Zombies & Other Unpleasant Things

by William Bebb

  Bobby had put C-Block in a special lock down override state on the computer as he also had done for The Administration and Death Row buildings, but when Carl started the program he hadn't even thought about that. He only saw that some of the cell blocks status screens hadn't turned from red to green and clicked on the ones that hadn't changed. Every building except the power station and library, which had a different type of security code system, had all the computer automated and controlled cell and other doors sliding open at the same time.

  Some inmates didn't know what it meant and continued lounging in their bunks until others began shouting and running toward the exit. No one knew what was going on, but a chance for escape was a chance. Within a few minutes nearly every convict at Bayonne was making a run for it.

  “Right this way, ma'am,” the warden said sympathetically as he lead the lady who's daughter had been murdered down a small hallway toward the execution chamber. Halfway there, they passed Captain LaShod who nodded and kept heading for the viewing room. He was anxious to get the witnesses out of the prison and the guards back to their regular duties as soon as possible. A gnawing feeling of unease was deep in his stomach and until things were back to normal he didn't doubt it would remain there.

  Most of the relatives were talking to the young reporter and LaShod overheard one man saying, “I just hope he roasts in Hell; the nasty fucker.”

  The fat reporter was looking under the table the pastries had been set on to see if there were any more squirreled away. But it was the old man in the wheelchair that caught the captain's attention. He'd rolled himself toward the window and was leaning to one side to peer through the nearly shut curtain on the other side of the glass. The captain swore under his breath and turned to go back in the execution chamber to yell at whoever hadn't closed the curtain all the way.

  Sixty year old Uncle Harvey was the oldest member of the family, but didn't need the wheelchair for mobility and his brothers and sister all wondered why he'd insisted on bringing it along to the execution. Harvey loved his murdered niece as much as he'd ever cared for anyone in is his entire life. He'd been there when she was born and spent years watching over her. When he learned about what happened, he swore he'd see Maurice die and after the execution had been postponed twice before, he decided to make sure it got done tonight; no matter what the consequences.

  When he stopped in front of the viewing window and peeked through the glass his blood boiled as he saw that Maurice wasn't dead. He wasn't just standing either, but chasing a terrified looking guard around the execution table.

  Damn it! I knew a monster like him would never be put down with just poison, he thought furiously while reaching under the wheelchair to retrieve the highly illegal weapon hidden there.

  Harvey was smart enough to know there would be metal detectors at the entrance to the execution building that visitors would have to pass through. The wheelchair had caused the detectors to beep when he was pushed inside, but the young and relatively inexperienced guards only waved him through without even a cursory check. Not that they'd have easily found the cleverly hidden gap between the chairs seat and cushion anyway.

  Tucked inside there was a fully automatic Uzi with an extended ammunition clip he'd purchased in New Orleans a week earlier. Over the last few days he'd practiced firing it on his isolated farm and as he lifted it up and slid back the firing bolt all he could hear was his niece's crying voice begging pitifully for justice.

  The warden swung open the door to the room where Grenauld's corpse should have been quickly assuming room temperature while stretched out on a gurney. But instead he saw a guard wearing a doctor's lab coat kneeling over another guard and chewing at the convulsing man's face. And as if that sight weren't disconcerting enough, the recently deceased Grenauld grabbed another guard around the neck with both hands and lifted him off the ground before throwing him onto the execution table.

  The mother of the dead child screamed upon seeing the blood splattered room and that the monster hadn't died at all.

  LaShod faintly heard the scream coming from down the hallway a split second before Uncle Harvey squeezed the Uzi's trigger. Then things happened quickly and went from very bad to extraordinarily bad.

  The relatives saw Harvey firing through the glass and rushed over to stop him. His youngest brother, Amos, grabbed the hand holding the Uzi and tried to force it down toward the floor. But all he managed to do was make Harvey's arm swing wide.

  Whizzing bullets filled the viewing room. The nearly full coffee urn was punctured twice and steaming hot brown liquid squirted out and splashed down on the fat reporter who had found a box of sugar cookies under the table. He squealed as his skin was scalded. The guard on the far side of the viewing room was rapidly shot three times; twice in the stomach and once in the chest and was dead before he collapsed to the floor.

  The guard at the other doorway saw him falling to the floor and acted on instinct. He pulled his sidearm and opened fire at Uncle Harvey. The first bullet hit Amos, who'd been wrestling with his brother for the Uzi, in the neck.

  Amos landed on the floor and clutched his hands over both the entry and exit holes that were quickly pouring forth an impressive amount of blood.

  Harvey saw his brother dying at his feet and was shot multiple times before he could turn to look at the guard who'd shot him. The Uzi clattered to the floor at the same moment bright strobe-like flashing lights mounted to the walls near the exits began flashing.

  The public address speaker mounted on the ceiling played a prerecorded message that was heard in every corner of Bayonne Prison. “Attention! Attention! All personnel report to fire fighting stations immediately!” The message repeated as the overhead fire suppression sprinklers came on.

