by Joseph Storm
“I thought you were toast...after being dragged out of that auditorium,” Tommy said.
“I would have been...though I knew someone had to come rescue your ass,” Gunner told him. “The last I remember...you said these guys were good for the country. Still feel that way now?”
“He’s still an asshole, I see,” Jerry interjected.
“Yeah...but a correct asshole,” Tommy responded. “I sold out the country for a free pay check...and now...I guess you can say I’m paying the price for it. Anyway, most of the boys are here, Mark, Jimmy brown eyes, Ray...and so on. They rounded up everyone who posed a threat to them...apparently ex-law enforcement and military were on the list. I hear there are concentration camps all over the country...at least that’s the rumor. Though...there are plenty of rumors around this place.”
“Is that what this is? A concentration camp?” Gunner asked.
“We don’t know what it is exactly...or what they want to do with us. I sure as hell don’t plan on finding out.”
“Do you have a plan?” Striker asked. “Or are you going to just ask permission?”
“Were you invited into this conversation?” Tommy asked. “I don’t remember inviting you.”
“This is Joe Striker. He’s a congressman...and a marine,” Gunner said.
“Well...which one is it?” Tommy asked. “Marines I respect. Congressman...I don’t.”
“These days...all I am is a pissed off American that wants his country back,” Striker said. “That...and I want to kill the sons of bitches that put us here.”
Tommy turned to the men in the bunk. “Make room, fellas. It appears we got some new allies,” he said.
Each member of the group jammed into the bunk. They were unable to shift position or risk getting crushed by a bunkmate.
Joe lay quiet, thinking of ways to escape the well guarded fortress. An important fact suddenly hit him. As ominous as it may have seemed, he finally found parts to make his plan operate. He had to get captured to find an army, though he would have to escape to give them a fighting chance.
******
The morning couldn’t have come soon enough. At the stroke of sunrise, a wailing, eerie alarm sounded through the air, calling everyone to work.
Men spilled from the bunks. Joe Striker went to urinate, seeing one public, shit stained toilet fully exposed to the room.
“I hope you don’t have to shit...ever,” Gunner said to him.
The men slowly headed out the doors, lining up in front of the barracks. Each one stood as straight as a human spine would allow.
Rock walked the line, calling out the numbers that were burned into their necks. If one man was late or missing, the entire group was punished. The system was called inventory check, as these men were not looked upon as human beings, but as tools.
Extensive records of each citizen were kept. Anyone who wasn’t registered for the government party, a military member, or law enforcement was rounded up. They were brought to separate camps all over the country.
It wasn’t only the administrations’ natural enemies who were collected. In fact, some of their allies were as well. Teachers, artists, musicians, actors, and authors were taken too. The camps consisted of anyone with an ability to raise arms or raise argument.
Next, they made their way to a makeshift food station. They all waited in line, as misery painted their faces. The prisoner’s wives were held on the other side of the camp, where the women were currently lining up for the same garbage breakfast. They were kept separate from the men. Each sex had their own side of the camp, as guards stood between them, armed to the teeth.
Joe Striker was handed a small bowl, and a small ladle of slop was dumped into it. The sad five-hundred calories of food consisted of Xavier’s imprisonment meal in the Hanoi Hilton. He made sure that they were treated the same. It was almost an obsession to him.
Joe and Gunner examined the disgusting food, smelling it, and pulling away from the putrid porridge.
“Death would taste better than this,” Gunner yelled, as he dumped it on the ground.
“So much for breakfast,” Striker said, joining Gunner.
Father Tyme ate the pasty goop, holding his nose, trying not to taste it. “Swallow...not chew,” he reminded himself.
“Father Tyme likes it,” Gunner announced. “All you need is some screw top wine...and it will be just like home, eh?”
“Son, if I told you some of the things I’ve eaten in my missionary work...you would think this was a four star meal.”
Robert Yale and Jonah Reed arrived with their food in hand. “This isn’t fit for animal consumption,” Robert said.
“It looks more like something my boy would throw up,” Jonah said, as he dumped his as well.
Tommy O’Brien stepped in. “You guys better eat up.”
“I’ll bet on lunch,” Gunner said. “It has to be better than this.”
“There is no lunch...however, it will be dinner. Get used to it,” Tommy said.
“Well...then I’ll starve.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Chow time is over! Get to work,” Rock yelled out, as he arrived on the scene.
“Work? What do we do exactly?” Striker asked.
“Whatever they tell us,” Tommy O’Brien answered.
All of a sudden, a voice shouted out. “What do you mean you ran out?” Rock yelled at the man dishing out the food.
“I’m sorry...I must have been too generous! It won’t happen again!”
“Generosity is the job of the government...not you!” he said, pulling out the Smith and Wesson revolver that he took from Joe. It was reloaded, blasting the food giver to pieces. That was the first example of how things were governed at the camp.
“Remind me never to piss that guy off,” Gunner said.
“You think he’s bad...imagine what his parents must be like. Real psychopaths,” Joe Striker interjected.
