Breakout by Paul Herron (notion reading list .txt) 📕

But they don’t attack. They just eye me warily as we move past each other on opposite sides of the corridor. That’s when I realize the mood in the prison has shifted. It’s gone from “every man for himself and let’s settle old scores and kill anyone we feel like” to “shit, this is bad, maybe we should be focusing on surviving.” Fat lot of good it will do them.

I make it back to the gym without shooting anyone else, something I take as a personal victory. I’m already responsible for too much of the mayhem going on around here. Preacher’s guys now have total access to the armory. They’ll definitely kill other inmates. Preacher and his crazy-ass brimstone-and-hellfire judgments. Plus, it’s guaranteed they’re going to lose some of the weapons. So guns will fall into other prisoners’ hands, which means all-out war is going to kick off, even if some of the inmates would rather focus on finding shelter. It’s inevitable.

I shift the heavy weight of the bag on my back. My muscles ache from carrying it all this way. The water is now up to my knees and still rising. I’m not sure if it means the flooding outside is the same level as in here, or if the water is higher outside and is just taking a while to find its way inside. Either option is terrifying. The walls and windows of the prison—safety glass or not—will only withstand so much pressure. I don’t know what’s worse. The walls holding and the prison slowly filling up with water, or the walls coming down and everyone being crushed or ripped apart by the hurricane.

I can’t really think about that right now. I have more immediate problems. I can’t give Castillo the guns. That was never my intention. It’s just… wrong. Insane. Plus, there’s absolutely no guarantee he won’t just shoot us straight away. Fact is, I bet that’s exactly what he plans to do.

I have to think smart here. I have to plan ahead.

I retreat up the corridor and take refuge in a closet that holds towels and antibacterial spray.

I dump the bag on a shelf, unzip it, and eject all the magazines out of the M9s. I then take out all the bullets, laying them out in piles. It takes me about ten minutes; then I move on to the shotguns. Once I’m done, I have huge piles of 9mm bullets and shotgun cartridges, and lots of guns with no ammunition in them.

I place Sawyer’s keys on a high shelf. Castillo’s bound to ask for them back. This way he can search me all he wants, but I’ll just say that Preacher’s men got them.

I pack the guns back in the bag. I make sure the Beretta stuck in the elastic of my underwear is secure at my back, then head to the gym.

I’m halfway there when I hear sounds behind me. The close echo of splashing water, raised voices. I pause, head tilted, but the sounds fade away. Whoever made them is going in another direction. I wonder if it’s Preacher and his men. Did they follow me? Or Kincaid, even?

What difference does it make? Everyone’s an enemy in here. I start walking again and arrive at the door leading into the gym. I try to push it open, but it’s blocked from the other side. I kick it a couple of times and wait.

The door opens a crack. Silas peers out, gives me a cold look. He leans forward, checking both ways along the corridor, then frowns at me. I know what he’s thinking. Ramirez.

I show him the canvas bag. “You gonna let me in, or am I dropping these in the water?”

He pulls the door open against the floodwater and steps aside. I enter the gym. There’s no sign of Felix or Sawyer. About half the Kings are standing around, leaning against the gym machines or lounging up against the walls.

I dump the bag on top of a treadmill as Castillo strolls out of the changing rooms. He glances around.

“Where’s Ramirez?”

“He didn’t make it.”

A heavy silence fills the room. Castillo moves toward me. The others straighten up, readying themselves, watching for his reaction.

“The hell you mean, he didn’t make it?”

“We ran into Preacher and his men. You know how crazy that guy is. They chased us. He got hit.”

“And you didn’t?”

“What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

Castillo stares at me. I can hear the rest of the Kings muttering.

“It’s not like I just ran away and ditched him. I took a few of them down. And no offense, but Ramirez was a stupid fuck who thought he lived in a movie. He probably thought bullets would bounce off him or something. They got the keys too. Made it into the armory.”

Castillo continues to stare at me for a long time, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Then he gestures at one of his guys. “Search him.”

One of the Kings gives me a pat-down. He shakes his head once he’s done. “Nothing.”

Castillo scowls and finally turns his attention to the bag. “Is that all you got?”

“You want to try carrying that thing on your back while getting chased down by psycho Bible-bashers? You’re lucky I brought anything.”

“No. You’re lucky you brought anything. And I’d seriously reconsider the tone of voice you’re using with me.”

“Where are Sawyer and Felix?” I ask.

“In the changing rooms.”

I nod and start walking.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“I did my part. We’re leaving now.”

I can see Castillo trying to figure out his next move, can almost hear the thought process in the guy’s head, trying to decide if it’s easier just to kill me now and get it over with. I can already feel the pressure building up inside me. There’s no time for this. I want to be long gone before they check the magazines.

I leave him to it and head into the changing room. Sawyer is pacing back and forth, rubbing