Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands (28 page)

“Did you get it?” Clint asked, his eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Jason retrieved the two hammers and the screwdriver and handed them to Clint.

“The knife?”

Jason shook his head. “Couldn’t get my hands on one.”

Clint sighed. “Okay. You know, you could stay here and help us.”

“I did help you. Don’t make me regret it.”

“You did. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Just give me twenty minutes to get the fuck out of here before you guys do whatever it is you’re gonna do.”

“Fair enough.”

The two men looked at each other for an uncomfortable few moments.

“I gotta go,” Jason finally said. He headed for the door.

“Jason?”

Jason stopped. Turned.

“Thanks.”

Jason nodded before slipping out through the door and down the silent hallway.

Behind him, he left Clint’s door unlocked.

* * *

Clint counted down the minutes until he reached twenty. He opened his door slowly, listening for sounds.

No shouts. No shots fired.

Nothing to indicate that Jason had been caught.

He stood in the doorway, the reality that they were actually going through with it finally sinking in. What were they thinking? They couldn’t possibly hope to be successful.

And yet the thought of another day in Glenn’s prison made him want to hang himself.

The hallway wasn’t going to get any clearer. With the hammers and the screwdriver shoved into his pockets, Clint stepped out of his room. He locked the padlock securing the door behind him and carefully made his way to Johnny’s room.

* * *

Until he’d decided to climb it himself, Jason had never thought the fence behind the residence hall looked all that hard to scale. But now, standing at its base, freedom seemed very far away indeed.

He glanced once more behind him before peering through the fence. No sound or movement from the other side either. As clear as he could have asked for.

He traveled too light. No food, no water. He might not even survive on the outside. But the vision of Beth’s demolished, bloody face haunted him. Better to die outside the fence than to live within.

Grasping the chain link, Jason hoisted himself up. He jammed a toe inside the links. Using his leg muscles, he lifted himself up, one hand over the other.

His arms burned. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He resisted the sudden urge to glance behind again. If anyone saw him he was a dead man for sure. Better to not see it coming.

He gripped the barbed wire at the top, the sharp point piercing his palm. Blood leaked from the wound as he pulled himself to the top. From the outside, the angled triple run of barbed wire made scaling the fence impossible. Jason thought he might be the first person to ever climb a carrier fence in order to get
out
.

Panting, he got a foot up to the top of the fence. More blood ran as the fence bit him. He swung a leg over, wincing at the pain, before bringing the second leg over.

He stood, balancing precariously on the top of the fence.

Then he jumped.

He hit the ground harder than he’d anticipated. Sharp pain tore through his ankle as he rolled. He feared for a moment he’d sprained it — or worse, broken it — but after getting to his feet and applying some weight he found he could bear it.

Bleeding from a half-dozen puncture wounds, Jason turned to face the building where he’d been forced to serve as a jailer for a psycho.

He felt like a coward running away. Maybe that’s what he really was, down deep inside. Or maybe leaving Clint’s door unlocked had been brave enough.

No matter what, he’d paid more dues than he thought could ever be possible.

He took one last look before disappearing like a shadow into the early morning darkness.

* * *

Though quiet, the screwdriver wasn’t the fastest tool for removing the padlocked latch from the dorm room prison cells.

That’s what the claw hammers would be used for.

With the last screw removed from the latch, Clint carefully removed it from the door.

Johnny opened it and smiled. “I thought you’d puss out.”

“Very funny. I’m nervous as shit.”

“That’s called being alive, my friend. Your boy came through with the stuff, it seems.”

“He did.” Clint produced the two hammers and handed one to Johnny.

“I wish I had a knife, but I suppose a hammer will do fine.”

“The hammer’s for the door.”

“And it’s a weapon. Don’t forget that, code monkey.”

Using the screwdriver, Clint put the latch back on the door.

Johnny inspected the lock. “They’ll never even suspect.”

“Let’s just hope it buys us enough time.”

* * *

Clint and Johnny made their way down the darkened hallway. Ominous quiet blanketed the building as they stepped gingerly on the carpeted floor.

Minutes later they stood in front of Dave’s door. Johnny knocked two times, paused, and knocked once more. A coded knock agreed upon earlier.

Clint went to work on the latch, backing the screws out with the screwdriver. The work progressed at a painfully slow pace.

“C’mon, man,” Johnny urged.

“I’m working on it.” The last screw came loose from the latch. “Got it.”

Johnny turned to check on Clint’s progress.

When he turned back around again, he froze.

Whipple.

“Just what the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Whipple said, pointing a rifle at the two men.

“Back away from the door,” Whipple said. He pointed the rifle at Clint and Johnny’s heads.

“We were just leaving,” Johnny said. He grabbed Clint’s arm and began walking away. He made it only to the other side of the hallway before Whipple stopped him.

“Just where the fuck do you think you two are going?”

They stopped and turned, facing the guard once again.

“Back against that wall with your hands in the air,” Whipple ordered, pointing to the wall opposite Dave’s door. “Or I swear I’ll blow your goddamned heads off.”

“Okay, okay,” Johnny said, raising his hand above his head.

Whipple eyed Clint’s hand. “What the hell is in your hand? A screwdriver? Just what were you planning on doing with that?”

“We were on our way to the cafeteria,” Johnny said. “We’re fucking starving here. We were going to pry open the door.”

“Throw it on the floor.”

Clint tossed the screwdriver to the floor and held up his hands again.

“I never liked the two of you.” Whipple pointed at Johnny. “Especially you.”

“I’m hurt.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Always the wise ass. Well, guess what? That shit ain’t gonna cut it with Calvin.”

“You don’t have to tell him,” Johnny said. “You could cut us a break, man.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. Why would I do that?”

