Bloodoath

By Jack Pulliam

Myra took the sharp rose thorn and pressed it into Justin's thumb. He caught his breath slightly, but would not show Myra that he was weak and felt the pain. Smiling, Myra stabbed her own thumb with a quick thrust. Moving closer, they pressed bloody thumbs together, then their lips. “It was a kiss of youth” as Myra was ten and Justin is nine years old. It was Myra's idea to do this and he could never deny her. “From now on they would be tied together forever.” That was their promise to each other. Two people linked by an inescapable bond that draws them together if one needed the other, no matter how much time or distance came between them.
Then years later, what if you learned that the girl you once knew when you were both children is a hostage of escaped murders. Would you stand by helpless, or if you had the means to rescue her, would you try? Even if trying meant you had to jump from an airplane at 15,000 feet into the heart of an Arizona mountain range, all the time battling the treacherous arid land, hordes of fire ants, wolves, and those desperate men trying to kill you as you try to fulfill a blood oath made as a nine-year-old boy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Pulliam
• Release date: Sep 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301441129

Jack Pulliam

A journalist and writer for over 25 years. Jack has written short stories and articles, and his writings have appeared in numerous magazines and newspaper columns. He started his career as a technical writer for a large computer organization and progressed into several genres of fiction and non-fiction. Jack was first published online in 2011, and his titles are available from several online eBook stores. Jack's hope is that people will enjoy what he has to say. He is married and lives in Virginia with his wife and son.

Book preview

Bloodoath

By

Jack M. Pulliam Jr.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY: Jack Pulliam on Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 by Jack Pulliam

Thank you for downloading this eBook. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events is purely coincidental. The characters are creations of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Chapter 1

Another night in hell Jesse thought to himself. This night started the same as all the others, with one exception, tonight he was getting out of hell. Looking out the small window, Jesse could see a bright high-intensity security light mounted high on a pole two hundred feet away. The light casts a weak glow through the narrow barred window. Although the light reaching into his prison cell was dim, Jesse had enough to see shadowed outlines of the limited furnishings in the room. A short bunk, a rickety writing table, a toilet, and sink completed his world. Even with a total absence of light, touch alone would have served him. Feeling the bars in his hands, Jesse lost track on how many times he has held this cold steel in the past two years. Many sleepless nights he roamed the small cramped cell, always ending back at the same barred window. It was a nightmare to endure, Jesse’s own personal hell. The rest of the world was just on the other side of that small three-by-four foot window. He could look, but he could not touch, or be a part of the world where men roamed free. It was no one else’s fault he was here. Jesse chose the path he now walked on, and this is where it got him.

Working as silently as he could, Jesse had the second half of the window bar almost cut through. He settled into a rhythm of back and forth arm movements that supplied the force behind the cutting process. Jesse looked over at the first steel shaft he had already sawn through in two places in order to make a two-foot wide space. A wad of chewing gum stuck at either end of the bar held it in place and kept it from falling out. As he continued sawing, Jesse thought about what would happen if he is caught trying to escape. He was constantly getting into trouble with the guards and other inmates. Jess was on his final warning, and the warden would have Jesse locked somewhere in the bowels of this prison with no windows, and no hope of escape. He forced himself not to rush the cutting process. The dullness of the minutes passing made his mind wander as he continued sawing without really thinking about what he was doing. Jesse thought about the circumstances and bad luck that got him here in the first place. It did not take him long to come up with the answer. It was stupidity, stupidity driven by rage. Usually, a logically thinking man, he threw out caution, and with it, common sense. All Jesse wanted was revenge for his brother’s death. Revenge so intense it can blind a man, and force him to make stupid choices. Jessie kept beating himself up about his foolhardiness ever since he was caught. If Jesse only had stayed out of these damn states for a little while longer. South America was not home, but he was safe from the American law. Jesse still felt an inner rage when he thought about his younger brother’s life cut too short. Not the fact that Pete was the only family Jesse had, but how his brother had died. Poor Pete betrayed by one of his cronies and ended up killed by the police.

