Franco, the lanky Latino who looked more like he belonged in a Miami model agency, than a prison guard, lead the CSIs carefully down the darkened hall. He seemed to lose all his nervousness; either too scared shitless to show it, or the responsibility for the safety of the two men in his company shook off his earlier anxiety. He directed the other two with hand signals, letting them know when to back off, or follow him around a
corner.
Nick kept on his toes, ready to react to any commotion, his aching arm cradled against his chest. Grissom kept in step, peering through his spectacles at the carnival-like atmosphere of the infuriating pulsation of red flashes. Brick surrounded the hall they went down, but the next section of cells was only feet away. Squint and you were inside a fun house; the floor and ceiling wavered as the equilibrium of the corridor faltered. Each member of the trio trailed a hand along the wall for balance, the darkness a
vortex, swirling the color of anger.
Franco gestured wildly for them to keep right behind him. Nick peered over his shoulder to see two inmates trying to navigate the sea of madness. It was the first time the younger criminalist realized that their escort was unarmed. He signaled with his hands about the lack of a gun. Franco ushered them back a few paces out of earshot of the roaming prisoners.
"No weapons during interviews. All of them are stored at the checkpoints," he whispered. Franco peered around the corner. "We got to keep moving. Just follow my lead."
Nick and Grissom huddled behind him as they stayed along the opposite wall. The noisome lighting made it difficult to see the loose inmates, let alone their expressions. Just brief images of intimidating people. As the trio came closer the men backed away, searching around them for other guards, struck temporarily uneasy by the bold posturing of Franco who never took his eyes off them. The three of them crossed in front of the prisoners.
Nick glared at them, but never made an aggressive move to set off any tempers. The confusion of the lights and total situation played in their favor, and they moved past the inmates who began plunging further into the darkness in the direction the trio had just vacated.
Nick heard Franco breathe a sigh of relief as they used the brick wall as a guide, edging along. Another few feet and Franco held out his arm, almost clipping Nick across the chest. Before he could protest a man whose silhouette was impossible to see from the darkness moved quickly out of his cell, blocking their path.
Another indistinguishable shape of a man, larger than the guard, around Grissom's age. He mirrored their attempts to simply move around him, matching step for step. Nick and the guard took similar postures, both sets of hands out front in warning, clear eye contact as best they could in the flashing lights and shadows. The man mumbled under his breath, as he stabbed in the air with his pointer finger.
"No, stay away," he growled, then rushed forward, only halting a few feet away.
"Get back in your cell," Franco ordered.
The man covered his eyes with his hand, muttering. "Go away," he warned.
"Return to your cell, prisoner," the Latino instructed. "We are under lockdown. Follow my command and you will not be punished."
The man wavered but backed up into the shoebox of a room, finger gesturing
in the air intently.
"Seems calm authority is the trick," Grissom commented near Nick's ear. The CSI had to agree, though it did nothing to tame his wild heart, beating a mile a minute.
The trek past more cells was a harrowing experience. Encounters with scared men who remained huddled in their rooms. A few more dangerous prisoners shouted and hollered from where they were strapped to beds, cursing and wailing like howling animals in the night. The serene silence of the wing erupted into pounding and screams from every direction. Some sounds were those of the medicated, disturbed by the unusual interruption of typical carbon copy routines.
The most frightening thing was not the silent looks of men who did 'not' scare so easily, but the ones that watched as the three men moved down the hallways. It wasn't the few choice words and taunts lobbed by the more bold prisoners that were bothersome. It was the sight of vacant beds; their most recent occupants obviously roamed around other halls, hidden within the abyss of the maze that surrounded them that was disconcerting.
"Shouldn't there be more of a response? Where is security?" Grissom whispered, unable to contain some of the questions that demanded explanations.
The group huddled near the next intersection, Grissom's arm around his side, and Nick's eyes squeezed shut with obvious pain. Franco muttered in Spanish, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve; similar perspiration dripped down Nick's forehead and face.
"Don't know if the whole hospital is like this, dude. If level three is out, then they have to control the mass population. We only have about forty guys up here compared to the three hundred or so just below us," he explained in a hushed tone.