  The young reporter, Janice Carson of the Bixby Gazette, peered cautiously over the back row of seats she'd dived behind when the gunfire erupted. Someone was yelling for help but between the steady spray of water and the flashing strobe lights, she couldn't even guess where the voice was coming from.

  The prerecorded message was replaced by a loud repetitive grating horn sound.

  She grabbed her purse and decided leaving might not be a bad idea, in spite of her professional side that was saying, “Wow, I can't leave, this is going to be a great story.”

  Hurrying to the nearest exit, she saw a guard blocking the door with a gun in one hand and a canister of some kind of spray in the other.

  He was shouting, “Everyone, stay back! No one leaves until the warden or Captain LaShod gets back!”

  Janice looked at the far side of the viewing room and spotted a guard running from the hall leading to the execution chamber door toward the other exit. He ran fast without looking around the observation room and after quickly unlocking the door, flung it open and ran through the open doorway and into the night.

  The fat reporter was carrying a medium sized white box as he hurried outside following the fleeing guard and she turned to run after him.

  LaShod tried to stop Mathis, but the guard sped by and outside before he could even grab a hold of him. The captain hurried toward the execution chamber and saw the dead woman lying in a quickly expanding pool of her own blood and hurried over to help the warden who was leaning weakly against a wall. Massengail had been shot three times by the Uzi in the shoulder and chest. He was in a combination of confusion and shock as LaShod slung his boss' uninjured arm over his shoulder. The captain began staggering back toward the viewing room trying to get them both to safety.

  As he reached the door there was a growling yell from behind. He spun around and saw Maurice 'The Mountain' Grenauld's huge body filling nearly the entire narrow hallway. Quickly drawing his sidearm, he opened fire at the deceased man. It was impossible to miss and yet none of the shots did much except slow him down very briefly with each impact.

  He shoved the warden through the doorway, hurried into the viewing room and tried to close the door. It was almost shut when Grenauld hit it like a battering ram knocki
ng down a castle gate. The force of impact knocked his empty handgun out of his grip, lifted the captain off the floor, and flung him over the front row of seats.

  “What's going on?” Warden Massengail mumbled as the water sprinklers worked to bring him back from his confusion. “Lazarde, where are you? Where? Who?” He looked around the room before spotting the thick legs that went up and were connected to the giant blood covered man towering over him and didn't even have time to scream.

  Grenauld fell on the warden and began ripping, biting, and tearing him to shreds as yells, more gunshots, and cries for help rang out on the other side of the room.

  The captain didn't have any idea what was going on but that didn't stop him from quickly crawling toward the nearest exit, after retrieving his cap that had fallen off. Halfway there, he saw a guard near the door standing up shakily and looking around in confusion. He almost called the guard's name until noticing the odd way his eyes looked and the multiple gunshot wounds he'd suffered. There was an odd vacancy in his expression until the guard noticed the young reporter hurrying toward the open exit. Then his eyes seemed to change to those of a wild animal as he lunged forward and grabbed at her.

  Captain LaShod sprang up from his hiding spot, punched the guard in the stomach and threw him to the floor near where Grenauld and the warden were. “Hurry up, we've got to get out of here,” he said to the woman holding his hand out to her.

  More screams and yells came from the far side of the viewing room and she recognized one of them as belonging to the naughty reverend. Blood smeared people were climbing through the shattered viewing window and jumping onto the reverend and what was left alive of the murdered girl’s family. “What the Hell is going on!?” She screamed as the captain seized her wrist and pulled her through the exit.

  LaShod slammed the door shut and reached for his walkie-talkie that was no longer hanging from his belt. It had fallen out of its holster when he fell over the row of seats. He leaned back against the door and said, “Quick, hand me that door stop.”

  She picked up the triangular piece of wood and handed it to LaShod.

  He bent down and jammed the edge into the space near the bottom of the door then kicked it several times deeper into the gap.

  “I don't understand. What's going on?” She asked, shaking LaShod's shoulder, as multiple gunshots came from the cell block buildings and the front gate.

  Even over all the gunfire, the captain realized the yelling and screaming was coming from thousands of escaping prisoners. The moving echoing yells rolling back from the tall granite walls couldn't be anything else. Cell Block-E aka the execution building was reserved for prisoners either on death row or in solitary confinement and was located in the very rear of Bayonne.

  The next closest building was the workshop where inmates were supposed to learn new skills like metal working to help them become honest citizens once released. On the far side of the workshop was the driveway that went between the rear of the cafeteria and kitchens. Only another fifty yards beyond that was the power building and safety.

  LaShod was facing a bad choice; Head for the administration building, which was much closer, and try to find a way to get control of things or make a run for the bunker-like power station. The woman's presence complicated things even further.

  As he tried to think, there was a yell and the sound of running feet nearby that was coming closer and he pushed the reporter into the shadows of E-Block. A moment later Marvin Mathis ran past their hiding spot screaming like a banshee. He was followed closely by what looked like everyone that had been inside the building; the family of the little girl, a few guards- one of whom was still wearing the torn and bloody remnants of a doctor's lab coat, the warden, the hulking dead man Grenauld, and others further back in the shadows he couldn't easily identify.

  The reporter whispered after they went by, “The big man... I thought he was dead.”