After Pete was shot several times and fell to the ground, the cops kept shooting him. Pete had already wounded one of the police, and they wanted to make sure my brother would not get back up. He was a thickheaded kid trying to make it big by hitting an armored car. The cops were waiting for him. They knew when and where he would make his holdup attempt. Kramer, Pete and two others joined in and planned the entire holdup. They had the armored car route, the number of guards and how much cash they would be carrying in the rolling metal box. As it were, Kramer got drunk in a bar the night before the robbery and blabbed some of their plans to other people. Information in the criminal world is like any other commodity; it can be bought and sold. Eventually, that kind of loose talk found its way to the right ears, or in Peter's case, the wrong ones. The police got wind of it, and they staked out the armored car route. Pete, naive as he was, walked into it as if he was blind. He was just a kid with no experience, so he never had a chance. If only Pete had a few more years under his belt, or at least enough to acquire a gut feeling about these things. Anyone who does these criminal activities would have known Kramer and those like him for what they were. That punk never got a scratch. Kramer crawled under a car when the shooting started. The cops never saw him hiding there. Since Pete and the others were killed, the cops must have thought that they got them all.

Kramer will not be getting anymore young kids killed; Jesse saw to that.

Through his underworld connections, Jesse found Kramer in a rundown hotel in Pittsburgh and emptied a whole magazine from his nine millimeter into that punk’s chest. He screamed from the first shot to the last. Just, the way Pete died. Killing Kramer would never bring Pete back, but at least Jesse felt better about wasting that punk. Still preoccupied about Pete, Jesse let his guard down and became overconfident. That was his downfall. The cops caught Jesse as he was about to leave the country from a North Carolina Airport the next day. It was not hard to identify him, as there were wanted posters at the airport with Jesse’s picture splattered all over it. A year-earlier Jesse robbed a bank while in Raleigh North Carolina. An airport security guard monitoring surveillance cameras spotted Jesse from the pile of wanted posters on his desk as Jesse bought a plane ticket. Security then notified the police. Jesse thinking he was safe was arrested as he sat on the plane; cut off before he can escape back to South America.

I knew this would catch up with me someday, Jesse thinks to himself while being handcuffed by the police. I just did not think it would be so soon. It was supposed to be an easy bank heist, but a bank guard who should have stayed on the floor and waited for his retirement decided to play the hero. Jesse hated the hero types. They always made things harder for him. Jesse clubbed the guard a little too hard with his pistol barrel. The stupid old man never regained consciousness.

While Jesse sat in handcuffs and leg irons in the police station waiting for his transfer to Hammermill prison in Arizona, he watched a TV report of a body found in the river. The police believed he was a common thug that was executed mob style. The numerous holes in the man’s chest and one bullet hole in the head typed it as a gangland execution. They never tied Jesse in with the murder of Kramer. There would probably be a brief investigation and the file closed as unsolvable. It would be different if it were a community leader or a law-abiding citizen; the cops would be chasing any lead and keep the case open. It did not matter to Jesse if the police thought or could prove he did it. He already had one life sentence for killing the bank guard. Damn Jesse thought while cursing his luck, I should have stayed in South America and waited another couple of years. I could have wasted Kramer anytime. It seems that vengeance is a strong motivator. Jesse knew that if Kramer was caught, or killed, he would not have the personal satisfaction of killing him.

