Caged 5: A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller (Zombie Lockup Series)

by Chuck Buda

  Gorgon glared at the undead squeezing into an unmanageable amount of space, all attempting to reach his body. He taunted them, leaning his forehead against the glass, shouting at them all to go away.

  The door nudged open.

  Warden Gorgon shook himself from his disappointment to hold the door. The sea of zombies leaned into the metal passage, forcing the door to breach another inch.

  Fingers tickled the edge of the door, searching for purchase. The Warden threw his shoulder into it. The door inched toward closing. The hissing and moaning sounded louder than he’d ever heard before. The noise ricocheted off the cinder block walls, deafening the pulse of his own blood in his ears.

  The door crept open another fraction.

  His eyes grew wide, absorbing the vision of endless rotted faces clambering for his blood. He briefly glanced up the hall to see if help would be nearing. As he suspected, no guards were within range. He could scream out if he wished but his pleas wouldn’t reach the nearest post.

  Unless Muncie was behind this. Maybe he was watching from a corner, hoping for the swift death of the Warden.

  He shucked the thought from his mind and plowed his shoulder into the steel door again. His adrenaline kicked in, forcing the door to click home. Warden Gorgon shifted the bolt into place before the things inside figured out how to lift the handle and re-open the door.

  His heart pounded in his chest. The Warden rested his head against the window, sweat dripping down his nose. The sense of relief was short-lived. His mind quickly churned at what could have taken place before he had arrived at A-Pod.

  Everything had changed.

  He had to do some quick sleuthing to determine Muncie’s involvement and how to pivot forward without Guyton’s guidance. All was not lost...but his armor had taken some flak.

  The Warden tightened the latch as much as he could. He’d have to return with the key to lock the door appropriately.

  Before he had a bigger mess on his hands.

  Chapter 7

  Jack swung a thumb over his shoulder. The men sitting around the table obeyed the gesture. They stood up in unison and drifted off to their own corners of C-Pod. BJ acted as if he hadn’t noticed the fact that three men left him behind. Or that Jack had sought out his company.

  After thinking long and hard, Jack felt it would be best to clear the air between he and BJ. Jack still needed all hands on deck and having anybody rowing in the wrong direction could be perilous.

  “Haven’t spent much time together lately.” Jack rubbed his stubble, creating a scratchy noise.

  BJ remained aloof. His expression said he didn’t care. His eyes took notice of everything except Jack’s face.

  “Been busy.”

  Jack grinned. He realized BJ was going to stonewall the conversation. A butt-hurt child in a man’s prison. This could go one of two ways, Jack reasoned.

  “Yeah, lots going on in this place.” Jack attempted a joke. “I want to make sure we’re good. You and me. Let bygones be bygones.”

  BJ snorted.

  “Well, isn’t that righteous of you?”

  Jack sat up straight. He felt his dander rise at the attitude BJ was throwing his way. He figured he’d give the kid three strikes and then...

  “I’m not asking for you to give me handy or nothing. I’m only telling you that there’s no need to be angry. We’re on the same side.”

  BJ smacked his open hand upon the table. The men in C-Pod stopped what they were doing. The room grew quiet like a study room in a library. All ears were trained on the conversation at the table. Jack glanced around. He saw that nobody watched them, but he knew each and every one of them was paying close attention to what was going on.

  If you wanted to make a scene, then you’ll have one, kiddo.

  Strike two.

  Jack sniffed. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, counting to ten in his head before he lost his temper.

  “We’re not on the same side, Jack. We’ve never been on the same side. You’ve been fucking me since I got in here.”

  “I don’t remember fucking you, BJ. But if I did, you’d know it.” Jack heard snickering at his childish penis humor.

  BJ pointed a shaky finger in Jack’s face.

  “You took advantage of me with the 8-Ball fight. Not once, but twice.” BJ shook his head. “Then you hang me out to dry so you can get info. Well, I’m not your fucking puppet anymore.”

  Jack took a deep breath. He wanted to ring BJ up on a third strike but he chose to take one more stab at smoothing things over. Doing so in front of everyone might jeopardize his power base a tad. But it might go further to show he had the pod’s interests at heart.