  The captain nodded and whispered back, “I think he and everyone else that were chasing the guard are dead.”

  “So... that's what all the rioting is about in the cities? The dead are coming back?”

  He sighed and said, “Looks that way. I know a safe place we can go, follow me... and be quiet.”

  “Can I quote you on that? You know, about the dead coming back.”

  “Hush lady, and yes, quote me on anything you damn well like, but for God's sake keep quiet,” he said looking quickly beyond the edge of E-Block. Everything appeared deserted and he ran toward the workshop, followed closely by the reporter.

  George and several other men seated near Vito were laughing uproariously before the fire alarm went off.

  The topic of discussion was the worst thing any of them had ever done as a practical, or in many cases impractical, joke. Passing gas was featured in most of the tales and Vito knew what his audience wanted to hear and delivered. “I was at the courthouse doing some pretrial crap. Listening and answering a ton of bullshit questions, you know what I mean.”

  The men nodded knowingly as Vito continued. “So, I made bail and was free to go but had to wear one of those tracker ankle bracelets so everyone would know where I was. It wasn't that bad; not very comfortable or stylish but not too bad.

  I hit the elevator button and waited. You know the courthouse in Baton Rouge that has that big open lobby thing where even up on the seventh floor, I could see people heading for the elevators down below. Guess who I spotted? My bitch of a wife that turned me into the cops. How's that for serendipity?” Vito saw confused looks on a few faces and quickly clarified. “It means good luck.

  So the elevator gets there and I start down inside all alone. I kept thinking, should I strangle her, slap her, call her a filthy traitorous cunt? All those ideas appealed to me on an intellectual level, but as the elevator almost reached the lobby I decided to be classy. I let loose a fart.”

  There were laughs but Vito held up his hand in a stop gesture and continued. “No- I take that back. Calling it a fart is like calling The Mona Lisa a doodle. It was a long, wet sounding, rumbling, pants flapping, creation the likes of which had never been recorded in the annals of farts.”

  The guys laughed but, Vito raised his hand in a stop gesture once more and went on. “It was a thing of horrific beauty. My eyes were watering from the sting of the foul stench. It smelled of onions and rotten eggs, among other much more unpleasant things. So I pressed the top floor button as the doors to the elevator opened at the lobby, jumped out and scooted off to the side. People started filing into the elevator, talking their bullshit, and I see Michelle my lovely sweet wife going in last.

  I walked out in front of the elevator as the doors started closing and saw a few cops in there, some lawyer pricks, and my ‘true’ love. There was only a second left before it shut completely and I heard someone swearing and another puking. But it was my Michelle's face, as she instantly recognized me and knew what I had done, that made me laugh. Her cute little button nose was all wrinkled up in disgust and her eyes were watering, but she looked more pissed than I'd ever seen her. I like to think she got puked on, hopefully by a cop.”

  The laughter went on for a long time. George was having a hard time catching his breath and was seeing spots until all the automatic electronic doors in the cafeteria swung open as the fire alarm went off.

  The rumor mill had been running overtime since the unexpected feast was served up for dinner, and the vast majority consisted of pessimistic and extremely disturbing ideas. Many of the men had adopted Vito's suspicion that the food had been poisoned. Others thought they'd be shot later in their cells while sleeping. Only a precious few optimists, such as George, believed everyone would be given an early release. But when the doors all sprang open and the prerecorded message made its announcement over the public address system the vast majority of the men remained seated, even as the fire sprinkler system turned on.

  It was such an unprecedented thing to happen that only a very few took advantage to jump up and sprint outside. Part o
f the reason the majority remained seated was the guard standing on the catwalk overhead.

  He had a shotgun and yelled, “Anyone tries to run and I'll shoot him down!”

  But as more and more men waited until the guard looked at another part of the cafeteria and then ran outside without being shot everyone began to doubt the young man would ever fire.

  The guard saw more prisoners leaving and tried his walkie-talkie. “This is Rikert to command. What the Hell's going on?”

  “Computer's fucked up. We're working on fixing it. Stay at your station and keep the situation under control,” a nearly frantic sounding voice answered over the walkie-talkie.

  When Rikert looked down again nearly all the prisoners had already ran outside. “Well fuck,” he said and ran toward the nearest guard exit. That computer controlled door was standing open as well.

  Stepping outside onto a security catwalk that went to the workshop building, he couldn't believe what he was seeing below. Hundreds of inmates were pouring out of all the cell block buildings. And a few of them had apparently gotten guns somehow. The rapid firing of fully automatic weapons at the main gate and the repetitive alarm noises coming over the public address system echoed across Bayonne, coupled with excited yelling and screaming convinced Rikert that it was time to run for the power station.

  “What are you doing, George? You can't just sit there,” Vito said, as the cooking staff sprinted out of the kitchen and joined the rest of the inmates making a run for it.

  “I hear gunshots.”

  “And that surprises you? Come on, man, get up and run.”

  George stood and sighed before walking cautiously toward one of the open fire doors. He looked outside and saw madness on parade. Men were fighting and running toward the main gate. It scared him and he quickly backed into the cafeteria.