"Lots of measures to control people going in and out, but not much on the floor itself," Nick whispered, peeved at the lack of real control.
Franco kept a vigilant eye about. "Electronic locks, double doors and cameras at all points. Heavily medicated inmates, dude. This type of thing doesn't happen. If there's ever a problem, our security is here instantly, but with everything broken…? Then they got to remain at their posts for containment 'til things get fixed or SWAT is called in."
"Makes sense. Keep things from spreading," Grissom remarked. "How long until after containment is in place and they sweep in to return order?"
"Depends. Nothing like this has ever happened before. If there's mass chaos downstairs, then it might be a while. " The guard stood from his crouched position.
Grissom did so very stiffly, rubbing at his side. Nick didn't comment, knowing how much that kind of focus annoyed him. One thing was for sure, the bouncing lights gave him a splitting headache and he felt the timing of those flashes in the pulsation of the angry gashes in his arm. He swore he could feel every stitch that held his skin together as the flesh underneath boiled and burned.
He used his left hand to rub at his sweaty face and pushed back the hair that stuck to his forehead. Nick took a deep breath, "We keep movin', yeah?'
The guard nodded. "Let's go. The security checkpoint for this level is a few feet away."
Nick sort of recognized where they were but all the hallways were so similar and in the darkness he might as well have been blindfolded for all he knew. This stretch of corridor was away from the tiny cell barracks and opened up slightly. He noticed the first set of heavily barred sliding doors up ahead. Franco gestured at the both of them and they crept up towards their exit, when the Latino froze in his tracks.
Nick and Grissom followed the now haunted guard's gaze. There was a body on the floor. An ox-like man sprawled across the track of the door. Nick grit his teeth and instinctively reached for latex gloves that were no longer in his pocket. A quick look around and he and Grissom neared where the man lay. A large pool of blood was under and around the body. The CSIs cautiously approached the body, not wanting to contaminate the scene. It was obvious by the amount of red that the poor bastard had bled out.
Grissom avoided the crimson puddle and squatted near the heavy door. Upon closer inspection he noted that most of the guard's torso was spared damage. The man's head rested along the metal track that the door moved across. Nick grit his teeth as he lowered himself on his haunches. He took out his cell phone and used the glow from the screensaver to examine the bashed in side of the man's face.
"Someone used the sliding door to crush this guy's skull between the metal sides," Grissom reported.
Nick glared at him for stating the obvious; his fingers reached down in a futile effort to find a pulse. As he feared it was non-existent. Franco seemed to regain some composure, muttering in Spanish. Nick recognized it as a prayer for the dead and he try to express his sorrow for the death when he made eye contact with the Latino.
"That was George. We worked out together on Thursdays and Sundays, though the man did not need it. He used to be a bouncer at The Vortex on Saturdays for extras cash." The young man rubbed at his eyes. He stood up and avoided the blood on the floor. He tested the barrier; the metal gate crunched along the rail as he pushed it all the way over and sought out the control center tucked inside a cubicle.
The guard fished out some keys but simply moved the unlocked door ajar and moved around as he searched for the security controls.
"Where do you think the other guards are?" Nick asked the man.
"More blood," Grissom answered his question, as he searched the floor near the elevator.
Franco tried to use the phone, but someone had smashed all the controls, including the computer screen. There were prints all over the console made from bloody hands. The guard slammed his fist against the wall. "They might have tried to come out to control things on this floor, or stayed holed up until help came. If they were attacked, nothing could prevent someone from just coming in like we did, what with the electronics all fried."
"Weapons?" Nick asked.
Franco messed with a safe, and kicked it, letting go some anger. "One of the guards has the combo. Not me though."
Grissom pointed towards the elevator. "Does this work?"
Franco shook his head. "No can do. We've got to find another way out; the stairs are the only other option."
The three were reluctant to leave the carnage, but all of them knew to remain would only invite more trouble. They carefully exited the checkpoint and followed their escort down the hallway and further into the facility.
The group moved onward at an agonizing snail's pace through blackness, the ward looming so much bigger now. It had been some time since they encountered the violence of the security area. There had been no further signs of the other guards, or any staff members. There weren't many places to really hide; it was all sort of a game of cat and mouse.