  “I don’t think you understand. I did what I had to so we could survive. We’re all puppets. Maybe you forgot about me giving myself up to Muncie a couple three times, huh?”

  “No, I didn’t forget. But that was YOUR choice because YOU have a beef with him. And I DO understand, Jack.” BJ bit his lower lip. “I understand that Jack Turk is bigger than all of us. Jack Turk is “the man.” Jack Turk is the leader of C-Pod.” BJ smiled; his eyes watered like he had just watched his kid sister get run over by a truck.

  “Jack Turk is just a son of a bitch. And I’m not gonna be used like a plastic fuck doll anymore.”

  Jack stared at BJ. He had to tread carefully so as to keep the men in line yet hold claim to their loyalty.’

  Strike three.

  “I’m sorry you feel this way, BJ. I thought you’d understand the bigger picture around here.” Jack stood. He spoke to the men along the walls. But everyone knew his message was intended for BJ. “I take responsibility for not communicating better. I’m sorry. But whatever happened in the past, must stay in the past. We need to galvanize now against the people who stand between us and survival. Not each other.”

  BJ stood. He took a few steps in Jack’s direction. Jack steeled himself against a physical altercation. He didn’t think BJ would take it to the limit, but a man could never be too certain in the slammer.

  “I’ll fight by your side, with all these men here. But if it comes down to you and me and one of those fucking animals? I’m pushing you down so you die and I don’t.”

  Jack chuckled. “I expect the same of everyone here.” He tried to draw the men out. They refused to look him in the face. “We’re all in this place because we are survivors. We did what we had to on the outside. And now we will do what we have to on the inside. To survive.”

  BJ forced a smirk and nodded at Jack. The violence was etched deep in the capillaries of his eyes. Jack understood where BJ would stand when the shit hit the fan. He had learned long ago that it was safer to know who your enemies were then to be surprised by those you didn’t know.

  And BJ was his enemy.

  Jack glared after BJ. He imagined holding BJ’s face to the same fan the shit would hit.

  Now everyone was on the same page. BJ hated Jack. Jack was still the boss. And Jack needed to watch his back.

  Swede slapped a meaty paw along Jack’s shoulder. Wordlessly, Swede led Jack back to their bunk room. They both climbed into their beds, thinking in silence.

  As Swede began to snore quietly, Jack plotted the end game. He’d keep BJ close so he could control him. Swede would be another set of eyes to keep everyone swimming in their own lanes. When the chance arrived to break free, Jack would need to deal with BJ immediately. Old wounds tended to fester. Jack couldn’t afford to have BJ hanging around, waiting for the one moment Jack took his eyes off the target.

  He’d deal BJ hands quickly. Without hesitation. And without remorse.

  Chapter 8

  Warden Gorgon finished locking A-Pod. He had sought out Muncie after collecting the keys to the pods. Muncie had followed Gorgon all the way back in silence.

  “Have you seen Guyton lately?” Gorgon acted as if he was looking for his special guard.

  Muncie spat on the floor. “No.”

  Warden Gorgon dissected Muncie’
s tone and posture. He tried to discern the truth but Muncie was all harshness, all the time.

  “I thought you might have recalled Guyton to his previous post.”

  “Nope.”

  Gorgon nodded. Muncie was being coy. He wasn’t surprised since he had sent a message to Muncie via the zombie in the cage. The gloves had been coming off steadily since the virus outbreak.

  “When was the last time you saw Guyton?”

  “What is this? The third degree?” Muncie rapped his baton in his fist.

  Warden Gorgon chose to ignore the veiled threat of violence. “Not at all. I’m simply trying to identify the man’s whereabouts. You’re his superior, so I’m asking you.”

  Muncie jammed his tongue into the side of his cheek.

  “I thought YOU were his superior now that you took Guyton away from me.”

  Gorgon smiled. “I re-deployed Guyton as part of a necessary detail toward our plan for developing an army. I didn’t take him away from anybody.”

  Muncie stepped closer to the Warden. The stink of his fetid breath nearly choked Gorgon’s air pipe. “Why don’t you come out and say what you want to say...Warden?”

