Breakout Paul Herron (books to read in your 20s female .TXT) 📖

the door at the far end of the corridor. We stand there while the guards in a booth on the other side scope us out through the camera.

“Come on!” shouts Gonzalez. “Cleaning crew for the Glasshouse.”

The door buzzes and releases. Gonzalez yanks it open and we file through. Guards stare at us as we pass, their faces cold and impassive.

“What you lookin’ at?” calls out someone from farther down the line.

I glance over my shoulder. Nunes is giving the guards the finger as he passes the booth. “Yeah, fuck you, man. Come out here and look at me like that.”

Felix, ever the unpredictable one, turns and grabs Nunes, shoving him up against the wall. “You want to shut the fuck up? You trying to get us sent back to our cells?”

“N-no, man. I was just—”

Felix pulls him away and slams him hard up against the wall again. “You was just nothing. Understand? Shut the fuck up before I shut you up.”

Evans appears at Felix’s side. “Let him go.”

If it had been any other prisoner, Evans would have laid into him with his baton. But because it’s Felix, he gives him a chance to back down on his own. Everyone knows Felix can be… impulsive.

Felix lets go and gets back in line. Evans then takes his place, ramming his baton against Nunes’s larynx.

“Now—wanna say that again?”

Evans pushes harder. Nunes can’t speak. Hell, he can hardly breathe.

“Can’t hear you, smart mouth. I said, you wanna say that again?”

Nunes shakes his head. Evans glares at him a moment longer, then steps back. Nunes folds over, coughing and wheezing for breath.

Evans yanks him up by his collar. “No delays!” he shouts. “Keep moving.”

We move on, nobody talking now. We make our way through the rest of the wing, passing the staff rec room, offices, the prison cafeteria, the corridor to the staff gym, before finally stopping at a reinforced door that opens onto a thirty-yard-long upward-slanting corridor leading into the main administrative section of Ravenhill, called, in a dazzling display of creativity, Admin.

Where we’re standing now, this is the offices and support network that deals with A Wing. A Wing is a newer addition to the prison complex, built in the nineties when the four Gen Pop units in Ravenhill became too full. Only problem is, the actual prison, as well as the Glasshouse itself, takes up all the level space at the top of the hill. So A Wing had to be built on a section of flattened land cut out of the hill itself, making it about thirty yards lower than the rest of the prison.

Evans uses his keys to unlock the doors and we climb the uphill corridor. He unlocks another door at the top and we enter the reception area of Admin. Its age shows everywhere you look. The reception hall is a massive room with an ornate ceiling. The huge space looks like it belongs in a hotel instead of a prison. The walls are paneled in dark wood. Against the far wall is an antique wooden desk on which sit five computer monitors—only three of them are in use by the staff at this hour. To the right are two metal detectors leading into the waiting area and the front entrance of the prison. There are no civilians there yet. Visiting hours are in the afternoon.

Evans leads us through reception, then into a corridor that skirts the front of the prison before turning left into another long passage and finally into Receiving and Release.

R&R is where the inmates arrive for processing. Where we’re signed out once we’ve done our time. Some prisons have R&R open to the air. Just a straight road from the outside gate to a fenced-off area where the inmates disembark. But Ravenhill’s R&R is an actual depot. A roofed-over space with automatic steel doors controlled from inside.

We exit the prison. A correctional bus is waiting for us. It’s a Blue Bird All American, about twenty years old. Not bad. The bus that brought me here was a converted school bus from the fifties. Windows sealed shut and no AC. This is luxury in comparison.

The driver is already in his seat, his fingers locked tightly around the wheel. He looks nervous. We climb the steps and file through the metal gate that will be locked to keep us from messing with him. I take a window seat about two thirds from the front. Felix sits next to me, shifting around on the cracked leather to get comfortable.

“I remember one time I was on a bus like this. It was going across the border. South, y’know…”?

I stop listening, filtering out the chatter. I sometimes find it best to do that with Felix. It becomes white noise, like an electric fan. I’ve trained myself to pick up on repeated phrases like “You hearing me?” or “You listening?” and I nod and mumble yeah. Felix never really notices. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. Not that I have anything against Felix, you understand. He just talks a lot.

Gonzalez makes his way down the aisle between the seats. “Hold on tight,” he says. “It’s rough out there.” He enters the guard cage at the rear of the bus. He and Evans both slam their gates shut and lock them, then take their seats and put on their seat belts.

“Hey!” yells MacLeod. “How come you guys get belts?”

“’Cause your life ain’t worth shit, MacLeod!” shouts Evans. “I tell you that every day. You never listen.”

“You lucky you behind that cage, Evans. I’d beat the shit out of you if you wasn’t.”

“And that’s you up on report, asshole. Threatening a CO with violence.”

“Can you guys shut up back there?” shouts the driver. “We’re heading out.”

The engine starts with a dull rumble, the seats vibrating. The driver speaks into a radio transmitter mounted on the dash. A loud buzz sounds and then the metal gates at the other end of the depot start to slide open.

It feels like the doors to