by Chuck Buda
Bo stood strong. She felt her knees buckling and her chest hammered with sorrow. But she had to show the others how important it was to keep a stiff upper lip.
She allowed the tears to flow down her face though.
Chapter 19
Jonas sought out Crawford. He feared Muncie’s aggression was fueled by knowledge of his treachery. If Muncie knew Jonas was speaking with his old acquaintance BJ, then he would be in jeopardy of ending up on the stiff side of Muncie’s baton. Or worse. In the cage with the zombies.
“Hey, Crawford. Got a minute?”
Crawford paused. He stepped aside so the rest of his detail could continue down the hall to their post. “Sure. What’s up?”
Now that Jonas had Crawford’s attention, he hesitated to go through with his inquiry. What if Crawford was as hard core as Muncie? He couldn’t be. Wasn’t that the whole reason Jonas had chosen him as his confidant? After all, Jonas had witnessed Muncie’s attitude with Crawford too.
Who didn’t Muncie give shit to?
“Uh, I have a small problem I want to bounce off you.”
“Shoot.” Crawford lowered his head a bit as if he needed to concentrate better.
“Muncie’s been dogging me.” He realized how absurd the comment sounded. “More than usual, I mean.”
Crawford chuckled. “He’s a fucking prick, man.”
Jonas relaxed. He was glad that Crawford felt the same way. It helped him open up.
“Well, yeah, I know. But he’s stomping all over the place, hinting that I’m fraternizing with the prisoners or that he needs to keep an eye on me or something.”
“You too? I got the same crap. He’s paranoid. Gorgon turned up the heat and Muncie is protecting his turf. You’ll be fine.”
Jonas wondered if Crawford was placating him. He seemed to be taking the conversation a bit more casually than expected.
“Has Muncie gone after Rivera too?”
Crawford grimaced. Jonas found it an odd reaction.
“I doubt it. I think he’s trying to replace me with Rivera.”
Jonas was stupefied. “Why? That’s crazy?”
“Not really.” Crawford glanced around as if he wanted to make sure the empty hallway couldn’t overhear his conversation. “He thinks I’m trying to knock him off. Take his spot.”
Jonas laughed. “Are you? Where would he get that idea?”
Crawford shrugged. “Fucking Warden threatened him in front of me. Said he might offer me the role as top dog if Muncie didn’t get with the program. Just like that.” Crawford snapped his fingers. “I’m an instant enemy after being Muncie’s right-hand man all these years.”
“Shit.” Jonas shook his head. He considered how the whole prison, from top to bottom, was losing their shit. The Warden had always been a strict disciplinarian, but he had taken on the role of emperor and sentencing men to die at will. The prisoners were chomping at the bit to escape, rise up. Nothing new in a prison environment, but more exaggerated in light of the current situation. And now the guard corps was at each other’s throats.
“And fucking Rivera is eating it up. He’d love to step over my dead body on his way to becoming Muncie’s next bitch.”
Jonas saw a window. He decided he should take a chance now that Crawford had allowed him into his confidence. He’d never been one to make alliances because he had learned at an early age that doing so limited opportunities. He never would have made it out of the small town he grew up in if he had played the same game as everyone else. He would’ve been stuck working a field or mining job and giving in to the pressures of small-town gossip or politics.
“Would you mind watching my back? I’d feel a lot better if I could count on someone to make sure I didn’t get railroaded. And I’ll do the same for you. I’ll keep an eye on Rivera. Make sure he isn’t up to some shit for you.”
Crawford scratched his sideburns in thought. He seemed to weigh the offer.
“Deal. I honestly feel a little better now. Hate to admit it but I’ve been worrying about this shit too.” Crawford’s smile faltered. “But if you fuck me, if you are doing this to out me for Muncie...I’ll kill you.”
Jonas stepped back. He held up a hand as if he swore upon a bible. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not working for Muncie. You gotta believe me.”
“I do. You’re not smart enough to pull it off. But I feel better warning you just in case.”
