‘Jesus Christ, son. Spit it out.’
Watkins looked up at the wiry Warden, his eyes watering.
‘The doors, sir. All the doors opened.’
Harris’s jaw dropped. Not once in the years that he’d run the prison had he been faced with a riot. The prisoners mostly stayed within the rules, understanding the finality of their situation and many opting for an easy existence. A few inmates had died, others had lashed out at guards. But for the most part, the prison was a peaceful place.
But given the freedom of the prison, they would revert back to what they were.
The most dangerous criminals in the country.
Harris quickly moved to the boot of the car, the driver flicking the switch so it automatically opened. With his left leg dragging across the gravel, Harris steadied himself and then reached into the compartment. He pulled out a bulletproof vest, slid it over his head, and pushed his arms through.
Then, for the first time since he was put in control of Ashcroft, he picked up his handgun.
The Glock 19 felt heavy in his hand, a long-lost friend from a life he used to have. He slid it into the holster attached to his belt and turned to Watkins.
‘Get in the car and ask the driver to take you to the nearest police station.’
‘But, sir…’
‘Go,’ Harris demanded, and Watkins obliged, ducking into the car which lifted a cloud of dust as it sped back through the open gates.
Harris watched the cloud begin to settle and then turned and faced the entrance to Ashcroft and took a deep breath. With one hand on his handgun, he shuffled towards the door, fearful of what was on the other side.
* * *
As soon as the first inmates emerged from their cells, Sam could see the fear spread among the guards like a disease. With the shackles of their cells relinquished, the inmates ventured into the corridor and it took only a matter of seconds for a panicked guard to pull the trigger in their direction.
An inmate yelled out in pain from the gunshot and like a tidal wave crashing over them, the guards soon found themselves set upon by the inmates. The vicious criminals, subjected to the violent and oppressive rule of Sharp’s men, launched at them with reckless abandon, dragging the guards to the ground and brutally beating them with fists and feet.
Gunshots echoed around the corridor, with the remaining guards throwing caution to the wind, abandoning protocol, and doing whatever they could to survive.
Sharp was screaming at a group of inmates to stay back, as three of them approached. Leon, the prisoner who had been assaulted for talking to Sam stepped forward and Sharp whipped out his weapon, pulled the trigger, and sent the top of the man’s head exploding backwards. The body collapsed into a pool of blood and brain and Sharp waved the gun at the other two.
Sam took his moment.
Launching forward from his cell, he shoulder tackled Sharp in the ribs, knocking the hefty deputy warden off balance. As he sprawled across the floor of the war zone, the two prisoners set upon Sharp and Sam began to veer his way through the mayhem, with Sharp’s anguished cries echoing behind him. To his left, he saw three inmates stomping on a guard, who was motionless, his face covered in blood. In front of him, two of the inmates were settling a blood feud and as one pinned the other to the ground, he began slamming his head against the solid, concrete floor.
Sam intervened, wrenching the inmate off his motionless opponent, and slammed him into the door frame, knocking him unconscious.
Halfway towards the door to the stairwell, Sam was confronted by a guard, clearly in his element, who pointed his blood-soaked baton at Sam. With his right eye swollen and blood dripping from his lips, he charged at Sam, swinging wildly. Sam weaved underneath, the metal missing the top of his skull by millimetres, and Sam drove an elbow into the back of the man’s skull. The guard was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Sam’s eyes focused on the door to the stairs once more. Etheridge had explained that the upper two floors operated on a looser security system, meaning once Sam had navigated his way to them, he could lock the prison down. Sam had been worried about the safety of the guards, but having spent two weeks in their hospitality, he felt little remorse for their fate.
They were as bad as the inmates.
A few steps away from the door, Sam felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder blade, followed by the burning sensation of a blade searing through his back muscles. The blade slashed down, slicing his skin open and as he stumbled forward, he turned, just as a blood-soaked Ravi launched at him, the box cutter tightly grasped in his only working hand.
Sam managed to get a hand up to stop the attack, the blade slicing across his hand and sending a spray of blood across the floor. His hand burnt and the pain caused his vision to blur, but Sam adjusted his feet and steadied himself. In a blind rage, the hulking man charged at Sam, demanding blood for his betrayal.
Sam managed to push the blade to the side, but Ravi’s superior bulk collided with him and they both fell backwards, with the tattooed henchman landing on top of him. Despite the shattered bone in his arm, Ravi fought through the pain, raining down on Sam with thunderous blows, splitting his eyebrow open. As Ravi’s colossal hands clamped over Sam’s face, Sam could feel the man’s thumbs pressing against his eye sockets. Reaching out his hands in hope, Sam’s fingers found the box cutter and he drove the blade into Ravi’s stomach and twisted it. Ravi released his grip and Sam drove his knee
