Felix nods seriously. “I do, I do. So how was your day?”
I breathe out noisily and take a sip of my coffee. I pause to let the flavor hit. Christ, this is good. “Well… you know Sinclair? Over in accounting?”
Felix looks like he’s thinking. “Tall guy? Skinny? Made a move on you at the Christmas party.”
“That’s the one. Threw himself out the top-floor window today.”
“Is that right?”
“It is.” I take another sip and smack my lips appreciatively. “Said he couldn’t live without me. That if he couldn’t have me, there was no point in going on.”
“Poor guy. If only he knew the real you. Fucker dodged a bullet.”
Sawyer stiffens at his words. I glare at Felix and mouth, What the fuck? He just shrugs helplessly.
Sawyer sighs and looks up. “You can stop now. Actually, I’m begging you. Please stop now. I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Felix reaches out and puts a hand over hers. “Because if you’re not,” he says gently, “you can talk to Constantine.” He takes his hand back and wraps it around his coffee mug. “I’m no good at all that feelings shit.”
Sawyer laughs softly. “I’m okay.” She pauses for a moment. “I mean, we’re alive, right? What more can we ask for?”
I think about it. “Shelter that’s not going to fall on our heads?”
Felix nods. “Guns?”
“Scuba gear?”
“A submarine would be nice,” says Felix.
“I’m talking figuratively,” says Sawyer.
“Well, shit,” says Felix. “Why didn’t you say? I mean, the woman is talking figuratively.”
“Shut up, Felix,” she says.
“Shutting up.”
She bows her head and sips her coffee. Felix and I are watching her carefully. She eventually snaps her head up and glares at us both. “Will you two stop looking at me like I’m a baby bird that fell out of its nest or something. I said I’m fine. Yes, I was just forced to play a game of Russian roulette. But so was he”—she nods at Felix—“and so were about twenty other poor bastards who didn’t survive. You want to feel bad for someone, feel bad for them.”
“Okay,” I say, “she’s fine. Break’s over. Let’s go.”
Felix looks at his coffee in dismay. “I want to savor it.”
“Tough shit. You were right. No time for a break. Hustle up.”
He sighs and gulps down his coffee, then glares at me. “That is not how coffee should be enjoyed.”
As we make our way through the unit, I’m getting more and more worried about the prison’s ability to hold up. The hurricane lashes us with a ferocity that builds with every minute. Every creak, every distant rumble is making me more and more jumpy. I just don’t think this place is going to last till the eye of the hurricane arrives.
But what the hell else are we supposed to do? Stop? Hide under a desk somewhere? No. We have to keep moving forward. Because anything else is admitting defeat.
We carry on, wading through water that is almost up to my waist. The building creaks and groans like a pirate ship. The wind sounds like the ferocious howling of animals. It rises and falls. Grows louder, then fades. It feels like the hurricane is a predator circling a campfire, waiting to strike.
A lot of the corridors we try have already collapsed, forcing us to retrace our steps and find alternative routes. But going by the evacuation plans stuck on the wall, we’re getting close.
We turn into a corridor and pull up short. About halfway along, a bent-over figure is trying to drag what looks like a huge slab of concrete through a doorway. He’s not making much progress. The slab looks way too heavy.
“That’s Leo,” says Felix softly.
Which explains why he’s not making much progress. The guy is about eighty years old.
“Who’s Leo?” whispers Sawyer.
“Old guy,” says Felix. “Always talking about escaping. He’s been here since he was twenty or something.”
“What did he do?”
“No one knows. There are rumors. That he went a bit crazy in the army. Killed some of his own squad.”
“Leo?” I call.
Leo glances over at us, barely registering our presence before resuming his task.
“What you doing there?” asks Felix as we approach.
“Pole dancing,” he says. He straightens up and arches his back with a wince. “The hell do you want?”
“Just passing through,” I say. “Heading for the Northside staff room.”
He snorts. “Not this way you’re not.”
“Why?”
“You can’t get through. The Mental Health Unit is still locked down.”
“We have a key.”
He shrugs. “Whoop-de-fucking-do. Even if you get in there, you’re going to have to fight off the retards and rapists. They’ve all been let out of their cells. Then you have to get into ACU. Last I heard—and this was before the staff corridor went down, mind—Preacher’s followers had turned that place into some sort of crazy-ass church, waiting on him to return like he’s the Second Coming or something.”
Shit.
“We still have to try,” says Sawyer.
I look at her. “We don’t have any weapons.”
“So we sneak.”
“Why you got such a hard-on for the staff room?” asks Leo.
“I have a keycard to get out,” says Sawyer. “When the eye of the hurricane passes over, we’re going to the Glasshouse.”
Leo still looks confused. “Why?”
“To ride out the storm.”
He bursts into laughter. “Seriously? In the Glasshouse? You’ll be lucky if that place is even still standing.”
“But… they were shipping in prisoners from all over the place,” says Sawyer. “They said it would be safe.”
Leo shrugs. “They lied. Or they’re lying to themselves. Trust me, I’ve been inside the Glasshouse. The foundations in that place are crumbling. The mortar holding the bricks together is like sand. Not a chance it’s going to survive.”
I can see the dawning realization settling on Sawyer’s face. Her shoulders slump and she turns away from us, walking off a few steps as she tries to think her way out of this. I glance at Felix, but he just shrugs.
Sawyer finally turns back. She looks at me numbly. “So that’s it? We’re dead?”
“Not if you help me here,” says Leo.
“Why?” I ask. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get
