Caged 4: A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller (Zombie Lockup Series)

by Chuck Buda

  “Again. That’s it. Much better. See how that works?” Bo relaxed as she entered a more comfortable space. Fighting and teaching were in her wheelhouse. Being able to concentrate on two things she was passionate about allowed her to escape the pressures of the day. The lessons continued as Luna stepped aside so Tracee could get her reps in. Shanika ate up her role as the zombie. It fed her aggressive nature, and Bo was fine with Shanika’s fighting abilities already.

  Bo’s larger concern was preparing the smaller, more demure members of their pack.

  Chapter 13

  Muncie’s gleeful mood immediately disappeared.

  Warden Gorgon stood before him at the door to C-Pod. Muncie had gotten himself fired up to knock some skulls around in his favorite pod. Finding the Warden in his way was the equivalent of a cold shower on a set of blue balls.

  “Warden?”

  “Muncie.” Warden Gorgon smiled without so much as a glance in Muncie’s direction.

  “Is anything wrong?” Muncie bit his lower lip for sounding surprised at the Warden’s presence. It had always been Muncie’s job to handle things before the Warden found out or to at least know what was happening in the prison so he wouldn’t be caught flat-footed.

  This scenario angered him.

  Gorgon rocked gently from toe to toe, his arms clasped behind his lower back. “Not at all. Simply kicking the tires. Taking inventory, if you will.”

  Muncie hated how smug the Warden came off. The controlling taskmaster seemed to have returned by all signs of the Warden’s demeanor. Muncie preferred the most recent version over the original version. Gorgon had been easier to deal with in his overwhelmed, concerned state. If he had become the man who had originally hire Muncie, then it would put a damper on his own plans.

  Maybe I can just crack his skull right now. Kill him and take control myself.

  Muncie forced a grin. “Do you not trust my abilities, Warden?”

  Gorgon laughed. “On the contrary, I trust your abilities very much, Muncie. I am fully knowledgeable on your capabilities.”

  Muncie chaffed at the emphasis Gorgon placed on the word ‘capabilities.’ He tried to determine if he was being egged on or if the old bastard was truly paying him a compliment. It would be safer to assume he was being egged on. Better to prepare for a fight than be caught with a sucker punch.

  “I’ve got everything tighter than a prom queen’s snatch. So you don’t need to worry about how things are running down here. I’m sure you have more important stuff to think about.”

  Warden Gorgon finally turned to face Muncie. “Indeed, I do. Even so, the brain likes to see how the hand works the till. It can be very helpful to remind oneself of the gravity of one’s responsibilities.”

  Muncie smiled wide. He wished to hide the animosity that coursed in his veins for the Warden. Gorgon hadn’t checked up on Muncie’s work in years. Probably over a decade now. And yet here he was, sniffing around Muncie’s territory. The resonance of his potential enemies in Guyton and Crawford lingered in the back of his mind.

  Oh yeah. Something is definitely up with these fucks. Behind my back and under my nose. And now to my face!

  Muncie swore he would see to it immediately following the Warden’s unannounced inspection. For now, he had to concentrate on what the Warden said. As well as the meaning between the words.

  “Speaking of responsibilities. I would like to propose we add C-Pod along to our collection of zombies. I’d be happy to personally attend to the chore since they belong to me. What do you say?”

  Warden Gorgon moved back to the window. He focused his attention on the prisoners in C-Pod. Muncie gritted his teeth hard enough he could feel flakes of enamel land on his tongue. He wondered why the Warden had come down to C-Pod. And it further perplexed him that Gorgon seemed to take his time making a decision about Turk and the other pieces of shit. What was it about this pod that Gorgon found interesting?

  “Excellent suggestion.”

  “Great.”

  “However, a bit premature, don’t you think?”

  Muncie felt his eyes bulging from their sockets. “No, I don’t think it is premature. I think it is right-on-time-mature. They are the biggest threat to our security, our survival. Without them...”

  Gorgon cut Muncie off. “Without the men in C-Pod, we might be overrun when the walls are breached.”

  Muncie gaped at the Warden’s lack of recognition. Inside C-Pod, some of the most dangerous human beings existed. Men that might as well be monsters because they had as little respect for human life as a monster would.

  “It is a decision I have labored over. None of my decisions are taken lightly, Muncie. Taking a life is an important action. One which deserves careful scrutiny.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Muncie could no longer contain himself. “How much scrutiny was given to infecting ALL of A-Pod? How careful were you when you tossed Melvin into the cage?”

  The Warden held up a long finger to signal Muncie to be silent. “Every action must have a purpose. Melvin was a pawn designed to get Jack Turk to understand his importance here. To US. A-Pod was sacrificed for US. Those prisoners weren’t strong enough to survive on their own nor were they a proper utilization of our finite resources. BUT, as a mass of zombies, they are the perfect army to help us survive and they are a perfect source of experimentation to help us survive. US. Can’t you see that there is a reason behind all these difficult decisions? The time will come, Muncie, when I must decide WHOM to employ...whom to SAVE from the guard corp. THAT decision will be made with much interrogation as well.”

