Tim Washburn - Cyber Attack

She ejects the magazine and slaps another in as she hurries along the cells in A-Block. She tries to hurdle a large puddle of blood and her plant foot slides out from under her. The shotgun skitters away as she braces for the fall. She hits the ground and rolls onto her stomach. Where’s the shotgun? She glances around and spots it up next to a cell.

“Get her,” a voice shouts from behind her.

She pushes up to all fours and attempts to stand, her feet seeking purchase on the slippery floor. She glances behind her to find the inmates now only about twenty feet away. She drops to her knees, pulls the handgun, and fires another salvo then ejects the magazine and replaces it with a full one. Carefully, she bear-crawls forward until her feet reach a portion of dry floor and she stands. She hurries to the shotgun, scoops it up, and fires a round down the corridor, and the inmate in the lead drops. Trying to jack another shell, her blood-soaked hands slip from the stock. She wipes her palm on her pants, pumps another round into the chamber, and fires. Another inmate spins away from the pack, holding his arm. The others break rank, seeking cover in the cells. Darnell loads two more shells into the shotgun as she turns and hurries on.

She makes it to the end of the last cellblock and slips in another pool of blood while trying to turn toward Times Square. She stumbles forward and the shotgun goes flying down the hall. Screw it , she thinks as she stumbles toward the door. With the power now on she’ll need to enter the six-digit number into the electronic lock. What’s the combination? Her brain is spinning through the possible combinations. The code changed recently. What the hell is it? This is not one of her normal work areas. She sneaks a peek down the hallway. Judging by the size of the group, the number of inmates has grown significantly, no doubt drawn in by the gunfire.

They’re much too close and, as an image of Sueann flashes in her mind, she pulls the pistol and takes a shooter’s stance with both hands positioned on the gun. Rather than spraying bullets this time, she takes direct aim and squeezes the trigger. Altering her aim, she fires again.

Two down and too many to go. She aims at four more prisoners and shoots then sprays a few more bullets into the group and switches out magazines. She’s down to her last. She punches a series of numbers into the lock and tries the handle. No go. Another glance down the corridor reveals the inmates are regrouping. What is the damn number? She clears the last numbers and tries again. And still the handle doesn’t turn. She resumes her firing position, and counts the shots as she fires. She wants at least one round left in the chamber, just in case.

The inmates scatter again as she turns back to the lock. Think, Lydia. They announced the new code at morning roll call. She steals another glance down the hall. The inmates are using the sides of the doorway for cover as they creep forward. Damn it, Lydia. Punch in the right combination or prepare to eat your gun. Clearing the last set of numbers, Darnell punches in a new set of numbers that pop into her head. She takes a deep breath, turns the handle, and the door opens.

She charges into the room and relocks the door as the inmates draw abreast. One snatches up the shotgun and takes direct aim at her. Although the glass is allegedly bulletproof, she wonders how many direct hits from double-ought buckshot it can withstand. The inmate fires and the glass fractures into a spiderweb of cracks. The inmate steps forward and places the barrel against the glass. He fires, and a small hole appears. He jams the barrel through and racks another shell. Darnell lunges inside the weapons locker and slams the gate shut as the shotgun roars again. She grabs another shotgun and begins loading while her mind spins. Did I reload the shotgun? Yeah, I did. Three shots fired. Oh shit, two left.

The sound of shattering glass echoes through the office. She braces herself behind a file cabinet and takes aim. A head pops around the gate door and Darnell fires, the head erupting into a spray of blood. With no doubt another inmate will pick up the shotgun, Darnell jacks another shell. Seconds later another inmate steps out, the gun tucked tight to his shoulder. Darnell ducks down behind the filing cabinet. Peeking around the side, she sees a pair of feet in the doorway. The dumb ass is just standing there waiting for her to stand up. Can I get a shot off before he does? Maybe. But, maybe not.

She ponders it for another moment before lying down on her belly. Silently, she eases forward until the man’s legs come into view. She pulls the trigger and the blast in such a confined space temporarily deafens her. Pumping in another round, she pushes up to a squatting position and slowly duckwalks forward, the shotgun up and ready. The injured inmate’s screams are echoing off the walls, but she does her best to block out the sound.

There’s movement out of the corner of her eye and she lifts the barrel and fires just as the inmate pulls the trigger. The inmate shoots high, blowing one of the overhead cabinet doors off. Darnell sinks to her knees and takes a deep breath. If her calculations are correct, she will have to dodge death one more time before the inmates are out of ammo.

But time is not her friend. She has to eliminate the gun threat before the inmates get creative and try to burn her out. Once the gun is eliminated from the equation, Darnell will have free rein inside the armory to fend off any other assault attempt. She takes a moment to look around the room, searching for something she can use for a distraction. Her gaze is drawn to a rolling chair tucked under the desk with a Department of Corrections jacket draped over the back. Easing the chair out, Darnell runs through the sequence of events in her head as the injured inmate continues to wail. Moments later, when the man with the shredded legs pauses to suck in a breath, she hears a loud crunch and the screaming stops.

Darnell can guess what happened, but she’s trying not to think about it as she runs the scenario through her head again. Once she’s satisfied, she shoves the chair toward the gate and quickly repositions the shotgun against her shoulder. An inmate beyond the door fires the last shot, shredding the chair and jacket. Darnell stands and starts pumping rounds into the room, as the inmates scatter.

Then, much like Jack Nicholson in The Shining , Darnell pushes her face up to the bars and shouts, “Who’s next, motherfuckers?”

As the remaining inmates scurry away, Darnell retreats and takes cover behind the file cabinet. She pulls the radio from her belt and puts it to her lips, “Hello? Anybody out there?”

An answer comes back. “Ten-four.”

Not knowing if it’s an inmate or guard, Darnell triggers the radio and asks the man to identify himself.

“This here’s Walt Taylor in watchtower one. Who’s this?”

Darnell sags with relief. She triggers the radio and says, “This is Officer Lydia Darnell, Walt. Please tell me help is on the way.”

“Help’s coming, Lydia. The National Guard out of Buffalo should be here within the hour,” Walt responds. “There are several state troopers on scene, but not enough to try an entry.”

“Walt, are the outside gates secure?” The last thing they need is for any of these savages to escape.

“Ten-four, Lydia. They’re being guarded by the troopers. What’s the situation in there?”

“God-awful. All the guards here in cellblocks A and D are dead, as are a bunch of the inmates.”

There’s a long beat of silence, then Taylor says, “Lydia, you might want to find a place to hunker down until the troops arrive.”

“I’m hunkered. Radio me when they arrive.”