Authors Note: So sorry for the long hiatus, it took me longer to deal with my real life problems than I'd expected. But I'm back now and hope you enjoy this next instalment. And as always remember that reviews are motivation.
Chapter 10
John closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths, it occurred to him to run, but only briefly, he'd managed to find possibly the only three innocent people in this entire hellhole and he wasn't prepared to leave them, especially when one of the men on the other side of the glass was waxing lyrical about what he wanted to do to the female nurse when he got hold of her.
There was another loud smash and glass rained down on the floor. The curtain moved, someone cursed in pain as they caught themselves on broken glass and then a pair of legs appeared sticking out from beneath the curtain. John took his baton and whipped it across the back of the intruders legs. They gave out under the sharp pain, and the man tumbled to the floor, catching the curtain and yanking that off the wall as he went. He cracked his head against the foot of the bed, waking up the patient in it, who started to curse a blue streak despite his jaw being wired shut.
The room was exposed now, and John could see there were seven men with fists clenched, ready to storm the small room. The one who'd fallen in had cut his arm, there was blood on the window and it was soaking into the sleeve of his jumpsuit. He was trying to get to his feet so John threw a left-handed punch to his face and he went down in a heap.
More men were climbing through the window and then one reached through and grabbed the latch for the door. With the door unlocked, the rest of them swarmed in and suddenly he was surrounded. John grabbed the bed that the patient was on, kicking the brakes off the wheels and swinging it round to put it between him and the crowd. The patient was getting irate now, but it was impossible to hear what he was saying through his clenched teeth. John shoved the bed forward into the men, knocking them back before one of them caught hold of it and started to twist it away from him. The pair of them grappled with it for a moment until the others realised what needed to be done and joined in. Together they grabbed it and twisted it out of John's grip, spinning it out of the way until it crashed into the wall to the wailing sounds of its furious occupant.
He was backed into a corner now so he thrashed out kicking and swiping the baton at anyone who entered his fighting arc. With a strong kick he pushed one of them back, hard enough to scatter two of the others. His feet skidded on the debris on the floor and he lost his footing, as he did he fell back landing on a shard of glass that was still sticking up from the shattered window. The shard went straight through the man's neck, breaking off as he slid to the floor, his carotid artery severed.
The blood sprayed out with enough pressure that it hit the far wall and splattered across the ceiling. The gruesome sight was enough to stop the attackers in their tracks but John knew he had no time to waste, aiming his baton for the next nearest and cracking him over the head with it. His latest victim sank to his knees before falling face first into the floor that was rapidly getting soaked in the other guy's blood.
The loud one, who had been first shouting to them growled and reached forward with a meaty fist, snatching John around the neck and squeezing tightly. John felt his throat close off and then he was actually being lifted off the ground by the huge man. He gripped at the man's hands and tried to pull his fingers loose but it was no good. So instead he grabbed the man by the head and drove his thumbs into the man's eyes. Something burst beneath his left thumbnail and the man screamed and dropped John, pulling away and clutching at his eye. John slipped as he landed, the floor was streaked with blood, and he landed hard on his back.
Seeing him vulnerable and on the floor, the next combatant rushed him, so he kicked out, viciously with his synthetic leg, catching him in the crotch with enough force to send the man to a heap in the floor, rolling back and forth in pain, curling on himself and clutching his balls. The last few men standing stared at the carnage that had taken place in the tiny room, those dead or incapacitated on the floor, the blinded man who was now sobbing like a small child curled in the corner, and they thought better of it. They tripped over each other as they each raced to the door in their attempt to escape.
John got to his feet and wiped the blood and retinal fluid from his hand onto the leg of his jumpsuit. He knocked on the bathroom door, "Hey, it's me. We need to go now!"
Hesitantly the door unlocked and the woman, Maria, peered out. "Oh my god!" She breathed opening the door wider. The young man, whose name John had yet to catch, turned round to the toilet bowl and sank to his knees as he vomited.
"Come on Caleb." Maria snapped. "We have to go."
Belton was slightly more sympathetic to the student, putting a hand on his shoulder but encouraging him to wipe his mouth and get up. He did as he was told and they were soon all on their feet and ready to follow the cop.
John strode out into the main ward of the infirmary. It was still crowded, with about twenty prisoners who had watched the short but violent brawl in shock and awe. John glared at them all, he had blood running down his face that wasn't his, and made a formidable sight. No one dared approach them. "You, you and you." He stopped and growled, pointing out three of the more nervous looking inmates. "I want your jumpsuits now!" He barked the order, and miraculously they obeyed, hastily divesting themselves of the orange clothing and leaving it dumped on the floor. John snatched all three up and then without looking at his charges snapped, "Come on!" The four of them left the infirmary at a jog.
Out of the infirmary, he lead them into the darkness of the unlit hallways. He took a few twists and turns until he was sure they were not being followed. Unfortunately it meant they were in pitch darkness and couldn't even see their hands in front of their faces.
"Here." Awkwardly he handed out the jumpsuits in the dark, hoping he'd given the right sizes to the right people but not worrying about it too much, figuring they'd work it out for themselves eventually.
