Page 66 of Enemy of the State

The rats and I halt at a dead end, standing before a solid metal door, my heart rate skyrocketing as I contemplate my options. Thankfully, the rats save my arse once again.

I’m rooted to the spot, the water sloshing around my ankles, when I notice that the door is standing slightly ajar, barely wide enough for the rats to slip through. Shouts ring out behind me, followed by the telltale pops of gunfire, and I don’t think twice before rushing to slip inside.

I shut the door with a softsnickthat I’m sure can’t be overhead over the bedlam taking place. Swallowing thickly, I stare at the three drainage pipes on the wall ahead of me. They’re old—really old—obviously harkening back to the original footprint of this place—whatever that was. The rats are jumping the few short inches into the drainage pipes along with the water and slipping away. Rats are little warriors, though, and I have no doubt that they’re surviving whatever drop awaits them on the other end.

Muffled shouts and voices rumble from the other side of the door, and I decide that I have togo.I either leave now, or I die here. There’s no third option and dying here isnota possibility for me.

Gulping down the hard mass lodged in my throat, I trudge through the shallow pool of water and choose the pipe on the far right on gut instinct. The pipe can’t be more than twenty—maybetwenty-two—inches wide, and I know the fit is going to be bloody tight.

Choosing to go headfirst, I rip off the medical tape wrapped around my fingers and place the rifle into the drainage tunnel, crawling in behind it, keeping the Glock in one hand, abandoning the knife altogether. The guns will survive the water, and I suspect they’ll prove more useful in the end—at least that’s the direction my gut leans.

Tightwas an understatement. It’s unbelievably compact, andeven though I don’t suffer from claustrophobia, I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t affecting me. Forcing measured breaths, I focus on the freedom waiting for me on the other side of this pipe.

The weight of the severely limited space, the scent of stale, soured water—which I find far worse than the smell of piss and shit in my cell—and the sensation of the rats pattering across my legs, back, arms, and the weapons in my possession all press down on me heavily. Breathing through my mouth, I attempt to calm my racing heart.

Salvation is close enough to touch. I will not die in a drainage ditch. I will kiss the lips of freedom again.

Under vastly different circumstances, I’d find the determination to persevere of the hearty little rodents skittering past me awe-inspiring, but right now, it’s difficult to reach that same conclusion. The silver lining is that if something were to happen to me in this pipe—like choking on the rotten smell until I die—at least the rats will be fed.Fuck, that’s a morbid thought.

Moving as quickly as I can, I shove past the thoughts of death, rats, and rancid smells, inching through the pipe. The warm light from the room in which I escaped has all but faded, but I’m not sure how much farther I have to go. Things are darker in here than a bolted, long-abandoned closet, only an inch or two to spare on either side of my shoulders as I shove the rifle along, gripping the Glock in my right hand. Eventually, faint light dances ahead, and I scramble desperately to reach it.

Tucking a hand on the inside of the strap of the rifle so the water doesn’t carry it over the edge of the pipe, I squeeze the handle of the handgun tightly, unsure of what might await me. Slowly and carefully, I poke my head out of the end of the tunnel and breathe in fresh air as I consider my next move. Craning my neck, I look down, my eyes expanding to twice their size, stomach twisting, as I take in the hundred-or-more-foot drop to the ocean below.But that’s not what would kill me; it’s the jagged rocks that would send me straight to Hell.

Glancing to my left, I immediately eliminate that as an option. The cliff face is too smooth, with nowhere to gain purchase. Water spews from the other two pipes, too, and navigating that constant flow of water would be an issue with fatal consequences.I didn’t make it this far just to die in a torrential waterfall.

Swinging my head to the right, I’m confident that’s my road—or climb—to freedom.

Still resting on my stomach, I inch out a little farther so that my head and neck stick out of the pipe. Like a snake emerging from her den, I stretch my arms out of the hole and pull the strap of the rifle over my head. With the rifle now resting diagonally across my back and the barrel facing my feet, I ensure that the safety is still on.I’d hate to kill myself accidentally after all the trouble I’ve gone through.

I slip the grip of the Glock into my mouth and momentarily thank Sean for the cock sucking he had me do, because the handle of the gun is nothing compared to him. I spin around, methodically pulling my torso out of the tunnel. With my core engaged, I reach above me and grip a rock, my bare feet now resting on the bottom of the pipe.Using my abs and shoulders, and the adrenaline coursing through me, I hoist myself up and out of the hole.Thank fuck I’ve been working out in my cell.

Standing in the pipe’s opening with water flying around my ankles and dropping to its new home in the ocean below, I make my next move. Still facing the rock face, I reach to my left and grip another rock, my left leg swinging out, my toes gripping the rock I’ve chosen.

The pinky and ring fingers on my left hand are still broken, but the gravity of the situation makes me numb to the pain, though I’m still careful not to press my weight on them. Cautiously,so bloody cautiously, I maneuver myself to the next rock, and the next, and the next.

I’m beginning to think I’ve lost the plot. While I’m not afraid of heights, this might be one of the most reckless and nerve-wracking things I’ve done, and I’ve done somewildshit in my twenty-nine years. One wrong move and I’m a dead woman. If the dark rain clouds overhead choose to unburden themselves, I’m dead. If a guard finds me here, I’m dead. If the Glock falls from my mouth—which is beginning to ache—and hits my foot, knocking me off balance, I’m dead.

When I see the edge of the cliff, I latch onto the sight of freedom with an iron grip, reaching for my next purchase and the rock beyond that.

Louhi

I make the last four maneuvers and pray to all the gods, goddesses, and witches that this is the end of my rock-climbing career.

My abs, jaw, shoulders, fingers, and toes are screeching at me, but I ignore the dull, pulsing discomfort as I hoist myself up onto the grassy top of the cliff…on theoutsideof the prison walls.

I manage to suppress the fizzy bubble of glee threatening to leap from my throat, though I allow the grin after pulling the Glock from my mouth, flicking the safety off and gripping it tightly. There’s only about a foot of space between the cliff’s edge on my left and the prison’s expanse of concrete on my right. As hard as it was to scale the rock wall, I know my journey off this island is far from over. That was simply step one.

There’s a guard tower up ahead, and I assume someone is manning it, though I can’t quite tell. The grass is taller on this side of the wall, so I choose to lie down on my stomach and army crawl—oh, the irony—and inch my way toward the tower.

With no way off Exile Island from this cliff, I need to get to the other end of this landmass in order to make a better plan. Plus, getting as far from this prison as possible can only work in my favor.Maneuvering around this tower and the next is my only option. It’s still preferable to taking my chances in the prison yard, though.

On the ground up against the concrete wall, I crawl toward the tower slowly, my thoughts drifting back to Sean, and a nagging ache takes up residence in my chest.

What happened to him? Is he dead? Why haven’t I seen him?

Without the time, firepower, or energy, I won’t be able to search for him now. I needoffthis island—one way or another. Once I have my freedom, I’ll find out what happened to him and can come back for him, if he’s still alive.

I check myself.Come back for him?I’m bloody delusional to think that I’d come back here or try to rescue a man from his own government. Besides, it’s not like he loves me or something. Trust doesn’t equate to love, does it? Although, I’ve never been in love, so how would I know if someone loves me? Sean and I clearly had an intense connection, but is that love?

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