The men were taken outside the camp to a mountainside. They were handed pickaxes, and instructed to smash out the rock, mining for gems, rubies, and diamonds. The administration desperately needed the income that the labor unearthed, as prior taxes, revenue, and production dropped with the introduction of choking regulations and controlled commerce. No one had money to buy, as the life cycle of the economy completely stopped. It was the reason that the men were spared their lives, and not exterminated from the start.
Each of the newbies swung with all their might, still processing the willpower to exert their energy. Hours passed, and the cold sweat turned hot. Elderly Father Tyme collapsed to the ground.
Striker ran to help him up. The guard on duty yelled, “You don’t stop until you’re told to stop!” he poked Father Tyme with a long shock stick, which spit volts of cracking electricity from its end. The elderly Francis shook with pain, as Joe felt the volts pass through his body.
“He’s too old for this!” Striker yelled. “Give the man a break, at least!”
“We don’t give breaks here...but we will gladly break him,” the guard said, sparking Father Francis again.
He cried out, “Give me the strength, God.”
The guard let forth an even longer, and greater punishment. He said, “Any talk of God is treason against the government! Now get up before I finish you!”
The old man struggled to his feet, dropping back down in exhaustion.
The guard prepared a final electrocution, as Joe Striker darted in front of it. “Let me help him up! The more men...the more work gets done,” Striker said.
The guard paused in thought. “Hurry.”
Joe pulled Father Tyme to his feet, handing him the axe. “You can do this, father.”
Father Tyme went to swing the axe, falling again.
“That’s it,” the guard said, removing his gun.
“Ten packs to transfer him,” Tommy O’Brien shouted out.
“Ten? Let me see them,” the guard said.
“You know I’m good for it.”
“Let me get this straight...ten packs of cigarettes...for this old man’s sake? Are you sure you want to waste it? He won’t last long in here?”
“I’ll worry about that.”
“Fine, he’ll be transfered to rock clearing.”
“Something less physical...you’re in need of a new food man. How about it?”
“Fine...up on your feet old man,” the guard said, yanking Father Tyme up.
“Bless you,” the weak man said to Tommy, as he was exited from the area.
“Back to work!” the guard yelled, as the pickaxes started swinging again.
In that one moment, Joe Striker saw that as ruthless as the guards were, there was a way they could be bought.
******
The sun hung low in the air, as Becky Fox stretched herself out. Muscles ached that she never even knew existed.
“I broke a nail!” Stacey cried out.
“You might as well break the others in advance,” Becky said. “Because they’ll break soon enough on their own.”
Julie Reed broke down in tears at that moment. “I can’t do this...I miss my husband...my son,” she said, dropping the shovel on the ground. Luckily for her, the wailing alarm sounded in the air, indicating stop time.
“Line up!” A short haired, female guard named Lita VanDyke yelled out.
All the girls formed a line. Lita walked past each one, examining their dirty faces. “You,” she told a strong, tattoo-covered girl. She exhaled, taking a deep breath, and pounding her fist.
“What is that about?” Stacey asked.
“It can’t be good,” Becky responded.
Lita continued on. She examined Stacey closely, moving on to Becky, past Jane, and finally stopping at Julie Reed.
“You,” she said.
“What about me?” Julie asked scared.
“You’re chosen.”
“For what?”
“The entertainment.”
******
Night had fallen, as torches were lit, illuminating the camp. The food line immediately formed upon the mens’ return from work. A weak Father Tyme took his place at the food rashioner’s table, carefully distributing the amount as if his life depended on it.
Joe, Gunner, Robert, and Jonah sucked down the food. They followed Father Tyme’s advice to swallow, not chew. It wasn’t easy, as the little lumps of mystery sailed down their throats, taking a gamble on choking rather than tasting. As they reached the bowl’s bottom, they licked it clean, needing more to fuel their energy. The next time, they surely wouldn’t skip breakfast.
“I see you suddenly have a taste for bug stew,” Tommy said.
“Right now...I’d eat shit stew,” Gunner responded.
“After a while, it will taste like prime rib,” Tommy told him. “Anything will.”
“I appreciate what you did for my friend,” Joe said to Tommy. “He wouldn’t have made it out there.”
“Just like the force members were my brothers...we’re all brothers now. If one dies...we all die,” Tommy said, as Joe gained a true respect for him.
“You mind if I ask you something?” Joe Striker asked.
“Shoot,” Tommy told him.
“The cigarettes...where do you get them?”
“There’s a man in charge of storing new arrivals’ clothes, also cleaning the camp of the dead. We call him the reaper...anyway...he gets first dibs on anything that people bring into camp, as well as leave behind. Cigarettes are carried in pockets, so it’s the thing most found...most wanted. I get him some extra food, or smuggle him a few gems from the mountainside...and we got a deal.”
“Good to know,” Joe said.
“Be careful...anyone caught trading is dead meat.”
“Dead meat has to taste better than shit stew,” Joe said with a smile.
A smile broke across Tommy’s face, as the others started laughing.
“Take your places,” an announcement was made throughout the camp on a speaker.
A resounding cheer sounded. Groups of prisoners headed towards the mysterious pit in the center of the camp. They walked to the pit’s edge, as the most eager ones jockeyed for a front row view.
