“Bet your arms feel like they’re made of putty,” he said, his voice raised above the spray.
“Yeah. What were we doing in there anyway? I never heard of guards encouraging their prisoners to tunnel through the walls before.”
“Well, most prison walls aren’t several miles thick,” he replied, wiping water from his eyes and spitting red. “We’re carving out new rooms. We chipped out this very room here, stone by stone. Took three years. Before then we washed in our cells. Buckets and sponges. Like some shantytown.”
I tried whistling to demonstrate how impressed I was at the sheer size of the room, but all that came out of my wet lips was a bubbly farting sound.
“To be honest, though,” he went on, “I think they just make us hammer away for a few hours every day so we’re exhausted. It gets something out of our systems. Knackered inmates are a lot easier to control than pumped-up ones.” He paused for thought. “And sometimes there are cave-ins, like in Room Two the other week. And dead inmates are even easier to control, if you follow me.”
I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but given what I already knew about Furnace, I was guessing that he was deadly serious. I gave my hair a quick rinse just as the showers shut off, and we all marched back across the room. While we’d been washing, someone had taken away our dirty clothes and there was a pile of new uniforms, underwear, and paper shoes by the door. Donovan slapped his way past several pink, shivering bodies and scrambled into his duds, but I was happy to wait. It’s not like there was a variety of sizes and colors—the jumpsuit I eventually put on hung off me with the same disregard for my body shape as the last one.
We traipsed back out into the yard, which was a flurry of activity as the various groups of workers returned from their jobs. It was weird, but as we crossed over to the trough room I actually started to feel like I was getting into the swing of Furnace. This place was dangerous, yes, but there was a routine here that was almost comforting. Sleep, work, and relax; sleep, work, and relax. The system was like a heartbeat that kept us all functioning, a rhythm that made me feel like maybe things wouldn’t be so bad here.
Of course, it was right at that very moment that all hell broke loose.
SKULL FODDER
DONOVAN AND I ENTERED the trough room to the sound of jeering. At first I couldn’t pinpoint precisely where it was coming from above the general chatter—the hall was half full of inmates who had obviously beaten us to the showers, their cheeks glowing above starched collars. As we strolled across the floor, however, it became clear that the noise was emanating from behind the canteen.
Four Skulls were standing on the other side of the counter, each wearing the trademark black bandanna. Two of the kids were dishing out bowls of slop to the huddle of waiting inmates, but the others were looking at something at their feet, something hidden behind the stainless steel canteen counters. From the way they moved, it looked like they were kicking out at whatever it was, and the evil glint in their eyes stripped my appetite away in seconds.
I couldn’t face getting any closer to the Skulls, so I let Donovan go ahead while I scanned the hall for a familiar face. Zee was sitting on his own in the middle of the room, poking his slop forlornly with a spoon. I walked over to the other side of his bench, doing my best to ignore the pain in my legs as I sat down. He barely even raised his head to acknowledge me, and his expression told me something terrible had happened.
“Something terrible has happened!” he said when I uttered my thoughts out loud. “Y’know, I thought I could take it here, put up with anything they threw at me until I found a way out. But I just don’t know anymore.”
“Did someone attack you?” I asked, alarmed. “The blacksuits? The Skulls?”
He shook his head, then looked up at me as if about to reveal the most shameful secret of all time.
“They made me clean the toilets, Alex,” he whispered. “Every single bowl on the first level. That’s nearly one hundred crappers, for your information, most of which still had evidence of . . .” He looked like he was about to gag. “I’ve had a shower but I can still smell it on me.”
I did my best to hold it in but I couldn’t help myself. The laugh bubbled up from deep inside me like a fountain, and I howled so loudly that practically the entire hall turned and scowled in my direction. It was a good few seconds before I managed to plug it, but by that time Zee was struggling to maintain his mask of distaste. The lines around his eyes eventually relaxed and his face opened up like a flower.