While he listened to the three of them getting undressed and debating the size issue in hushed whispers, John bent over, resting his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths. The adrenaline was draining from him now and he felt shaky and unsteady all of a sudden. It had been just over twenty four hours since the prison had been taken over and the near death experiences seemed to be unrelenting. He'd never been in a fight like that last one and he never want to be again. No matter how many people he'd shot while doing his job, he'd never been taken someone out in hand to hand combat before and it was completely different. He had to push it out of him mind because otherwise it would make him sick too.
When a hand landed on his shoulder in the dark he nearly jumped out of his skin. His initial reaction was to grab it and twist, but he realised, almost too late, that it belonged to Maria.
"Hey, are you injured?" She asked.
He took a deep shuddering breath while he took stock of his body. Aside from a few bruises and his hand, which he'd actually managed to do to himself, he was fine. The absurdity of being wholly responsible for his only injury made him laugh. How did he become such a ruthless killer? "I'm fine." He chuckled. What would Dorian think of him now? He had to laugh because the reality was downright terrifying.
"Thank you, for getting us out of there. We wouldn't have made it without you."
"Yeah, well. We haven't made it out yet." John said, all serious again. "We're going to need somewhere safe until we can get you out of here."
"There's a medical supply closet back the way we came?"
"With medicines in?" Her disappointed silence confirmed the answer. "Then no, we can't be anywhere that someone might want to get into. Anything to do with drugs or food is off limits. For now, you're best off here in the dark. I'm going to look for somewhere more secure. I want you to stay together and wait until I get back okay?"
"Hey," Belton spoke up. "I got that baton back. You want it?"
John cursed himself mentally, he'd completely forgotten about it, having dropped it to the floor when he'd been grabbed. "No, you keep it. And don't be afraid to use it."
Dorian watched quietly while Maldonado paced back and forth in the relentless drizzling rain outside the command tent that had been set up outside the prison. She'd been thrown out once already, the commander on duty the evening before had been less than impressed at her wanting to be involved in the decision making, and when she'd pointed out that the problem had not been the decisions that were being made but that no one was making any decisions at all, she'd been told to go home. Undeterred, she'd spent the night watching the news feeds and had waited for the shift changeover in the morning to try her luck again with someone new. The only thing about this that has surprised Dorian was that she'd thought to drive by and pick Dorian up on her way.
There had been very little progress made though in the seven hours they'd been away. They'd determined quite thoroughly what wouldn't work to distrust their jamming equipment but had no idea what would, other than turning the machine off directly. But they couldn't find a way of contacting anyone on the inside.
The landline that was situated in the guards room had rung the first few times but had since been unplugged and the one in the wardens office just kept ringing. The jamming equipment made cell phone contact impossible and since one of the guards had been spotted hanged and displayed in one of the buildings few windows, the team on the outside were doubtful that there were many people left to contact anyway.
And this is where Maldonado's argument with higher authority had come in. They were giving up on contacting anyone at all now, plan b was to wait it out. They'd switched the water off, the electric was already out, and it wouldn't be long before the food ran out, they had explained. At that point, they were sure that whomever was in control of the jamming equipment would turn it off in exchange for food.
"How long until the food runs out?" She'd asked.
"They've maybe got enough for a week." Had been the reply.
And at that Dorian had nearly watched her get kicked out again as she raged against the decision. "I have a man in there! You still have staff. They'll never survive a week! We need to find another way."
Dorian had taken her by the arm and had lead her outside, where he was now watching her pace.
"I should never had let him." She said harshly. And this was the explanation for the loss of temper, Dorian surmised, she felt guilty.
"John's tough, we'll get him out of there." Dorian promised, although he had no idea how.
John left the three of them and staggered wearily back towards the centre of the building, tracing his hand along the rough wall as he memorised the way back. Getting to the main communal areas, even in the dark was easy, just follow the noise. Something was happening that was causing a lot of shouting and cheering. As he got closer he heard the smacking of fists on flesh and realised it was a fight, one with a large audience.
He hoped to sneak through the dining hall while the fight kept everyone occupied, maybe find something in the kitchen for the four of them to eat. He was also worried about Maria being found out and was debating running up to his cell for his razor. If she took her make up off, shaved her head and they found a way to creatively pad her jumpsuit to distort her figure, would she pass as another inmate? She'd have to stick to the shadows, he concluded, she'd be better off just hiding in the dark.
As he entered the dining hall, the noise was deafening. In the middle of the room, a space had been cleared as a makeshift fighting ring. A huge crowd gathered round, forming a circle and inside two bloodied men were grappling with each other. Starved for entertainment, the fight seemed to have most of the lower levels as an audience, a glance upwards revealed the next few levels up were crowded with onlookers, everyone jostling for a place closest to the action.
John ignored the scene and headed through towards the kitchen. As he turned his back of the fight there was a massive cheer and a thud as a body hit the ground. He glanced over his shoulder to see the victor parading around the room like he was a heavyweight boxing champion, and a group of others pulling a body out of the ring.
"Any volunteers for the next round?" The fight organiser called out, cackling with laughter.
John hurried towards the door, this was the last place he wanted to be, when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder and announced to the room, "I've got a volunteer right here!"