Killswitch Chronicles- The Complete Anthology

by G. R. Carter

  Salvatore Morano of the Diamante crime family laughed at the man who had uttered the outburst. “You stupid White Sheets wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if your Russian buddies weren’t there to show you.”

  “Why you bring my Rus into this?” Semyon Mogilevich said in a thick accent that belied his thorough understanding of how 21st-century America worked. “Stupid Nazi type like Little Adolph here give us bad name. We work with all you animals, not just pale ones.”

  A bald man, known as Little Adolph to his very limited friends, gave a wolf like grin. The creases on his face didn’t match the blue-ink spider webs that spread from below his gray jumpsuit all the way up to the top of his head. The whole package gave him a terrifying look, a real-life monster to anyone he ran into on the street. But with consecutive life sentences stacked so high nobody knew for sure how long he had left to serve, Little Adolph would never see the street in his natural life. “Russkies, Greasers, Blackies and Beaners…what a mess this place is.”

  “Shut your pie hole, Adolph,” Lewis said. “We got work to do here. There’s a problem and you brain surgeons need to keep a lid on your people until it gets figured out.”

  The table got quiet. Very seldom were the heads of the Five Tribes summoned together. When the warden needed to tell them something, it was usually Lewis or Morton delivering the message in private. This was different and they all knew it.

  Lewis continued. “If you’ve been too busy playing house with your wives to notice, the generator is currently the only thing keeping the lights on right now. That’s because the electrical grid is down. I’m sure you’ve all noticed the prison phones aren’t working either. So I’m sorry to say, you are officially cut off from the outside world for the foreseeable future.”

  The groans from around the table belied the fact that these same men still gave and received orders from members of their organizations outside the prison system.

  “Was wondering why home not answer,” Mogilevich snorted. “Was getting a little angry.”

  “When we gonna have service back? We got rights, you know,” Trevino said.

  Lewis shook his head. “I don’t want to hear the prison college law degree crap today, Angel. We got us a big ass problem if the grid doesn’t come back online. Our generator only stays running if we’ve got fuel for it. And that’s going to be running tight really soon.”

  Trevino was one of the brighter ones, likely genius level if anyone had ever bothered to test him or educate him as a youth. He whistled as the image of their home behind bars without electricity sank in. “You gotta plan, man?”

  “The warden’s working on it. And of course you can tell by the odor in the room that Sergeant Morton spent his morning pumping fuel by hand at one of the local fuel stations. He bought us another day at least.”

  “We can go back again tomorrow for more. But they’re only going to let us have a day’s worth at a time,” Morton confirmed.

  “Let’s just go take what we need. Why we gotta wait on a buncha hillbillies to tell us what we can do?” Dawley asked.

  “Because we’re still ruled by some sort of laws around here, Cha Cha,” Lewis shot back.

  Cha Cha laughed at him. “Come on man, I talked to your owners face-to-face. Jordan Inc. don’t care about no laws. They as mobbed up as old Silvio over there. Look at the money they makin’ here. Man, we the goods. And the goods ain’t happy with no electricity. Believe that.”

  “They’re not our owners, Cha Cha. They’re our employers. And in a way, they’re your employers, too. You keep your tribe in line, they keep you well paid and comfortable in here.”

  “That a threat, Mr. Big?”

  Lewis looked up from one of the documents he was scanning and sighed. “Yes.”

  Cha Cha wasn’t laughing anymore. “We outnumber you twenty to one in here. We decide we gonna take somethin’, it’s goin’ down.”

  “Even if you did, where are you going to go? You step one foot outside of these walls and the locals will happily gun you down,” Lewis warned.

  “We got them outnumbered too. Bunch of old-ass hillbillies,” Trevino growled.

  “And each one of those hillbillies has a firearms collection that would rival a small police force. They know how to use them, and a good many of them would kill you in cold blood and sleep perfectly fine tonight,” Lewis shot back.

  “Maybe not if we had you as a hostage, Mr. Big. That give us some leverage right there.”

