Last Light Falling (30 page)
To see Gabe stressing in pain over a blank data entry field makes my stomach twist, as I can barely stand at this point. One word is all that separates Gabe from overflowing with jubilation or drowning in pool of sorrow.
“She’s alive!” Gabe shouts. “She’s in the same cellblock, but a different cell number. It’s Cell 41.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Kyle, you come with me; Gabe you stay here and wait for my signal to open up the cell doors. I don’t want to lose Myra and Juliana during all the chaos.”
“They’re in the south wing on the first floor,” says Kyle.
Kyle and I hurry through the corridors to the right and down the stairs to the second level. We are forced to detour down another hall before descending to the next floor because of the locked stairwell doors. I draw my guns, anticipating an attack from any guards remaining that may be hiding around corners. This prison is so large I feel like we just sprinted a quarter mile. I know we’re getting close, because just ahead of us is the main hub where all the cellblocks extend outward.
I can hear heavy boots trotting toward us from one of the extensions, and several guards pace back and forth on the second floor in front of the cells. I leave Kyle in the middle of the hall for the guards to see while I hide behind the corner ready to fire. The guards immediately recognize Kyle as an employee, and their pace quickly slows down.
“Have you seen the perpetrators?” one of the lead guards asks. Kyle is too nervous to talk, so he just points in the opposite direction of me, which is exactly what I hoped he would do.
The guards flee down the left side, and I position myself ready to kill, but I don’t shoot them right away. Whether it’s cowardly or not to shoot someone in the back, I don’t feel the need to justify how to kill a man in a desperate situation; I’m not here to contemplate battle ethics, after all. But in this case, I’m at an advantage, so I extend them the courtesy of my presence nonetheless, just so my guilt doesn’t somehow change my motive.
“Hey, looking for me, boys?” They turn around, shocked, and after five seconds, ten bullets, and six dead men, I do believe I’ve made my point. I carefully sneak across the hall to get a better view of the remaining guards perched on the second floor cellblock. I have the perfect vantage point; I can’t be seen, I’m protected by the metal mesh plating beneath the second floor hangover, and I have an easy open target.
I rest my arm on the side of the railing and prep my bow with a razor-tipped arrow. I wait until the guards pace back in the same direction so I can strike each one behind the other without any of them knowing. I pull back on the string and fire the first arrow dead center into the neck of the first guard. The neck seems to be the appropriate spot for this attack; I try not to give them any chance to scream, shout, or otherwise make any noise to call for help. I quickly launch the next three arrows, silently killing each guard; however, the last guard I strike falls from the second floor, causing a dramatic commotion.
The final guard abruptly notices the other dead men and runs. I really hate moving targets, and I especially don’t want to miss this one because there are caged citizens to the left and right of him, and I want to avoid hitting them. I aim carefully, concentrating on leading the arrow slightly in front of him, but I soon run out of room from my view, so I’m forced to release the arrow. The arrow sails right into his ribs, stopping him from running any further, but not killing him.
I don’t have another clear shot from here, so I hold out my gun, but before I can squeeze the trigger he falls over the small railing and into the concrete basin below, killing him instantly. “Come on,” I say to Kyle, as I run down the stairs to the first floor. Before I go darting out in the open cellblock area, I observe my surroundings carefully.
This place reminds me of those prisons I’ve seen in movies, except it’s much filthier. The first two floors appear to be much older than the others, which leads me to believe this prison has been recently added on in the last few years. Since this institution hasn’t been utilized in over a decade, it’s apparent that these newly renovated additions were purposefully built to enslave and nothing else. And with Russian leaders at the helm of our administration, it’s no wonder the conditions are so bleak. This architecturally sound structure truly is the beginning of an international upheaval.
I slowly walk out in the open area of the third cellblock, looking for numbers above the cells. Each block has two hundred fifty individual cells, and they are in numerical order, running from one end to the other in a horseshoe pattern. I intently search for cell numbers 41 and 46 to my left where the first seventy-five cells are located.
I hear moans, coughing, and weeping as I walk out toward the cells—a result of neglect in these poor conditions. Every step I take, the noise from the floor grows into shouts for help. Hands stretch out in-between the bars of the cell doors, reaching out of desperation for freedom. I try hard not to let my emotions overcome me when I look at their faces.
Time isn’t exactly on our side, and I have to hurry before any more guards decide to appear. I get closer to Cell 41, and yell out Juliana’s name, hoping to hear a response.
“Arena! Arena!” someone shouts in my vicinity. Undernourished and covered in grime, Juliana pops her hand out of the cell door with her face pressed against the bars, crying out of sheer shock to see me.
I wave for Kyle to come over as I hold Juliana’s hand and try to ease her pain. “I’m getting you out of here. All of you will be free to go, but when these doors open, you must hurry far away from this place and into the woods where it is safer,” I say, as my voice grows louder and louder.
“Kyle, if you want to redeem yourself, this is the time.” He nods. “Take Juliana with you to the courtyard and wait for me there. No matter what happens, if you are approached by any guards, tell them you have her in your custody and that she is not to be touched—special orders. If you see a black Camaro, put her in it. You got it?”
He has a confused look on his face and doesn’t respond right away; his nerves have taken over his body, momentarily paralyzing his speech, so I ask him again more firmly, “Do you understand, Kyle?”
“Yes, yes. I got it,” he says, stuttering. It’s very unlike me to trust a person like Kyle, but in a situation like this sometimes the risk outweighs the worries, and behind his brown scared eyes, I know he’s not about to betray me.
While Kyle stays with Juliana at the cell, I quickly run down to Cell 46 to look for Myra, but I don’t see her. The cell is packed to the gills, and it’s hard to determine if she is hiding behind anyone because every face covered in filth looks the same.
