on their faces, looking around absently as they come to terms with their unexpected freedom.
I turn to look down the opposite corridor and see much the same.
I feel Ruby tapping my shoulder. “Ah… Adrian…”
I follow her gaze and see one of them at the back of the pack fumbling inside a guard’s pocket. I can just about see them take a set of keys and head to the far end, toward the door opposite Ruby’s cell.
The only other room not linked to the central system.
They stand in front of the door for a few moments, then step back as it opens. The guy who walks out has messy, graying hair. He shuffles barefoot into the middle of the corridor. His robe is open, showing a stained white vest and striped boxer shorts.
“Adrian, we… we should probably go.”
I can’t take my eyes off this guy. He looks so strange. He’s — Jesus, he’s foaming at the goddamn mouth! His shuffling is speeding up, too. He draws level with another patient. I see his hand disappear into the pocket of his robe as he moves to her side. He takes out what looks to be a homemade shank of some kind.
Like lightning, he grabs the inmate — a woman in her fifties — by her hair, and yanks her head back, exposing her throat. He whips his hand up and pierces the flesh underneath her chin. Once… twice… too many times — holy shit!
He pauses only to let the blood flow over his hand for a moment. He moves the shank to his own forehead and slowly slices across it, creating a thin, dark line that starts to pour down his face. As his skin is painted by the blood, his eyes seem to glow — the whites shining through the crimson mask — and stare straight through me.
That was… that was some pretty dark shit.
The rest of the zombie horde stop and turn, staring at him with looks of bewilderment. He lets out a guttural scream, which prompts the rest of them to do the same. They turn back around. Some groan, some yell, others stay worryingly silent. But they start walking toward us, this time with more purpose.
The one with the keys makes his way to the front of the pack, re-opening the metal security gate halfway along the corridor. I’m actually a little relieved they’ve ignored the guards I left on the floor…