by Dan Yaeger
“There have been others,” she said simply. “They all died.” She whispered. “Not me, we will get out of here. Tell the others.” I kept her gaze and nodded. Barlow’s snoring masked the conversation and Leon squinted to hear what was going on but too scared to break off my grasp. “Alicia: make sure everyone knows that hope is here.”
She nodded as Leon lost his temper saying “Let her go! Get your hands off her!” he was pulling feebly at her shoulder. I had her attention, a little captivated for a moment; “tell the others that it will be alright, he won’t milk you much longer.” She nodded as if in a trance. She couldn’t believe it, what I was saying and hoped it would be true. It was clear others had been brought there and they never came out.
Barlow rose from his cot, like a grumpy fat caricature of a baby; he lost his temper and shouted at Leon. “You know you’re not ‘sposed to interact with the prisoners without me!” He yawned; we all could smell his breath and general odour. “Next time you fuck up like that, I will have your arse again. Remember last time,” an awful smile formed on his face, he licked his lips and he winked at Leon. No words were uttered and Leon shuffled about with Alicia and they got out of there, fast.
I was busting to take a morning piss and dump and, despite the feeling of urgency, I took the tray deep into my cell. The fat bastard Barlow looked hungry and I didn’t want this bully to steal my proverbial school lunch. I needed every bit of sustenance, sleep and exercise that I could to recover and keep my health in order. “Focus on the good things Jesse,” I said to myself. I put my food down and squatted over the bucket and let rip. Barlow noticed and watched with a sick smile. Alicia had included a paper napkin, a nice large restaurant one that was used to its fullest in cleaning my rear. Barlow enjoyed the invasion of my privacy and looking at me in all my lack of dignity sitting there on a bucket. He looked on as an Aussie bloke would have looked at a pretty girl in a bikini on a beach. “Look away Barlow, you sick fuck. What are you gay or something?” I said. At that, being called out for what he was, a closet homosexual, Barlow looked away and was embarrassed. “I’m no sissy,” Barlow said, getting to his own breakfast of fried preserved ham and some breakfast cereal. I had found a chink in his armour. After rising from the bucket of filth and cleaning myself I said, “I don’t care that you’re gay Barlow, it’s the sick part that I hate.” I smiled at my jailer and, to my surprise he sheepishly smiled back.
I washed my hands with a hotel soap that Alicia had included on the tray and looked into the metal mirror at myself. “Less bruised and swollen today Jesse; things can only get better.” They would but that isn’t hard when you are devastated by grief, wounded and the prisoner of monsters. So things would get better from there but there was a struggle yet to be had, an epic battle for our freedom. Not everyone would make it, they never did.
Breakfast: I enjoyed every morsel of it. Every little bit of jelly off the meat and every crumb and lick of milk. My bottle of water was drunk to the last drop. I kept it to refill at the tap and I kept my plastic fork as well. My survival skills and being a maximiser of the world around me even helped in there.
Leon returned with a box of odd parts for Barlow and to take my tray and bucket. He said nothing as the almost full bucket sloshed about and stunk of the sewage it was. Barlow watched Leon spill a little on himself and laughed. Barlow rummaged through the box of new odds and ends and began to repair parts of various important things that kept the Rock and its various systems going. Another bucket was provided and a snack. I felt like I was on an airline! “Penfould Air: the world’s worst hospitality and all-smoking sections.” I amused myself to pass the hours.
With daylight and breakfast in my stomach, things were looking up. I made a point of looking at the blue sky and white clouds and it lifted my spirits. Barlow glanced over at me now and again but he was largely busy with his repair work. He only left the room a few times that morning
I began familiarise myself with the room, without Barlow watching what I scanned and focused on. Speaking of watching Barlow was a pervert and deviant, for sure. He had pictures of bondage and discipline, and “scenes” which included men in leathers with whips and chaps dominating. I realised he gazed at the men in these pictures, not the women at all. He had had something going with Leon or perhaps had raped the subservient man. Whatever the case, he was part of the machinery of the Rock and I had to take him out of action. I would use this intelligence to escape and deal with the Doc and his cohort of freaks.