A large group of armed guards appeared on the storage building’s roof, overlooking the pit. The bird’s eye view was like a skybox at a sporting event. Food and booze from the storage barrels underneath was brought to them upon request. Their cheer was even louder and more enthusiastic than the prisoners.
“Places for what?” Joe asked.
“The entertainment,” Tommy answered.
“Movie night?” Gunner asked in his wise ass manner.
“Fight night,” Tommy O’Brien answered.
“Who’s fighting?” Joe wondered.
“The women tonight.”
“What women?” Joe asked.
“At the end of each week...two are chosen...one week from the women’s camp...next from the men’s. The women fight for our entertainment...the men for theirs. To be honest...I think the only people truly entertained are the guards. They bet big government credits on it.”
“What does the winner get?” Joe asked.
“To live,” Tommy answered.
“Is that really a prize in this pisshole?” Gunner asked.
“They fight to the death?” Joe wondered, as panic covered his face. He realized that Becky or Jane could be one of them, expected to fight for their lives.
“It could be any one of us...at any time,” Tommy said.
They followed everyone to the edge of the pits.
******
Julie Reed was prepared in a separate room. She was given a woman fighter’s uniform consisting of a gladiator type short skirt, tank top, and no underwear or shoes.
Her rough looking opponent’s arms were sleeved with gargoyle and demon tattoos. She was a winner and guard money maker. The fights were a way to cleanse the camp of its weakest patrons. It kept work production at its max, while saving on ration spending. She sat across from the inexperienced, scared Julie Reed, trying desperately to stare her down in fear. The scared mother kept her gaze at the floor.
“Look at me,” the tattooed woman said.
Julie finally looked up at her, though eye contact was never made. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to see the fear in your eyes...it gets me off,” she said.
Tears spilled from Julie’s eyes, “I can’t do this!” She tried to run out of the room, as Lita pushed Julie to the floor.
A smile came across Lita’s face. She had been observing the workers all day. Her intention was to find the weakest one amongst them to battle the seasoned fighter. “For your sake...I hope you bring more fire than that,” Lita said. “Or you’ll die a very painful death.”
The two women started laughing, as Julie curled up in a ball on the floor. She trained her thoughts on her son and husband.
******
Lita marched the two women to the men’s side of camp. The guards and some prisoners cheered out loud. It wasn’t that the prisoners wanted to watch their own die, but many were so desperate for a break that watching other’s pain helped them escape their own.
“Julie!” her husband Jonah called out, lunging for her through the crowd.
Lita kicked the man in the ribs, sending him to the ground. She pulled out her weapon and aimed it at Jonah.
“Don’t kill my husband...I beg you!” Julie cried out.
Lita stopped for a moment. “Let him watch,” she said, putting her gun away, dragging Julie back towards the pit.
Joe, Gunner, and Tommy helped Jonah back to his feet. He was distraught. “She’s a wife...a mother...not a fighter!”
“At least she has a chance,” Joe said unconvincingly. “Focus on that!”
Lita tossed Julie and the tattooed prisoner downward into the fifteen-foot pit. The crowd exploded in joy, as the fall alone nearly broke the brittle woman’s arms.
The tattooed prisoner landed on her feet, as it wasn’t her
first trip into the pit. Lita grabbed one dull bladed knife, tossing it onto the dirt floor. The weapon landed in between the two.
“Take it,” the tattooed woman said to Julie, who was cowered in a corner. “I said take it!” she repeated, grabbing the knife and forcing it in Julie’s hand. “I like a challenge.”
“Julie!” Jonah yelled out. She recognized his voice through all the others, slowly looking up.
“Use the knife!” he yelled. “It’s your only chance.”
A shaking Julie looked down at the knife. She realized that the only way to survive would come in the form of a weapon. The frightened woman rose to her feet, as the crowd went into a further frenzy.
Lita yelled, “Let the battle begin!”
Thoughts of Julie’s missing son raced through her brain, as anger overtook her. She bolted toward the calm tattooed prisoner, who lacked an ounce of fear.
“Ahhh!” Julie screamed with furor, charging the woman like a bull seeing red. She gripped the knife as hard as she could, approaching her composed opponent.
The dull blade led the way, just inches from the woman’s skin. Her timing perfect, the tattooed woman twisted her body from the dagger’s path. She gripped Julie’s wrists, turning the knife into Reed’s own stomach. The momentum alone flung the weakling into the wall.
Julie crashed into the moist dirt. The knife slightly pierced her soft skin, flying from her hands. The crowd cheered even greater, as the guards made the loudest noise. They actually had something to gain from the fight.
Striker looked down in despair, feeling horrible for The Reed’s. He realized it would only be a matter of time before his loved ones met the same fate. Joe looked up at the guards, watching from above. However, he did not see Rock.
The reason was because Rock never watched the fights. With all the violence that he caused on a daily basis, he just couldn’t bring himself to invite more into his life. It was not entertaining to him.
The tattooed woman raised her hands in glory, as the crowd praised her. Julie stumbled to her knees, her hope on empty. She cried, begging for mercy. “Please...let me live!”
The crowd booed. Striker yelled, “Get up, Julie! Get up...don’t give up! For your family!”