I yell out Myra’s name, but I get no response. I’m becoming increasingly stressed and saddened, but I don’t give up. I yell out again and again over the crowd of people in the cell until they stop and realize what I’m saying. They slowly back up to the sides of the cell and part the middle to reveal a broken woman with torn clothes and covered in dirt, sitting and leaning against the wall, facing the corner.
“Myra,” I say softly, “it’s me, Arena.” Withdrawn from her surroundings and unresponsive to my voice, she barely moves her head as
she mumbles to herself. Her body is shaking. One of her arms is bandaged up, but the other reveals self-mutilation—bloody scabs and claw marks up and down her arm—the result of a torn woman trying to take away the pain of being without Daniel. I can only imagine the terror swimming inside her head, and the last memories she must have witnessed when he was killed.
I call out to her again, trying to break her inert position and catatonic state when suddenly she stops chattering and turns to me with those green, glassy eyes, the ones I have been most familiar with since I was twelve years old. She slowly gets up and walks over to me. When she truly realizes it’s me, her subconscious surrenders to reality, and she runs to the cell door and holds out her hand to my face. The frightened look in her eyes soon submits to weeping as she calls out my name.
“I love you,” I say, trying to hold back tears, “we’re getting everyone out of here. You stay close to me no matter what.” I walk over to one of the cameras on the walls to give Gabe the signal, as I brace myself for a massive exodus. There’s no time for any kind of organized evacuation plan; this is freedom to all who wish to accept it. I know many will not survive, but that’s in God’s hands now.
When the cell doors open, many people don’t hesitate to run out toward the courtyard, but some stumble from lack of strength due to malnutrition. While I take Myra’s hand, I turn to make sure Kyle and Juliana are together. I see them ahead of us until the chaotic mass of people scatter, blocking my view. It’s much like the false alarm we experienced during that first week of school when students were scurrying around, panicking.
As we get closer to the doors, I look up and see the same chaos on the floors above, and I think to myself how many families have been torn apart by this government’s gutless and savage enslavement. It’s a mad house outside, and the few guards who remain in the courtyard are overcome by the wave of fleeing refugees and trampled.
I don’t see the car anywhere, but Myra’s legs begin to weaken, so I take her to the side of the courtyard wall to rest a bit until the chaos dies down a little. After a few moments, I start to worry about the status of Finnegan and Henry. I desperately try to help Myra to her feet while intently looking around for guards, but I see none except for the scattered wreckage of bodies that lie on the ground from Finnegan and Henry’s demolition.
At this point, all I want is the strength to keep Myra from collapsing. I manage to keep her upright with her arm around my neck as a
brace. After about twenty steps, the weight of her weakness becomes burdensome, and the little strength I have left begins to fail.
We finally reach the corner of the courtyard near the side entrance to the prison when my muscles give in. I stop and nearly collapse to the ground, and the only thing that keeps me from dropping Myra is the will of God. I slowly set her down and lean her against the base of a lamp pole to rest. My vision grows weary and dims from the sudden rush of blood flowing back into my muscles, and everything in front of me becomes a blur for a few seconds.
I can see a figure charging at me, but I can’t quite make out who it is, so I exhaustively draw my gun for defense. Just as I struggle to aim, my vision clears up and I recognize Henry. I quickly withdraw my gun and a gleam of hope suddenly flourishes throughout my body.
“Arena, you made it. We have Juliana in the car.”
“Thank you,” I say, exhausted. “Can you please help Myra?”
“We’ll take care of her,” he says just as Finnegan walks up. I slowly jump back to my feet.
“Everybody okay? Where’s Gabe?” Finnegan asks. Right then I realize Gabe is still inside, and my heartbeat races.
“Take care of Myra and Juliana, both of you. I will get him and meet you back here. Just don’t go anywhere,” I demand.
A sudden burst of energy recharges my will to fight as I rush back into the prison to find Gabe. There are still a few people scampering out as I dart back in through the cellblock entrance. I find the flight of stairs that Kyle and I used to get to cellblock 3 and try to backtrack my steps. I get halfway down one of the corridors on the second floor when I run into a guard coming around the corner. He stops as do I, but I hesitate to pull my pistol because he is unarmed.
He stares me down, as if he’s about to pummel me. Standing at about six foot four, the big brute charges at me shouting, but I stand my ground and grip the scorpion dagger behind me preparing to strike. I shift to one side, dodging his rampaging fist, and thrust the blade into the side of his ribs.
He screams in anguish, but he still manages to stand and prepares for another round. He swings his fists, but I block his blows, turning my body into him, pulling down his hand, then pushing up his forearm and breaking his wrist. He shouts in pain, then swings his other arm into the side of my head, throwing me down to the floor hard, and separating me from my dagger. As he bends down to finish me off, I quickly pull two throwing knives from my jacket and jab them both into the side of his neck. I roll out of the way to dodge his falling dead weight. Like
always, I waste nothing. I retrieve my knives from his neck, wipe them off on his uniform, and place them back in my jacket.
I sprint down the rest of the hall and up the stairwell to the fourth floor, but the halls all look the same and I’m confused as to which way to go. I’m hesitant to make a decision, but I realize Gabe may or may not be in here, and I’m just wasting time. I race down the first hall close to me, and look for any maps or signs.
I pass a door near an intersecting corridor, and briefly notice a sign next to it, but it’s not the sign itself that catches my attention. The sign is written in Russian: -
. It says “Bio-Chemical Research Lab.”
My curiosity distracts me for a few moments so I open the door. The room looks extremely clean and sanitized. Hazmat suits hang on hooks, and hundreds of vials and glass tubes are neatly labeled and stored. A contaminate chamber about the size of a refrigerator sits on a back table, and numerous charts filled with formulas hang on the walls.