“I thought you’d been in a fight or something,” I said, his grin letting me know it was safe to go on. “You looked like you were about to jump.”
“Well, let’s see how you feel when you’re cleaning someone else’s crap out of your fingernails,” came his response.
The jeering was still ongoing from the far side of the room, but I couldn’t face turning around to see what was happening. Instead, I asked Zee.
“Some poor kid,” he answered. “They’ve had him pinned to the floor for the last quarter of an hour. As far as I can tell, they’re making him lick up anything they drop. It’s horrible, but what can you do?” He looked sheepishly at his lunch. “I mean, better him than us, right?”
Luckily I was saved from having to answer as Donovan crashed down onto the bench beside me and tucked into a massive bowl of slop.
“How was your first morning?” he asked Zee as he chewed. “What job you get?”
“The Stink,” he hissed.
Donovan pulled a face that was half grimace, half grin. “Tough break for a new fish. Still, we all gotta do it.”
“Well next time you do it, can you try to miss the seat?”
This time we all laughed, but it was short-lived. I heard a crunch behind me and a peal of ugly laughter. Beneath it all was a quiet sob that seemed to claw its way into my chest and burrow right inside my heart.
“Did you see who it was?” I asked Donovan. He was lifting a spoonful of food to his mouth and paused to consider the question.
“No one you know, kiddo,” he said eventually. But his hesitation had already given away too much.
“It’s Montgomery, isn’t it?” I said. Donovan let the spoon fall to his dish and nodded. “Christ, I saw him in his cell this morning. Kevin made him sleep on the floor, as far as I could see. They’re going to kill him at this rate.”
Both Donovan and Zee were staring at the table like there was an escape plan written on it.
“This place is full of unwritten rules,” whispered Donovan without looking up. “There always has to be someone to take the punches. That’s how it works. It isn’t fair, it isn’t right, but that kid licking slop off the floor over there means that we get to eat in peace. If there was no scapegoat then we’d all be in danger, if you fol—”
“I follow you,” I barked. My anger surprised me; it didn’t make any sense. Back in school Toby and I had always picked on the weaker kids, guys just like Montgomery. They didn’t fight back, they didn’t argue, they gave you what you wanted, then went and cried in the corner. I wasn’t sure why I felt such a burning anger inside me at the thought of Montgomery getting picked on now, such rage at the idea that nobody was going to help him. “So we just leave him until he can’t go on anymore then hope the next scapegoat isn’t one of us, right?”
“Listen,” spat Donovan, his fraying temper obvious from the way he glared at his bowl. “You’ve been here one day and you think you can change things. I’ve been here five years and I know how the system works. You try to be a hero then you’ll get a shank in the back, you try to help that kid then tomorrow it’s gonna be you both licking crap off the floor. Let me know if you’re going to do something stupid, kid, ’cause I’ll ditch you like that.” He snapped his fingers.
The thin, wet cry from the canteen had coated Donovan’s every word, leaving me with a gut-wrenching mixture of frustration and fury and fear. I couldn’t work out which emotion was which, they all sat like unwanted guests in the pit of my s
tomach. I looked at Zee but he still wouldn’t meet my eyes. I called his name, gently, and he raised his head like it was made of stone.
“I want to help him, but . . .” He trailed off. “If this was at school, y’know, I’d do what I could. But we’re a long way from the playground.”
The moan behind me changed pitch into a shriek and this time I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over my shoulder and saw one of the Skulls grinding his foot down while the other flicked slop from a ladle onto the unseen figure below.
“What about the guards?” I asked. “Surely they don’t allow this.”
“They don’t care,” said Donovan. “Nobody cares. You shouldn’t either.”
But I did. Every fiber of my body wanted to step in and help, and every fiber of my body wanted to stay on that bench and forget it was happening. I thought that any minute I’d literally be torn in two, reduced to a quivering, bloody mess on the canteen floor.
