appalled response.
“They won’t all rush out together, but we only need one or two. Once the guards have someone else to occupy them, we’ll get a break.” Ahead of him, Jimmy Henry had already waddled to the next fire door.
“But I can’t—”
“Do it, goddammit.” He missed the days when people didn’t question his orders.
Granville sensed that he was winning. Whoever was on the other side of his computer system knew it, too. Why else did they keep locking all the doors simultaneously instead of opening the doors for their coconspirators? He’d just finished the last digit to open Fire Door C in the middle of A-Wing, and as he hit ENTER ...
The annunciator for every friggin’ door in the jail went green.
The locks all buzzed at once just as Jonathan arrived at the second fire door. It opened easily, as did the one containing the guards, and for a moment Jonathan thought he’d miscalculated. As the plug of guards raced down the hall toward him, the inmates all remained behind their closed door.
“Y’all are free, goddammit!” he yelled.
The lead guard—a man only slightly smaller than Boxers, and mad as hell—was only ten feet away from Jonathan when the first cell door flew open and a mostly naked behemoth with long hair and complete sleeves of biker tats charged into the hallway.
If the guard saw him, he made no indication. He wanted Jonathan and Jimmy Henry. From the flame in his eyes, it was a safe bet that he wanted them dead, in fact. Jonathan squared away and braced himself for the fight that was on its way. If killing were an option, it would have been easy, but that was off the table, which meant that it would have to be about pain tolerance.
The guard had committed himself to a high-velocity takedown that would have torn Jonathan in half, but you could tell by his eyes that he wanted to take him out at the chest. At the last instant, Jonathan ducked at the waist and charged forward two steps to body block the big man and send him sprawling to the floor.
It was all the time Jonathan needed to dart through the fire door and swing it shut behind him. “Lock it!” he yelled. “Lock it, lock it!”
He heard the bolt slip closed, and then it buzzed again.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped at Venice.
“It’s not me,” she said. “They were anticipating. Hold it closed.”
Jonathan threw his shoulder into the door and braced his legs against the slick linoleum. On the other side, he heard the riot blossoming, but that didn’t stop somebody from launching an enormous blow against the door. It parted a couple of inches from the jamb, but it wasn’t enough to launch the door open all the way. If there was one more like that, or the guy on the other side got some help, this exercise was over.
A shadow approached from behind, and before Jonathan could react, two black hands planted themselves on either side of Jonathan’s hands, and he felt heavy breath on his neck. “Gotta press harder,” a voice said. “Otherwise, they’ll get through.”
Jonathan craned his head to get a look, and saw the owner of the voice and the hands: a young man—another weightlifter, judging from his heavily muscled arms—and he was all business.
“He came from one of the cells,” Venice said, answering his question before he could ask it. “Okay, got it.”
The bolt slid home again. They had a little more time.
Boxers said, “Charges are in place, boss.”
“Stand by,” Jonathan said. “I’m still not ready to shoot.”
“Shoot who?” his new companion said. “Who the fuck you talkin’ to?”
“Never mind,” Jonathan said.
“The fucking door’s locked!” Jimmy yelled from the far end of the hall. He was one door away from freedom, and he could feel the pull. What he didn’t know was that if Boxers shot the door with him standing there, no one would ever find his pieces.
The inmate said, “The fuck you doin’ here?”
“We’re breakin’
“They won’t all rush out together, but we only need one or two. Once the guards have someone else to occupy them, we’ll get a break.” Ahead of him, Jimmy Henry had already waddled to the next fire door.
“But I can’t—”
“Do it, goddammit.” He missed the days when people didn’t question his orders.
Granville sensed that he was winning. Whoever was on the other side of his computer system knew it, too. Why else did they keep locking all the doors simultaneously instead of opening the doors for their coconspirators? He’d just finished the last digit to open Fire Door C in the middle of A-Wing, and as he hit ENTER ...
The annunciator for every friggin’ door in the jail went green.
The locks all buzzed at once just as Jonathan arrived at the second fire door. It opened easily, as did the one containing the guards, and for a moment Jonathan thought he’d miscalculated. As the plug of guards raced down the hall toward him, the inmates all remained behind their closed door.
“Y’all are free, goddammit!” he yelled.
The lead guard—a man only slightly smaller than Boxers, and mad as hell—was only ten feet away from Jonathan when the first cell door flew open and a mostly naked behemoth with long hair and complete sleeves of biker tats charged into the hallway.
If the guard saw him, he made no indication. He wanted Jonathan and Jimmy Henry. From the flame in his eyes, it was a safe bet that he wanted them dead, in fact. Jonathan squared away and braced himself for the fight that was on its way. If killing were an option, it would have been easy, but that was off the table, which meant that it would have to be about pain tolerance.
The guard had committed himself to a high-velocity takedown that would have torn Jonathan in half, but you could tell by his eyes that he wanted to take him out at the chest. At the last instant, Jonathan ducked at the waist and charged forward two steps to body block the big man and send him sprawling to the floor.
It was all the time Jonathan needed to dart through the fire door and swing it shut behind him. “Lock it!” he yelled. “Lock it, lock it!”
He heard the bolt slip closed, and then it buzzed again.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped at Venice.
“It’s not me,” she said. “They were anticipating. Hold it closed.”
Jonathan threw his shoulder into the door and braced his legs against the slick linoleum. On the other side, he heard the riot blossoming, but that didn’t stop somebody from launching an enormous blow against the door. It parted a couple of inches from the jamb, but it wasn’t enough to launch the door open all the way. If there was one more like that, or the guy on the other side got some help, this exercise was over.
A shadow approached from behind, and before Jonathan could react, two black hands planted themselves on either side of Jonathan’s hands, and he felt heavy breath on his neck. “Gotta press harder,” a voice said. “Otherwise, they’ll get through.”
Jonathan craned his head to get a look, and saw the owner of the voice and the hands: a young man—another weightlifter, judging from his heavily muscled arms—and he was all business.
“He came from one of the cells,” Venice said, answering his question before he could ask it. “Okay, got it.”
The bolt slid home again. They had a little more time.
Boxers said, “Charges are in place, boss.”
“Stand by,” Jonathan said. “I’m still not ready to shoot.”
“Shoot who?” his new companion said. “Who the fuck you talkin’ to?”
“Never mind,” Jonathan said.
“The fucking door’s locked!” Jimmy yelled from the far end of the hall. He was one door away from freedom, and he could feel the pull. What he didn’t know was that if Boxers shot the door with him standing there, no one would ever find his pieces.
The inmate said, “The fuck you doin’ here?”
“We’re breakin’
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