A flash of lightning and the low rumble of thunder, in the distance, stirred his mind back to the present. Jesse’s hands were sore and raw from gripping the saw blade as he quickened the pace and ignored the pain. Jesse had to hurry, as that damn prison guard should be making his rounds in another ten minutes or so. It helped that it was raining. Thunder and the patter of rain on the prison’s steel roof hid the noise of the wire saw as it slowly cut through the hardened steel bar. Rain coming through the open window splattered against his thinly clad body. The chill of the September rain sent a shiver through him as he worked against time and the thickness of the metal. Continuing the rhythmic back and forth sawing against the bar, he squinted in the dim light at the clock on his sagging bookshelf. Jesse hoped that Taylor and Epson were as ready as he was. If they were not already cutting their second window bar, then that is too bad; he was not waiting. He may never get a better chance than this. Months of planning and waiting for the right time put the escape process in motion. That dumb guard they scared into helping them could decide at any moment to get brave, and screw this all up. Great another hero Jesse thought to himself. Although the guard’s family was threatened, he could still report what he had done and hope the police would protect him. A couple of Jesse’s buddies on the outside who had owed him several favors had gone to the guard’s home and convinced him to smuggle in three survival wire saws. The thin flexible blades were passed to Jesse and his pals during their yard exercise. Jesse did not know how they were smuggled into the prison past all the metal detectors at the gates, but that did not matter as long as he got one. A car with a full tank of gas and a couple of handguns in the trunk should be waiting on the farm road just west of the overgrown pasture that surrounded the prison. Jesse knew there were three fences to cross once they were away from the prison buildings. A fourth fence posed no problem, as it was an eight-foot high chain-link fence to keep out the curious. Although, Jesse did not know anyone who would be inquisitive enough to climb over a fence to get near a prison. After that last barrier, it was rough ground that lay between them and the car. Beyond that last fence to cross was their freedom.

With the aid of the lightning flashes, Jesse could see two closest barbwire fences and the one electric fence that closed in the prison compound. The rainwater that had collected on those fences reflected the lightening and made the wire seem alive and moving. There were no gates on this side of the building. The thought of freedom made Jesse saw with greater abandon. The thin carbide wire blade sliced through the last bit of metal, sending a shower of fine steel slivers to the floor. Another flash of lightning reflected off the metal filings as they drifted down to the hard concrete floor. Specks of silver twinkled with the lightning like Fourth of July sparklers. As the iron window bar started to fall, Jesse caught it deftly in one hand before it could drop. It felt like it weighed fifteen pounds. A drop of blood formed on Jesse’s finger as the jagged edge of the metal bar sliced through the skin with a shallow cut.

Taking the wad of gum he had been chewing for the last hour, he placed half on each end of the sawed off bar. Sliding the bar back into place he reached out and closed the glass window. The rusty hinges on the window frame rebelled as metal squeaked against metal. With the two bars removed in this manner, he could squeeze out when it was time to make his escape. Jesse took down a worn towel from a rack above the stained metal sink and wiped the wall and floor under the window. Carefully picking up an open newspaper that he had laid on the floor to catch the metal filings, he rolled it up and shoved it in the garbage can under the sink. Meticulously, he wiped the moisture that gathered on the bars, being sure he did not disturb the ones he had already cut. Jesse also lightly wiped away any stray metal filings from the windowsill and the wall that may catch the attention of the night guard as he made his rounds. Even with the noise of the rain beating against the closed window and the snoring of the person in the next cell, Jesse could hear the faint sound of the guard’s keys clicking together as he walked. Not a moment too soon he mutters to himself. Giving the cell another check to see that everything looked in order, he threw the wet and soiled towel in the sink. Jesse then climbed into the wall-mounted bunk and pulled the course blankets up to his shoulders. The smell of sweat soaked sheets wrinkled his nose. Feigning sleep, he waited for the guard to pass by.