  The Warden stepped to the side, being careful not to back away from Muncie. He gasped for fresh air before continuing.

  “Very well. Guyton is dead. And I think you might have had something to do with it.” He could see the simmering heat glistening off Muncie’s head.

  Muncie raised his baton, shoving it against the Warden’s neck. Gorgon found himself pinned along the cinder block wall outside A-Pod. He allowed the transgression because fighting off the enraged guard and his hickory club would only highlight the Warden’s weakness. Muncie leaned closer; his nose pressed into the Warden’s cheek.

  “Why would I kill your little fucking nigger lapdog? I don’t give a fuck about that pothead or anybody else you have lining up to smooch your candy ass.”

  Warden Gorgon clenched his teeth. The pressure of the night stick forced his eyes to bulge from their sockets. He would make Muncie pay for every word, every disrespectful tone of voice.

  “To get back at me for the cage.” The words came out in bursts, punctuated with gasps for air.

  Muncie laughed. “Oh, that. Nah. I stored that one away for another time. Don’t worry. That payment will come due eventually.” Muncie dug the baton in deeper.

  Gorgon gave up accepting the disobedience. He used the wall as leverage to jut his hips into Muncie’s gut. The move gave him a little room to breathe. Muncie shoved his weight forward, reinstating his position of dominance.

  “Get...off me...”

  Muncie laughed again. He backed away from the Warden. Before the Warden could adjust his shirt collar, Muncie grabbed a hold of Gorgon’s throat in a powerful grip. He dragged the Warden over to the door of A-Pod. Muncie slammed the Warden into the door, face first. Gorgon’s nose bled as his flesh pressed into the glass.

  “Look around, Warden. You see any of your soldiers coming to your aid? Huh? Me neither. I see a shit ton of dead fucks looking for a new meal.” Muncie smeared Gorgon’s face up and down the glass. “I bet they’d love the taste of high and mighty prick.”

  Warden Gorgon squealed. He felt like a little girl being abused by an older sibling.

  Muncie let go of the Warden. He tasted the blood leaking into his mouth from his nostrils. A few round droplets colored his white dress shirt. The Warden slid down the wall, collapsing at the feet of his tormentor. He wished he could lash out against Muncie. But his strength was in his zombies. The Warden never believed he could go toe to toe with Muncie.

  And he didn’t need to.

  Gorgon was glad none of the guards had witnessed his manhandling. His control over the guards was shaky to begin with. Now, Gorgon would work on eliminating Muncie. The man had outlived his usefulness.

  Muncie lowered himself on his haunches. His grin spread wide, revealing chipped teeth. “I’m sorry, Warden. I don’t know what came over me.” He chuckled. “You falsely accused me of doing something and next thing I knew, you were on the floor. Are you okay?”

  Warden Gorgon dabbed at his bloody nose. He nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to hurt you. Or anyone. But I can’t be held accountable if I lose my mind.”

  Gorgon wished he could lose Muncie’s mind in the jaws of some of the zombies. He pictured the creatures feeding on the eight-course meal of Muncie’s slovenly figure. He’d see to it before it all ended.

  Muncie stood up. His knees creaked under the weight. The baton twirled in between his fingers. “I better get back to my duties, unless you needed me for something more?”

  Warden Gorgon shook his head. Muncie grinned and whistled as he left the Warden behind, licking his wounds. Gorgon waited until Muncie had disappeared before struggling to lift himself to his feet. The Warden stared into A-Pod. Guyton’s remains loped in circles, following another monster as they walked an invisible track.

  For a brief moment, Gorgon thought of walking into A-Pod and sacrificing himself to the mob. He envisioned his worries disappearing with his flesh. And the notion of all those zombies walking freely through the prison, eating their way through the prisoners and Muncie brought a smile to his lips.

  But his revenge would be much bigger. Much more satisfying. Throwing in the towel would be too easy. And he would miss the expression on Muncie’s fat face. That was a gift the Warden couldn’t give up. He had to outlast his foe just so he could die with the memory firmly planted in his mind.

  Muncie will die. I will kill him.

  Chapter 9

  Muncie approached Jonas from behind. He shoved Jonas hard, sending the smaller man flying across the locker room. Jonas tried to catch himself before hitting his head on the locker door. But he failed.

