Sam leant back and the guard lost his balance, driving the baton against the concrete, the impact sending a shock up his arm and he lost his grip. Sam stood, caught the man with a hard left hook, before hurling him back into the baiting crowd, the inmates wrenching the guard to the ground for a potentially fatal pummelling.
Sam turned back to Ravi, who was holding his stomach together with his unbroken arm. Sam took two steps forward and then drove the box cutter into the soft patch of skin underneath Ravi’s chin, before slicing downwards, cutting open the man’s throat vertically. With his eyes wide with shock, Ravi collapsed onto the floor, the blood gushing from the wound and his life left him immediately.
Sam tossed the box cutter into one of the empty cells and clenched his fist, trying his best to stem the flow of blood that was pumping through the deep gash that ran across his palm. Ignoring the pain, he slammed open the door to the stairwell with his shoulder. A bullet ricocheted off the door, missing Sam by inches and as he glanced in the direction of the shooter, he saw a blood soaked Sharp holding the gun.
The deputy warden was missing some teeth and one of his eyelids was stuck shut with blood, the eyeball torn out by a violent inmate looking for retribution.
Sam barged the door open again and once again, evaded a bullet that shattered the glass window in the middle of the door. Making his way up the stairs two at a time, Sam stopped as he approached the door to the main floor and leant against the wall.
His hand was thick with blood, and he could feel another trail trickling down his back. With his vision still blurred from Ravi’s attempted blinding, Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the echo of the lock clicking into place at the bottom of the stairs. Moments later, a chorus of painful shrieks burst out through the prison as Etheridge sent a shock through every tag besides Sam’s, ending the riot. There had been a number of casualties, but Sam found it hard to sympathise.
The guards and the inmates had been performing a dangerous dance that would eventually end in bloodshed.
Sam had just sped up the process.
With considerable pain, he pulled open the door, only to be met by the barrel of a gun.
‘Stop,’ Harris commanded, both hands expertly gripping the gun, his eye carefully looking down the sight. ‘Don’t move.’
Sam held up his hands, keeping the left one closed to stop the blood from pouring out. Harris took a step to the side and motioned for Sam to move. Sam obliged, taking careful steps into the corridor. Harris regarded Sam with a look of bewilderment.
‘What the hell happened?’ Harris demanded.
‘I took down Chapman and his entire operation,’ Sam said truthfully, finding no reason to lie to the Warden.
‘You’ve undone everything I’ve worked to achieve here.’ The warden’s words were fraught with pain.
‘No, sir.’ Sam shook his head, the blood flicking from the gash on his eyebrow. ‘Sharp has been running the place with Chapman like his personal torture chamber. He’s been paid to let Chapman run free.’
‘Don’t listen to him, sir.’
Sharp stepped through the doors to the corridor, his gun gripped by blood-soaked fingers and pointed directly at Sam’s temple. Stood between both men, Sam had nowhere to go.
‘Sharp. Jesus, what the hell happened to you?’ Harris couldn’t believe the state of his deputy, whose uniform was tattered and coated in the blood of numerous inmates. His one good eye venomously trained on Sam.
‘This man killed Chapman and several other inmates,’ Sharp spat, blood spilling to the ground with every word. ‘I don’t know how he did it, but he set everyone free and now most of my men are dead.’
‘Your men were as bad as those you were paid to police,’ Sam responded, his eyes still looking at Harris. ‘You might be on this side of the cell, Sharp, but you belong in there with rest of us.’
‘Fuck you,’ Sharp spat, his finger twitching on the trigger.
‘Sharp, put the gun down,’ Harris demanded; his own gun still trained on Sam.
‘This piece of shit needs to be put in the ground.’
‘Sir, check Sharp’s bank account. Chapman has been paying him for years.’
‘Shut your goddamn mouth!’ Sharp spat.
‘Sharp, lower your weapon. That is an order.’
‘I’m sick of your fucking orders…’ Sharp turned the gun on Harris, and a gunshot echoed in the corridor. Sam shut his eyes, expecting the feel the metal bullet lodge in his body before everything ended.
After a second, with no damage to his body, he slowly opened them.
Harris stood before him, slowly lowering his gun, his face a picture of composure. Sam spun around, looking down at the ground where Sharp lay, breathing heavily as the air escaped from the bullet hole in his chest. Sam looked back to the Warden in shock.
‘You need to leave,’ Harris said calmly, his eyes fixed on his deputy whose eye had rolled back into his skull.
Sharp was dead.
‘Sir?’ Sam said, taking a step towards him.
‘You don’t belong here, Sam. Whatever you are, you are not like these men.’ He gestured to Sharp. ‘This place isn’t long for this world and wherever you end up, you’re not a criminal. You’re a soldier.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Sam said, his words stammering slightly. ‘Will you be okay?’
‘I’m overdue my retirement. I just need to clean up this mess.’
Sam extended his hand to the Warden, who took it firmly. Sam turned and marched towards the exit of the building, which Etheridge ensured was open. With every step, he craved the freedom of the outside world and
