We Won't Go Quietly
A Family’s Struggle to Survive in a World Devolved
Book Three of the What’s Left of My World Series
By C.A.Rudolph
License Notes
Copyright © 2017-2018 All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design
Formatting by Deranged Doctor Design
Editing by Sabrina Jean, FastTrack Editing
Proofreading by Pauline Nolet, PaulineNolet.com
Featured on the cover: Darja Filipovic of Deranged Doctor Design
ISBN-13: 978-1542773294
ISBN-10: 1542773296
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgements
About the Author
For my brother, J – the strongest person
I have ever known.
Thank you for your guidance, your inspiration, your passion,
And for refusing the notion
to ever go quietly.
Prologue
Dan Abrahams pushed his beer belly aside and slid his under-belt through the belt loops of his uniform pants. He regarded each loop sensibly, careful not to miss or overshoot one like he had inadvertently done so many times before during his ever-increasingly mundane morning routine. He wanted today’s attempt to be different, a step above yesterday and the day before—but he could have sworn he’d told himself that a million times already, while still managing to achieve results in the subpar range.
He fastened his belt, cracked a sardonic grin, and used a finger to prod at his pooch of overhanging adipose tissue, something he referred to colloquially as the ‘shelf over his toybox’. His grin remained solid, gloating over the success he’d had with his belt, but morphed into a frown upon coming to the realization that he hadn’t yet tucked in his shirt.
Once back in business after retracing his steps, he exhaled a loud sigh, and his breath condensed onto the bathroom mirror over the reflection of his face. Using the tip of his index finger, he drew two ovals in the fog to expose his eyes and started tracing the perimeter of his nose. The ear shapes came next, as did the large circular area around his face and head. He drew in an unruly mane to compliment his receding hairline, and when the time came to delineate his mouth, he drew in a smile much broader and far more superior than his own. It was nearly cartoonish, going from one drawn-in ear to the other, and at first glance, in combination with his reflection and some added imagination, Dan thought it made him look a lot like the Joker.
“All I need is a little crimson lipstick and some of Marge’s night mask, and I could swing it,” he mused.
He picked up a comb, made some final adjustments to a thinning head of salt-and-pepper hair, and turned off the light before ambling into his bedroom and out to the hallway.
Dan strolled into the kitchen, where his wife was sitting at the table in her blue terrycloth bathrobe, reading an article on the front page of the morning paper that dominated her attention. He smiled at her, just as he’d always done each morning, but for some reason, it didn’t elicit a response.
While using one hand to open a cabinet and reach for a stainless-steel thermos, Dan’s other hand went digging into a thin wicker basket full of K-Cups, looking for his favorite Dunkin’ Donuts blend. Upon locating one, he loaded the K-Cup and removed the drip tray so his thermos would fit under the spout. He pressed the brew button and stepped away to look out the kitchen window, allowing the Keurig the time it needed to whir his coffee to life.
From behind, he could hear his bride making noises with her lips as she took slow sips of her coffee. Then he heard the sound of her mug as it tapped the table with more intensity than usual.
“There was another attack yesterday, I see,” she said. “That makes, what—five or six in the past three weeks?”
“Seven,” Dan replied while he continued staring into the morning darkness just outside his home. “And if the Department of ‘Public Lack of Safety’ and ‘Correctional Disservices’ keeps defining progress in the same fashion they have been, it’s only going to get worse.”
“Damn politicians. They don’t know anything about anything. Unbelievable.”
“No…as a matter of fact, it’s completely believable,” Dan said. “I’m sure when I get in today, we’ll either be on another full lockdown or modified movement again. But that’s the protocol per the warden now.”
“They need to do something about it. Something that actually works and keeps the officers safe.”
“Lockdown or removal of privileges is their only answer, I’m afraid,” Dan said. “Problem is, the more you do these types of things, the more pissed off the inmates get. It eventually becomes counterproductive. Angry, resentful inmates tend to be a lot less docile.”
His wife nodded. “I know you’ve had run-ins in the past, Dan…but, have any of them threatened you recently?”
Dan shook his head. “Not recently, no. But we’ve had almost three hundred reported threats against COs this year alone. The prison system in our state is way overpopulated—has been ever since they lost their damn minds and repealed the death penalty years ago. And now on top of that, we’re understaffed because no one seems to want to work in prisons anymore. Go figure, right? Less than ideal work conditions, little chance of promotion, and entry-level pay equivalent to that of a Walmart greeter.”
“You forgot to mention the whole ‘getting killed by a pissed-off inmate’ thing. That in itself is quite the added incentive.”
“Must’ve slipped my mind,” said Dan. “Truth is, there aren’t many real benefits anymore, and budget cuts are the way of the world now. They keep replacing manpower with technology, thinking the two are somehow equivalent, and each time they do it, it puts all of us at more risk.”
Dan’s wife sighed. “I really wish you’d find another job. I hate hearing you talk like this.”
Dan snickered. “I don’t know how to do much else, Marge; add that to my list of shortcomings. Come to think of it, aren’t you the one who usually reminds me of them?”
“Hmm. Well, someone has to keep you in line. Your memory isn’t what it used to be. Need I remind you also that you have a background in electronics?”
“That was a long time ago, and a lot has changed since then. I’ve been a corrections officer for over twenty years now. A veteran of the force. Cut my teeth in the maximum-security busin
ess back when there were so many attacks, we couldn’t even keep track of them all. I suppose I could learn to plumb…”
“You know what I mean, Dan,” Marge said. “Don’t be a nitwit.”
“At least I don’t have to commute to Jessup anymore.”
Marge nodded and went after her coffee mug. “There is that. We are saving money on gas.”
Dan turned around and leaned his lower back into the counter, placing his fingers knuckle-deep into his pockets. “They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I know that to be a true statement. But it’s not because they can’t be taught—it’s because they don’t want to learn. I’m definitely not getting any younger. I think I’m starting to understand how those old dogs feel.”
“I don’t know much about old dogs, but you can be my silver fox anytime,” his wife purred.
Hearing the Keurig signify the completion of its latest assignment, Dan retrieved his thermos, screwed on the cap and went to give his wife a kiss on the cheek.
Marge turned to him at the last second so her lips would intercept his. “Be careful, Dan. Don’t forget, I love you.”
“Always,” Dan said. From a nearby opened rolltop desk, he grabbed his modular equipment belt, lunch box, cellular telephone, and truck keys, and left the house through the front door.
Dan inserted the keys and brought the carbureted engine of his baby blue 1977 Ford Bronco to life, and after giving his prized possession a moment to properly warm up, he pulled out of his driveway and onto Wills Creek Avenue, then veered onto Sedgwick Street to begin his morning commute. It wasn’t long before Allegany High School came into view on his right and, shortly thereafter, Rose Hill Cemetery, where both of his parents had been laid to rest many years ago.
He slowed the truck as he passed by and adjusted his posture so he could just see their headstones above the others. “Top of the morning to you, Pop. You too, Mom. I hope to see you guys again soon. But not too soon.”
Dan pushed on the accelerator and increased the speed of the Bronco to just above the speed limit. Both hearing and feeling his cellular phone’s distinctive vibration pattern, Dan grabbed it from the passenger seat while making a one-handed turn onto Fayette Street. The screen displayed a mustached, goofy-grinned digital photo of one of his closest friends and coworkers as the phone continued to twinkle and buzz. Between the photo and the virtual color-coded buttons to answer or ignore read ‘Crazy Ray McBride is Calling’.
Dan smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “This has become an everyday thing. We’re like a couple of gossiping old women.” Taking his eyes from the road for a second, he tapped the green answer circle. “Good morning, Ray.”
Ray’s voice bellowed over the speaker into Dan’s ear. “Howdy, Dan. Looks like a beautiful day ahead of us. Did you hear the news about Roxbury?”
Dan nodded involuntarily in response. “I heard about it yesterday before I left work. Guess it’s official now, it made it to the front page of the paper. Marge saw it this morning.”
“Bet she wants you to quit your job now.”
“Yep. Same as last time.”
“I reckoned. Yeah, I read their so-called official statement. Same bullshit excuses, different day. That’s gotta be like the sixth attack so far this month.”
“Seventh,” Dan began with a smirk. “And that’s in the past three weeks. If we go back another week, we’d have to include the snafu at Clarksburg, where all the doors suddenly popped open for whatever reason.”
“Yep, yep. Can’t forget about that. It could’ve been a real mess over there. Did they ever figure out what happened?” asked Ray.
Dan set the phone on his shoulder for support and brought it to his ear so he could shift and ready himself for the right-hand turn onto Greene Street. “Electromagnetic locks, a brownout, and a failed backup power system would be my guess,” Dan replied. “It was a combination of issues, but they’ve got a pretty archaic setup there. And no one likes to maintain it the way it needs to be.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ray said. “Guess we should count ourselves lucky.”
“I can’t see your face, Ray. Is that sarcasm I’m detecting?”
Ray laughed. “You of all people should know the answer to that question, Danny boy.”
Dan smiled as the familiar signs to merge onto US Route 220 began coming into focus. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he said. “Did they finish installing all the newfangled electronic crap at Western yet?”
“That’s affirmative,” Ray said. “Got it done faster than I expected, too. So my guess is you’ll probably be seeing the smiling faces of around twenty or so technicians as they roam your halls with tools and ladders today. Our head of security fell in love with them here; I’m sure yours will, too. There’s also a sales engineer guy who likes to sit in the control room—and he will bug the ever-loving shit out of you, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“What’s he like?”
“Eh,” Ray began, “he’s kind of a boner.”
“Is he about mid-twenties, fresh out of college with an electrical or mechanical engineering degree?”
“Boy—you got him pegged. He’s all that, got a cute little wife with a perfect body, two kids, and white picket fenced-in backyard.”
“Great,” Dan said. “I know the type. That’s just what I needed. Everything go okay with the install, though? Any screwups?”
“Moving the inmates around while work was being performed was a cluster. At first, we just let them roam around in the unit, but the workers were getting a little weirded out with that. I guess they were getting too fresh with them. But everything went according to plan, from what I saw. I doubt your facility will be any different.”
Dan chuckled. “But our facility is different, Ray. In many ways.”
“It’s just a newer building with some highfalutin’, state-of-the-art, buuullshit design the state of Maryland paid way too much money for. I don’t know why they insist on calling it a hypermax prison, anyway. With all the doubling-up you guys do, it’s medium-security at best. Guess that makes it a hypermed.”
“Housing maximum-security inmates in a medium-security setting wasn’t my idea. You can blame the warden for that. But I appreciate your sense of humor, Ray. Glad to see you refuse to change, regardless of what’s thrown at you.”
“I don’t have no other choice, my friend. Either I make fun of the crazy things going on in this world, or I go crazy trying to understand them. Well, go on, now…have fun with your new pretentious digs.”
“Hey, Ray, before you go, how’s the famous cannibal doing? Has he eaten anyone lately?”
Ray chuckled. “Now who’s the one with the sense of humor? You’ll be happy to know that Mr. Clark has been on his best behavior lately. I think he’s trying to start a new life…he even stopped wearing women’s clothes. Haven’t seen him in heels in at least a week or two.”
Both men took turns laughing for a moment.
“Give me a call later on if you want to do lunch or shoot the poop,” Ray said. “I think China Wok has their all-you-can-eat buffet today.”
“I’ll do that. You tell the ex-crossdressing cannibal and the other miscreants I said hello.”
Ray laughed. “Will do.”
Dan said goodbye to his friend and set the phone down onto the passenger seat. He drove under the I-68 overpass, merging his truck onto US Route 220, and accelerated southbound.
After traveling approximately four miles and passing through the area of Bowling Green, Dan turned left onto Todd Drive and proceeded into the employee parking area. Two large concrete signs on either side read ‘North Branch Correctional Institution’. The facility, master control tower, and the ominous razor-wire fence sat in his direct line of sight, showcased by the forest green Appalachian foothills in the background to the east.
As Dan went to pull the Bronco into his normal space, he stopped short and hung his forearm from the steering wheel in disbelief when he noticed it was already o
ccupied. “You gotta be kidding me.”
A large commercial van with Haber Total Integration Services painted in large bold red lettering on the side was straddling two parking spaces, two-thirds of Dan’s and a third of the one beside it. The door carried their local, toll-free, and fax numbers, along with their website and email addresses, and the company’s business license number in a similar font. At least three other identical vans had been parked indiscriminately in the employee parking area, in addition to the one occupying Dan’s parking space.
Dan grumbled and pulled his truck into a space not far away, then grabbed his things and headed inside through the front doors of the support building.
As he approached each level of security, a second’s delay passed by while the controllers identified him and disengaged a locking mechanism. Each door following was opened one by one in the same fashion, but only after the preceding door had been closed and the locking mechanism proved secure. Two sequential doors of any corridor were never permitted to be opened at the same time within the confines of North Branch.
After passing through several layers of security, scanning a key fob, and entering a personal PIN number he had memorized, Dan took the elevator to the top floor of the five-story master control tower. He then entered the LCD and LED video- and touch-screen-filled confines of the master control center, where every square inch of the prison remained under unremitting surveillance and regulation.
Two officers preparing to be relieved during shift change went to welcome him as he set his things down on an empty chair.
“Morning, Dan,” an officer said as he stood up from a reclined position in a rolling chair. “You’ll be glad to know it’s been an uneventful evening.”
“Happy to hear it,” Dan said. “Let’s hope the rest of the day goes by the same.” Dan approached them as they proceeded to the opposite side of the redundant control workstations, glancing out the observation window to the surrounding grounds. “I take it the reason for the peace and quiet is due to a modified movement order?”
What's Left of My World (Book 3): We Won't Go Quietly Page 1