  Muncie squinted to figure out if Gorgon was foreshadowing his death or if he were still making a stand from his high horse about his tough job, sitting in an office, well-fed and protected.

  I should put him down right now. End this bullshit and make this fucking prison my castle. I’LL fucking decide who gets to live and who gets to die. And I will start with this motherfucker.

  Warden Gorgon continued, wrapping a delicate arm over Muncie’s shoulder. “I am aware of your desire to get at Turk. I promise you. You WILL be rewarded for being patient. The time will come when you can be alone with your arch enemy and have your way with him. But the time isn’t right. We have work to do and those men still have a role to play. For now.”

  He lowered his arm. Muncie almost felt as if an esteemed mentor had just walked him down from his ledge. Almost.

  Until Muncie remembered the Warden still had secrets in play with Guyton and Crawford.

  Chapter 14

  The prisoners inside A-Pod no longer felt locked up. At least that’s what Guyton kept telling himself. Now that they had been infected with the virus and turned into undead creatures lusting for brains, there were no more emotions of regret or sorrow for their actions in life. The only thing they felt was hunger. Wasn’t that a better existence than rotting away in the pod?

  They ARE rotting away in the pod, idiot.

  Guyton shook off his morbid thoughts. He’d spent a good portion of his time thinking about the part he’d played in this process. There had been nothing else to do as he sat at his post, watching over the mind-numbing denizens within the bolted room.

  He had a choice. That was the piece that ate him from the inside. The Warden had asked for his help and he could have denied the Warden his wishes. For some reason, Guyton had been swept up in the hopes that every last attempt needed to be given a shot, regardless how strange or unlikely to yield a positive result. Guyton, himself, never actually believed his family voodoo rituals would amount to a damn thing. He wasn’t sure he had remembered all the proper spells and enticements to lure the spirits into the rituals. It wasn’t until he had gotten into the flow that all the incantations came back to him, speaking through his tongue as if the muscle memory had been incorporated into his soul all along.

  It had been part of his blood.

  Guyton had done more than observe the old family rituals back on the island. He had played varying roles in c
eremonies over his youth. Most of them had been positive rituals, spells for a good crop season and chants to save his little sister from the influenza. There had been ceremonies to honor their ancestors and to foster healthy babies in the pregnant bellies of neighbors.

  The other rituals, Guyton had tried to forget. He’d buried them deep within the darkest corners of his heart. Tucked behind skeletons of demons which threatened to aunt his dreams while he slept. Reminders of darkness in the eyes of the practitioners within the village. Their eyes would always seem to remain black. His mother’s and grandmother’s eyes would return to the luster of their sunshine. But not the others. Black and cold and cruel at all times.

  Guyton chastised his involvement. He never should have given up the secrets of his past. Of course, Warden Gorgon knew there had been checkered moments from his youth. Denying such involvement would have summoned the ire of the Warden, placing Guyton’s life in jeopardy. If he refused to assist the man with his evil purpose then any chance of Guyton living beyond the outbreak would be non-existent.

  So he helped.

  Guyton warred with his conscience. He still could have “helped” the Warden by doing the rituals and creating the spells, if only he had flubbed a few words or missed a key enticement. The Warden would never know steps had been purposely omitted, thus guaranteeing a failure. Guyton could have held his head high for “trying his best” without actually condemning the men to eternal damnation.

  Including his own soul.

  The frayed knots of his mind grappled with different possibilities. All the options would have created far more digestible results than the outcomes he had summoned forth on the black tongue of his ancestor’s words.

  He could no longer live with his actions.

  Guyton stared at the key in his palm. The key, dulled with age and marked with a capital “A”, looped on a lanyard with many just like it.

  Tears welled in his eyes. Guyton whispered an apology to his mother, and her mother before her. He begged for their forgiveness so that he might know the forests again with fronds and birds. The salty sea breeze upon his skin, soaking up the sweat.

  Guyton stuck the key in the lock and twisted the bolt open. The monsters inside A-Pod heard the sound, followed it first with their eyes, and then with their bellies. He swung the door open and stepped inside. The creatures ambled in his direction. A few became many as they filled the bent vision of his teary lids. Guyton closed the door softly. He waited for the first bite to come. The smell of the things coming closer reached him moments before the end.

  The first spurt of blood slashed across the small windowpane. The wound stung Guyton worse than anything he had ever felt in his life. Each stringy strand of flesh that tore free of his neck and collar bone brought flashes of white, hot lightning. As the zombies surrounded Guyton and fed upon his life, he thought of opening the door again, allowing the monsters to run freely through Warsaw, seeking bloody vengeance upon their captors. The thought only lasted a moment. Because the next thought disappeared into nothingness.

  Guyton had died.

  Temporarily.

  But his conscience would no longer suffer the marred past. The mind was free to roam as the body took its instructions from a more primordial instructor.

  More zombies pushed their way nearer, climbing and thrashing to get just a morsel. A drop of blood. The early arrivals ate on as if the dinner party were limited to a small guest list. They continued, oblivious of the hordes burrowing under armpits or crawling between legs to get a sample of the main course.