Nick admired the security man; despite all of the chaos he was keeping things under control. They were his responsibility to keep safe in a bizarre and deadly situation. The anxiety of their escort was apparent as they slowed to a crawl when he approached a door. They had made it to the stairwell without any more incidents. He tested the knob and looked over at the Texan.
"Ready to enter?"
Nick nodded, braced to take point as if it was him and Warrick entering an unsecured scene, without the safety of their sidearms.
The guard mouthed the words. 'One. Two. Three.'
He yanked open the door, whose 'advanced' electronic lock had became an afterthought, both men stepping onto the short platform.
Nothing. No bogeymen hidden within the shadows. The trio carefully entered, Grissom shutting the door as quietly as possible. No red mantra of discord, but it meant no source of light at all. Nick and Franco took point, the guard up front.
He pointed down the flight of stairs that led to the third floor and, hopefully, safety. They descended down, shoes clomping on cement steps, no way to silence the noise. The rail was a lifeline; three sets of hands glided over warped metal into the chasm. Franco halted, staring off into space, head quirked for noise, but then cautiously signaled for them to move.
One more flight down and then they would find the door they sought, still not sure if the manual mechanisms worked, or if lockdown procedures had sealed them in. As they neared the third floor platform, four steps from the slab of concrete, there was an unmistakable sound of movement. A stream of bright light caused all three men to recoil blindly as a voice spoke in a hushed menace.
"Well, well. Looks like the key master is here."
Franco and Nick stood side by side, a united front, despite the pain in their eyes as pupils adjusted to the sudden onslaught of light.
The beam of light was directed away and under the chin of one of the prisoners. The ghostly illumination created more shadows on the wall, the man's face obscured by light and dark.
"Boo!" he taunted, followed by laughter. Two other men chuckled along.
The three members of law enforcement faltered, but stood their collective ground.
The inmate with the flashlight gave them a twisted smile. "Seem you boys don't have a light. I'd lend ya mine, but I think I'll keep it."
"You should get back to your cells. Terrance isn't it?" Franco's voice was calm.
The man gave an oily smile. "Afraid not, Franco. Why don't you join the party? Give us your keys and we'll be on our way." The prisoner moved closer with his minions beside him. The other two prisoners acted like hyenas, following every command of their big bad pack leader.
Nick kept his hands loose at his sides; the throbbing of his right arm just a distraction for now. Grissom stood readied for anything behind them. Nick knew his boss wasn't a lightweight but the bug man never really did anything too physical that he was aware of.
"If the door's locked from the outside, you can't do anything, Terrance. Might as well relax and go back to your bunk, wait for everything to chill."
Nick watched this Terrance guy process things. If Franco didn't have a way to open the door, then they were all trapped. Standing in the middle of a stairwell in the dark wasn't exactly the best of places for a fight. But there was only one way out: through them and back to the fourth floor. They were a threat even if unintentionally.
Before any of them could think of a strategy, the door above them slammed closed and a few more sets of feet clomped their way towards the group. Grissom turned around to face the new threat. The idea that both means of escape were cut off and that the three of them faced an ambush made him very fearful for the first time.
The footfalls loomed closer; the two men who taunted them from earlier slowed down, effectively blocking their way back up.
"Lookie, lookie, our pals from upstairs. Looks like we got some rats caught in a little trap, with nowhere to scurry away."
Two thugs hovered from above, glinting eyes locking with the others who blocked the other exit.
The Ringleader stepped closer, his sidekicks antsy next to him. "I think you're lying, Frankie baby. No way little piggies are gonna get caught with the big bad wolves without a way out."
"I only have a key card, I don't---"
The guard didn't have time to finish his sentence before someone yelled something about lies. One of the minions launched at the trio, enacting a ricochet of fury and motion.
The Ringleader and a minion grabbed the Latino by his shirt collar, yanked him off his feet and dragged him to the ground. Nick reacted by latching onto the Ringleader's shoulder and hauled him back, slamming the guy against the wall with a thud. The two cronies below wrestled with Franco in an attempt to keep him to the ground. Nick elbowed his guy in the belly as he hoped to wrangle one of the other men off of the guard to give him a chance.
