“I know I’ve had a significant head injury, but are you feeling OK?”
Blake snapped out his extendable baton. “Oh, I’m feeling very good. The cameras are out – it’s just you, me and the retard here.”
Bunny stiffened. “Only pricks use that word, but then, you are a stone-cold psycho.”
Blake laughed again. Even from a distance, Bunny could see the man’s eyes were wild. Madness being allowed to run amok. Blake pointed at the corner.
“Breida, go stand over there.”
Breida made a whimpering noise.
“Tis alright, Carlos,” Bunny reassured him. “It’ll be fine. Do as he says.”
“But you’re hurt?”
Bunny set the brakes on both wheels and got to his feet with difficulty, placing a hand on the table to support himself.
“Oh dear,” said Blake, taking a step forward. “I don’t think this is going to be much of a fight.”
“Yeah,” said Bunny with a wince as he tried to move, “I’m going to finish you off quick.”
Blake grinned again. “I do enjoy you. I’m going to enjoy killing you even more.”
“How many inmates have you killed now?”
Blake whisked his extendable baton back and forth, as if warming up. “You’ll be number twelve.”
Bunny nodded. “But you’ll let Carlos live.”
Blake gave a serious nod. “Of course. I mean, unless the cartel wants him dead for trying to break out. In which case, it’ll be a pleasure.”
“He’s not much more than a child.”
Blake shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“You really are a sick bastard, Blake. Do you realise that?”
Blake’s smile disappeared. “I have an illness. You are being very insensitive.”
“Am I? I’d hate to hurt your feelings.”
Blake stood a few feet from him now. Somebody tried the door that led back towards the infirmary. Blake raised his voice. “This is Commander Blake. The situation is under control. Stay outside.” He looked Bunny up and down. “Do you have a weapon?”
“Only my dazzling wit.”
Blake tapped the tip of his baton against his chin. “Not enough. I mean, if I’m going to really enjoy myself, I need to look as if I heroically fended you off.” He clicked his fingers. “I’ll grab a knife from the staff kitchen and plant it on you.”
“Good idea,” said Bunny.
“I might even cut myself a little, make it look really good.”
“You could tell them I attacked you.”
“I will.”
Bunny took a step and moved around the table so he was leaning more comfortably on it. “What you could tell them is I got somebody to keep you talking so you were distracted …”
“Good idea.”
Bunny started waving his right arm in the air. “Because like all monumental cockwombles, you so love telling people how clever you are, you didn’t notice me sneaking up until it was too late, and that’s how you got Tasered.”
Blake’s brow furrowed. “You mean stabbed.”
Then he convulsed and dropped to the floor, his baton skittering away.
Smithy stood behind him.
“Nope,” said Bunny. “Definitely Tasered.”
“Hi, Bunny.”
“Hey, Smithy. Nice of you to drop in.”
“Well, I was in the neighbourhood.” He took off the backpack. “And I brought a change of clothes for you and your friend.”
Chapter Sixty
Diller hopped nervously from foot to foot. The robe wasn’t that comfortable, especially with the hood up. The side entrance of Longhurst was just around the corner, about twenty yards away from him. He didn’t want to get any closer for fear of drawing the attention of one of the guards.
Not that it was that likely to happen – they were more concerned with crowd control. They were trying to keep a couple of hundred people away from the large silver disc that had just landed in front of their place of work. A couple of them had weapons, which made Diller very nervous. Not least because, seeing as this was Nevada, there was a very good chance that a couple of people in the crowd had them too.
Dionne’s voice vibrated in his ear. “How are things looking there, Diller?”
“It’s getting tense. Martha’s trying to communicate with the craft, but they won’t let her near. She’s shouting at it with a megaphone. Most of the crowd have their phones out and are recording it. The guards look more freaked out than anything. Is everything going to plan inside?”
“Not exactly, but they’re at the side door.”
“Right. What are we waiting for?”
“It’s been twelve minutes since the prison made a particular call,” said Dionne.
Diller didn’t get what she meant. “And?”
“Mr Faser here, who you’ve yet to meet, estimated the response time at eleven minutes. It appears he was a little off.”
“I don’t …”
He heard them before he saw them. A high-pitched whine, difficult to make out initially over the crowd cheering and Martha sermonising. The crowd couldn’t see them as they were coming from the south, the opposite side of the prison to the gate they were in front of. Diller realised what was happening only a couple of seconds before the choppers appeared over the crowd.
“Go. Go. Go,” hollered Dionne.
There were three helicopters in total. One took a position over the crowd while the other two moved to the side to land. The hovering one had a loudspeaker.
“This is the US Air Force. Please disperse immediately. You are trespassing. There is nothing here to see.”
Diller had to shield his eyes as the rotors caused a mini-sandstorm around them. In the midst of it, he turned in the direction of the side door and saw three figures in robes, two of them assisting a third, who leaned heavily on them as they moved away from the prison. One of them was a tad on the short side. Diller ran to meet them.
“Where?” said Smithy.
“This way,” replied Diller, pointing towards where the Winnebago was parked near the back of the impromptu parking lot. “Can I?”
Smithy moved aside and let Diller take his place.
“Bunny?”
“Howerya, Dill.”
“Are you OK?”
“Too early to tell.” He coughed, the dust growing thicker as the two choppers came in to land. “Is that – is that a feckin’ spaceship over there?”
“Sort of,” replied Diller.
“Fair enough.”
They reached
