03-03-2014, 08:10 AM
“Oh, shit!”
The calm was short lived and Damien wasted no time. He boiled the door under Fire until it glowed red-hot and the murmurs beyond grew panicked. It was then ripped from its hinges with brutal force and flung down the hall with a hiss.
Four bodies lay strewn in parts when he vacated the room after a moment’s caution. He strode through the blood and gore without missing a beat despite the resentment swelling in his chest. The sightless eyes of the woman who had taunted him would never dance with malicious delight again. At least he had given her a quick death. It would not have come to this if he had been greater. It was a thought he quashed under need and determination. Already the sounds of unrestrained carnage above assaulted his ears and the scent of fire and gunpowder wafted through the halls.
Machine guns fired in short, ugly bursts in the distance but the first human he encountered was a middle aged man with greying temples huddled under a flight of stairs. The man grabbed his sleeve with frantic fingers. “Oakland! Oakland! Help me! Everything is wrong! Wrong!”
Damien looked at the inmate’s clothing with curious eyes. What had this wretch done in his life to earn a place in San Quentin? Was he another victim, or simply a coward? He had no time to judge. Removing his sleeve from the man’s grasp he turned as someone approached.
A wild-eyed inmate dripping with blood stormed forward with outstretched hands and a hoarse cry of savage desperation. Damien struck out and the prisoner slammed into the wall and fell limp to the ground.
As he made to leave, the cowering man tugged on his sleeve again. “What...You...You need to help me.”
“Run, hide. Don’t come out until it is over,”
he replied and left the shaking inmate to his fate.
Dozens of prisoners flew through the halls in rage or fear. Damien struck down any who ventured to cross his path. He soon learned that the guards had concentrated themselves in force at the front entrance to prevent escape. Warden Beech slew prisoners with impunity and dozens of bullet riddled corpses were proof of his mettle.
Damien gave himself no time to dwell on his creation. He turned away from Beech’s direction and sought a safer path. It was not long before he found his way to the walled yard. Lightning flashed in the angry sky as rain soaked the ground although the tumultuous violence drowned out the sound of thunder so he almost forgot the raging storm.
It was perfect.
Preparing to burn the circuits, Damien placed a hand on the door when he felt a jolt of pain creep up his shoulder followed by the scent of burnt flesh. He spun with grit teeth and flung the armoured man back through the hallway. He ignored the wound and destroyed the handgun that fired. An unexpected stroke of luck that. He would have been dead if the guard had kept the wicked automatic that had shown so many prisoners death today.
Damien worked the door open finally and stumbled into the mud and rain. Shouts and stray bullets alerted him to more guards. He was not sure what they were doing here if Beech was at the entrance but he did not stop to ask. He closed the door and bolstered it with Air as he had done in the generator room.
With slow breaths he summoned as much light as he could closing his eyes and ears to the world. The light flowed through him as vast as the ocean and stormy as the skies. He felt the groaning of the earth below and the implacable force of the sea beating against the shore. Above all, though, he felt the stirring clouds. The hair on his arms stood on end as the currents of electricity streaked through the atmosphere.
Damien’s eyes flickered open as lightning struck the wall with incredible force that lifted him from his feet for and tumbling along the ground. The acrid scent left over had never smelled so sweet before.
Rising on unsteady legs Damien smiled.
***
Time passed uncertainly and his memory drifted with his consciousness. He had been deathly ill with the untreated wound growing infected while he evaded police. He had not gotten far before his injuries had overcome him but he did not rest until he had been secure. With the aid of a Mexican couple he was taken to the border and disappeared. He had used the light and power throughout the journey but his memory failed him. For weeks he lay in a near comatose state broken by intermitted periods of sanity.
In one of these rare moments he heard a voice with a heavy accent. “Where are you going?”
“Moscow.”
The calm was short lived and Damien wasted no time. He boiled the door under Fire until it glowed red-hot and the murmurs beyond grew panicked. It was then ripped from its hinges with brutal force and flung down the hall with a hiss.
Four bodies lay strewn in parts when he vacated the room after a moment’s caution. He strode through the blood and gore without missing a beat despite the resentment swelling in his chest. The sightless eyes of the woman who had taunted him would never dance with malicious delight again. At least he had given her a quick death. It would not have come to this if he had been greater. It was a thought he quashed under need and determination. Already the sounds of unrestrained carnage above assaulted his ears and the scent of fire and gunpowder wafted through the halls.
Machine guns fired in short, ugly bursts in the distance but the first human he encountered was a middle aged man with greying temples huddled under a flight of stairs. The man grabbed his sleeve with frantic fingers. “Oakland! Oakland! Help me! Everything is wrong! Wrong!”
Damien looked at the inmate’s clothing with curious eyes. What had this wretch done in his life to earn a place in San Quentin? Was he another victim, or simply a coward? He had no time to judge. Removing his sleeve from the man’s grasp he turned as someone approached.
A wild-eyed inmate dripping with blood stormed forward with outstretched hands and a hoarse cry of savage desperation. Damien struck out and the prisoner slammed into the wall and fell limp to the ground.
As he made to leave, the cowering man tugged on his sleeve again. “What...You...You need to help me.”
“Run, hide. Don’t come out until it is over,”
he replied and left the shaking inmate to his fate.
Dozens of prisoners flew through the halls in rage or fear. Damien struck down any who ventured to cross his path. He soon learned that the guards had concentrated themselves in force at the front entrance to prevent escape. Warden Beech slew prisoners with impunity and dozens of bullet riddled corpses were proof of his mettle.
Damien gave himself no time to dwell on his creation. He turned away from Beech’s direction and sought a safer path. It was not long before he found his way to the walled yard. Lightning flashed in the angry sky as rain soaked the ground although the tumultuous violence drowned out the sound of thunder so he almost forgot the raging storm.
It was perfect.
Preparing to burn the circuits, Damien placed a hand on the door when he felt a jolt of pain creep up his shoulder followed by the scent of burnt flesh. He spun with grit teeth and flung the armoured man back through the hallway. He ignored the wound and destroyed the handgun that fired. An unexpected stroke of luck that. He would have been dead if the guard had kept the wicked automatic that had shown so many prisoners death today.
Damien worked the door open finally and stumbled into the mud and rain. Shouts and stray bullets alerted him to more guards. He was not sure what they were doing here if Beech was at the entrance but he did not stop to ask. He closed the door and bolstered it with Air as he had done in the generator room.
With slow breaths he summoned as much light as he could closing his eyes and ears to the world. The light flowed through him as vast as the ocean and stormy as the skies. He felt the groaning of the earth below and the implacable force of the sea beating against the shore. Above all, though, he felt the stirring clouds. The hair on his arms stood on end as the currents of electricity streaked through the atmosphere.
Damien’s eyes flickered open as lightning struck the wall with incredible force that lifted him from his feet for and tumbling along the ground. The acrid scent left over had never smelled so sweet before.
Rising on unsteady legs Damien smiled.
***
Time passed uncertainly and his memory drifted with his consciousness. He had been deathly ill with the untreated wound growing infected while he evaded police. He had not gotten far before his injuries had overcome him but he did not rest until he had been secure. With the aid of a Mexican couple he was taken to the border and disappeared. He had used the light and power throughout the journey but his memory failed him. For weeks he lay in a near comatose state broken by intermitted periods of sanity.
In one of these rare moments he heard a voice with a heavy accent. “Where are you going?”
“Moscow.”