The Undead the Second Week Compilation Edition Days 8-14

by RR Haywood

  ‘Jonas you crazy motherfucker,’ Randall singled the man out with a huge white toothed grin, ‘you had this idea so you should go first man, take the position of honour and slip your ass through that wall.’

  ‘Careful, don’t put your back to him,’ an inmate stood behind Jonas covers his mouth and whispers. Jonas nods back, signalling that he heard.

  ‘That would be my pleasure Randall,’ Jonas grins warmly, making sure he looks directly at the American for fear one of the other idiots would give a not so discrete nod and spark the fight here and now. Jonas walks through the men, shifting his gaze from Randall to the hole. His instincts scream inside to scan everyone and watch for movements, but the tension has increased so much in the last few minutes that the mere act of looking could spark it. Enough safety measures have been put in place, every wing has men strategically placed to attack. Faces smile, heads nod with pleasure while hands grip weapons tightly. ‘Well gentlemen, I would like to say that serving with you in this fine establishment has been a pleasure,’ he pauses for effect, ‘but it fucking hasn’t,’ he adds to a ripple of laughter, ‘here’s to pastures new.’

  Jonas grips the edges of the hole, willing himself to turn round and go out backwards but refusing to show a weakness now. Presenting his back he grimaces, waiting for a blade to plunge in or a bar to ram into his skull. Keeping his movements purposefully slow he scrabbles through the hole, bunching his big shoulders together.

  The intense heat hits him like a hammer, the concrete paving beneath the hole reflecting the intense rays back into his eyes, causing him to squint. Sweat drips down his face, his hands feel slippery as they grip the rough edges. He pauses on the final step, just a few feet down and he’ll be out. He lowers down onto his backside, ungainly and vulnerable. His feet push out until they dangle over the lip, carefully he lowers himself down, eyes clenching shut as he waits for the blow to the back of his head.

  Opening his eyes he realises he’s stood on the ground, the final drop not registering within his mind so convinced was he of the impending attack. A slow grin forms on his face, he lifts his head to the sun, feeling the warmth of the rays. Breathing deeply and for the first time in days his nose doesn't fill with the stench of decaying bodies, shit and stale sweat.

  Turning round he grins up at the hole, at the face of Randall staring out at him.

  ‘Come on mate, it’s fucking lovely out here,’ Jonas motions with his head for the man to come out.

  ‘I don’t need no mother-fucking invitation, hey…’ Randall turns back to the room behind him, ‘fuck y’all,’ he grins and jumps out, athletically landing on the ground. A loud cheer erupts from inside, the sudden noise causing both Jonas and Randall to tense and make ready. They glare at each other, hearts racing, fists clenched. Slowly they both relax, wry smiles form as they nod with respect and turn back to the hole.

  ‘What you fucking waiting for?’ Jonas bellows. Men start dropping through, and each man pauses at the sight of the outside world. The beautiful sun high in the sky, deep blue sky and glorious fresh air. Jonas and Randall stand under the hole, helping each man out, something changes, an act unspoken as the impact of getting out takes over from any other intended plan.

  The men clap each other on the back, some move to stand on their own staring up at the sky. Others get carried away, cheering and whooping noisily, the sound is infectious and carries to inside the room, creating a sense of urgency to be out of the place, as if the hole will close up if the exodus isn’t completed instantly.

  The leaders of B and C wing, hanging back and waiting to see who makes the first move, cast nervous glances at each other, minute shrugs as they show their confusion. They too get caught up in the fever of escape and quickly join the line ready to drop down.

  The last man stands in the hole, a few feet higher than everyone else and cheering with one arm raised in the air. The men respond, whistling and screaming jubilantly as he drops down. They stand there looking round, the familiar coupled with the unfamiliar. The familiar from the general presentation of the prison, the same hues of grey and brown mixed with harsh concrete. The unfamiliar from not having been to this side of the building before, this not being part of the exercise area and only used for vehicle transport and officers.

  The cheering and jubilation ebb away, voices slowly dropping in volume as the initial excitement wears off. Inmates become aware of who they’re stood near, where their wing mates are. The smiles fade as the tension soars, faces become grim. Most of them, in their haste at getting out, had dropped or simply not picked up the weapons they had been eyeing earlier.

