As Junie turned the key in the lock, Shavian glanced behind the men… at all the other men. Elliott sympathized with her discomfort. A lot of them seemed harmless, mostly heavy drinkers sleeping off a drunk and disorderly or folk with a few too many parking and speeding tickets. But a couple of the men towards the back were large and didn’t look real happy; at least until they caught sight of Shavian and Junie. Elliott only had eyes for the redhead but Junie was not exactly unattractive herself.
“Junie, wait,” Roger whispered, pressing himself against the bars. “Are we sure we want to just let everyone out?” He jerked his head behind him towards the other inmates.
Junie twitched the key back and forth in the lock, waiting for an answer. Shavian looked conflicted, but Christian charity eventually won out. “I don’t see how we can let you out and not let them out, too,” she whispered back. “We’d have to leave you here.”
Junie didn’t often speak in absolutes or with a great deal of clarity, but she did now. “Not an option,” she said. Elliott’s heart swelled, and to his surprise, Shavian cast a fearful glance at the blonde and didn’t argue. As the key clicked heavily in the lock and the door swung open, Elliott looked back and saw the eyes of everyone in the cell light up. He pushed through the door with Roger close behind, and felt a flash of jealousy as the big man stepped in front of the girls protectively. The other inmates crowded past them into the hallway.
“I wonder if they’ll be that eager when they get in there and see what’s waiting-“ Elliott’s dire speculation was drowned out by a terrible, gurgling scream which halted the flow of detainees out into the main body of the station. One man near the front came scrabbling back and slammed the cell door behind him, locking him in.
“Safer in here,” he muttered, cowering near the back.
“Safe’s overrated,” another man said, leering at Shavian around Roger. He was short but wide in the shoulders and had a mean look in his eyes. The Scot glowered at him but it had no effect.
“Leave ‘em be, Jackson,” said a second inmate, a tall, scrawny fellow with brown hair and a non-descript face; he looked to be in his mid-thirties. “We got other issues.”
Jackson ignored him. “Come on, share a little, man,” he said to Roger. “You’ve got two.”
The scrawny one sidled up close to Jackson, holding his right hand low. There was a loud click and Jackson went up on his tiptoes, his eyes wide. “Touch them girls and you’ll only have one of what God gave ya,” he said matter-of-factly. Elliott looked down and saw that Jackson had a very large switchblade right near his fly.
“Easy, Fipps,” Jackson said, his voice oily and cajoling. “No need to get personal.” The room around them had grown hushed and awkward. No one wanted to go out into the station, but the stand-off was making everyone edgy.
Fipps said nothing, but held the knife steady, staring at Jackson. Finally, Jackson held up his hands in supplication and Fipps let him edge to the side, away from Junie and Shavian.
“Thanks,” Roger said once Jackson was a safe distance away. “That could have been a big problem for us.”
Fipps stuck out a hand to all four of them in turn. “Ed Fipps. Pleased to meet you,” he said when he had all their names.
“How’d you manage to keep that knife in here?” Elliott asked.
“They don’t frisk you that well if you’re not in for nothing violent and I’ve done this a few times,” Fipps replied enigmatically. No one pushed for details. Junie tossed the keys to another inmate who made his way to the other holding cells.
“So what now?” Fipps asked. He looked at Elliott and Elliott froze up. They were looking at him for instructions? A glance around showed that everyone was looking to him, every eye trained on him. Inmates and friends alike, aside from Jackson and the cowering man now locked back in the holding cells, were circled around him. How had that happened? Voices were silenced. The floors were hard, dented cement and every scuffing boot and cleared throat echoed off the sickly-green painted walls. He took a deep breath, feeling suddenly insecure and not just because there was probably a station full of enemies awaiting him. His mind whirred.
“Um,” he said, alarmed when his voice squeaked. “Well, we can’t stay here. We’re like sitting ducks. We have to fight our way through. Does anyone else have weapons?” Junie jumped up and down gleefully, waving her hands like she was trying to get the teacher’s attention in class. Fipps laughed out loud and Elliott almost smiled. “Does anyone aside from Ms. Harkness have weapons?” he specified. No one seemed to, which didn’t make Elliott very happy. “Well, okay then. Anyone with medical experience?” One man and a woman in the back raised their hands. The woman had once been an EMT but the man was a dermatologist; Elliott politely released him from any obligation. “But anyone who can patch someone up should be prepared to do so. Anyone not prepared to fight…” he paused, not sure whether to sugar coat it or not. He decided not to. “Anyone not prepared to fight had better be prepared to die.”
He waited and there was no response.
“That’s your rousing speech?” Fipps muttered.
“I wasn’t really prepared,” he replied. He shared a smile with the older man, feeling a tentative kinship with him. Pitching his voice to be heard by all the others once more, Elliott said, “Okay, everyone. Let’s go.”