Chapter Seven

Gale had tried really hard to not be frightened. He had set every single neuron to that one difficult task. But he was having a system failure, and it had gone long past frightened into utterly terrified and scared shitless.

The cartel were going to kill all three of them, Gale just knew it. He wondered which one would be worst – being the first to go, or the last. Probably the last, to watch Walt – Walt! – die, and just have to sit there and watch it, never having told how he felt, never getting that chance.

Wait, did that mean, if they were going to die… he should tell him, right? But how? And wouldn't Walt say that this wasn't the time, that there were important problems going on?

His throat was dry as he tried to speak, as he tried to come up with a plan to save them all because someone had to, but wasn't that Walt's job? Wasn't Walt the one who kept saying that he had all the answers?

"Snap out of it, Gale," Walt hissed. Gale must have said some of it aloud, or maybe he was just shaking or something. He tried to snap out of it. He couldn't slow the group down. He had to do his part, other than just being the Spanish translator.

"Okay." Gale whispered the word. "What are we going to do, Walt? What are we going to do?"

"I swear to God, if both of you don't stop asking me that, I am going to strangle you both," Walt hissed. "We fake them out to stall for time. And then we…"

"Try and get in touch with Gus?" Jesse suggested.

"And put our fates in his hands?" Walt barked back at him. "You do know that he only needs one of us alive, right? And quite frankly, that one of us would be me."

"Thanks for taking a moment that we're most likely going to die in, and using it to be a complete dick," Jesse complained loudly.

"Listen. Both of you!" Gale declared, desperately trying to keep the arguing under control. "Maybe, once they bring us out… maybe then we can spot a weakness. Maybe we can figure something out. Right now, we're doing a lot of speculating and that isn't really helping very much."

"Jesse, I'm a little more concerned about my life than that I'm not being warm and fuzzy enough for you!" Walt yelled at Jesse.

"Suck a dick, Mr. White!"

"Okay, actually, exactly what I was…" Gale tried to cut in.

"Jesse, I swear to God if you get us all killed, I'm going to strangle you, you pathetic junkie!" Walt hissed.

"Yeah, okay, go ahead and…"

"WALT! JESSE!" Gale screamed. He had never screamed like that before in his life; nay, he had not even known it possibly to scream at that volume. He had always been a quiet sort of kid who had turned into a quiet sort of man. But without the volume, without the screaming, he knew that Walt and Jesse would not listen.

They whipped around. They were listening now.

"We don't have a shot if you fight. Honestly, right now, I'm not even sure if we have a shot if we all stick together. But if we work together, at least if we go down, we go down knowing we tried fighting them the right way. We can stall, sure we can stall, but when that all runs out, we need to know what our Plan B is. Walt… Jesse… got any of those up either of your sleeves?"

Walt looked between them for a long time; he looked almost offended at Gale's chastisement. At last, he spoke.

"What if we fought our way out?"

The other two men stared at him.

"Did you just say… now, I've gotta have wax in my ears or some shit, because it sounded as if you, Mr. White, you just suggested that we ought to fight our way out against a whole shitload of cartel and then escape into a country we know nothing about."

Walt's lips curled into a smirk.

"That's exactly what I just suggested." He looked around the hotel room, musing at something unknown.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Jesse pressed.

"That's a possibility," Walt replied sarcastically. "But it's really our only chance. Both of you are going to have to fess up to the fact that if we sit here and wait for Gus to save us, two of us are going to die and the survivor is going to live out the rest of his days cooking meth for these cartel madmen. And I don't have that in my cards. I'm going home to my family."

"And give up cooking meth?" Jesse asked. Walt looked at him with an annoyed glance.

"Of course not, Jesse. I'm on top. I have to stay there."

Gale looked back and forth between the two. Walter was the best, this was true, but why wasn't he just eager to get back to this family that he apparently had waiting for him? Gale certainly wasn't thinking too far ahead as far as the lab went, so he didn't know how Walt could still be insistent upon it. Wasn't it time for those promises to themselves or to God or whoever might be listening that if they got out of this one alive, they'd change their ways and take the right path? That's what was caught on repeat in Gale's mind, at least.

"We're going to need to find weapons in here. We need to think outside the box," Walt stated, not even stopping to expand upon his thought.

Jesse rose. Gale thought that he was going to offer more protests, but instead the younger man's shoulders simply slumped, and Gale noticed a look of defeat crossing his face.

"Let's tear this place apart," Jesse said in a quiet voice. "There's got to be something here."