tears. He cried as he brought the baton down again, and again, and again.
Each time, the guard’s skull gave a little bit more.
By the time he’d stopped, Michael’s entire body shook. The baton was painted red and the guard’s head was no more than a fleshy pulp on the floor. There was an occasional flash of white amongst the carnage… teeth, eyeball, bone? It was hard to tell.
Michael backed away and shook his head. “Oh, god, what have I done?”
The baton sang as it hit the concrete floor. When Michael leaned across the guard, he tensed up as if he’d come to life again. Pretty fucking stupid considering he didn’t have a fucking head.
Michael picked up the guard’s bat and stepped out into the corridor. It was still clear. The hinges on the door creaked as he pulled it closed. Then he took off.
Escape
As Michael ran down the corridor, the sound of his own clumsy footsteps echoed in the enclosed space. Breathing on the edge of a panic attack, his pulse raced and his head swam. If he’d gotten out once, he could do it again.
Lack of sleep and poor diet over the past few days had turned his legs weak, his ankles wobbling every time they hit the floor as if they would give out beneath him.
An explosion of light smashed into his vision as he ran headfirst into a wall. The bends in the dark rat run were both sharp and abrupt. He’d misjudged this one. A quick shake of his head cleared the daze and he took off again. He could deal with the headache later.
The funk surrounding him was so thick he could taste it. Every desperate breath satiated him less than the last and coated his tongue with the stale, meaty taste of his environment. But he kept going, sprinting into what felt like the bowels of the warehouse.
When Michael arrived at the warehouse door, stars swimming in his vision from his earlier collision, he looked down at the bolt. He had to do one thing before he left. The one thing he didn’t do last time. The fate of the other boys had played on his mind when he’d left them previously, and he wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—take that guilt with him again.
With sweating fingers, he gripped the large bolt in a tight pinch and wriggled it free. The rusty metal made the action sandy as he worked it up and down.
Even though he was the one who’d made the sound, the cracking bolt had the Pavlovian effect of running tension up his spine. He pulled the door wide and poked his head into the room.
The silhouettes of about fifty boys turned his way. At first, he couldn’t get his words past his short breaths. Then, he finally managed to speak. “If you want to escape, now’s the time.”
Some of the boys, the ones on Tim’s side of the room, got to their feet. Many of the others remained seated.
“What are you doing? Don’t you want to get out of here?”
No one moved. Even Tim’s group, although standing, remained still. Michael looked into the dark corridor behind him. Whatever happened now, it was their choice. “Fine. Well, I’m not waiting for you to decide. The door’s open; you can leave if you want to.”
Michael turned one hundred and eighty degrees and ran back into the dark maze of walkways. No footsteps followed him. What a fucking waste of time. Had he known they’d react in that way, he’d have headed straight for the exit. It wouldn’t be long before someone found the dead guard. Maybe they’d already found him. He couldn’t think like that. It wouldn’t do him any—
A blow hit Michael’s chest hard, and his legs kicked up as he fell backwards. When he hit the ground, it drove the air from his lungs. As he fought to regain his breath, he looked up at the four large men looming over him.
Only one of them spoke; the one who had clotheslined him. “Julius ain’t happy with you, boy. He’s seriously fucking pissed.”
Another man stepped forward with an open sack. He held it wide and threw Michael’s world into darkness.
Pretty in Pink
The sack stank of the warehouse and worse. A beefy mix of sweat, vomit, and blood merged with a stale reek of halitosis. Many heads had obviously been in it before Michael’s.
When someone tore it free, Michael blinked against the brightness of his surroundings. His eyes stung from the adjustment in light, but he couldn’t