  Morton had had enough. “That’s Captain Lewis to you, Dawley. I think he’s made it perfectly clear. Get in the warden’s car, or find another ride. Check?”

  Heads slowly nodded around the table. Lewis was no joke, but Red Morton was the true leader of the correctional officer’s union. Being cool with the Eels could make life a breeze inside. Mess with them, life could get real uncomfortable, really quick.

  Dawley gave his famous thousand-watt smile. “It’s cool, Sarge. I’s just messin’ with ya.”

  Lewis took back over. “Today’s not the day. I’m telling you, this could get serious in a hurry.”

  “So what you want us to do?” Mogilevich asked. “How we help the big boss lady?”

  Lewis slid a piece of paper in front of each leader and then gave one to Red. “I want you to make a list of anyone in your tribe who could cause you real trouble. I’m not looking for vics. I’m talking about someone who’ll try to rise up, settle a beef with another tribe, anything that can cause the yard to pop off if things get stressful.”

  “And then?”

  “And then you’re going to give me your word that if we need to X them out, you’ll do it. I don’t want any cross-tribe stuff. You’re the shot-callers here, you gotta handle your business,” Lewis said.

  Morton shifted in his seat. Lewis hadn’t run this by him before the meeting. What he was suggesting meant the COU would have to look the other way when a murder was going down. Not that it hadn’t happened before, but to sanction it prison-wide was a whole other issue.

  “And mine?” Morton asked.

  “Yours is a cross-reference. Call it checks and balances. You’ve got a good pulse of the yard. If one of the tribes is trying to pull something, you’ll sniff it out,” Lewis answered. Morton could feel the stares of the tribe leaders.

  He shrugged and nodded.

  Lewis continued. “This table will meet twice a day until the electricity is restored. The warden will brief me, I’ll brief you, and I expect all of you to properly mislead your tribes about the complexity of the situation.”

  “And if we don’t?” Little Adolph asked.

  “There’s always someone itching to be a shot-caller. Maybe your successor will be more cooperative,” Lewis said, stone-faced.

  “Good God, I think the old Captain Lewis is back,” Salvatore Romano said. “You shoulda seen him in the old days. A real head-crackin’ CO. Back before they had the fancy suits. He'd just wade into the middle of the yard, swingin' a big long wooden stick. Didn't care who got cracked. I see that look back in his eyes. Maybe he didn’t go too soft after all.”

  Lewis didn’t acknowledge the halfhearted compliment. “Any other questions? No? You know how to reach me if any serious comes up.” With a nod, the Eels against the walls took one step forward. They didn’t touch any of the tribe leaders; everyone knew the drill, and it was a bad look for them to be handled.

  Morton and Lewis stayed behind.

  “What else is my list for?” Morton said when everyone else was gone.

  Lewis looked at him in admiration. “You could have been Captain, Red. The way you see three steps ahead…” he didn't finish that thought, but answered Morton's question. “Any COU member who won’t be a team player. I don’t want to spend time and energy getting the tribes in line just to get undercut by some righteous do-gooder on staff,” Lewis said. He started digging through a stack of files. Some folders were labeled “Personnel,” some “Supplies.”

  Morton froze, unable to find the words. Lewis f
elt his discomfort and looked him in the eyes.

  “Good lord, Red, I’m not talking about killing them! I’m talking about letting them go. Think of it as a chance to get rid of some deadweight. In an emergency situation we don't have to go through all the HR stuff to fire people. Skip all the paperwork the HR department demands.”

  Relief washed over Morton. He chastised himself for letting the mind wander where it shouldn’t have.

  Lewis’ next words brought some of the tension back. “Anyone dragging their feet on Continuity Progressions should be on there, too.”

  “Come on, Pete,” Morton said. “You don’t buy into that cult BS, do you?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I believe. Jordan Inc. makes the rules. We just enforce them.”

  “They ban all chaplains, any prison ministries, wipe away anything having to do with religion…then they replace it with their own.”

  Lewis looked up from the files. “You deny that they’ve lowered the violence in this facility to nearly zero?”