  As Jonas arose from his fall, Muncie speared into his gut with a lowered shoulder. Jonas slammed into another set of lockers and tumbled to the grimy tile floor. Muncie rolled off and bounced back to his feet.

  “What the fuck, man?”

  Muncie whistled an old tune about someone coming around a mountain. He enjoyed his refreshed rage. After beating the Warden up, Muncie did all he could to contain his glee. But he still needed to burn off some energy.

  “How’s it going, Jew-boy?”

  “I’m not Jewish.” Jonas sounded whiny. He rubbed his lower back where he had landed with all of Muncie’s weight upon him.

  “Huh. You’d think with a big hook nose like that...well, easy mistake.” Muncie crouched down into a wrestler’s stance. He began swatting at the sides of Jonas’ head, egging the target to come at him.

  Jonas scrambled to his feet. He hurried around the corner of a set of lockers in an attempt to put some distance between himself and his tormentor. Muncie giggled as he rushed to catch up with Jonas. The game of cat and mouse only titillated him even more.

  “I’m gonna get you. Gonna get you.” Muncie imitated an old horror movie voice like he was Frankenstein. The odd sounds appeared to haunt Jonas who kicked his pace into an extra gear.

  Jonas kicked the door open, rushing into the hallway. Muncie slid along the floor as if he had stolen second base. His massive frame squeaked through the closing door. Muncie’s feet hit the far wall, forcing his momentum to stop. He rolled up to his knees and then jumped to his feet to continue the hot pursuit. Jonas had a bit of a lead now, but Muncie wasn’t afraid. He liked where the chase was headed.

  A new idea crossed Muncie’s mind.

  He high-tailed it with his boots clomping off the floor. Each foot fall echoed around the cinder block walls, drowning out Jonas’ shrieks of terror. As Muncie ran, he realized he had been going about his business the wrong way. Toying with his prey was much more satisfying than simply walking in and clubbing someone with his baton.

  I’m gonna have to make these games last longer.

  Muncie had chased Jonas toward the west end of the prison. Unless Jonas left the building, he would be cornered
with nowhere left to go. His only escape would be to double back and pass Muncie. Jonas arrived at the same conclusion as Muncie neared his soon-to-be-victim. Muncie rested his hands upon his knees, gasping for wind. It had been a long time since he had done true cardio exercise. His lungs burned and a soupy phlegm coagulated at the back of his throat.

  “What...what are you doing?” Jonas gripped his hips as he tried to catch his breath.

  Muncie spat a wad along the floor. “Having. Fun. Fucker.” His panting interrupted his response. He noticed a slight wheeze behind his words. He thought he should book an appointment with Dr. Shipley to check it out.

  Yeah right.

  Jonas’ eyes grew wide as Muncie closed in. He feebly spun to roll away from Muncie but the quickness wasn’t enough. Muncie snatched Jonas’ collar and dragged him backwards along the heels of his boots.

  He headed straight for A-Pod.

  The man’s struggles barely forced Muncie to work harder. With one hand on Jonas’ neck, Muncie pulled the key to A-Pod from his belt loop. He jammed the key into the lock, twisted the tumbler and pulled the latch to the left with all his might. The sounds riled up the zombies inside. They shambled to the window in search of some fresh meat. Jonas must have realized what Muncie was up to because he started to scream for help and his struggles increased.

  Muncie chuckled.

  “Here kitty, kitty. Here kitty, kitty.” Muncie pulled the door to A-Pod open just enough for several gnarled hands to reach through the gap. The hissing and moaning sent chills up Muncie’s spine even though he was having too much fun to give any more thought.

  Jonas began weeping like a little child who couldn’t reach a toy perched high on a shelf. The darkened flesh and filthy fingernails grabbed at Jonas’ hair and face. He twisted his head to the left and right so nothing could get a firm grip of him. Muncie laughed and watched the little game of tag taking place at his feet. He used his hip and girth to keep the door from swinging wide open. Muncie knew he would only be able to keep the game going for a few more seconds before all the creatures in A-Pod shoved their way out the door.