Faster on My Own: Chapter 20
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Ashwin and Cortez jumped on top of their table and said, “Now.” Beautiful, brilliant Cortez, who had sat by Ashwin’s side in those early, miserable days in prison and shaped his fantasies of immediate rebellion into something useful. Ashwin thought it would’ve been obvious that they needed to revolt, to fight back, but Cortez’s coaching helped him learn how to appreciate the need for everyone’s trust, to observe the particularities of prison society. In Ashwin’s peripheral vision, orange fluttered and swooped in all directions like a meadow full of butterflies, but ahead of him there was a dark tunnel. No light at the end, no light behind him, just a taser and a badge with an asshole attached. He pinned the guard against the wall. The squirming guard tried to say something, but with a forearm jammed into the guard’s neck and the adrenaline soaking into Ashwin’s brain, he wouldn’t be heard. Flipping open holsters and disconnecting latches, he looted the guard’s belt before slamming him against the wall again, knocking him out.
Dropping the limp body against the ground, he tossed the taser to Cortez then tapped the baton against the wall. Now that the guard was taken care of, he could survey the rest of the chaos. Shouts and screams merged into a terrifying collage of noise. Inmates flowed like water around a rock, evading guards while others subdued them. He didn’t see blood anywhere, but they had only just begun.
Cortez said, “Let’s get to the doors before they trap us in here.” They sprinted up the stairs, Cortez much faster than Ashwin. By the time Ashwin reached the top, out of breath, Cortez was banging on the plexiglass window on the door. “Fuck!”
After another deep breath, Ashwin raised the baton. With all of his weight, he slammed the baton against the glass. It flew out of his hand and back into the crowd downstairs. “Okay. We just need to think. The entrances on the other side should be open, if Johnson got there in time.”
They trotted down the steps and walked across the hall. Too many men were milling around, not sure what to do. Ashwin touched Cortez on the shoulder and gave him a nod. To his surprise, Cortez knew exactly what that meant and jumped up onto one of the tables. “Let’s get out of here and show the rest of these fucking guards what happens when you treat people like animals.”
Short. To the point. Correct, and a call to action. Ashwin and Cortez had agonized for a week over what to do in case the men needed a speech. After suppressing the temptation to make a long speech pulling at their heartstrings, both of them agreed on the importance of simplicity. They were right. Everyone started shouting again and the inmates squeezed into the hallway. They passed one set of doors, which Cortez pointed out to Ashwin. That was good. Now they had more room to operate, instead of waiting in that room for the guards to burst in with riot gear and herd them to the center.
They stopped. “What’s going on?” Ashwin whispered to the man ahead of him, who only responded with a shrug. “This is bad. There shouldn’t be anything between us and the door to the yard. What are you thinking?”
Cortez peeked above the crowd. “Let’s get to the front.” They pushed through the crowd, Cortez by pushing people aside– gently, but still firm– while Ashwin followed in his wake and apologized. These people were on his side, and he didn’t want them to have any doubts about him. As they wove through the mass of sweating, nervous men, his own doubts bubbled to the surface. No plan goes smoothly, but as he and Cortez turned the corner, shouts subsumed whispers and the sounds of collision overwhelmed both. At the front of the hallway, a line of guards in riot gear impeded them.
Other inmates recoiled from the blows of the clear plastic shields and clubs as the guards advanced. Cortez flinched when a guard knocked an inmate to the ground and kicked him, but when he tried to rush to the rescue, Ashwin grabbed onto his sleeve. “Discretion. This doesn’t have to be a failure.”
“Alright.” Cortez gritted his teeth as another man went down and the shields advanced further. “Back up. We’re going the other way. Hurry.” Most listened and flooded back out to the dining hall, where another line of guards awaited them, closing a semi-circle around the door. Behind Ashwin, the other guards drew closer. Cortez nodded at him, then screamed and launched his body shoulder-first into the guard at the center. Ashwin couldn’t see how his leap turned out because the rest of the inmates followed, throwing themselves at the wall of shields as tear gas exploded into large clouds all around them.
Ripping a piece of his sleeve off, Ashwin fashioned a mask. The cloth wasn’t black, but it still felt like returning home. The gas stung his eyes and soon he was blind, but he could breathe a little and that was enough. Whenever he ran into another body, he first felt for cloth or armor. If he felt cloth, he knew an ally was near, though they might be flailing around, searching for any way to employ their fists in pursuit of freedom. When he finally felt plastic in front of him, Ashwin pushed against it with all his weight until it and he fell to the ground. He tried to wrest the shield from the guard pinned beneath it, but could not and so pounded against it with both hands where he thought the head might be. He hit again and again and again until someone picked him up. Still blind, Ashwin felt as though he was levitating. With no clue what direction the hands he felt on his shoulders were taking him, he could only wonder if they were friend or foe. In that moment, victory was or was not attained. Ashwin did not feel free, but he never had, nor did he feel any more captive than before. It was, as always, the brute meat of humanity saying he could leave, or he must stay. To belabor the point, the hands tossed him forward, and Ashwin’s head collided with a wall.
Blood pooled around him, his orange mask soaking up a little, but unable to stop the puddle from growing. Two guards talked above his still body, about which inmates to pin it on. Maybe, one said, they could just say he was blind from the gas and ran into the wall. After all, no one important was going to miss him.