by Chuck Buda
Thank God that fucking pothead nigger ain’t here anymore. Now I can use these fuckers to bring the house down.
A thump inside A-Pod moved Muncie’s body back a few inches. More hands and arms stretched clear of the door frame. Arms all the way up to shoulders, in fact. Muncie threw his shoulder into the door, slamming it on straggling limbs. The zombies retracted their hands as if they could feel pain. Or as if they understood they could potentially lose their fingers if the door completely closed on them.
Muncie filed the thought away while he struggled to seal A-Pod off once again. With a boot pressed into Jonas’ chest, Muncie latched the door and flipped the key to lock the tumblers in place. The groans lowered to a hush as the zombies bit at the glass.
Jonas wept, his hands uselessly ripping at Muncie’s lower leg. Muncie pressed his heel down harder before letting Jonas up. Muncie laughed as Jonas limped down the hall, crying like a child.
“Sleep tight, sweetie. Remember the bogeyman is real.”
He laughed so hard, a fart escaped his flat ass cheeks.
“I’m the fucking bogeyman, motherfucker. Don’t fuck with me.”
Muncie’s laughter carried on for several minutes.
Chapter 10
The women of D-Pod used their time wisely. Many hours had been dedicated to training for the ultimate battle. They discussed the likelihood of being tossed into the cage with the zombies. Most likely, one at a time. However, they decided to train for group bouts as well. Just in case the Warden stepped up the timeline, knowing how to fight with a partner, or several partners would improve their chances of surviving. The women had to grow comfortable with each other’s strengths and weaknesses. They had to get the timing of defensive schemes down. The woman had to synchronize when to strike first and when to sit back and wait, using the enemy’s momentum against them.
Bo observed the training. She circled the perimeter, offering advice where a slightly different angle could make all the difference. Providing encouragement when combatants wanted to give up, exhausted from long hours of physical demands. She corrected when the technique was too poor to be used for any measure of self-defense.
Teams of women would rotate, taking turns as “zombie attackers.” The exercise provided real-world opportunities to put themselves in the minds of the monsters, hunting for exposed limbs. The rotational training gave the women confidence they could think for themselves, and better anticipate what a zombie would want to do when faced with fleshy meal.
Tracee sat along the far wall. Sweat poured down her neck and soaked the chest of her undershirt. Her blond hair frayed outside the confines of the band she had tied it back with. Bo crouched down, placing a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“How is it coming along?”
Bo’s eyes never left the women in the center of the common room. “I think we’ve come a long way.”
Tracee brushed back a few strands which had stuck to her temples. “That’s a chicken shit analysis. Give it to me straight.”
Bo smiled. She understood as young as Tracee was, the girl was pretty sharp. Sharper than most of the inmates. “That WAS the straight answer. We’ve mobilized afraid young girls into battle-hardened women.”
Tracee snorted. “Fighting pillows and floppy triceps doesn’t really qualify as battle-hardening.”
Bo agreed. She was worried about their chances of making it beyond the doors of D-Pod. Some of the women stood half a chance but most would suffer a similar fate to Luna and Claudia. They’d be chewed up and turned into mindless creatures. Bo wondered what the Warden would do if a prisoner won a battle against his zombies. Would he allow the prisoner to return to the pod, negating having their number called once again? Or would he summon them again and again until they were overcome by the biters, merely providing multiple entertaining fights for his pleasure?
Or worse. Would the Warden issue a death sentence anyway? Condemning the victorious prisoner to a fate far grislier than being fed upon?
The images horrified Bo as she shoved them aside.
“The training will help, even if only a little. Besides, it keeps everyone’s mind off the inevitable. Sitting around and sulking 24/7 would only serve to self-defeating odds. Burning some calories and aggression is good for the soul.”
“Is that something your Sifu taught you?” Tracee ribbed Bo’s attempt at wisdom.
