Julia was growing increasingly pessimistic.
They had been wandering the halls of the prison for... how long had it been? It was difficult to tell time here, with neither clocks nor the sun for reference, but it must have been at least an hour. And in that time, they still hadn't found any sign of an exit. And, while Chelsea was finally beginning to trust Julia, Scarlet was not doing well. Her wounds must have been getting to her; she was growing weaker with every step. They all were. A wounded woman, a child, and an out-of-shape, overweight woman approaching middle age... they made a wonderful trio.
At least they hadn't run into any trouble. That in itself seemed miraculous. Julia had been shying away from the more populated areas of the prison; she assumed those would be the most dangerous at the moment. She had been listening carefully while they'd been walking; and when the commotion down a particular hallway had sounded particularly loud and violent, she had steered her companions down a different hallway. She had kept them in the shadows whenever possible, too, and a couple of times they had hidden in a dark corner or an empty cell while someone especially dangerous-looking had passed by.
Julia placed a hand on the gun she had taken from Chelsea. She hadn't been sure whether the belt holster Chelsea had been wearing would fit her; it had looked much too small to wrap around her ample waist. The belt had stretched obligingly when she'd put it on, though; she was in the body of a rather athletic man. She liked the idea of being thinner... but that was the only thing she liked about her current form.
She wasn't sure she would be comfortable using the gun if the time came. She had never fired a gun before, and she had never wanted to. She had, in fact, signed multiple petitions for stronger gun control laws. Under the circrumstances, though, they needed to be prepared... and she was much more comfortable with this gun in her hands than in Chelsea's.
At last Julia saw the sickly yellow light of the prison hallways give way to natural sunlight, and she realized they must have been near the entrance. Passing through a set of double doors, which had been left wide open, Julia and her companions entered what appeared to be a large lobby. Windows high on the wall let in sunlight that was so bright after the darkness of the prison that it hurt Julia's eyes for a moment; and around the room; she saw prisoners talking, laughing, sparring, and drinking from an assortment of containers gathered around the prison's reception desk. Along the floor there were half a dozen men dressed in guard's uniforms... all dead. Julia placed an arm protectively around Chelsea's waist and pulled her close.
Julia walked slowly toward the doors that appeared to mark the exit, trying to be- as inconspicuous as possible. They had nearly reached the doors when Julia heard a voice behind them say, "Well well, lookie here."
Turning slowly, Julia saw a large prisoner sneering cruelly at them, a class of amber liquid in his hand. "Looks like we got ourselves another guard trying to escape," the prisoner said, loud enough for most of the other prisoners in the lobby to hear him. "Oh, and look," he said, seeing Julia's arm around Chelsea's waist, "this one's got a boyfriend!"
Several of the prisoners laughed and began to close in on Julia, Chelsea, and Scarlet. It was the shirtless man with the dragon tattoo wrapping up his arm that caught Julia's attention, though. He dropped the glass in his hand when he saw Chelsea, and then his eyes narrowed. "Helms?" the man shouted, storming up to Chelsea. "Dennis Helms, is that you?"
"You know this queer, Rogers?" the man who had first spotted them asked.
"Oh, I know him all right," the man with the tattoo, who must have been named Rogers, snarled. "This dick gave me a beating last week. Said I was getting out of line."
"Well," said the first man, "I think this one's yours then."
Rogers snatched the front of Chelsea's shirt and leaned in close... so close that even Julia could smell the whisky that was thick on the man's breath. "How does it feel, Helms?" Rogers rasped. "Now that things have turned around on you?"
Julia pushed Rogers away from Chelsea with all her strength. "You don't get to touch her!" she growled.
Rogers scowled at her. "What are you gonna do about it, you faggot? I should..." Suddenly a cruel smile crept across his face. "Wait... did you say 'her'?" He turned to Chelsea. "This is a chick? Oh, this is too perfect." He leaned in close to Chelsea again, leering. "What do you look like in there, honey? Bet you're pretty hot."
He ran a hand over Chelsea's chest and unbuttoned the top button on her shirt. All the muscles in Julia's body tensed.
"You look scared, darlin'," Rogers whispered. "Don't worry, ol' Rogers will take care of you." He sniffed Chelsea's hair. "Then I'll find out where the real Helms is, and I'll do the same thing to him that I'm about to you." He shoved Chelsea roughly. "Then I'll beat the life out of him." He grinned a terrible grin. "You too, sweetie."
Chelsea began to cry. Julia threw her arms around the girl comfortingly.
"Aww, isn't that sweet?" said one of the prisoners.
"Look at him," said another. "Crying like a little baby."
"Yeah," shouted another voice. "Give it to him, faggot!"
Julia felt rough hands pull her away and throw her to the ground. "Out of the way, man," Rogers snarled. Putting his arms tight around Chelsea, he said, "You know, I switched, too." A dark look crossed his face. "From one fucking prisoner to another." His voice took on a dangerous tone. "You wanna tell me how that's far? Huh? Do you? You wanna tell me how that's right? Guys all over the prison been switching out of here, and I just go from one cell to another. It isn't fair." His voice was shaky now, whiny, as tears formed along the edges of his eyes.
Rogers pushed Chelsea roughly to the floor. "You talk to me about justice, about right and wrong," He kicked his boot hard into Chelsea's side, making her cry out. "You don't get to talk to me about justice. No such thing, man. No such thing." He reached down to his pants and began fumbling at the buckle of his belt. "I'll show you what justice means. I'll show you."
Julia reached slowly for her gun. She didn't want to use it. She didn't want to kill this man. She was a nurse, a mother. Her every instinct was to heal, not to hurt. It went against her whole being to fire a gun. But she could not let this man hurt Chelsea. She couldn't.
Pulling the gun from the holster, she pointed it at Rogers's knee and fired. Rogers howled as his leg went out under him, and he fell hard first to his knees, then to the ground, screaming in pain.
"Come on," Julia said, putting her arms around the terrified Chelsea. "Come on, we need to go. Now."
As the furious, shouting prisoners closed in on then, Julia scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could and pulled Chelsea up behind her. Charging forward, she pushed her way through the prisoners, using the weight of her body to make up for her lack of sheer strength. She rammed the gun against the heads of a couple of the men, while Scarlet threw a couple of surprisingly effective punches of her own. At last they reached the doors, pushed them open, and tumbled outside. Turning, Julia and Chelsea slammed the doors shut and leaned heavily against them, and even little Chelsea contributed her own strength to holding the doors shut.
Julia knew they couldn't hold the men inside for long. They had greater numbers and greater strength. Julia quickly scanned the courtyard of the prison, which was bustling with activity. Spotting men in what looked like military uniforms, she grabbed Scarlet and Chelsea's hands, and they set off across the pavement.
At last the three of them reached the uniformed men, the prisoners close behind them. "Thank God," Chelsea shouted breathlessly. You have to help--"
Suddenly the men raised their guns--heavy automatic weapons--and pointed them at Julia and her friends. "Stop it right there, punks," the man commanded loudly, his voice echoing off the walls of the prison. "You're not going anywhere."