  Morton shook his head. “I’m not. I don’t even care you’re making the prisoners do it. But the guards? Come on, Pete. What happened to freedom of religion?”

  Lewis snorted. “Should be freedom from religion. And besides, the guards have the freedom to quit if they don’t like the rules.” His look made the implication clear.

  Morton threw up his hands. “Okay, alright, I’ll do what you ask.”

  Lewis slapped him on the back. “We’re survivors, Red, you and me. We do what's necessary to make it through one more day in this jungle. We slip just a little and those animals,” he pointed to the door where the tribe shot-callers walked out, “will eat us alive. The COU has got to stick together. Especially now.”

  Shelbyville

  The Fourth Day

  Phil Hamilton hefted a case of bottled water into the backseat of his battered old truck. He checked his shotgun, patted his vest pocket to make sure extra shells were still there, and then lay the gun on the dashboard. Paul was already seated, pale and fidgety. Phil tried not to look, to give the man the space he needed to get peace with the trip they were about to attempt.

  Delbert’s emergency radio emitted just static now, but the Homeland Security channel had reported widespread chaos before the announcer abruptly signed off. All over the country, and apparently the world, no one had any electricity. The cascading effects were burning civilization to the ground – in just a few short days.

  Phil thought about the danger, too. He was no superhero. And he was smart enough to know a few guys with hunting rifles wouldn’t be safe if things got bad enough.

  Resolve to complete the task at hand, to find the parts and supplies they needed to keep Shelbyville’s lights and heat on, kept the fear at bay. He looked towards the other two trucks in his little convoy. Bob Ford and Delbert Kuhn stood off to the side. Each wanted to the make the trip, but Phil somehow managed to talk them out of it. Another glance into the backseat of his truck; that’s where Delbert’s stash of silver coins was hidden – stuffed up underneath in the padding. Dalton Cornin and his bank refused to loan any paper money for them to buy their supplies, so Delbert was going all in with his precious metals.

  Bob and Delbert gave final instructions to the two teams about to climb in the other trucks. Then they made their way over to their protégé. “You locked and loaded, Phil?” Delbert asked. It took Phil a moment to reply, trying to remember the last time either had called him by his real name instead of one of their many nicknames for him. Phil felt the seriousness of the moment creep in.

  “I’ll let you know in a couple of hours,” Phil replied. “Any more reports on the radio?”

  Bob and Delbert both looked at each other and gave a subtle shake of their heads. Either they were lying, or they didn’t think they should burden Phil anymore with what they’d found out.

  “He gonna be okay?” Delbert asked and gave a nod towards where Paul sat.

  “He’ll be fine,” Phil lied. “The unknown is the worst. Once we get to town, get his mind focused on the task, he’ll come around.”

  Neither Wizard looked convinced, then something caught Delbert’s attention. The older man’s face went flush, his demeanor shifted from concern to contempt. “Olsen, I swear, if you try and stop these trucks…” he growled.

  Phil turned to see the sheriff marching towards them. Dalton Cornin was right behind, trying to keep up with the lawman’s big strides.

  “Where you fellas headed?” Olsen asked, ignoring Delbert’s glare.

  “Decatur,” Phil answered calmly. He was going, regardless of what Olsen said. But he wasn’t sure Paul would feel the same way, and he really needed the man’s expertise.

  Cornin had finally caught up and stepped up into Phil’s face. “There’s a travel ban,” he said. “And a curfew until further notice.” Phil could smell the bitterness of Cornin’s breath he was so close.

  Phil took a step back and looked past Cornin to Olsen. “That true?”

  Olsen nodded. “That was the last communication we got on the Homeland Security channel.”

  “We didn’t hear that,” Delbert challenged. “The station just went dead.”

  “I’ve got a different one,” Olsen replied.

  With a huff, Delbert said, “Of course you do. Wouldn’t want the great unwashed masses to have all the information.”

  “See Hamilton, this is all unauthorized,” Cornin said. “So you can just forget about your little adventure. I imagine Sheriff Olsen will want to commandeer these vehicles, too. The town doesn’t have many that run, so we’ll need to use these for official business.”