It was the smallest of things that made up my mind. One of the Skulls looked up at his friend and flashed him a wicked smile. It was an expression I knew well, I’d worn it a thousand times at school after getting a good haul. Looking at it now was like staring into a mirror, seeing a side of myself full of greed and treachery and violence and without a shred of compassion. I hated myself right then, and the overpowering feeling brought a red shadow down over my thoughts, blotting out any rational argument.
Before I even knew what I was doing I was out of my seat, ignoring the protests from Donovan and Zee. My blind rage drove me across that room like a bulldozer. I pushed straight past the inmates still waiting to be served and jumped onto the counter. Everything was in slow motion and strangely distorted, like I was watching it through water. I saw two faces right before me, looking up in shock. The other Skulls hadn’t even noticed, they were too busy tormenting the round, sobbing figure beneath their feet.
Then, as if the whole world had been holding its breath and finally decided to gulp down some air, time snapped back to normal. With a scream I kicked out hard with my right foot. Years of playing soccer paid off as my paper shoe connected with the face of the first Skull and, with a crack that might have been his nose or my toe breaking, his head jerked backward and he crumpled to the floor.
I tried to direct a second kick but the Skull was quicker, grabbing my foot and pulling me off balance. I half jumped, half fell, and by some miracle of chance tumbled off the canteen serving counter right on top of him. He hit the ground hard and I landed knee-first in the center of his chest, crushing his lungs. Momentum carried me forward and I crashed into the wall behind the canteen, stars exploding in my vision.
Panicking that somebody would stab me in the back, I whipped my body around, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth stone. The other two Skulls were charging at me, and I had to duck as the ladle flew past my ear, showering me with gunk. I had never been in a full-on fight like this and I had no idea what to do next. Fortunately adrenaline was making me act without thinking, and I threw myself at the kid who’d just swung the ladle. The move was half punch, half jump, and missed entirely. Denied contact, my flailing arms shot out. I lost my balance again and I staggered straight into an oncoming fist.
I’d always thought that getting punched would be painful, but it isn’t. Not at the moment of impact, anyway. It’s like your body switches off its senses during a fight to stop you getting overloaded. You hear a wet thump, and for a moment your world spins, but there is no pain. The absence of sensation caught me by surprise, and suddenly I felt like a superman—unbeatable, impervious to everything.
I angled my head to the side to avoid the next punch that came in, then planted my palms in the middle of the Skull’s chest and shoved with all my might. He tripped on the still prone body of Montgomery and almost did a backflip before tumbling earthward. I detected movement in the corner of my eye and ducked instinctively, the ladle skimming over my head. I swung an elbow in the direction of the attack and felt it connect. The Skull whose cheekbone I’d just fractured yelped before slumping back against the canteen.
I grabbed his collar with my left hand and with my right started to pound him. They weren’t hammer blows by any stretch of the imagination, but they came hard and fast, and after three or four he was bruised, bloody, and bleating through his split lips. He looked at me with real fear in his eyes, and I tried to picture what my expression must look like. The word demonic sprang to mind.
But then his bloody mouth twisted into a smile and I suddenly realized things had taken a turn for the worse.
I felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around my chest, pinning my arms. I thrashed from side to side but it was no good, the Skull had me locked tight and I was powerless to defend myself as the kid in front started throwing punches of his own. He was much better at it than I was, and each strike made my world fade closer to black. There was still no pain, but there was something worse—a creeping numbness that was spreading through my body, and the unmistakable, terrifying sensation that I was being seriously damaged.
I put my final reserves of energy into a last bid for escape, and managed to push back with my legs. I and the kid holding me collapsed to the ground as one, but he still didn’t let go. I looked up to see the guy who’d been thumping me and the Skull I’d winded. Both were advancing like lions on a wounded gazelle, with nothing but murder in their eyes.