Jonas gaped. “Thanks for trusting me. And for the insult.”
“Don’t cry in your milk. We gotta be tough around here. More than ever now. And like Clint Eastwood said, “A man has got to know his limitations.”
Jonas chose to let the comment roll off his back. He knew Crawford was right on a certain level. He had a backwoods, limited education and had never been considered a Rhoads scholar. But he still didn’t like to be talked to like that. And where he had grown up, a man could take a serious ass-whooping for being so blatantly antagonistic.
Crawford glanced at his watch. “I gotta catch up with my detail. Glad we talked. Let’s keep each other in the loop. But not too often. And not out in the open. There’s eyes and ears all over this place.”
Jonas agreed to keep their contacts to a minimum. Crawford took off down the hall, with Jonas looking after him. He sighed aloud. He had a partner he could count on which was a huge relief. He also had a more treacherous path ahead. If Muncie and Rivera were conspiring together, and the Warden was pitting his men against each other, then things would get messier before too long. Such a fragile environment made men desperate to get ahead or stay alive. On top of the virus outbreak and being locked down inside Warsaw Prison, it was a recipe for an apocalyptic cataclysm. Only the strong would survive. Or the most cunning.
Jonas understood he was neither. He would have to get up to speed as quickly as he could. And he did have another ally to use.
BJ.
But BJ would have to be a last resort. If Muncie uncovered their connection he would become the immediate fall guy. It would be too easy for Muncie to hang the leaks on him. Even if it was probably his fault.
Jonas had some options now. He suddenly felt better about his prospects.
Chapter 20
The Warden positioned himself near the door. Hovering in his immediate space like planets revolving around the sun were a dozen guards decked out in full riot gear. Several guards had Plexiglas shields and helmets as well.
Frenchie pissed himself. He no longer worried about what others might notice. He had reached the end of his life and simple functions like relieving a bladder didn’t rank high enough anymore. Frenchie shot a few looks at the woman who was chosen to endure a similar struggle. She appeared to be a Spanish speaking person, at least that’s what he assumed by her dark hair and eyes, and the olive complexion of her skin.
The woman kept her eyes on her feet. Not once did she look up or forward. It seemed she understood what she would be walking into and she had no interest in spying it in advance.
Frenchie saw.
The nasty undead growled and moaned. Their sounds barely escaped the pod. Steamy condensation from their rotting breath intermittently fogged the window through which the monsters lathered over their next meal.
Warden Gorgon called everyone’s attention to the two prisoners who would be sent inside A-Pod. Their goal was to survive the zombie hordes. He stated the odds of their chances, which amounted to a whole lot less than one percent of nothing. Frenchie sniffled as he listened half-heartedly. Most of his concentration was centered on his plan. He would use his small size and speed to outrun the creatures. Frenchie realized the space within the pod was extremely confined, but his hopes were to dash around and let them chew on the Spanish girl. Maybe the Warden would let him out if he passed the test, lasting longer than the girl, and then some.
He stole another glance at her. This time she peeked under her bangs at him. The instant was fleeting but she acknowledged his existence. Frenchie grew angry that he had bothered making a human co
nnection with her at all. Now he would feel sympathetic to her plight. It would have been easier if he had ignored her and then didn’t give a fuck about her once inside the pod.
Muncie snatched Frenchie’s arm and shoved him near the door. The fat guard’s odor turned Frenchie’s stomach. He held his breath for a moment until he realized he would have to deal with noxious smells once he got tossed in the pod. He was sure the zombies smelled just as ripe.
The door opened and the zombies miraculously stepped back. Muncie shoved Frenchie into the room. As he stood blinking at the odd behavior of the zombies, the girl thumped into Frenchie’s back, nearly knocking him off his feet. The door slammed shut and the bolts latched.
They were locked inside now.
