Sam Victorio // Max Guevara (notanumber) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2010-06-11 20:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | anastasiya borodinskii, elliot peabody, fletcher charleston, josia hughes, leon sullivan, logan sullivan, sam victorio |
Who: The Resistance
What: This is how it begins, breaking out of jail, teaming up, and getting revenge.
When: Friday Night
Where: Detention Facility in California
The sun was setting blood red and golden orange over the detention center just outside Fresno, California. Not that any of the prisoners could see it, in their windowless cells. Time passed unremarked in there. It was funny that the expression was doing time when the passage of one moment to the next had so little meaning once you were in. There were only small things to signal the cycle of the day. Sleeping, meals, the changes of guards.
Sam was always alert for these signs, but today more than ever. She sat cross-legged on her bunk, staring out the barred door, and waiting. Familiar sounds signaled the guards switching over to the night shift. The muffled conversations were more than just the typical unenthusiastic greetings and bored status updates. Two people hadn't shown up tonight. Sam smiled. Of course they hadn't. One of them had been paid quite well to be sick at the last moment tonight, and another had no doubt been struck by some unexpected crisis, courtesy of her friends outside. They'd get someone to come in and cover, but by then it would be too late.
The conversations died out. The afternoon shift left. The evening shift made their first rounds. Everything normal. Then they'd go back to their positions and get bored, distracted. Ten minutes, that's what she'd agreed upon with Fletcher. Any longer and they might run into the next patrol before they were ready. Eyes closed, as though meditating, she listened carefully and heard the outer door clatter shut. She began to silently count backwards from 600.
599.
Silence. Deep breaths. Someone down the corridor sneezes. Ana, she thinks.
246.
She stretches, preparing.
120.
Two minutes. Sam stands at her door, tools gripped tightly in her hand. Two little pieces of springy metal. An underwire, taken out of a bra, broken in half, bent, shaped against concrete, hidden. Now they're lock-picks. She'd had a lot of time on her hands.
97.
The door springs open. Four doors left on the women's side, three other CORE members coming with her, and then the guards office. Just enough time.
28.
One door left. The guards should be surprised. Not only by the four of them, but by Fletcher, Elliot, and the other men breaking out of the other side at the same time. Then Josia's people breaking in. The timing on that couldn't be exact, but it'll be close. She's counting on them, trusting them. Logan. Leon. Who else is out there, helping them? There had to be people. CORE hadn't been totally destroyed.
Zero.
The lock clicks open. It's now or never. It's now.