Captives

NINETY-FOUR

The cell door crashed open, slamming back against the wall, the impact reverberating found the small room.

Mike Robinson blinked hard, shocked from sleep by the sound and, now, by rough hands on him, pulling him from the top bunk.

Beneath him, Rod Porter was also being pulled from the warmth of his bunk, hurled across the room by the first of the warders who had barged into the cell.

'What the fuck is this?' snarled Porter but, as he turned, he was struck hard across the face with a baton. The hardwood split his cheek and he fell to the ground, blood pouring from the gash.

Robinson was thrown against the wall, a fist driven into his stomach, knocking the wind from him. Through pain-misted eyes he saw his locker torn open and its contents scattered, saw the bunks being overturned, saw the small cupboard that had housed James Scott's belongings ripped open. The photograph of the blonde woman Scott had spoken of (Robinson couldn't remember her name) fluttered to the floor where it was trodden on in the melee.

Then another blow to the stomach sent him crashing to the ground, where he was allowed to lie for only brief seconds before being dragged to his feet behind Porter. Both men were dragged on to the landing.

Other prisoners, woken by the noise, were shouting and banging against their doors, not knowing what the early morning disturbance was. As warders passed by cell doors they smashed their batons against them by way of warning, but this only served to inflame the inhabitants further. The cacophony of noise rose to deafening proportions as Robinson and Porter were dragged along the landing towards the stairs, almost hurled down them by their captors.

'What the fuck is going on?' shouted Robinson at one of the men pulling him.

'Shut it,' the warder hissed, driving a punch into his kidneys, almost throwing him down the metal steps behind Porter.

The noise from the other cells filled the prison.

'How could he have got away?'

Governor Peter Nicholson glared at Dexter, his eyes unblinking.

'I wish I knew,' Dexter said. 'He would have been weak from the operation. In pain. I can't understand how he managed it.'

'Well, he won't get far,' Nicholson said, an air of conviction in his voice.

'I can't see how he'll survive so soon after the operation,' Dexter added.

'I don't care if they bring him back dead but I want him back here.'

'You never did care, did you? It never bothered you whether the men who were operated on lived or died.'

'That isn't what's at stake here, Dexter,' Nicholson hissed. 'No one has ever escaped from a prison where I've been Governor and I don't intend to let Scott be the first.'

'Your pride doesn't matter any more, Nicholson. The man is already out. He got away, that's the point. He did escape.'

'We'll find him. He'll be brought back. I want to know how he did it.'

There was a knock on the office door and Nicholson called for the visitor to enter.

The door opened and Warder Paul Swain entered, supporting Porter. The other two men in the room saw the blood pouring down the convict's face.

Nicholson nodded and Swain threw the man down.

Robinson followed, landing heavily on his arm.

'Get up,' snapped Swain, kicking Robinson hard at the base of the spine.

The office door slammed shut behind them.

'Don't tell me I won't get away with this,' Nicholson said, a slight smile on his lips, his gaze flicking back and forth from one inmate to the other. 'You can report this to the prison authorities if you like, but you'll never prove it happened. No matter what we do to you.'

'What do you want from us?' Robinson said.

'You were cell-mates with Scott; I want to know how he got out. I want to know if he talked about escaping. I want to know if you helped him.'

Porter eyed the Governor coldly, a slight smile on his face.

Nicholson saw it, took a step forward and struck Porter hard across the face, splitting his bottom lip. He fell backwards into the arms of Swain, who drove a fist into his kidneys then let him drop to the ground.

'For God's sake, stop it,' Dexter said.

'You keep out of this,' Nicholson roared. 'This is my prison and this is my affair.'

'You've lost him, Nicholson,' Porter said, sucking in a painful breath. 'He's long gone by now and you won't find him.'

'Did you help him escape?' the Governor rasped.

Porter spat blood, then clambered to his feet.

'Yeah, I gave him a leg up over the fucking wall,' he said.

Swain hit him hard across the small of the back with his baton.

Porter doubled up, falling to the floor once more.

'This will put another five years on your sentences,' Nicholson snarled. 'Both of you.'

'We don't know where he's gone,' Robinson protested angrily.

'Five years,' Nicholson spat. 'And I'll make it five years of hell.'

'Fuck you,' rasped Robinson and hawked loudly, propelling a gob of mucus into the Governor's face.

It hung there like a tear, trickling slowly down his cheek until Nicholson wiped it away.

Swain struck Robinson across the shoulder with his baton, then the shoulder blades, both blows almost cracking bone. Then the warder turned and opened the office door. Two of his colleagues, jackets already removed and sleeves rolled up, walked in.

'Take these men to solitary,' Nicholson said. 'See if they feel more like talking there.' He nodded, watching as the two men were dragged away.

'You can't do this,' Dexter protested as the office door slammed shut behind them.

'I've told you before,' Nicholson snarled. 'This is my prison and I can do what I like. Now, if you're not a solution to this problem then you're a part of it, so get out of here.'

Dexter turned to leave.

'I'll find him, Dexter,' said the Governor. 'And if he's not dead when he's brought back, he will be by the time I've finished with him.'