The Ringleader swung the flashlight in a wide arc catching Nick right in the chops and sent him backwards onto the steps. Instead of waling on the fallen criminalist, the inmate let the two above take care of the job as the leader scrambled back down towards the melee that pummeled and overpowered the Latino. Franco had not gotten up from the fury of shoes and fists.
As soon as the fight broke out, Grissom protected Nick and the guard from behind, turning to face the duo of men above, ready to jump them. The supervisor knew he wasn't a match in strength or agility, so he used his brain, in the midst of darkness. One of the prisoners ran towards him, Grissom simply shifted out of the way and stuck his foot out to trip the guy who could not control his momentum.
Once the stocky guy fell head first, Grissom braced himself for his bigger buddy. The gorilla-like prisoner swung at him, missing wildly. The inmate's fist hit the wall instead with a crack. Enraged, the hulking ape growled and backhanded the supervisor, knocking his glasses off. Grissom stumbled while the man massaged sore knuckles from his encounter with the wall.
Nick felt the concrete step dig into his back, and bounded back to his feet as the guy who took a tumble down the stairs landed by his feet. The Texan wasn't a brutal man, but as he witnessed the beating that Franco fought against and heard his boss struggle with the second man from above. Nick kicked the inmate under his chin with his boot, the prisoner collapsing from the force. Nick's instincts were split in two. He wanted to rescue the guard who battled below him. Knowing who had the weakest position Nick spun around and raced up the stairs. Grissom was no match for two desperate hands that sought out his throat.
Nick's shoulder slammed into the larger man like a tackle dummy from his football days. He heard the big guy's breath blow out from the unexpected lunge. Nick pinned the guy down with his left hand as he punched the prisoner twice in the face as hard as he could. His hand popped as fingers met with a square jaw and he ignored the searing pain from his swings that tore at his injury.
The chaos on the third floor platform slowed as Franco was hopelessly outnumbered. The Ringleader let his minions get in one last kick as he joined the ruckus with the criminologists. He stepped over his fallen inmate and went after Nick.
The Texan heard the oncoming attack and screamed at Grissom. "Run back to the fourth floor!" Nick glared at the hesitant supervisor. "Go, Man. I'll be right behind ya!"
Nick slammed his boot along Flashlight guy's shin and the man howled in pain. "Grissom, now!"
The supervisor didn't want to leave Nick behind. He brushed past the younger man, looking behind him. "Come on, Nick," he encouraged.
Franco was unconscious, no match against too many numbers. One prisoner simply sat on the slumped prison guard's unmoving form triumphantly. The fourth guy charged up the stairs to aid in taking out the young criminalist. Nick's next swing glanced off the ringleader's chin with no real force behind the blow. The prisoner retaliated with a left hook of his own, smashing into the side of Nick's face that received the earlier punishment. Nick saw stars and swayed on his feet, slightly stunned. The ringleader took advantage and jabbed the metal flashlight into the criminalist's side.
"Go after the old guy," Ringleader instructed the fourth man.
The lanky prisoner did as ordered and whizzed past the head of the pack. The man chased Grissom who fled further up the stairs. The supervisor hoped to trip the beanpole, but the younger, taller inmate was too fast. Grissom had just reached the last step of the flight in hopes of pulling off another dodge em' trick. Fingers dug into his shoulder and threw him down the sprawl of steps. The older man tried to break his fall, landing on hands and knees, his joints vibrating as he rolled down. Grissom moved just in time to avoid a thunderous kick that connected with his hip and not his stomach.
The supervisor didn't stay down long as he stood up to defend himself. His left leg almost crumbled when a terrible pain ripped through a knee that had twisted during his tumble. He held up his arms as the speedy man was on top of him again. Beanpole punched his sore ribs as Grissom did what he could to protect his body. He managed to surprise the guy with a right jab to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of his opponent. Grissom breathed heavily, and couldn't stay on the offensive, giving the guy enough time
recover.
