Chapter 2

The journey from death row at Florida State Prison outside of the rural town of Starke Florida to Jacksonville Memorial Hospital was to be a short one for Timothy Elroy Walker. It would take no more than thirty-five minutes to drive north on State Route 301 then East onto Highway 8 to the hospital. Once the paperwork was completed, Florida State Trooper Richard Gallante would turn the state’s star prisoner over to the prison ward guards at the hospital. Then he was done for the day and looking forward to three days off with his family.

Walker wanted to donate his organs to an ailing family member after his upcoming execution. This request required that he first be tested to ensure the compatibility for a transplant.

Florida Governor John Richards personally approved the transfer to the hospital for the specialized organ transplant testing. He said in an interview, “While Mr. Walker’s crimes are heinous, his willingness to donate his organs and tissue could save another life, and the state of Florida should allow it to happen.”

Protocol dictated that three cruisers be used to transport a prisoner like Walker but since budget cuts and because it was a weekend only enough staff for one transport was available. It would have to suffice.

His execution was scheduled for the following week. They would return him to death row once they completed his testing. The prison warden strenuously objected to him being moved anywhere. “He’s too dangerous,” he told his boss but he was ultimately overruled.

The young state trooper driving the sedan looked at his watch. He had told his wife he would be home by nine o’clock. She said she would hold dinner for him.

Albert Simmons, a fellow trooper but a rookie, was texting his new bride as they made the turn onto Highway 8.

Walker complained from the back seat, “I need to take a dump.”

“You’ll just have to hold it until we get to the hospital,” said Gallante.

“I gotta go now.”

“Just hold it. That’s the rules. No stopping with a capital prisoner…no exceptions.”

Simmons looked up sympathetically trying to understand the reasoning but was willing to back his partner in his decision; but he also had to use the facilities.

“I can’t hold it,” Walker complained, “It must have been something you guys gave me to eat. I’ll just have to mess up the back of this nice new police car.”

Gallante was taking his young daughter to compete in a soccer match the next morning in the car and did not relish the prospect of spending an hour or more cleaning up after this degenerate. His partner nodded his head towards an upcoming gas station just off the next highway exit.

“Okay. Hold it just a little longer. There’s a gas station up ahead. But Walker you try anything, I mean anything at all and I’ll ram this shotgun so far up your ass you’ll never shit again. You hear me?

“Got it, Sarge. Hurry up, will you?”

The senior officer parked the state trooper sedan by the restroom door and sent Simmons inside the gas station to retrieve the key. He knew these highway gas stop restrooms were never left open.

Simmons led the way and stood in front of the door watching the convicted killer.

Walker stood up outside the cruiser and hobbled to the men’s room, his ankles and hands shackled together. “How the hell am I going to use toilet paper?”

“Forget it Walker. I ain’t takin’ off the handcuffs. Now be quick about it and leave the door open.”

“Hey, give me a minute of privacy will ya’ so I can do my duty? Okay?”

Simmons frowned, shook his head, but turned around while his fellow officer stood watching by the car just as a big eighteen-wheeler came in and stopped for gas. The loud noise from the big truck’s air brakes muffled the sound of the gunshot to the back of officer Simmons head. The front of his face blown was away and he was dead before he hit the ground.

A shotgun blast from the driver of the eighteen-wheeler blew Gallante off his feet and pushed him backwards landing him eight feet way. His chest was bleeding through his uniform and the sound of air rushing through his lungs could be heard in the still night air. The driver of the truck rummaged through the dying officer’s pockets for the keys to the shackles holding Walker.

Gallante made a feeble attempt to search for his service revolver but the second blast of the shotgun snuffed the life from the dying officer. Walker smiled as he stood over him still holding the smoking shotgun. The two men hopped into the truck and disappeared into the cool Florida night. The stolen truck was found abandoned hours later at a rest stop north of Jacksonville off Interstate I-95. Investigators found maps of I-95 and Massachusetts under the seat. He was headed out of state to spread terror elsewhere.

Police issued an alert for the states of Georgia, South Carolina, Maryland, Virginia, New Jersey, New York, Florida, and Alabama. He disappeared with the help of the Brotherhood, and it was as if the earth had swallowed him up and kept him safe.