The clinking keys stopped outside his cell door. A strong light came into his private domain and tracked around the meager room. Lying on his right-side Jesse could see the circle of light as it revealed the stained walls and the peeling paint. The noisy and cracked toilet that never stopped running did not escape that bright beam either. It centered on the barred window for a second. To Jesse, it seemed like forever before it moved on to other parts of his cramped cell. Faking a snore, he kept his eyes tightly closed as the guard played the hand held light over his bunk. Sweat beaded on Jesse’s forehead as he started to panic. The guard was spending too much time here. Had they somehow suspected or got wind that he was planning to escape this very night? Maybe that guard Jessie’s friends roughed up folded under pressure of a conscience and went to the warden with their escape plans. Jesse’s heart was beating so loud he was sure the guard could hear it. Hammermill Prison, what a hell of a place to be he thought to himself again for the third time tonight. The light went out, and the cadence of the keys started once more. A sigh escaped Jesse’s chest, and his painfully tight shoulder muscles relaxed. With a salty taste on his tongue, he realized that he bit his own lip in the excitement.

Quietly getting out of his bunk Jesse crept the few feet to the cell door. With a hand-held mirror, he retrieved from his small desk; he ever so gently slid it between the bars. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, he could see the back of the guard as he checked every cell in the same fashion. The clock was running he said to himself. He had only about three hours to get away before they knew about his escape. Taking the damp towel from the sink and some wadded up work clothes from a pile in the corner, Jesse placed them under the blankets on his bed in well-rehearsed steps. Tucking the blanket and setting the pillow, the bunk had the appearance of someone lying there. This elaborate setting was just in case the guards made an unscheduled cell check. With a final look at what was his home for the last two years, Jesse quickly got dressed. At the window, the sawed bars came away with ease. Shoving the heavy metal bars into his belt, he climbed out through the narrow opening. With the aid of the lightning flashes, Jesse could see the gravel roof of the building eighteen feet below.

Jesse grabbed a window bar that he had not cut, and still secured in concrete. Holding on to that solid bar, he turned around on the small window ledge and placed his feet below the sill. With his one hand holding him from falling and his feet braced against the wall, he pulled the two bars from his belt one at a time and put them back in place. The chewing gum would continue to hold the bars from falling out Jesse thinks while smiling to himself. I bet after this the warden will remove chewing gum from the prison store. Only close observation would reveal the cuts in the metal. Jesse hoped to be gone a long time before the prison hacks knew about his escape. Letting his feet slide down the wet and slippery wall, Jesse grabbed the window ledge with his other hand. Once his body was prone against the wall, he let go of the uncut bar, closed the swing out window, and put his now free hand on the window ledge to hold him from falling. As his fingers ached and throbbed, he knew he had to let go soon and trust to blind chance that he did not break his leg, or worse his neck.

Jesse could hear a loud grunt from somewhere to his right. It could only be that Mack is out of his cell, and on the roof like Jesse was about to be. Still hanging on with painful fingertips Jesse had to let go soon, or someone looking out the window in the adjacent building would see him there framed against the wall with each revealing lightning flash. Releasing the weakening hold, he tried to gauge the drop in the dim light. It is rather a scary feeling falling and not able to sense how near to the ground he was, or in this case how close to the roof. Landing flat on his feet with his knees bent Jesse let his legs buckle, and he rolled into a shock-absorbing ball. The gravel roof was hard against his back as he rolled over and got to his feet. Staying low, he scanned all around him. Mack Taylor a fellow inmate quickly joined Jesse and squatted beside him. Jesse noticed that Mack was limping when he drew nearer.

Landed rough, huh Mack?

Taylor answered through gritted teeth. No smart ass, I landed ok when I dropped to the roof, but in my haste to get here, I tripped over a vent pipe in the dark and sprained my ankle. Do not worry yourself about it. It is not bad enough to keep me from getting out of this damn place. Where is the kid Mack asks Jesse?

Wiping the rain from his eyes Jesse looks in the direction of Warren’s cell. I do not know? He should have been here by now. We are only going to wait a few more minutes.

Mack was an enigma to Jesse. Built solid on a six-foot frame, he looked more Latino than Caucasian. His hair was pitch black and tied in a little ponytail at the back of his head. A long scare ran from the corner of his right eye down the jaw to almost his mouth. It gave his face a sinister look. His actions seemed to be as a follower, but Jesse thought that was just a cover. He had not been in prison long enough that he needed to escape.