Nick couldn't catch his breath as the air was forced out of his lungs when the metal flashlight struck him hard. The heavy object landed on his shoulder next. Then another wild swing of the flashlight missed his face, when he moved out of the way in time. He ignored all his pain and kneed the ringleader in the gut once, then twice. Still gasping for breath, he balled both fists up and slammed them at the back of the inmate's neck, sending him to his knees. The flashlight clattered to the ground, its beam of light
useless on the floor. Nick mustered all his strength and slammed his right hand into the side of the ringleader's throat. The guy dropped to the floor in an instant.
He hurt all over, but Nick stumbled up the flight of stairs to keep the last inmate from punching Grissom again. Nick captured the guy's wrist at an odd angle, causing the guy to let out a small yelp. Adrenaline flowed through his veins and Nick sent the wrist down on his knee, wrist held at a sharp angle. The bones snapped and the prisoner hollered in pain. Nick brushed past him, thrusting his shoulder against the man's body to push him out of the way.
"Let's go," he panted at Grissom. Nick saw the supervisor gingerly follow while sporting an obvious limp. Nick wasted no time and swung Grissom's arm around his shoulder, hauling him as best he could up the stairs.
It was a slow, painful few steps. Both men sort of lurched and hobbled along. Two more angry beasts who had been down temporarily gained enough of their bearings and rage to chase after the criminalists.
Somewhat injured and slow, Nick and Grissom made it to the door of the fourth floor, only to face another onslaught of anger. Both exhausted, they turned side by side, ready for one more round.
There was nowhere to run or duck in such a confined space. Two bodies charged at them, each CSI propelled along the wall and past their escape. The door was just a cruel few feet away. The two inmates were just as battered as the CSIs and there was hope of a possible even match up. A few groans from the stairs below meant that at least one more inmate was readying to jump into the fray, tilting the odds out of their favor.
Just as the inmates reared fists back to pound away at the criminalists, the exit door swung open and another man joined the ranks. Nick wanted to laugh at the insurmountable odds, flight and fight guiding his reflexes. The two prisoners intent on making them lunch meat grunted in surprise when something stuck them hard at the back of their heads.
Nick risked a sudden glance at Grissom. Both their backs were to the wall, trapped by a new scuffle. It was impossible to see, but they heard shouts and ranting. A man swung furiously with something, attacking the inmates and giving the criminalists a moment of reprieve.
Nick panted. "Franco," he heaved in between heavy breathing.
They couldn't move, their path blocked by the three men in the midst of battle. Two inmates slumped to the ground. A man wielding a wooden stick of some kind grunted and stood aside as they crumbled to the floor.
"Let's go!"
Nick's body froze, eyes desperately tried to adjust at the fleeting glimpse of sickening red light that flashed through the small crack in the door.
That voice. He knew that inflection, that tone.
"Come on, Nick, we don't have all day."
He felt Grissom's body stiffen, his supervisor identifying their rescuer.
Nigel Crane stepped closer, drab green jumpsuit and his infamous geeky, thick glasses. He held a broom between clenched fists. A glee in his dark eyes. The man's chest heaved as he jerked his head towards the door. "Don't be so surprised. I work on this floor and knew you'd get into a jam."
Even in the middle of a war zone, Crane was steadfast cool. It made Nick's blood sizzle. He ignored Crane, looking at Grissom. "We need to help Franco."
The supervisor was obviously torn, calculating the risks of trying to rescue the man who had to be dead or seriously injured.
Red flash.
Darkness.
Red flash.
Darkness.
There was a scramble of feet from below. The Ringleader and the guy Nick had kicked in the chin took to the gambit.
"You guys are dead!" the ringleader bellowed.
Nigel spun around, broomstick in hand. God-awful joke, Nick thought, but the man somehow seemed menacing with such a stupid weapon. Two prisoners down for the count was a testament to that.
"Back away." Nigel warned, wooden weapon ready to do more damage.
The Ringleader and his cronies looked down at their buddies who began to stir just slightly, still minutes away from getting up.
"What's the deal, Man? This ain't no dirty floor to scrub. Let us deal with the piggies and scram," the self-appointed head honcho ordered.
Nigel didn't budge. "I have dibs." He advanced slowly at the other inmates. "Mine first."
