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

his collar, trying to get hold of his throat. There’s shouting all around me. I shove him off his feet. He hits the ground and I drop onto his chest, hands around his neck. He’s shouting something at me, but I can’t hear above the roaring in my ears.

Someone grabs my shoulder, pulls me back. I lash out with my elbow, hear a howl of rage. I recognize the voice. Evans. I wrap my hands around Tully’s throat again.

Then everything inside me shuts down as fifty thousand volts surge through my body. I arch back, every muscle in my body stiffening in shock. Pain explodes across my entire being, slicing through me like splinters of glass cutting through my veins.

My vision goes completely black, then slowly fades back into color.

Another surge of agony as Evans shoves his stun gun into my neck.

The floor flies up to meet me.

Then nothing.

ADVISORY BULLETIN

Hurricanes Hannah and Josephine Advisory Number 1

NWS National Hurricane Center Miami FL

12 A.M. EDT SAT AUG 28 2021

DISCUSSION AND OUTLOOK

Tropical hurricanes Hannah and Josephine have changed paths and are due to intercept each other by 6 a.m. this morning. It is anticipated that these Category 5 hurricanes will form together, undergoing a Fujiwhara phenomenon, wherein vortices will join to form a rare and dangerous superstorm.

Maximum sustained winds for this forecast period are near 200 mph (321 km/h) with higher winds possible.

HAZARDS AFFECTING LAND

The combined hurricanes are anticipated to bring unprecedented damage to the Eastern Seaboard, as well as into Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas.

WARNINGS

All must evacuate.

$$

Forecaster Mills

SixFriday, August 273:30 p.m.

Sheriff Montoya picks up the phone for the third time in ten minutes.

Still dead.

He’s been out of contact with the outside world for two hours now. He was talking to Jefferson over at State, checking what was happening with the hurricane.

No—hurricanes.

Because one isn’t enough. Oh no. They have to get two hurricanes, Hannah and Josephine, forming into one monster storm—something called the Fujiwhara effect—that’s going to hit with full force sometime in the next few hours. And obviously it’s Cat 5. Because that is the kind of luck Montoya is cursed with.

Miami has been evacuated. Place is a ghost town, no one left behind. Same with most of Florida, Alabama, and Georgia. Buildings are being ripped apart. There’s major flooding, fires. One hundred and eighty-seven people have already died.

The last thing Jefferson said before the line went dead was that the plans had changed. The Glasshouse was supposed to be a safe haven for evacuated prisoners, but with the hurricane being what it is, they were going to have to move everyone. There was even talk of storm surges coming in off the ocean, forming mini tsunamis. Jefferson said he’d be sending the National Guard to help them evacuate. That they’d be there by two.

Montoya checks his watch. Half past three. He is slowly starting to realize that the National Guard might not be coming at all.

He can’t even find out what’s going on out there. They’re completely cut off. No TV signal. No cell reception, no landlines, nothing. The only information he has are the printouts on his desk that Jefferson forwarded from the National Hurricane Center tracking the paths of the hurricanes. When they’ll arrive, when the eye of the storm will pass over them, when the winds should die down, that kind of thing.

None of it looks promising. And it’s only going to get worse over the next eighteen hours.

He sits at his desk and listens to the storm. The noise is relentless, a constant barrage of howling and screaming. The heavy slam of rain on the roof. The constant creak of the building, like it’s about to collapse at any moment.

He gets up and peers through the small window. It looks like the middle of the night. Something is sparking and flashing in the distance. A fallen electric cable? Fuck. That’s all they need. For the power to trip. They have generators that would keep them going for… what? Twelve hours if they’re lucky. Emergency lighting would work, air circulation, that kind of thing. But after that? Everyone would be screwed.

What the hell is he supposed to do? Just wait? For help that isn’t going to come? Have they been abandoned? Forgotten in the chaos? It’s entirely possible. But where does that leave them?

Fuck.

Montoya has gotten through his life by avoiding making big decisions. Big decisions mean big risks, and big risks mean lots of blame if something goes wrong.

What should he do? There’s no way they can evacuate everyone. Hell, they only have one bus. The rest had been taken to fetch inmates from the other prisons. It will be a tight squeeze to fit just the skeleton staff that is still here.

He keeps skirting around his thoughts, not liking where they want to go. But he can’t avoid it any longer.

He stares at his desk. Not blinking. Not moving. He’s scared that if he moves, the idea will become real. That it will mean acknowledging he is capable of such thoughts.

But it’s there. Waiting. An insidious root that crawls through his mind, pushing its way forward.

He can leave the inmates behind.

Abandon them to their fate.

If the hurricane passes and the prison is still standing, no harm done. Really, his duty is to his officers. They’re innocent of any crimes, whereas the inmates—they’re murderers, rapists, child-killers, drug dealers.

Why should he risk his life for them? He deserves more. His staff deserves more. And it’s not as if he’s just abandoning them to die. Of course not. He’ll evacuate the staff, then once they’re out of the hurricane path he’ll inform the National Guard that the prisoners still need help. Hell, he might even get a medal. Everyone could die if he doesn’t take the brave step and leave, exposing himself to the elements to get word out. He’s doing the right thing here.

He pushes the button on his desk mic. “This is Sheriff Montoya. All staff is directed