Frenchie glanced around the common room. He noticed a few empty gaps between the things that hissed at them. He would dart to the right and pull a fast spin move in order to reach the stair case to the bunk rooms on the second floor. Once up there, Frenchie would try to barricade the stairs quickly with mattresses, bunks, anything he could get his hands on and move into place. He hoped the monsters would form a log jam on the stairs and he would safely outlast whatever time limit was placed on his remaining life.
He blinked as he tried to understand why they stayed away. How could they have been climbing the walls and fighting to get at him through the window, yet now they rocked back and forth, staring at him?
It made no sense.
The time to wonder about the strange actions ended. Like a light switch going on, the zombies shuffled toward Frenchie and the woman. He screamed louder than she did (and sounded more like a girl) but he turned on the jets. Frenchie reached a hand back to tug the woman behind him. She grasped his fist and followed him as fast as she could.
It wasn’t fast enough. Less than ten steps across the floor, the woman was torn from his grip. He held onto her hand and kept running. She suddenly felt extremely light. Frenchie looked back at the hand he held, attached to an arm which was no longer attached to the woman.
Her bloodied face shrieked above the din of hissing and groaning. Frenchie dropped the arm and ran for the stairs. He threw a couple of shoulder blocks to ram monsters from his path. Frenchie stole a backwards glance. The woman had disappeared among a sea of writhing animals. The pile of rotted flesh tossed bloody strips of meat and clothing aside as they scrambled for a better purchase.
Frenchie skipped the bottom two steps as he launched his small frame up the iron stairs. He continued to skip steps as he hurdled upward with the sensation of lunging hands right behind him. It reminded Frenchie of playing with kids at the school yard. When they would chase him and he pretended they were scary monsters just a step behind him. Like old horror movies. Frenchie dove for the top landing and skidded face first along the rough surface. He hurried to his knees so he could get into one of the bunk rooms.
The stairs and the pod below were covered with dead eyes and chomping teeth. An endless collection of human piranhas looking for the next meal. He suddenly knew he would never have time to block the stairs with stuff. At this point, he’d be lucky to crouch behind a bunk in the back corner of one of the rooms. He had no other options.
Frenchie would have to fight them off by hand, one by one, until he succumbed to the feverish feeding.
Or he could jump to his death off the railing.
Frenchie made a quick choice.
He climbed up the railing and dove high above the upturned hands and faces below. As he hung in the air for what seemed like hours, Frenchie noticed the Warden moving his lips like he was talking to the window through which he stared. Frenchie could see the whites of his eyes as they opened wide to observe the last moments of Frenchie’s life.
Frenchie hit the concrete floor on the first level with a heavy thud. He landed on his chest and belly, hard enough to paralyze his limbs, but not hard enough to die instantly.
Frenchie screamed as the things around him ripped thousands of holes through his flesh.
Chapter 21
“Chuck is a nickname for Adam?” Sullivan took off his helmet and caught his breath. He found himself staring too long at the bandaged stumps that used to be Adam Skolnik’s legs.
Chuck laughed. It was a hearty belly laugh which shook Sullivan. First, the guy saves his life without having legs to help. Then he laughed like a child watching a cartoon. A rolling on the floor type of laugh.
“I’m a butcher. Get it?”
Sullivan didn’t see the connection.
“Used to be a butcher, anyhow.” Chuck stopped laughing. He tilted his bald skull askew, like a cat watching a bird through a screen door. “Ground Chuck, Chuck Round. Duh?”
Sullivan dabbed the sweat from his eyes. He felt small and stupid for not making the connection. Then again, he reminded himself, all his blood was surging through his extremities in a life and death struggle to survive. No blood could be spared to help fire his synapses.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Chuck shimmed closer, using his gloved knuckles to do the walking. He slumped down, used his muscular arms to tuck his stumps under his torso and sighed out loud. “You’re all decked out. Army or Marines?”
“Neither. National Guard.”
Chuck nodded. He turned his head and hocked a lump of mucus across the rooftop. “I always wished I could have served. Nearly ran off to join the Corp when Desert Storm erupted. I was too chicken shit in the end. Let my college buddies talk me out of it over a keg of beer.”