The room had shelves and crates everywhere with parts of all sort of things, plumbing, circuits, motors and tools, knives and ammunition. There was a cage for guns that was looking pretty thin; 5 left. I spotted my knives amongst the collection and Old Man sat proudly in the gun-cage, waiting for my hands to scoop him up and dish out some justice. Seeing my kit raised my spirits and I felt like I wasn’t alone with artefacts from my family somehow imbued with their experiences, achievements and character. The connection to my things made me stronger.
Lunch was baked beans and tinned vegetables; delicious when you are starving. I got to doing some “weights” with my bucket filled with water and a range of self-weights like push-ups and chin-ups on some brackets that had once borne shelves. Some lunges and sit-ups rounded out the workout a little more. Exercise felt good.
The day passed slowly and Barlow threw a book in for me to have a look through. It was a book about medieval kings, battles and maidens. “My stepdad gave me this when he wasn’t giving me his belt or his-“Barlow stopped short and wandered off. It seems torture had turned to hospitality given my acceptance of Barlow being what he was. It didn’t change their ultimate fate, but in the many hours of contemplation in that cell, I realised that the people in charge at the Rock were people that had become monsters at the abuse of others. I had never suffered such things in childhood or formative years. I pitied these warped, traumatised and abused oppressors in some way. Sure, I had bad experiences but I was never betrayed by people who should have cared for me. I was sure that was the ultimate betrayal and would have been part of all of their sad stories. The zombie apocalypse had been their catalyst to draw on whatever sickness was inside.
“What they must have gone through to end up what they were?” I asked myself during those boring moments where I had nothing else to do but think. My mission in life was to make what was left of the world a better place, I knew that then. I vowed that I would do my utmost to nurture innocence and help the human race walk on, without such evils and depravities. The zombies were bad enough; people had a choice in how they behaved.
“Maeve, Xavier, Barlow, Penfould,” I shook my head. “Children who were never cared for properly; never again if I can help it.”
To my surprise, I slept through the next night without any interference. It was the best, most restorative sleep I had enjoyed since I was with Jen. The Doc was nowhere to be seen and I was feeling better and more recovered with the adequate food and exercise. I was in need of a good walk and some cardio, but things could have been far worse. I kept looking out at the sky and taking in what was natural in the world. My unnatural, cramped conditions were still a window onto freedom.
The next couple of days were uneventful and it was like I was on “repeat” like a music playlist. On day four, I awoke with Barlow’s piggy eyes looking at me. His legs were wide and arms were folded. “Wake up sleeping beauty,” he smiled at me. “Morning mate,” I said and looked up at his with a half-smile. I tried to keep him pleased so as not to fall foul of his torture and dehumanising techniques. The routine that day was largely the same. Leon came to feed us and take out the filth. Repairs were made, but this time, Elsom came in with his assault rifle. I watched them and listened and it was clear what was going on. “Barlow, this gun is a fair bit off mate,” Elsom said, pointing at the receiver. “Shoots fine at targets one week and not in practice the next.” Elsom was a little angered and it was as though Barlow was the focus of his mild annoyance and anger. He was a soldier an
d apparently a bit of a perfectionist. The gun was an AR-15, the same action as the military M-16, M-4 and other variants. I had only once fired such a weapon on a trip to Las Vegas. It was at a gun store that housed almost every manner of weapon from World War 2 onwards. The AR-15’s were intoxicating with a rate of fire that was like a machine gun but without the weight or heavy supporting equipment like bipods or belt ammo in heavy boxes. The AR-15’s were notoriously reliable and I was intrigued as to what the trouble was. “I think it is just fine,” Barlow gave it a look over, stripped it with a soldier’s quickness and squinted through its sights. “I’m getting a really loose group when I’m returning fire,” Elsom continued. “Returning fire?!” I thought, “Who are they fighting?” I realised the Doc and his crew had been killing people, survivors like me. Firing back also implied someone had been shooting at them. “Soldiers?” I thought to myself. The conversation continued and I listened intently.