While rubbing his sore left ankle Mack asks. Tell me again Jess, why did we have to bring that whimpering brat with us?

Get off my back about him Mack. I told you. That kid grew up in this area. We need him to get away from the prison, and he knows the local towns and the back roads. If he outlives his usefulness after that, then we will dump him somewhere, ok?

Mack pushes the wet hair from his face and flattens it against his skull. You have to do me this one favor Jess. Let me be the one to shorten his life. I could never stand that constant almost ready to cry face he makes.

The faint sound of gravel crunching under heavy footfalls comes to their ears as the third member of the escaping prisoners arrives. I made it, Warren whispers in a shaky voice.

What took you so long, Jesse asks? And is your cell mate going to keep his mouth shut until we are gone?

Do not worry about him, Warren whispers while pushing the hair from his eyes and pulling his collar up over his neck in a vain attempt to keep out the dampness. He will not say a word to anyone.

Jesse looks at Warren and thinks that he is too young to be in prison. At twenty-four years old, he is only five-foot-two inches tall. Dirty-blond hair frames a baby face that seemed ready to cry at any moment. That part of his character invariably fed Mack’s anger for wimps. Warren was constantly bullied by those bigger than he was, so he joined a gang of other misfits who went around terrorizing the countryside. When they set fire to several businesses, they were caught and all sent to various penal institutions. The judge, in effect, broke up the gang and spread them all over the country. Warren, wound up here at this prison.

On the roof of Hammermill Prison, Jesse, Mack, and Warren look at each other and silently agree that it is too late to turn back now. The three men cross the roof of the low building and come to the edge. They stare at the prison compound below them. Twelve feet out from the edge of the roof are the first of the set of fences that must be crossed. A spotlight mounted on the roof of a watchtower continually sweeps the open ground just outside the second fence barrier. It is not a manned light, but an automatic searchlight. A guard would stick his head out of the window occasionally, pretending to do his job. With all this rain and wind, the guards kept inside not wanting to get wet. Jesse watched the weather reports for weeks for a night such as this to come. Moonless, rainy and near the end of the guards shift where they would be the most bored. They should be well away from here before the shift changed, and the more alert guards came on duty. Jesse figured they had about another hour and forty minutes before that happened. Without all those factors to consider in their escape plans, their collective chances would be near zero. Jesse looked out into the driving rain beyond the initial fence to the next barrier. Between the first two fences is twenty feet of open ground. No grass, just packed down earth where guards and several huge canines roamed. Usually at night, three large and toothy German Shepherds patrol this area. Except for tonight as there are no four-footed shadows’ patrolling the ground below them now. It has been years since anyone tried to escape from this prison, so the guards were confident that no one would even try.

The three prisoners lay flat on the roof for twenty minutes patiently waiting and watching. Still, no sign of the dog patrol.

The rain must have them held up in their pens, says Mack.

Who can blame those animals, Jesse returns. Would you want to be out in this weather if you did not have to?"

It was time to move Jesse thought as they lay there surveying their surroundings. Warren had lost the draw weeks ago when the original preparations were made for their escape. He has to be the first one over the fence and make a hole in the next one for Jesse and Mack to follow. If the dogs were active, Warren would have a better chance of getting away from them by climbing back up the fence. They all got to their feet, and Jesse slapped Warren on the back and pointed to the way they had come from. Mack & Jesse took positions near the lip of the flat roof. Warren stood at the edge and walked backward away from them into the dark silently counting the steps he took. After a few moments, the slightly louder sound of gravel crunching as Warren came running toward them. Placing his left foot between where the other two convicts crouched he launched himself into the darkness, hoping that he had enough height and speed to carry him over the fence. If he missed, the razor sharp concertina wire on the top of the fence was unforgiving. He would stay caught there, ripped apart with every movement until the guards cut him down. Not a pleasant way to pass the night he