Veitch hands the gun back to Kincaid. He spins the chamber and snaps the gun closed. “Bring another one.”
Cassidy and Veitch hurry over to the cell. There’s jostling and fighting inside as everyone tries to move out of reach. A skinny guy is shoved forward. He looks like he’s in his early twenties, sobbing and begging them to pick someone else. The two men ignore him and drag him to the table. Cassidy shoves him down onto the bench, while Veitch grabs the body in the water and starts dragging it toward the stairs leading up to the second level.
Sawyer watches him shove it behind the stairs. Her eyes widen. There’s already a pile of bodies dumped there. There must be about twenty of them.
Kincaid passes the gun to the skinny inmate. “I think you’ve got the idea by now.”
The young man takes the gun in trembling hands. He looks at the guy sitting opposite him. He’s older, Mexican. His eyes don’t hold the same fear as the other man’s. He just looks angry.
“Let’s go,” says Kincaid. He’s still standing by the table. “We don’t have all day. Do it or I do it for you.”
The young man slowly lifts the gun toward his temple. His hands are shaking so hard Sawyer is surprised he doesn’t drop it. Kincaid watches from about two feet away, positioned directly between the two men.
Then the young man turns suddenly and points the gun at Kincaid, pulling the trigger.
The gun clicks.
Kincaid doesn’t even flinch as Cassidy lunges forward and grabs the inmate’s arm. He turns to Veitch with a grin. “How many is that now?”
“Four.”
“Four out of… what? Twenty?”
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen? Shit. Guess I’m just a lucky guy.”
Cassidy tightly grips the man’s hand, lifting the gun up to his temple.
“You are going to feel so stupid if the bullet is in that chamber now,” says Kincaid.
Sawyer doesn’t want to watch. She turns back to Kincaid, grimly fascinated by what she’s just witnessed. She’s sure she saw a look of disappointment on his face when there was no bullet in the chamber.
The young man is sobbing and begging, pleading with Kincaid to pick someone else.
“Either you pull the trigger or I shoot you in the stomach and let you bleed out,” says Kincaid. “You’ve got three seconds to choose. One…”
The young man squeezes his eyes shut.
“Two…”
His finger curls around the trigger.
“Three.”
The gunshot echoes throughout the rec room. The inmate’s head jerks to the right, blood and skull fragments exploding outward.
He falls into the water. Kincaid turns his attention to the Mexican guy sitting on the other side of the table. “You sure you’re Mexican? You not messing with us? Because you’ve got the luck of the Irish, my friend. Get up.”
The guy looks at him in confusion.
“Get up. Go back to the cell. The fuck you staring at me like that for? Go!”
The guy stands up hurriedly, tripping over his own feet and sprawling into the water in his haste. He pushes himself up and scurries back to the cell, trying to burrow as deep into the press of bodies as he can.
Kincaid turns his attention to Sawyer and Felix. “Your turn.”
Veitch shoves Sawyer forward. She stumbles and catches herself on the table. Cassidy tries to do the same to Felix, but the big man doesn’t budge.
Kincaid sighs. “Jesus, must everything be difficult? Sit or I just shoot the woman in the face.”
Veitch grabs Sawyer’s arm. She tries to fight him off, but he punches her in the side of her head, hard enough for stars to erupt across her vision. He pushes painfully on her shoulder and she falls onto the bench.
Felix reluctantly sits down opposite her. Kincaid hands him the gun.
“You first.”
Felix takes the revolver. He glances at Veitch and Cassidy, then over at Kincaid.
“I’d think about that very carefully,” says Kincaid.
Sawyer shakes her head in an attempt to clear it. She glances around unsteadily. At Felix. At Cassidy, at Veitch. At Kincaid. She feels a moment of utter depersonalization. What the hell is happening? Why is she here? Everything feels so surreal. She can feel her breath coming in short gasps. Panic wells up inside, rising from the depths of her soul into her tightening chest. Tears sting her eyes, blurring the image of Felix sitting before her. This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.
A loud bang echoes from somewhere overhead, a heavy thump, then the sound of rolling and crashing. Sawyer jumps, whimpering in fear, but is unable to look away from Felix. His eyes stay locked on hers, but everyone else glances upward, making sure the roof isn’t about to come down on them.
Sawyer takes strength from Felix’s implacable gaze. She quickly wipes her eyes. Pull yourself together. Don’t you fucking dare let them see you weak. You can get through this.
She almost bursts into hysterical laughter. How? They’re not getting out of here. Constantine was right. She was a naïve idiot for ever hoping they could. They’re all going to die tonight. The only thing she can control is how much dignity she has when the time comes.
She straightens up in her chair, staring at Felix. The banging sound shifts from the roof and seems to drop down to echo from somewhere over in the staff corridor. More walls being torn down by the hurricane, probably. She wonders which would be worse. The gun or the hurricane. Probably the hurricane. At least the gun is fast.
Kincaid claps his hands together once. “Let’s go. If this place is going to come down around our heads, I want to see one of you shoot yourself first.”
Felix doesn’t hesitate. He moves so fast Sawyer barely has time to register it, raising the gun to his temple and pulling the trigger. He doesn’t even blink.
No gunshot. Just the click of the hammer striking the empty chamber.
“Jesus, Felix,” says Kincaid as Felix slams the gun down on the table. “What’s the rush? Give it some buildup. Some drama.” He