“He’s sleeping. You don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

Whipple’s brow creased as incredulity screwed up his face. “Are you for real? I’m not going to-”

Behind Whipple, the door to Dave’s room silently opened. Then the latch fell to the floor.

Whipple made to turn.

He was too slow.

Dave looped his belt around Whipple’s neck and yanked hard. Whipple’s eyes went wide as he dropped the rifle and grasped at the belt.

Johnny retrieved the hammer from his back pocket, sprang forward and buried the claw into Whipple’s head. Blood splattered as Whipple’s eyes lost their focus. Dave fell to the floor as the guard’s limp body collapsed.

“Drag him inside and close the door,” Johnny said.

Using the belt still wrapped around Whipple’s neck, Dave dragged the body inside. Clint closed the door behind them.

“Is he dead?” Dave asked.

Johnny took another look at Whipple’s motionless body. Then he swung the hammer again, burying the claw into the guard’s head.

Dave jumped.

“He is now.”

“Holy shit, Johnny!” Clint’s eyes looked like saucers.

“We’re not playing games here. This is for real.” He turned to Dave. “Now help me strip this asshole.”

Dave began undressing Whipple’s corpse.

“I thought you’d never open that door,” Johnny said, bending down to help. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stall him.” He rolled Whipple’s body to the side as he removed his own shirt. “Glad these guys wear black. Shouldn’t show the blood too bad.”

“Do you think he was alone?” Dave asked.

“Let’s hope. Either way, we need to move quick.”

* * *

They reached Gary’s room a few minutes later. Clint made his way through the screws in the door latch while Johnny, now wearing Whipple’s uniform and carrying his rifle, stood watch.

“I didn’t know this was happening this morning. I thought we had some time left,” Gary told them.

“No. My guy on the inside said it was now or never,” Clint replied.

Gary looked Johnny up and down. “Where did you get that uniform?”

Johnny grinned. “Whipple gave it to me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Gary, are you dense?” Johnny said, brow creased.

“You mean you killed him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “Are you in or out?”

Gary glanced at Johnny and then at the rifle. “I’m in.”

Johnny handed Whipple’s rifle to Dave. “Keep this, in case you need it.”

Dave took the rifle. “We’ll wait for your signal.”

Johnny nodded.

“If this doesn’t work out, it was nice knowing you.”

“Hold that thought,” Johnny said through his characteristic grin. “You can tell me how great I am after we’re finished here.”

Seconds later Johnny and Clint disappeared down the darkened hallway.

* * *

Johnny and Clint hurried down the prisoners’ hallway as quietly as possible, navigating by the diffused light of the rising sun. Quietly they opened a door leading down another long hallway. At the end another door sat.

This door would lead them outside.

Now with morning almost upon them, they raced against time to complete their plans before the sunlight betrayed their intentions.

They’d left the hammers with Dave and Gary. Johnny kept the screwdriver. A knife would have been better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Besides, he’d killed men with less.

After an eternal trip down the darkened hallway, the two men arrived at the door. Checking through the tall, narrow windows, they saw no activity in the yard.

Johnny signaled to Clint before opening the door and stepping outside. Breaking daylight chased away the darkest of the shadows. Johnny figured they had less than fifteen minutes before they’d become too visible.

With no time to waste, Johnny and Clint sprinted across the courtyard. No cover existed out here. If anyone saw them, they were dead men.

To Clint the run seemed to last for hours, but the logical part of his brain told him it hadn’t lasted more than a minute. By the time he arrived at the door with Johnny his chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted. Sure that someone would see them, that somehow their plan would go wrong, Clint felt surprised to arrive without a scratch.

Johnny didn’t hesitate. Once at the door he pulled it open and slipped inside. It closed behind them. Using Dave’s description of the residence hall’s interior, they retraced the path he’d taken to find Glenn’s makeshift armory. They ran quietly through the halls, but the journey seemed to take even longer than it had outside.

Eventually they passed through the building and ended up back outside again. Before them the fence stood, silent and cold. A brief thought flashed through Clint’s mind; there freedom lay, just outside the fence. He had only to climb it and then run away, never to look back. But Clint would never have forgiven himself for that kind of cowardice. So he left the fence behind and followed Johnny.

After passing up a couple of the windows, Johnny found the one Dave had told him about. Looking inside, he could make out the shape of large crates.

Close enough. Johnny grasped the screwdriver tightly in his hand before driving the pointed tip into the glass. It shattered like a small explosion. He quickly raked away the shards of glass lining the bottom of the windowsill.

“Let’s see if we’re lucky,” Johnny said as he lifted himself up and into the room, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

Several minutes later the door to the makeshift armory opened, just as Johnny hoped. Through it walked a thin man with a rifle, a lit flashlight taped to the barrel. The pale, yellow beam penetrated the darkness of the room, drawing a circle of light on the floor.

Johnny stood behind the door, watching the light beam flip around the room.

Another footstep as the man stepped into the room.

The beam scoured the crates. With nothing to see there, it moved on.

Another step. Deeper into the room now. Light traveling along the floor.

Johnny forced his breathing slower.

Another footstep.

The light fell upon the broken window. The guard paused. “What the…”

Johnny pounced from the shadows and plunged the screwdriver into the man’s neck. Blood exploded like a squashed orange as Johnny’s momentum took both men to the floor. He shoved harder, burying the metal stem all the way into the man and wriggling it around to inflict more damage.

Seconds passed. More gurgling more struggling, then silence.

Then the guard lay motionless, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Finally satisfied the man was dead, Johnny retrieved the man’s rifle and began searching the crates. It took less than thirty seconds to find the box. It took a full minute to find the crowbar lying in the corner.