All this had taken place in less than a minute, but the trough room was almost deserted. From the angle I was lying in I could see past the canteen, and watched as the last few people hurried from the hall. Only one figure remained, and for a second, hope flared as I pictured Donovan coming to help. But he simply shook his head at me, turned, and walked toward the yard. Even Montgomery had struggled to his feet and was trotting off without so much as a backward glance.
The bloodlust inside me suddenly subsided, leaving me utterly alone. The adrenaline had escaped my veins, and it felt like it had left lead weights in its place. Even without the guy beneath me and his bear hug I still don’t think I would have had the energy to move a muscle. My fearless expression had deserted me too, and I could do nothing but stare at the predators before me with wide eyes and a trembling jaw.
The two Skulls knelt down beside me and, to my horror, one of them slid something from his belt. It was a wooden spoon, but the handle had been filed down to a deadly point. He waved it in front of my face.
“Gonna pay for that, new fish,” he said, his breathing still labored from where I’d landed on his chest. “Gonna be the shortest stay in Furnace of all time.”
“Quick,” said his friend, wiping the blood from his lip. “Siren gonna go off any time. Lockdown.”
“This creep doesn’t deserve a quick death,” the first Skull hissed, raising his weapon above my stomach. “Gonna bleed you.”
I closed my eyes and prayed that this wouldn’t hurt too much. At that moment I didn’t even care about dying, I just didn’t want to feel any pain. I tried to relax my muscles and picture myself somewhere else—on the beach with my family, basking on the hot sand and cocooned by the sound and smell of the ocean.
But the illusion was shattered by a roar. I thought at first that it was the Skull screaming as he plunged the shank into my guts, but when my stomach remained intact I opened my eyes to see a blurred shape flying past and my attacker reeling backward. The shape stopped and swiveled, bringing something hard down onto the head of the other Skull. The tray made a satisfying crack as it hit, and behind it I saw Zee’s face.
“I’m not doing this,” he said as he kicked the kid beneath me in the ribs. The figure writhed and his arms loosened, letting me wriggle my way free. “I’m not doing this. I’m not doing this.”
Past the roar of blood in my ears I heard the sound of a siren, and knew that lockdown was imminent.
“Run,” Zee shouted, throwing the tray to the floor with a crash and grabbing my sleeve. We careened across the trough room, leaping onto the tables to avoid the scattered benches and rem
ains of lunch. I tried to remember what Donovan had said about lockdown, about how long the siren sounded before the cells were sealed. Was it a minute? Thirty seconds?
We emerged into the yard to find it free of people but full of noise. From the hundreds of cells that lined the hall came shouts and cheers and whoops and whistles, all directed at us as we ran for the stairs.
But we weren’t going to make it. Halfway across the yard I heard the rattle of the cells shutting tight, followed by the hiss of pneumatics that signaled the vault door opening. I should never have stopped running, but I did. Fear and morbid curiosity forced me to a halt, made me watch in horror as the massive portal swung open and the dogs bounded out.
HELL HOUNDS
REMEMBER I TOLD YOU I’d run from worse things in my life than the cops? Well, this was one of those occasions. They burst from the shadows like hounds from hell, sent by the devil to tear sinners to pieces and drag their screaming souls back to the underworld. The sheer power of their twisted bodies was betrayed by their lack of skin, their exposed muscles and tendons flexing and glistening in the unforgiving light of Furnace as they came to a halt in the middle of the yard.
Worst of all were their eyes—two emotionless silver pennies that shone from their wet faces, scanning the ground and eventually fixing on me. I stared back, lost in the twin moons of each creature, the glare an invisible fishing line that hooked itself into my eyes and stopped me from running. For a moment, nobody moved. But then one of the hounds raised its head and unleashed a howl—a sickening noise that sounded like the screams of a dying man—and they charged.
“Come on,” I heard Zee shout, grabbing my shoulder. I turned and bolted after him as he made for the nearest staircase, hearing the dogs scream again as they closed in for the kill, hearing the noise in the surrounding cells reach a crescendo as the inmates settled in for the show.
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