  “Um, Cornin, you’re the bank president not the mayor. Or the sheriff. Or even the dog catcher. I’m pretty sure we won’t be taking orders from you any time soon, for anything,” Bob replied while holding an arm across Delbert’s chest so he couldn’t get at the banker. “In fact, the real mayor of this town is 100 percent behind our efforts.”

  “Mayor Horath doesn’t have jurisdiction over Greenstem. In fact, she doesn’t have jurisdiction over anything anymore. Tell them, Sheriff,” Cornin said with a twisted grin.

  Olsen looked uncomfortable. He adjusted his hat and sighed. “Martial Law,” was all he said.

  Everyone continued to stare at Olsen. They understood the term, but not the implication for themselves. The sheriff looked up. “Martial Law has been declared. That means a whole bunch of different things. According to the Homeland Security manual, we’re supposed to sit tight and wait for a Federal officer to give us further instructions.”

  Delbert huffed. “When’s that gonna be?” The question hung in the air. Even Cornin seemed to drift away into his own mind, considering the implications of the question. The breeze picked up again and brought a shiver.

  “Guess I need to find that out,” Olsen said softly. He looked at Phil. “Care for some company on your trip?”

  *****

  The first half hour was beyond uncomfortable. Neither man had taken the time to ever get to know the other. One was known by nearly every person in the county – at least the important people; the other wasn’t considered particularly important by anyone besides his close circle of family and friends. One was an establishment politician, the other considered to be an outsider, a sort of clean cut hippy content to live outside the mainstream. Both found themselves not know exactly what to say. Paul Kelley didn’t help, content to just stare out the window from the middle of the backseat.

  “I’m sorry the way Cornin treated you,” Olsen finally offered. He was riding shotgun, literally. He had his police issue 12 gauge cradled in his arm, barrel pointing out the open window. So far, the roads had been clear, without a soul in sight.

  “Not your fault. Besides, I’m kind of used to it,” Phil replied. “Guys like me aren’t real popular with the banker crowd.”

  Olsen smiled, a little sad it seemed to Phil. “Or the government crowd,” Olsen said, still staring out the window, watching for any movement.
<
br />   “Aren’t they the same thing these days?” Phil asked.

  The sheriff’s smile faded. “We were coming to seize your farm, Phil. I got the order last week. Cornin knew about it. The bank was supposed to take possession and auction it off.”

  Phil’s heart sank. He’d known something was up at the cooperative meeting, the offhand comments Cornin made told him something was up, he just hadn’t known what.

  “I suppose wondering what I did wrong doesn’t really matter anymore does it,” he said, fighting tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t owe a dime to anyone. Don’t break any laws. Just try to live my life the way I choose.”

  Olsen’s eyes were off the road ahead now, he was looking out the side window, not wanting to face Phil. He thought he heard the lawman say something, but the whistling of the truck’s heater competing with the open window muffled the words.

  Anger welled up inside Phil. Days of tension tugged at his frayed nerves. He’d been concerned with ways to help save his hometown, his fellow citizens; even men like Dalton Cornin. To learn he’d been marked as a criminal by the country he loved cut as the ultimate betrayal. Not knowing what the charges even were told him the country he loved no longer existed. He brought his truck to a stop along the side of the road. The heater was still blowing full blast, but the warmth didn’t prevent him from shaking or his teeth from chattering. Emotions overcame his discretion. He couldn’t help but glare at the man in the passenger seat. “You know, there’s going to come a day when people like me don’t just lie down and take crap from your kind anymore.”

  Olsen’s face turned slowly to meet Phil’s. Muscles rippled under the hint of stubble on his cheek, and a vein in his neck bulged. “I’d suggest you don’t threaten me,” he said.

  “Why not?” Phil asked as his voice rose. “Because you take a paycheck from the government, you’ve got a right to take my property? Without so much as trial of my peers? Without even telling me what I did wrong? I’d call that trespassing, and yeah, I threaten trespassers.”