Sullivan squinted against the sun. Everything felt brighter up on the roof. There was no shade to keep the hot rays off his skin.
“In the long run, what did it matter?” Chuck pointed at what was left of his legs.
Sullivan knew what Chuck meant. He tried not to take offense at the notion that all soldiers eventually lost limbs. He had bigger concerns than hurt feelings.
“How long you been up here?”
Chuck held his arms wide. “My paradise? It’s all mine now. Don’t think you can just move in, rent free.” He chuckled. “A few days or a week. Whichever is longer. Or more accurate.”
Sullivan liked Chuck. The man’s chipper demeanor and down-to-earth honesty were appealing. He probably could have hung out with a guy like Chuck. In another lifetime. Where it would be safe to sit in a bar and have a few beers.
“I have to confess. There’s not much to like about my bachelor pad. I got some food down below. I can shit and piss off the roof onto those fuckers whenever I want. And they can’t figure out how to get up here to eat me.”
“You got it all figured out.” Sullivan tossed his helmet back on his head. It made his scalp hotter but it kept the sun and glare from frying his eyeballs.
Chuck’s brow furrowed. He pursed his lips and took inventory of the region surrounding the roof top hideaway. “I don’t have everything figured out. Just enough to last a bit longer. And that’s where my plan...”
The words drifted away on the warm air. Chuck either wanted to hide his next plan or he’d rather not think about his lack of a next step. Either way, Sullivan could relate to the man.
“I hope to rejoin my platoon. We got overrun a few clicks east. Civilians who’d rather die than put up with marshal law. Then the biters flanked us. Took some heavy casualties. Had to split up to escape.”
Chuck patted Sullivan shoulder. “Sorry, man. It’s rough for sure.”
“What about you?”
“Before the fuckers bit me, I made good money with my shop. Had a huge client base. Folks come from miles around to get my choice cuts. Wife. Daughter.”
Again, Chuck allowed the air to finish the sentence. Sullivan learned more by what wasn’t said. He looked away in case Chuck needed a moment to shed some tears. Sullivan checked his weapon. He emptied the chamber round and stuffed it in his pocket. Now that he had little to shoot at, he wanted to take the risk out of dropping the rifle and causing an accidental round to go off.
“How much food you got left down there?”
&nb
sp; Chuck smiled. “About that. I have lots of meat. But without power to keep the fridge going, might not be edible without a horrendous case of the trots. Oh, and I haven’t figure out how to get down there without the few fuckers who have wandered inside trying to eat more of me.”
Sullivan smiled. “So you DO have it all figured out?”
Chuck mumbled. “Well having no plan is a type of plan, isn’t it?”
Both men laughed. Their situation was so bleak, the only thing they could do was let the crisis roll off their backs and laugh instead of cry.
“Well, I have a plan.” Sullivan climbed to one knee.
“I’m all ears, comrade.”
Sullivan paused to think about his next idea because he worried he might upset Chuck. Then he figured with how Chuck had acted around him, he should be safe with his joke.
“I’m thinking we go all Empire Strikes Back on this shit.”
Chuck wrinkled his brow. “Huh?”
“I pack you on my back like Yoda and we swing through the trees to get away from the beasts that are trying to eat us.”
Chuck stared at Sullivan, expressionless.
“Did I offend you?” Sullivan chided himself for being too familiar with the guy.
“That is so fucked up.”
Sullivan looked down. He felt awful. “Sorry.”
“I love it. The best part of that scene was when Yoda jacked his ass in the air and went through Luke’s gear. My friends and I used to crack up when he did that.”
Sullivan shook his head. Chuck was an enigma. The man could take and dish it out and he lived without sweating the small stuff. Sullivan reminded himself that’s probably why Chuck was still alive.
“I like you, Chuck.”
“I like you, brother. Even if you make rude comments.”
They both laughed again.
For the first time since Sullivan was deployed to the city, he felt at home.