“My mother taught me. She was tougher than my Sifu. And my father. My mother had gone through many hells to escape Communism and then fight her way through the Chinese ghettos. A woman is supposed to be subservient to her male counterpart. She is to spend all her energy providing a good home for her children.”
Tracee winced as Shanika face-planted another woman into the hard floor. “So your mother taught you to get in line like all the others? And that’s why you rebelled into a badass?”
Bo’s smile disappeared. “My mother did all the things she was SUPPOSED to do. But she also fought. My mother became hard when we moved to the States. She became the protector. Kicked a lot of asses. Mostly men, by the way.”
“And how did your father deal with her toughness?”
“He accepted it after she knocked a few of his teeth out.” Bo rose to her feet. She enjoyed recounting the memory of her mother, a true female warrior, to her friend. Tracee’s expression revealed her admiration of Bo’s mother.
Nobody admired Bo’s mother more than Bo. She wished she could tell her mother how much her strength had meant to her as a little girl. Instead, Bo had disappointed her parents. She’d rebelled against Chinese and American culture equally. All that was left for Bo was shameful memories and regrets.
It’s what made Bo strong. Hard. Kept her alive all these years. On the streets and in the prison. A nasty disposition flowing beneath a petite frame. Her size had always been one of her advantages. Men and women selected her as a target because of her diminutive stature. But it had been the lion inside the lamb that beat all the bullies into submission.
Bo knew she stood a good chance of winning in the cage. What she didn’t know was what would come her way once she stomped the guts from one of the Warden’s monsters.
I’ll find out soon enough.
Bo took a deep breath. She leapt into the middle of a four-way battle, acting as another inmate fighting off the two zombie attackers. She barked commands to her mates, showing them how to space out, making themselves a harder target. Bo used a bluff charge, catching one of the “zombies” off guard so a prisoner could move in to brain it. The sudden shift of energy forced the other “zombie” to halt in place, surprised by the surge. The second prisoner took the opportunity to lunge into the attacker’s knees, bringing the monster down. The prisoner stood over the downed “zombie” with a winning howl, arms raised high in victory.
Bo slapped the woman’s ass, congratulating her on her prowess, and the intuition to bring the zombie down to the floor. She reasoned that nobody could fight from their strength in such a position.
Bo could though. Bo’s skills included standing fighting as well as ground grappling. Her training had thoroughly prepared her for all the bullies in the world.
She would have to thank her mother for all the skills when she saw her in the afterlife.
Chapter 11
The doctor removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Incessant thinking and endless hours in the lab had taken more than a toll on Dr. Shipley. He felt his grip on sanity fraying bit by bit. His assistants had become more troublesome than helpful lately too. Dixie had always been a liability. If it weren’t for her huge tits and blond highlights, the nurse probably wouldn’t have gotten the job to begin with. Her skills were average. Samantha had been the loyal workhorse all along. But even she had grown tiresome. Her chipper attitude had dialed back to a solemn pleasantness. And her conversation had been tedious.
If only he could steal away to catch up on some much-needed sleep...
“Dr. Shipley.”
Shipley’s blood turned col
d. The last thing he needed right now was a visit from the Warden or Muncie. At least the Warden was more tolerable.
“Yes, sir.” He replaced his glasses upon the bridge of his nose. They sat slightly askew until he adjusted them to the proper position.
“Tell me how things are progressing.”
Shipley bit his tongue for a moment, providing a second so he could maintain his composure.
“The same as last time, I’m afraid.”
Warden Gorgon’s promising expression faded. “What do you mean? You’ve had ample time...”
“Yes, ample time to run the tests over and over with the same results. I’m not a miracle worker, Warden Gorgon.”
“Perhaps Samantha or Dixie would like to assume your role as head of the Infirmary? Their attitudes might lead to better conclusions.”
Dr. Shipley slammed his palm down. The glassware on the table jingled. “That sounds like a great idea, Warden. While YOU get them up to speed, I’ll be taking a nap. I appreciate the break.”
“Just a minute, Shipley.” Warden Gorgon’s tone brought an end to the doctor’s sass. “Maybe I should kill you instead.” The Warden crowded Shipley’s personal space. For the first time, Shipley picked up a fresh wound under the Warden’s nose. A gash with a dried crust of blood along the seam.
“It’s your prison, Warden. You make the decisions around here. I’ll not stop you.”
Shipley wondered if the Warden had gotten into a bit of a scrape with Muncie or one of the zombies. If he’d been bitten, maybe Shipley’s chances of escaping alive would improve.
“Of course, you’re a very smart man, Warden. I’m sure you understand you need me more than I need you at this moment. You don’t have any more ability to save my ass from the zombies than these solid walls. On the other hand, I have the keys to your secret serum.”
Warden Gorgon shoved Shipley against the table. Several glass containers toppled over, smashing upon the floor. “Don’t threaten me, Shipley.” His finger jabbed into the doctor’s chest. “I can decide your fate faster than you can piss yourself.”
Shipley chuckled. He fixed his rumpled lab coat and bent to inspect the spilled contents on the floor. “Oh, look. Some of your precious serum is wasted. This little outburst should set us back a few days. How about you roll up your sleeve and I’ll grab a few more gallons from your sacred veins...”
“Enough!”
Shipley fell silent. He had been pleased to finally stand up to the Warden. It represented a lifetime of being bullied and taken advantage of. However, Shipley still owned the high ground. His plan to trick the Warden and his guards with phony shots would give the doctor the last laugh.
Maybe.
“I’ve had a very bad day. I don’t need your sniveling shit on top of it all.”
“It looks like you’ve had a rough day.” Shipley pointed at the Warden’s face.
Gorgon ran a gentle fingertip along the bloody scab under his nose.
“Zombie attack?”
Warden Gorgon grimaced. “No.”
Shipley took the quick response to confirm the Warden’s dust up with Muncie. If Muncie had begun to lash out against the Warden, more overtly than he had in the past, then Dr. Shipley might have an easier time accomplishing his goals. The Warden would be too consumed with keeping Muncie at bay - or killing him off - to spend time processing what Shipley was up to. He figured he should push the issue a bit more to be sure he was on the right track.
“Muncie tried to beat me up once. But I used my brains to get the better of him. He’s like a cockroach. Annoying and pesky, everywhere under foot, but ultimately harmless.”
Warden Gorgon shoved the doctor once more. He raised his hand in the air, poised to slap the doctor’s face. Gorgon appeared to think better of it and chose to knock a few more glass containers to the floor. Each splinter of glass prickled Shipley’s hairs.
“Don’t forget I am more resourceful than that fat slob.” Spittle flew from the Warden’s lips.
Dr. Shipley cowered from the craziness reflected in the pupils of the Warden’s eyes. He had gone too far in his taunting. The Muncie nerve had been struck like a fresh vein of ore.
“Get back to work and get me what I need. If you can’t do it, I will find someone who can. And if you think of destroying your notes, I will station Muncie in here with you. I’m sure having him around will keep your nose to the grindstone.”
Shipley swallowed a lump of sickened saliva. He had definitely gone too far. Shipley agreed to return to work immediately on the Warden’s serum. As the Warden stomped off, muttering under his breath, Shipley knew he had to go one hundred percent for his plans. The Warden made it clear he would pull the plug on the doctor without hesitation. And Muncie was always going to be the wolf at the door.
The only path forward was to eliminate both men, using their hatred for one another to hasten the slide toward the end game. All the while, Dr. Shipley would be strengthening his own blood while weakening the blood of the rest of the prison. Spreading the outbreak inside the walls was very dangerous, but it would be Dr. Shipley’s path to salvation.
A door out of the beast’s belly. A way out of hell.
Chapter 12
BJ had sliced his left hand, across the palm, just so he could get face time with Jonas. He had explained how he had tripped over his slippers in the bunk room. As he attempted to break his fall, BJ had sliced his hand along the edge of the bunk. The interim guard didn’t seem to buy the tale, arguing that the bunk posts were smooth, but BJ insisted he run the injury up the chain of command. For effect, BJ squeezed the wound so it bled more profusely, showing the guard he’d need stitches. Jonas had agreed to accompany BJ to the Infirmary.