Nick swallowed thickly, ever so slowly maneuvering him and Grissom closer towards the open exit, while Crane was distracted.
"Wait for me out in the hall, Nick," Nigel instructed, his focus on the standoff.
Nick's jaw popped from being so clenched; the bastard watched his moves, even with his eyes pointed the other direction. He helped Grissom towards the door, risking a glance towards the lower steps. "Franco!" he hollered.
One of the men who Nigel clobbered moved slightly. With lightening speed Crane walloped the back of the guy's head with a, "Whack!" His weapon at ready again. "I said, out the door, Nick."
The younger criminalist wavered, torn at helping the guard, and facing another stand off, now with Nigel somehow in the mix. With regret, he exited out of the corridor, Grissom limping along beside him. Once he was out of the stairwell, he tried to encourage the supervisor to hobble away fast and further from the source of his newfound harsh and ragged breathing.
Grissom leaned on Nick's shoulder. "Do you know which way you're going?" he whispered.
Nick never felt so much undirected outrage. "No," he grunted.
They moved along like two drunks, blind as bats, red bursts of light some twisted taunt. Before they rounded a corner, Nick felt a hand grab his free arm.
"You didn't wait for me," Nigel accused.
Without warning, Nick nearly dropped Grissom when he whirled around. Strong hands grabbed clumps of jumpsuit and he flung Nigel into the nearest wall, his face inches from Crane's. Nick lifted Nigel to his toes, ignoring the flash of heat across his arm, new pains all over his body. With barely contained fury he shook the man slightly.
'What are you doing?" he seethed.
Nick's hands shook, his body trembled. Nigel let his eyes soak in the sight of the man who slowly cracked in front of him. The ex-cable man smiled.
"I'm looking after you. Saved you and your friend." Nigel cleared his throat. "No need to thank me, of course."
Nick didn't know what to do; his mind sort of short-circuited, his face faltered. Before he could give in to the flood, a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
"Nick."
"Nicky!"
He let go of his former stalker; hands fell to his sides, as Grissom squeezed his bicep. "Take a deep breath," he whispered low in his ear.
Crane dusted off his uniform, looking put out, and snorted. "That's not a nice way to treat someone, you know."
Nick breathed heavily though his flaring nostrils. Grissom held on to his arm, an anchor for the both of them. "What do you want, Crane?"
The janitor finally broke contact with the younger man and shrugged. "I don't want...anything. If you didn't notice, the place has kind of gone to Hell in a hand basket."
"Yeah. It'll settle down soon," Grissom stated, calmly.
It was difficult to tell in between darkness and light, but Crane smiled. "Yeah, maybe. However, it's kind of dangerous for the two of you to be left out here all on your own. You know where you're going?"
Grissom knew where this lead, dreading the implications, hating the unintentional empowerment. "We'll be fine." He turned to Nick. "Let's go. We need to see if you're all
right."
Nick laughed. It was a scary sound. "You should talk."
Grissom tried to urge him away...away from this horror. It was the first time he noticed the fresh blood on Nick's arm. "We need a place to think."
Nick turned his head; Grissom knew that look, even without seeing it in proper light.
"What choice do we have, Gris?"
The supervisor swallowed, glancing at Crane, not seeing the glint in his eyes...in the victory. "Nick," he warned.
Nick felt the strain, the clamp over his mind, and the muscles in his body so tight and stiff it felt if he moved the wrong way they would snap. "Those guys will be here soon and God knows how many more."
Grissom was silent, knowing the truth when he heard it, but he'd be damned if he said so out loud.
Nigel closed the distance between them. "Come on. I know a safe place to hole up for a little while."
Crane turned his back to them, the sign that he knew they'd follow. Grissom bit his lip, and shared an uneasy look with his co-worker. "Maybe there's another way. We don't have to, Nick."
The Texan locked eyes with him. "We don't have a choice," he said, his voice so thick it was guttural.
Grissom exhaled slowly, leaned on his co-worker and hobbled next to him. They ventured into the darkened abyss, their tour guide a man out of nightmares.
tbc... this was one of my favorite chapters of the story.