Man Down

“What the fuck Hector!” demanded Jack, moving quickly toward the edge near the smaller man who was still peering over at the broken form of Cornelius on the floor below.

“That piece of shit didn’t think I knew, but I did. It was his boys that shanked my cousin Carlos back in Lachlan in last year, he lived, but he’s got to shit into a bag for the rest of his life,” he answered, turning his head to look at Jack.

“Maybe you didn’t fucking notice there is some fucked up shit going on right here,” he snarled through clenched teeth.

“I know, but we’re outside the box now esé, debt needed to get paid,” Hector said, “You know how it is.”

“So what? Now me and Hodge got to have a tilt because of our past? You stupid bastard, we are still in it up to our eyes and you just put us a man down,” countered Jack.

“We’re better off without him,” Hector said, shrugging.

Jack turned and walked away, “Russell, you and Hodge get back down in there and gather up all the bedding. We need to hurry, there’s no telling what or who might walk through that door,” he said gruffly, doing his best to control his anger.

John walked over, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder, “What’s done is done. Cornelius’s fall was about two seconds, which means the drop to the ground is probably around sixty feet or so,” he offered.

Jack shook his head, eyes boring a hole in Hector, “Stupid,” he murmured.

“Done,” john replied, knowing getting worked up about something they couldn’t change was a waste.

Having collected all of the sheets and blankets, Hodge and Russell started passing up the linens through the gap where Marcellus began braiding them.

In short order, they had a fairly decent looking rope, “It should be plenty strong enough,” Marcellus said, measure of pride in his voice.

Tethering the end of the rope through the metal frame of Mordred’s bed, Marcellus cast the line over the edge. “Who’s first?” he asked.

Jack turned to look at Hector, “He is,” he said.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Hector replied, moving over to the edge and descending the makeshift rope surprisingly fast.

“Good job on the rope,” John said, grinning and looking at Marcellus.

The black smiled and nodded back, “I used to have cornrows,” he said.

One by one each of the men used the rope to get to the floor, Maynard requiring almost three times as long as any of the others to get to the ground and grousing about his arms hurting.

Jack was the last man left atop the model. Walking back toward the center of the roof, where the video cameras were pointed, he looked directly into one and nodded slowly, the perpetual smirk on his face spreading into a grin, “Too bad there isn’t any audio here because I just wanted you to know you lose,” he said with a chuckle. Turning, he walked back over to the edge and began to descend down the rope, arriving to find Marcellus off to the side removing his orange jumpsuit.

“What are you doing?” demanded Maynard in a haughty derisive tone.

“Like Smiling Jack says, I ain’t running around in no day glow orange bullet attractor,” he said unabashedly, rubbing his big hands together once he was stripped bare.

“Well, I for one refuse to go naked,” announced Maynard directly.

No one responded as the others exchanged glances and began divesting themselves of their garments.

“Have you all gone mad?” queried the doctor.

Jack shook his head. “Marcellus makes sense. You want to stand out in bright orange, be my guest,” he offered, tossing his own discarded jumpsuit to the side.

After everyone else was naked, except for their shoes, Maynard relented, grumbling under his breath and stripping down.

“So what now?” Russell asked.

Looking around the room, Jack pointed to the counter nearest where they stood. “I think we make for that edge and circle around toward the door. It looks like it’s the only one here,” he said, meeting the looks from the other men.

John nodded, “I agree. Anyone else?”

“Perhaps it would be more prudent for us to simply try and find a place in here to conceal ourselves,” countered Maynard, arms folded defensively over his very slender chest.

“You stupid? Take a look around, where the fuck we going to hide?” challenged Marcellus, stepping in front of the doctor, his thick muscles rippling, daring the doctor to open his mouth again.

Physically cowed, Maynard looked away.

“Come on,” urged Jack, leading the way to the near counter. Hector’s murder of Cornelius had certainly splintered the tenuous peace between them and he knew if the good doctor wasn’t careful, nothing was going to stop the big black man from stomping him into the ground.

Circling around the base of the counter, then along the wall, they arrived near the big heavy looking door, the gap under it fairly tight.

“No way we can get under it,” commented John.

“Not all of us. Hector, Maynard, maybe Mordred,” Jack agreed, dropping to his belly to peer under the door. “Long hallway on the other side. Doors to either side,” he said.

“If you think I’m going to slither on my belly like some kind of snake to get under that door, you are out of your mind,” snorted the doctor.

Marcellus interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles.

“Hector why don’t you go scout out the other side, we’ll move to the other side of the door,” suggested John, looking up at the door hinges high overhead, realizing they needed to be on the other side so that should the door open, those unable to get under the door would have an opportunity to slip out.

“We’ll cross to the other side,” Jack said, looking on as the Mexican dropped down to the ground.

Hector nodded, “Odelé vato,” he said, wiggling under the door.

Moving quickly across the threshold of the door, Russell was bringing up the rear, the thick man heaving and lagging behind.

“Less time in the chow hall, more in the gym,” chided Jack.

Russell paused, hands on knees, “More out of shape than I thought,” he conceded, chuckling.

Suddenly Hector appeared under the door, eyes wild, “There is someone coming!” he shouted scant moments before the door started opening. Russell was slightly more than halfway across the threshold.

Diving to the floor, Russell tried to make himself as flat as possible, the sweep at the bottom of the door scraping his skin open as it passed over him, dragging him back into the room some. Grimacing he rolled onto his side just in time to see a gigantic woman’s size 8 Nike running shoe descending down over top of him. Raising his arms in vain, he sucked in a breath and then vanished under the sole of the shoe with a wet squelching sound.

“Run!” yelled John, pulling at Hector’s arm to help him to his feet and pushing him through the door.

“We go right fucking now!” yelled Jack, spurred on by a surge of adrenalin and knowing Russell was gone, slipping out the door and into the hall as the figure passed by and the door was slowly closing.

Now they were seven.