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

fight when they see us. They look like trapped animals, eyes wide with fear and panic. We explain to them about the tunnel—in case they missed the announcement—and without fail they head off without giving us any more trouble. I mean, that could be because of the guns rather than our skills of persuasion, but either way, I’m not complaining.

And after what seems like way too long, we finally arrive at our destination.

The Mental Health Unit.

I unlock the door using Sheriff Montoya’s magic keys and push it open.

The first thing we hear is the screaming. A constant shrill shriek that goes on and on, pausing only for whoever is responsible to draw breath.

Most of the lights are down. Only a few remain, casting cold cones of harsh white over a deserted nurse’s station. We move slowly past the desk and enter a long corridor with cells to either side. Felix is in the lead. I can see he’s nervous. He has the second Ruger we took from Preacher’s guys raised in the firing position, swinging it left and right at the slightest sound.

The cells all have windows in the doors. Dim light filters out. I glance into a couple as we pass. They all have padded walls and a single bed with leather restraints attached to top and bottom.

Felix is getting more and more agitated. He’s gripping the gun tightly, his knuckles white.

“I don’t like this, man. I can’t take crazies.”

“They’re not crazies,” says Sawyer. “They’re sick. They need help.”

“Not sure they really deserve our sympathy,” I say. “The people in here are rapists, mass murderers, torturers… the worst of the worst. They’re all here because the judges ruled them insane. Either that or they were mentally unfit to even stand trial for what they did.”

“So don’t try any kind of Mother Teresa act on them,” warns Felix. “They come at you, you do not talk. You shoot.”

Sawyer throws me a worried look but doesn’t reply.

We move slowly along the corridor, guns held at the ready. After a while, I notice a sound coming from one of the cells up ahead. Felix stops walking, levels his weapon.

Sawyer pushes the barrel down. “What are you doing?”

“There’s something in there.”

“Someone, you moron.”

He frowns at her and backs up. I move slowly to the door and peer inside.

There’s a man sitting on the bed. He’s not moving. He’s just sitting there, staring into the corner of the cell.

Felix reluctantly joins me and peers over my shoulder. “What’s he doing?”

The man hears him and slowly turns his head to look at us. “Can you see her?” he says.

Felix doesn’t answer.

“Can you see her?” His voice is more urgent.

Felix shakes his head.

The man points into the corner. “She’s standing right there. The woman in black.” He smiles at Felix. “She’s watching you.”

Felix turns and starts walking away. “Uh-uh. I’m out. That’s a big nope from me.”

I shiver and follow him, Sawyer at my side.

“Can’t that bastard stop screaming?” says Felix, now even more on edge. “Shut the fuck up!” he shouts.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap. “You’ve just announced our presence here.”

“Good. Then I can shoot something.”

“Jesus, Felix. Stop being an asshole. You could have stayed in the tunnel. We don’t need anyone panicking.”

“I’m not panicking. Don’t tell me I’m panicking.”

I can hear the brittle edge to his voice. I try a different tack. “Listen, I get you don’t like it in here.”

“Do you now? Do you really?”

“Yeah. I don’t like it, either. But can we please just try and keep quiet? The quieter we are, the faster we can move.”

“I see your point,” he says grudgingly, “but I’m not promising anything.”

He walks on. The passage we’re in leads to a security door that opens into the staff section of the unit. The screaming is getting louder. We move at a faster pace. There are inmates in some of the staff rooms. Most of them are busy in their own worlds and don’t even look up when we pass. One of them stands on a desk, arms spread wide, talking in Spanish about angels and God. Another lies in the floodwater, his head the only part of his body above the surface. He smiles as we glance into the office. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says. “I’m at the beach.”

We leave him to his vacation and enter an open ward with about fifteen beds around the walls.

We all stop walking. Even Sawyer brings her Beretta up into firing position as she looks nervously around.

The beds are empty, but every one of them is stained with blood. We move slowly through the ward. There are cards propped up at the bottom of each bed. I grab the closest.

Touched children. He has been judged and sent to hell.

I stare at the bloodstains, then glance at the other cards. All bear mention of crimes and punishments.

And all the cards are signed by Preacher.

Sawyer looks around nervously. “Do you think he came back here after moving through Carl’s unit?”

I really hope not. I’d thought maybe a few of his followers would be trapped in the Administrative Control Unit. That we’d be able to sneak through. But if he’s there, that’s a different story. His congregation of psychos would have followed him. They’ll be everywhere, and I don’t think we’ll have enough bullets for them all.

We move through the ward and out into the corridor beyond. The screaming is still going on. We’re all on edge. Tense. But we finally make it to the door leading out of the unit.

It’s unlocked.

That’s a bad sign. We step through into the passage beyond. The door at the far end of the sally port stands wide open.

We slowly enter the corridor. The security control room to our left has been destroyed, wires hanging everywhere. There’s writing on the wall. In blood, by the looks of it. One message reads, He shall also make restitution for what he has done amiss. Another says, Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared