by Chuck Buda
Jonas stopped. “Look, everyone has to die sometime. You shouldn’t have pulled his tail if you didn’t want to get bitten. You’re either gonna get killed by him, the virus, a zombie...” Jonas shrugged again. “We’re all coming to end soon. I just don’t see a way out. For any of us. I used to have faith the Warden would protect us like he said. But nothing has changed for the better. It’s only gone downhill and now things are picking up speed.”
BJ Stomped his feet. The tears started brimming over his lids. He’d lost control of his emotions. “Well thanks for the pep talk, Tony Fucking Robbins. I feel so much better now.” BJ threw himself at Jonas. With his hands cuffed, all he could use as a weapon was his body or his legs. He rammed his head down into Jonas’ stomach. The blast sent Jonas backwards a few feet. But the strike hadn’t been powerful enough to knock him off his feet.
As swooshing sound traveled from left to right like a song in a stereo speaker. BJ never saw the club coming. It conked him on the side of his skull and his eyes fluttered in their sockets. As he dropped to the floor, darkness surrounded him from every angle.
The last thing BJ heard was a distant voice saying, “You’re fucking stupid.”
Chapter 13
Janie felt a bit uncomfortable. She’d been alone with the Warden before. But she sensed an edge about him tonight. Something was slightly off. She couldn’t figure it out but her radar was up.
“What’s the word?”
“Sir?” Janie stood at attention.
Warden Gorgon sighed. “I thought I told you to quit calling me that.”
Janie stared at a spot above the Warden’s head, where the ceiling met the wall. A trick her instructor at the Academy had taught her. It kept her focused and professional when superiors spoke to her.
“Sorry, Sir.” Janie winced. She couldn’t help herself. She’d always been “gung-ho” and found it difficult to be less than professional when in uniform. It was like a light switch when she pulled on her BDU’s.
The Warden circled his desk. He approached Janie but kept some distance. He folded his arms and leaned back against the front of his desk.
“Let’s try this again. And if you call me “Sir,” I will have you placed in solitary confinement for...subordination.” He chuckled under his breath. “Have you heard news from our outposts?”
Janie lightened. She should have known what Gorgon was asking. His strange aura had gotten her off her game. “Yes...” Janie caught herself before calling him the “S” word again. “There is trouble among the rank and file. To a man, folks are becoming paranoid. Accusing each other of underhandedness. A few have begun to form alliances, protection in numbers, that sort of thing.”
Warden Gorgon nodded. Janie continued.
“I’ve performed my rounds, sowing further discontent between rivals in order to keep them all busy with in-fighting so you can operate with ease. I returned to D-Pod with outreach. And I’ve monitored the activities of Enemy Number One.”
Warden Gorgon clapped. “Very good. You’ve been quite the busy little beaver, haven’t you?”
Janie clenched her teeth. She found his characterization a tad awkward.
The Warden stepped forward. She could smell some stale after shave on his skin or clothing.
“At ease. You’re amongst friends here. No need to be so formal.” Gorgon pointed at the door. “Out there you can toe the line. In here, we are on the same level. Understood?”
Janie nodded her agreement. But she hardly felt an equal in the spacious office with all the awards and plaques providing accolades for the Warden’s long, successful career.
“Good. Now, let’s cover the next steps.”
Janie listened to the Warden walk through his plan for the prison. He saw Warsaw as a fort in a battle. The vision was to create battlements along the gates and walls. The trained snipers would be responsible for long range scouting and tactical threat elimination. The rest of the guards-turned-soldiers would bridge the gaps in between and fortify against near threats. The last piece of the puzzle confused Janie. He planned to infect all the prisoners with the virus. Once the prisoners contracted the disease, they would fall ill and become zombies. The Warden would employ the prisoners as a battalion of infantry, posting half within the prison walls as a last-ditch force against intrusion. The rest would be stationed beyond the walls as a recon outfit. Their function would be to fight off (bite off?) living raiders. Against the undead, Warden Gorgon envisioned his army of zombies as puppets for his own control. He had worked out a system whereby his commands would be followed by the zombies, effectively directing them to wipe out the other monsters. He explained how he had already tested his hypothesis with successful results.
Once they outlasted the eventual attacks, the Warden anticipated moving his “army” across the county to root out evil and gather much needed supplies.
Janie tried to comprehend all the info the Warden had dumped on her. Before she could process the plan, Janie lost focus. The Warden had begun to caress her arm.
“Relax. Are you in a hurry to get back to your post?”
Janie found it difficult to swallow. She understood the subtle machinations of a seduction when she saw it. Even as a big girl, Janie had been the target of plenty of men who wanted to “climb her tree” or “take a ride on the mountain.” She decided to go along with it just far enough to remain in the Warden’s good graces. If he pushed her too far, she would stand her ground and demand professionalism.
Am I willing to bite the hand that protects me?
Warden Gorgon moved his fingers along the edge of her arm toward her breast. As he stroked the edge of her nipple, his thumb rose up to clench her full breast in his palm. Janie closed her eyes, hoping she could imagine a lover from the past. The Warden stepped closer. His hot breath in her ear sent shivers across her skin. The gooseflesh aroused senses that had long been dormant. Janie bit her lower lip. She stifled a moan as the Warden cupped her buttocks and pressed his erection into the side of her leg. She felt the urgency poking at her side.
“Yes.”
Janie tilted her head back as the Warden finished his whisper with a wet tongue along her nape. The sensation made her instantly aroused. She felt a flood below, preparing to accept her boss as an unlikely lover. Janie decided to give in to her urges. It had been awhile since she could feel like a real woman. Since she had gotten lost in the throes of a wild night of sex. Janie coaxed herself to use the Warden just like he was using her. He demanded release. And Janie needed to feel something more comforting than violence and sabotage.
The Warden and Janie fumbled with each other’s trousers, clawing at belts and zippers. Tugging aside under garments to get at the steaming flesh filled with desire. Gorgon slid down, pecking delicately at her tummy and then probing her with his hot tongue. The euphoria of his mouth made her wild. She clutched at the back of the Warden’s head, grinding herself into his face and squealing with the tremors of an uprising in her vagina.
Janie forgot the Warden’s plan for a while. Instead, she threw herself into her work.
Chapter 14
Crawford took a direct path to Muncie. He glared at Muncie, who licked his lips with a sinister grin across his face.
“Muncie.”
He had no idea why he felt it necessary to announce his approach. On a deeper level, Crawford may have felt the warning would be more customary of a gentleman. However, Crawford had no intentions of being a gentleman today.
Crawford shoved his nose into Muncie’s face. He made sure the end of his nose touched Muncie’s face.
“You’re gonna have a problem with me. Right now.” Crawford shouted into Muncie’s personal space.
Muncie shoved Crawford back. His nostrils flared with hatred and aggression. Crawford ignored the signs of danger. He was too amped up, enraged with Muncie’s treatment of Jonas.
“The fuck are you going to do?”
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, you fat fuck?” Spittle
flew from Crawford’s lips. “You feel all tough going after Jonas?”
Muncie’s expression softened. He smirked. “Oh, you’re gonna stick up for your bitch? I didn’t know your balls had dropped from your belly.”
Crawford charged forward. He cocked a fist to throw a punch but as he neared Muncie, his opponent raised a forearm to deflect the coming punch. In transit, Crawford brought the cocked fist down as a hammer instead. It caught the left side of Muncie’s head, connecting with his temple. The blow stunned Muncie. The larger guard staggered backwards, his eyes glossing over for a moment before returning to focus. Crawford followed through with his attack. He brought a knee up into Muncie’s gut, doubling the larger man over.
As Muncie gasped and clutched at his stomach, Crawford hurried to bring the fight to the floor. He would grapple with Muncie while he had him down, taking full advantage of the equality of close quarters. Crawford worked his hands, digging to get his arms around Muncie’s stout neck. Muncie turned into the attempted choke hold, choosing to face Crawford.
With his hands busy, Crawford lost track of Muncie’s fists. Muncie struck Crawford’s ear with one close-range jab. The other fist landed squarely under Crawford’s chin. The shot to his face dazed him momentarily. Crawford pulled himself in tighter to Muncie’s torso. He buried his face into Muncie’s chest, hoping to protect himself for a few seconds while he recovered from the punches.
Both combatants panted, quickly out of breath from blowing their adrenaline loads. Even gassed, the fight was far from over. Crawford ran one of his hands along the side of Muncie’s face. He dug his fingers into Muncie’s right eye. As soon as he felt the wetness in the socket, Crawford lost hold. Muncie had tossed his head aside, escaping a serious eye-gouging. Muncie bit down on the side of Crawford’s hand. The sharp pain of teeth tearing flesh forced a scream from Crawford’s mouth. He pushed the hand wedged in Muncie’s mouth harder. It felt as if Muncie’s front teeth wiggled, ready to give way, succumbing to the force moving them inward. Muncie must have felt the same sensation since he let go of his bite.
Crawford and Muncie rolled away from each other. As they stood, circling each other like wolves fighting over a fallen deer, Muncie spat out a chunk of meat from Crawford’s hand. Crawford hazarded a quick glance at his mangled paw. Blood, brighter than a fire engine, surrounded the missing flesh. He dabbed his wound against his pant leg. Muncie made a dash for Crawford. He howled like a monstrous beast. Crawford hesitated for a second as he saw the coldness in Muncie’s eyes. They rolled back in their sockets like a shark’s nictitating membrane as it strikes it prey.
Muncie’s shoulder slammed into Crawford’s chest. The two men crashed into the cinder block wall, which refused to give an inch. The brute impact knocked Crawford and Muncie senseless. Piled along the floor, on top of each other, they gasped for air and tried to coax their consciousness from oblivion.
The fight had gone from a street brawl to each man playing for keeps.
Crawford sat up first. Blood drooled from his mouth. He tasted it, wondering if he had internal bleeding. Muncie tried to sit up several times and then gave up. His eyes searched the ceiling, out of focus and distant. Crawford dragged himself along the floor to Muncie. He slipped Muncie’s night stick free, raised it so the chewed end was scraping Muncie’s chin. Crawford pushed it deeper, forcing Muncie’s head backwards, which was nearly impossible as it was supported by the hard floor.
“If you ever touch my men again, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”
Muncie’s head rolled to the side. His chin slid off the baton. Crawford smacked the end of the club into Muncie’s mouth. It caught the bottom of one of Muncie’s upper teeth. The enamel split and the tooth broke off halfway up to the root. It fell back into Muncie’s mouth, hitting his tongue and then sliding into the back of his throat. Muncie gagged, coughed and spit the tooth fragment out of his mouth.
Crawford pulled himself up. He tossed the baton down onto Muncie’s chest. He staggered to the side, brushing the blood away from his lips with the back of his hand. Crawford began to leave Muncie alone, making his way back to work. He decided he needed to put an exclamation point on his bout with Muncie. He returned, kicked Muncie in the ribs as hard as he could and then walked away.
As he hobbled up the corridor, Crawford felt the sting of his new wounds. His pulse echoed in his head, blotting out the garbled threats of the man he had just beaten. He didn’t care. All that mattered to Crawford was that he finally held himself accountable to Muncie. He stuck up for his men. And he ceased being Muncie’s scratching post.
Maybe he’ll think twice before he fucks with me again.
Crawford couldn’t fool himself with that logic. Muncie was the kind of soulless bastard who would never stop coming for him. Defeat would only last as long as it took for Muncie to heal his wounds. After that, Muncie would be back. And he would bring hell with him as his backup.
The only way to stop a Muncie was to kill him.
Crawford had allowed Muncie to live. He hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt him.
But he knew it would.
Chapter 15
Jack had thought about the battle plans for many hours. Lost sleep and distraction were part of the process as he figured out how to utilize their strengths. One way or another, Jack Turk wanted to make his move. He was no longer content to wait for opportunities to present themselves. Jack wanted to make his luck.
The best option would be to mount an attack the next time the guards entered C-Pod. Easier said than done. When Muncie and his men came, they packed heat and they showed up in force. The element of surprise would be Jack’s best weapon. After years of being hassled, getting their bunks tossed, enduring pod sweeps on a routine basis, the men of C-Pod had never fought back. Muncie and his men would never suspect it, even if they always prepared for the possibility.
When Jack and the men of C-Pod had staged the riot, they’d attempted to draw the guards into the pod. This time, they would lie in wait and then spring to action. Not immediately. The inmates would present a typically docile passivity. Then the moves would be made.
Jack had devised several waves of action. His idea involved staggered attacks, thus creating an illusion of insurrection which could be easily nullified. The next charge would throw doubts into the guards and their orders. Finally, another wave would overwhelm and bring the shock and awe of complete annihilation.
It seemed like a winning strategy when he’d thought it up. As Jack revealed the plan to the men, it became evident he had some challenges ahead. While every man bought into the notion of fighting now to avoid the slow death sentence, some of the men had trouble understanding their roles. Jack explained the strategy several times. He began to use slippers and packs of cigarettes as tools to diagram the execution. It helped to some degree. A handful of prisoners continued to ask childish questions like they were being taught Algebra for the first time. Jack devised a solution where he would keep the denser prisoners for the final wave. Once mayhem struck, even the morons could follow the crowd. At least, Jack hoped they’d be able to figure it out.
Jack would have loved to send the idiots in the first wave, taking the most physical punishment. But he couldn’t afford to have the plan fail from the onset because some dopes fucked it up.
There would be casualties. Jack made it clear that everyone should expect to see friends and bunkmates fall. The reality, he explained, was death would come sooner or later. They could sit idle, scared, waiting for the Warden to pick them out - one by one - for cage matches against the zombies. Or they could eventually fall ill to the virus, turning into the undead and then living through the horror of being eaten by their brothers. The best option would be to bring the fight to Muncie and the Warden. Get a little payback for all the horrible treatment. For the hours spent in the hole. A pound of flesh for no food and little water. For cutting commissary and for killing some of their mates in the cage. Like Melvin.
Jack reasoned,
if they were going to go down, they would be better off going down swinging. He read the faces hovered around him. Grimaces of fear morphed into determination. Anger and hope. Rage and anarchy.
He liked what he saw. The mood in the pod had shifted to vibrant energy like a slow surge of current under an explosive powder keg. The kind of vibe where anything could erupt at any moment.
Jack thought it smelled delicious.
The men dispersed, small conversations between groups assigned to the distinct waves of attack. Roommates working through the blocking and tackling. Jack ran his shaky hand through his greasy hair. He hadn’t realized how nervous he had been, sharing the plan with the pod. On a subliminal level, Jack had feared the men would laugh off his proposal. Some might stage a coup, calling for Jack’s leadership to be taken away. Perhaps even stringing him up before the guards could rush in and save him.
Deep down, Jack wouldn’t have wanted to be saved. He’d take his death like he took everything else in life. With a fight. And personally.
Swede plopped down in a chair next to Jack. He massaged his enormous biceps. “Think it’ll work?”
Jack clenched his fists closed to keep his shaky hands from being noticed. He had some doubts about their chances. But he couldn’t voice his concerns. “Of course. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t think we had a chance.”
“A chance is different than working.” Swede thought aloud, aggravating Jack’s nerves.
“There’s a chance one of us will be thrown into the cage. A really good chance. What makes one more likely than the other?”
Jack smiled as he watched Swede mull the question over. “Don’t burn out your bulb thinking about it. I don’t like to lose. And I’m a bad guy.”
Swede’s brow furrowed. “So?”