  Screeches and hisses crescendoed above the writhing sea of former humanity. Their chaotic language fueled by an alphabet of clicks and slurps. One creature in a bloodied orange jumpsuit remained off to the side. Its head tilted ever so slightly to the right as it tried to make sense of the door. The door Guyton had closed behind him but had not locked. The horde of diners shifted Guyton’s corpse around, and in doing so, the door would prop slightly ajar before closing again. A loud screech at the bottom of the pile distracted the zombie who stared at the door. It turned its attention to the scrum beneath its feet as the door gently shut again.

  Chapter 15

  Jack wanted to take a break from laboring over how to break free of the pod and kill Muncie. He decided to check in with his golden fleece.

  “What’s up, BJ?” He sat across from the kid at the octagonal table in the common room. A couple of inmates who had been talking to BJ used the introduction to rise and escape before they ended up on the wrong end of a famous Jack Turk drubbing.

  “Not much.” BJ’s eyes followed his friends as they hurried off to their rooms.

  “We haven’t spoken since you’ve gotten back. Figured we should discuss how things went.”

  Jack sensed some distance from the kid. He shouldn’t have been surprised since he had sentenced the kid to take one for the team.

  “Well, I had planned on filling you in but you took apart the pod a stitch at a time. So, I thought it better to sit on the sidelines and wait for an opportunity.”

  Jack noticed BJ’s lips moving after he spoke. He couldn’t tell if it was a nervous tremor or if the kid had taken on one of those habits where folks mouth the words they just spoke. Jack had known a kid from his youth who had the habit.

  “That might be a good excuse if I lost it today. But that was over a day ago.” Jack waited for BJ’s retort. When no more excuses came, Jack moved forward. “How did it go?”

  “The usual. I got to sleep in my piss and shit. Listen to things crawl around my fucking head in the pitch dark. Think about how everyone was back here in the pod, sleeping in bunks with toilets they could use.”

  Jack smiled. The kid had a mouth on him. Maybe 8-Ball had been right to want to beat the shit out of this trailer park hillbilly. He decided to apply some pressure and enjoy the process.

  “Most people come back from the hole a bit humbled. I know I do. Maybe you go to a different hole than the rest of us.”

  “Most people get sent to the hole for doing something wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong. In case you forgot, YOU fucking sentenced me to do the time.” BJ’s nostrils flared. He glanced over both shoulders like he hoped for backup.

  “I’m sure you’ll get over it. That shit-infested hole was probably 5-star accommodations compared to the pickup truck you lived in out in the sticks.”

  Jack enjoyed the frown on BJ’s face.

  “Before you say something else stupid, let’s get to business, shall we?”

  BJ cracked his knuckles.

  “What’s going on?”

  Jack listened as BJ gave him the scoop on the A-Pod being introduced to the virus. He told Jack about the food and water rationing getting worse and some of the guards were in cahoots with prisoners. Everything they had heard or guessed was pretty much on the mark.

  “Anything else?”

  BJ shrugged and shook his head. “Not really. That’s it.”

  Jack glared at BJ. He knew there had to be something more that BJ wasn’t revealing. His hope was to make BJ so uncomfortable that the kid would spill all the beans just to relieve the tension.

  “You did good, BJ. I’m sorry I pushed that on you. If I thought anybody else could handle it as well as you, I would have given them the nod instead.”

  BJ appeared to soften. His eyes scanned his hands upon the table. Jack understood the tell. BJ was definitely keeping something from Jack.

  “Okay. I’ll let you get back to your little buddies. Thanks again for helping me out. I won’t forget it.”

  BJ forced a smile and stood to leave the table.

  “I never forget, BJ.”

  BJ nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets and left to go to his bunk room.

  Jack stood in place, using his eyes to bore holes into BJ’s back. Jack wouldn’t let up on his tactics until he was sure BJ was back in the fold. Until then, he would use a full-court press on the kid.

  “I never forget.” Jack mumbled to himself as he st
rolled to his room.

  Swede took up most of the floor space as he did push-ups. Jack gingerly stepped between Swede’s arms and back to reach his bunk. He climbed up and stared at the ceiling. Swede counted his last push up out loud. Jack wondered if the final tally was real or just bullshit to make guys think he could do that many reps. As soon as Swede stood next to the bunk, Jack watched the veins constrict along the man’s massive biceps. On second thought, Jack figured the tally was a real number.

  “Where you been?”

  “Thinking.”

  Swede brushed huge drops of sweat from his brow with a hand towel. “Thinking about what?”

  “Jugular fisting.”

  Swede screwed up his face. “Is that a thing?”

  Jack chuckled. “It will be if I don’t get some help around here.”

  Swede moved closer to the bunk. Close enough Jack got a heavy dose of Swede’s body odor.

  “See if BJ needs help remembering whose side he’s on?”

  “You want me to break him?” Swede cracked his neck and shook his arms out to loosen up his muscles.

  Jack shook his head. “Nah. He’s a good kid. But I want to know if he’s cooking something without carving us off a slice.”