“Else; it’s called nerves mate. You ever been under fire before or have you always shot on exercise or at the range?” the question was like a Sergeant to a Private. Not far from the mark in reality. “Up until recently, just ranges and on bivouac. Never had to shoot at people, y’know, kill pe-” Elsom looked a little embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah- calm yourself. Your heart rate and lungs tend to go hard when you are scared, under duress and under fire,” Barlow said. “You’ll get used to it, the killing too.” Barlow winked at Elsom who was not only embarrassed but now uncomfortable. “Right-e-o,” Elsom said. “You sure it’s not the ammo or sumthin’?” Barlow shook his head. “I’m still giving you factory loads mate, still in the box and well stored.” Barlow looked at him frankly and Elsom dropped his head and his eyes and looked at me for something. I piped up: “Who are you fighting?” Elsom regarded me with a mild scowl and looked at Barlow who nodded, “A couple of survivors like him. Some old army and gangs. First we’ve seen for a while. Now we’ve got his blood, we will kill them all. No need for ‘em. ” Elsom glared at me and smiled to Barlow and they high-fived each other. “Where did they come from, what direction?” I asked, wanting to know more; survivors! “We think from Canberra way,” Elsom answered obliquely, to shut me up. He turned his back on me to focus on Barlow. I asked other questions but was ignored; “Who were they?”, “Why did you need to kill them”. I realised that the Doc had no intention of curing anyone or letting anyone go; he didn’t want to take people in that were independent. He wanted only slavery and exploitation. I suspected as much but Elsom, in his naivety, had confirmed this unequivocally.
“We lost two from Squad 4 in the scuffle.” Elsom looked down and shook his head. I noted the loss was more than they could handle; their last squad now a half squad. The Rock was indeed falling apart.
My plan was working. What I didn’t know is that we would all have a common enemy. We would need to face that enemy together. The loss of the Doc’s people meant a human loss in the simple battle of zombies versus humans. The Rock, then and there, was a simple microcosm of what the world had been playing and replaying since the dawn of humanity. There was a time for peace and a time for struggle. That was a time where good folk could not sit back and allow injustice to continue. I was going to lead the good people of the Rock against a tyrant.
I pondered these thoughts, ate, recovered and read the book; Herman Melville’s classic, Moby Dick. I had been reading that book while in captivity; the parallels to my situation were uncanny. We had a mad leader hell-bent on something that was unclear, perhaps mythical or without end. Similarly, the underlined passages which I had noted Barlow had made in the book were of the main character and his tribal friend sharing a bed; two men with a bond. The ink looked fresh enough and I realised Barlow was sending a message to me. We could be a team, he and I. I felt the nape of my neck chill and rise with goose-bumps at the thought. I knew I was being “cared for” by my jailer and it would only be a matter of time before he would try to make me his bitch. The underlined passage with the short note stating “Jesse - think about it” confirmed my worst fears. I would have to act quickly.
But the Doc had plans of his own. Instead of a full week, the dinner I was going to have with the Doc was brought forward. That night the Doc wanted to dine with me again. It was a subdued affair with vegetarian pasta. It was a demonstration that supplies were low and the sumptuous meals of yore, scavenged by desperate folks and criminals of Cooleman, were gone. Sam was there too and said very little at the start. She smiled at me and watched me as though taking in a movie or some other curiosity. I can only imagine what living in that captivity for a protracted period must have been like for Sam and the others in the Pen. I would have found myself curious too.
We had Elsom looking over us that night and I noted he would be a harder guard to fight than Rob. Elsom double-anchored me to chair and table and watched us like a hawk. Any comment out of line and he threatened the butt of his beloved AR-15. The Doc too had been subdued. His usual jokes were muted as were his attempts at benevolent dictatorship. The conversation was nothing until we finished the main course which was as bland and unmemorable as the conversation. Rob joined us as second guard and the Doc seemed to feel the need to find out more about me and find something to humiliate me with. He was ready to reassert himself and see if my week of captivity had softened me up. To the contrary, I had healed well and fast and I was steely again.
