Time moves slowly and it seems like it is taking the door way too long to close. If someone is in the room, they surely would have seen us on the cameras and have noticed the increase in light. I lift my signal mirror to one corner of the window, exposing only enough of the mirror to see inside. A man is sitting inside with his feet propped up on one of the consoles and reading a book. He glances over at the window briefly before returning to his book. While I didn’t get my fat wish, I certainly received my wish for dumb and happy. A rifle leans against a counter nearby and a handgun is holstered at his side.
The door behind us clicks as the door shuts and the magnetic lock engages, shading the room in the dim light from the room. I watch as the man looks over to the door. He removes his feet from the console and sets his book down. Still looking at the window with a quizzical expression, he rises from his chair.
“Now,” I say nodding at the door swipe.
Greg runs the card through. The door clicks and I push inward with my shoulder; my hand still holding the mirror. I rise as I push sweeping my Beretta past the opening door. I stop as the barrel aligns with his face, which registers shock. I fire at almost point blank range. Blood flies out from his head as my round hits on the side of his nose shattering it and the sinus cavity which lies behind. My barrel aligns quickly again and I send a second round, on the heels of the first, into his already demolished face. The round penetrates just below the inside portion of his eye.
The back of his head explodes outward with pieces of flesh and brain coating the side window. He flies backward hitting the counter below the window and the ruined back of his head smacks against the glass. He slumps and rolls to the ground. The window is smeared with chunks which slowly slide downward; some of the larger pieces falling off to the counter. Blood streams down the glass in rivulets. The room fills with the smells of gunpowder and blood.
I crouch back down quickly looking around the room. Greg is squatting by the open door looking outward. Nothing moves. I move back into the small room and allow the door to close. We open the other door, wedging it to keep it that way, and enter the room proper. It has the appearance of where meals are taken and free time spent. A bank of phones line one of the walls. The doors leading to the upper wings are dark but light shines from two of the doors across from us on the ground floor. Makes sense they would keep them on the ground floor, I think.
Our lasers streak through the room as we search for any other guards. The room is empty. Walking around the perimeter, hidden in the shadows to a degree, Greg and I approach the first lit window. We passed by one darkened window but found it vacant. It could be that they are all empty but the odds are that the ones with the light are where the current prisoners are housed.
A look in each of the doors reveals a long hall with rows of solid steels doors to the left and right down its length. Each door has a very small window and the cinder block walls are painted a drab cream color. At the far end of each, a guard sits in a plastic chair against the wall, each one looking bored and not wanting to be there. One guard is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees staring at the ground while the other leans back with a book. Neither is being attentive to the door or those most likely behind the locked doors. Both have rifles leaning against the wall beside them.
I stand next to the wall adjacent to the opening of the door. Greg swipes and pulls the door outward on the click of the magnetic release, holding the door with his foot as he focuses on the other lit door. I step into the opening raising my M-4. The first guard lowers his book to look at who is intruding upon their moment. Centering the crosshair on his center mass, I pull the trigger twice feeling two light kicks against my shoulder. The two projectiles streak down the hall, the first tearing through the pages of the book before impacting his chest with a solid thump. The book is torn from his hands and flies through the air.
The second round arrives on the heels of the first smacking into his neck. The wall behind him turns red with a spray pattern of blood. The guard reaches up with his hand to his ruined throat and launches back in his chair. Jets of blood arc into the air through his fingers with the rhythm of his heart. He slams against the wall, knocking his gun to the ground with a clatter, spins to the side, and falls off his chair hitting the floor. Continuing to grasp his neck with both hands, his feet kick out repeatedly before slowing to an occasional twitch. One last twitch and they become still.
I race up the hall keeping him covered. A large red puddle forms on the floor beneath his head. I reach the body and kick the rifle away. It skitters across the floor leaving a streak of red behind. The guard’s eyes stare blankly at the ceiling above, any life they might have once had is gone and they’re glazed over.
The sound of the shots barely echoed down the hall. The solid doors must have kept even the muted gunshots from entering as there are no faces peering out of the windows. I look quickly in each on my way back out finding men lying on double bunks in several of the rooms. I reach Greg’s position aware of our need to be swift. Anyone could come through the entrance at any time or see us through the window if they drew near. They can’t get in with the door wedged but they certainly can raise the alarm. I don’t know the guard’s rotation so we need to make this fast.
Greg closes the door and we creep to the second door. In the same positions as before, Greg swiftly opens the door and I send two rounds down the hall once again. The guard looks up from his leaning position, his face registering surprise at a figure at the door aiming a carbine at him. His shocked look changes to one of pain as the bullets punch through his shirt, one just to the right of his sternum in the center of his chest and the other into the sternum itself. He is thrown upright and from his chair into the wall. He falls heavily to the floor scooting the chair across the floor away from him. The chair hits one of the security doors and topples over.
I hear a gurgling wheeze as I approach. His eyes seek mine and lock onto them as I reach and stand over him. Fear is written in his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. He knows he is dying. His eyes plead with mine for a second and then he looks away with resignation. His red plaid shirt puffs as I pump two more rounds into his chest which then falls inward. The wheeze of him struggling to breathe falls silent. I turn and see the face of a woman staring out of the small window of the door that the chair crashed into. I nod at the woman and head back to Greg. We rapidly check the remaining wings without seeing guards or lit rooms.
“There should be switches in the guard post that will open all of the doors,” I say as we finish with our checks. “I’ll unlock the doors if you’ll gather everyone.”
“Gotcha,” Greg says.
I head into the room, having to go through the musical door thing again. Checking on the hall leading to the other building on my way, I find it still clear of others. Within the room is a console and control panel for the doors. The console allows for each door to be opened individually, a wing at a time, or the entirety of the doors. I unlock the two wings that have the lit hallways radioing Greg that they are open. I then move to the small room to keep watch on the hall. I open and wedge the door again.
Greg appears in the room with men in tow and then heads into the second hall, returning shortly with women behind. I wave them over to my position noticing more than a few eyes wandering to the blood smeared window of the control room.
“I hid the bodies in cells,” Greg says as he comes to stand next me.
“Let’s drag this other one into a cell before we leave,” I say nodding toward the control room.