“He’s gonna kill me. I can feel it.”
“You’re just paranoid. I have my own problems to deal with. I don’t need yours too.”
BJ blinked. He sensed the change in Jonas’ demeanor. The mood was less than friendly.
“Is there any way you can sign some paperwork to keep me in the Infirmary for a few days? Under observation or some bullshit?” BJ realized he sounded like a whiny pussy but he had become desperate. When BJ stood up to Jack Turk, he had felt emboldened and empowered. Mere minutes after the confrontation, BJ regretted his words. He knew he couldn’t back track his attitude. Not after pulling the stunt in front of the other prisoners. If he backed down, they would eat him up for being so weak. And Jack would take a shit all over him to cement his apex privilege. Conversely, if BJ stayed in C-Pod, Jack knew what to expect of BJ. So he was sure Jack had already planned out a dozen scenarios where he would twist BJ’s head off and punt it across the pod to re-establish his spot in the pecking order.
Either way, Jack Turk would kill BJ. No doubt in his mind.
“I can’t. You’re gonna get your stitches and then you’re going back in the pod.”
BJ rifled through images of torture and death. Each scene ended poorly for him.
“Maybe the hole. I could do something to get sent to the hole. What is bad enough to get shoved in the hole for a couple of days?”
Jonas stopped walking. He clutched BJ’s arm with a strong grip.
“Are you fucking crazy? The hole is the last place you want to be. I told you. I got my own worries. I’m not sticking my neck out for you on this.”
BJ nudged Jonas with his chest. “You said you would look out for me. Why are you reneging? Was it something I did? What happened?”
Jonas began to walk away. BJ hustled after him.
“I’m getting my ass kicked out here. Literally.”
BJ smirked. The thought of a guard having to take a beating like a prisoner sounded unbelievable. “Come on.”
“I’m not fucking around. Muncie has a stick up his ass.” Jonas quickly glanced over his shoulder as if he were paranoid Muncie would be found within earshot. “He kicked the crap out of me. He’s on a warpath over me and a couple of others. And I think he lost his fucking mind.”
BJ laugh
ed. “You’re just seeing that now? Muncie’s been crazier than a washed-up pop singer since Day One.”
“Not like this. He’s dangerous on a good day. And all the good days are in the rear-view mirror now.”
“So why can’t I go to the hole? I’d be safe there.”
Jonas shook his head adamantly. “No way. The last few prisoners who went to the hole ended up on the wrong end of a zombie attack. The hole is certain death. You might as well ask Muncie to skull fuck you.”
BJ didn’t like his options. He was down to sucking it up or a suicide mission against Jack. Or Muncie. With nowhere left to run, BJ felt the onset of tears creeping up. He decided to change the topic so he wouldn’t start balling in front of the guard.
“Has the Warden spoken about any changes? Is he going to crack down more on us?”
Jonas shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s another one who is going off the deep end. I’m not sure who to trust less in the stink hole. Maybe Dr. Shipley is the only one left with an ounce of sanity.”
BJ saw an opportunity. “So the Infirmary could save me? Come on. Isn’t there anything you can pull out of your sleeve to buy me time in the hospital? What if you crack my head open because I was trying to fight you or some shit? You can make up whatever story you want. Just hit me good so I’m out cold for a few days. I’ll sleep it off and get better and then you can bring me back. Whaddaya say?”
“I say you’re a fucking idiot. I’m not hitting you. Even if you were stupid enough to try to pull some shit with me, I wouldn’t need to hurt you that badly to get you under control. You’re gonna have to face Turk sometime. Might as well get it over with.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” BJ’s volume cranked up a few notches without him noticing. “There is no facing Jack. People who “face” Jack end up dead. He’s a maniac. He’ll kill me.”