As he sipped on an ornate Port sipper with his fat, dry lips, Penfould smirked. “A bit quiet tonight eh Jesse?” he smirked. “I’m just fine.” I answered simply. It wasn’t enough and the Doc kept prodding. “So what did you do before the zombies? Services industry perhaps? Food or courier type work?” The belittling and presumptuous condescension continued. “No, I was an account executive for an IT company. Cloud computing architectures and data management were my specialties.” I responded truthfully. “Specialties?! A dodgey salesman! Ha!” Penfould began packing his pipe with his clumsy hands and jerked as Sam opened her mouth. “My legal firm implemented cloud computing back in 2017. It was when the government outsourced public prosecutions,” she sipped her Champagne and kicked her crossed legs in a sort of jiggle. The conversation was exciting for her. “I was a very young grad back then and project managed a world-wide legal database. It was just a small business but a good firm and a place with opportunities to shine. Case-ED-Base, it was called. A big success,” She sipped her wine and smiled at me, revealing she was far more than a subservient trophy wife as the Doc would have people believe. The Doc made a snicker, scoffing at her comment and I knew I had to keep it going. “I know it well,” I said. “I was there for the latter implementation which included case-file sharing and the analysis of social networks and data matching services.” I nodded and smiled at her. I had hated my job in some ways but was proud of it and some of the achievements too. “Hard work but we federated so many data sources and enabled flat data, files, databases, voice recordings, images and all sorts of sources for the legal community to draw on. It was important work that I’m proud to have been part of.” I returned happily. “It helped people zero in on criminals and prosecute them fairly but without mercy,” I said looking to Penfould with a steely gaze.
Penfould was getting uncomfortable; attention was off him and Sam was getting interested in something and someone else and was not her usual subservient self. “Those case management capabilities helped me in my prosecutions work as I became more senior in our firm. I used it to full advantage and I think it was part of me differentiating myself with others trying to climb the ladder as well. Thanks for your work on that” She lifted her glass at me jovially and took a sip. Sam was animated and like a different person. Sam was happy in that moment; a career woman talking about things in her successful career again. I felt really pleased I ould help her feel that again; liberated from the Doc even if just for a moment.
The conversation continued and the fat miserable toad looked on as his control and subjugation was wearing off. “Case Eddy, as we called it, helped so much.
We could find if defendants were lying about things and who they were personally connected to,” she went on, telling the room, not just me. I could see even Rob and Elsom were interested. “Having the extra information was great, Jesse. It helped us build our cases and lots of straw men we could push over. We even helped the police crack open other cases that had gone cold. We found bad guys in our spare time analysing that data.” She was excited and clearly had loved her work from before. They were her glory days and like a ray of hope, she could feel them again. Feeling like the proverbial straw man himself, Penfould piped up. “Sounds like a glorified website to me. They’ve been around since 2000.” He said. Just when I was unsure my influence was having an effect, something miraculous happened. Sam contradicted the Doc. “Actually websites were around in the 1990s.” the comment was swift and savage in its effect and we all knew what it meant; the reign of the Doc at the Rock was ending.
Back from normality and the world of zombies and horror and depravity, the Doc had to bring the conversation down to his world of filth again.
“Getting much sleep or has Barlow been on your rear?” his smirk turned into a laugh and guffaw and thigh-slap that no-one else joined in or smirked at. I had made good progress that night and it was another opportunity to erode his power base. I would make a gamble. Instead of saying nothing and being subdued, I would tell how good it has been as I had been good to Barlow. “Barlow is actually an alright bloke,” I said sipping on a rarity; pineapple juice that had survived the Great Change in a tin. The Doc’s smug demeanour darkened as I continued. “After the initial nastiness that was childish and ineffective, the water and floodlights and so on, he realised I was not there to cause trouble.” I drank the rest of my glass, knowing I was about to get ousted from this audience. “He’s even given me a copy of Moby Dick to read.” The Doc smirked and could not resist the opportunity, “Oh, I bet he did give you his Moby Dick! Hah!” Everyone in the room, me included, either cracked a smirk or laughed out loud. That was probably one of the Doc’s best jokes to date. “No, no,” I blushed. “The book Kian, the book,” everyone was getting themselves back together from the joke. But the Doc was now in a dark mood and he was raining and reigning over our little freedom parade at his dinner. “Why do you insist on calling me Kian?” the Doc was now angry; from humour to anger so quickly was indeed the sign of someone so unstable in an unstable situation of his creation. “Well that is your name isn’t it? Dr Kian Pen-fowled? A Vietnamese-Australian who grew up in Western Sydney?” That was it. I had lit the petrol. “Get this ungrateful wretch out of here! He shows no manners and lies-LIES!” Penfould was angry. He whispered some orders to Elsom, who nodded like a good soldier, and marched me back to the brig.