  Movement starts very casually as men start shuffling, creating space between each other. Eyes warily scanning other faces, heads turning to take in all sides. Feet scuff the ground, hands disappear inside pockets to hold the smaller weapons some of them had secreted. Wings began to form as the natural inclination to be part of a pack takes over their instincts. Jonas stepped carefully, his hands loose down at his sides, head slightly lowered to increase his peripheral vision.

  Around five hundred men merge, move, sidle and shuffle into five distinct gangs, each one headed with their leader front and central. Still nothing was said, just long hard looks. Fists balled, arms tensed as feet planted wide apart, the conspiring they had all taken part in causing the delay as they each wait for the other to start.

  Jonas watches Randall closely. D wing looks to Jonas, B and C look to each other, the leaders keep their expressions plain, revealing nothing.

  D wing switches his gaze to Randall, remembering the words Jonas had told him and watching for any movement from the American. Seconds tick away, minutes form and drift as the silent stand-off continues. The unused adrenalin starts to fade away causing legs and hands to tremble slightly and the men tense their limbs to hide the shakes for fear of being seen to be scared.

  ‘We gonna stand here all day?’ Jonas’ deep voice penetrates the silence, all eyes flit to him standing there with arms crossed, he looks round at the assembled men. ‘I guess this is the point where we all start taking chunks out of each other,’ he adds.

  ‘Why don’t we each take a direction, like one goes north, the other south…that kind of thing,’ D wing says.

  ‘Great idea you fucking dumb-ass, only there are five mother fucking wings and only four mother-fucking points of the compass,’ men snigger at the quick witted reply from Randall, D wing blushes with both anger and embarrassment.

  ‘Two wings could go together,’ B wing adds with a quick nod towards C wing who nods back.

  ‘I go where the fuck I please,’ Randall shouts, his eyes wide and fierce.

  ‘Which direction do you want then? You choose what you want,’ Jonas offers.

  ‘I don’t mother-fucking know, I’m not from this fuck-ass place, how the shit should I know where the fucking towns are.’

  ‘The biggest town is about three miles that way, which is south,’ Jonas says.

  ‘You think I’m gonna trust you? Hell, you probably send me to some damn village full of fags and queers.’

  ‘You’ll fit in well then,’ someone shouts from the back of one of the groups.

  ‘Who the fuck said that? Step up motherfucker, step up and say that shit again, I dare you! I fucking double dare you with a mother-fucking cherry on the top.’

  Jonas winces as Randall steps forward glaring angrily around, demanding to know what pussy assed motherfucker said that.

  ‘Step back Randall,’ D wing says.

  ‘The fuck did you say?’ Randall turns to the man.

  ‘I said,’ D wing repeats slowly, ‘step back so we can sort this out.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you to tell me to step back? What are you? The mother-fucking playground monitor?’

  ‘You know what,’ D wing steps forward, ‘I’ve put up with your fucking voice for years, that fucking noise is like a gnat buzzing away.’

  ‘What the fuck is a nat? Speak English you fucking dumb-ass.’

 
; ‘Yeah I am English,’ D wing snaps, his arms dropping from being crossed, he strides at Randall. The restraint now gone, out in the open with no guards, no weapons, just man on man and D wing was serving a life sentence for dealing with pricks like this. Randall stands stock still, his arms loose at his sides as he lets the other man come on.

  Jonas flicks his gaze between them, waiting for the perfect moment to join in. D wing bulls into Randall, arms flailing as he loses control, going into a psychotic rage. Randall stays calm and steps quickly back, using the leader of D wing’s momentum against him. D wing stumbles from expecting to find resistance and finding nothing but air. Randall is on him instantly, pulling the man’s head down and holding it in place as he repeatedly brings his right knee up into his face. The crack of the nose bone smashing carries above the dull thud of the impact. Jonas hesitates, realising just how hard and skilled the American is. If he rushes in now he could end up being alone, fighting against a much stronger opponent.

  D wing pulls free, staggering away and holding his hands to his face, blood pouring between his fingers, ‘Jonas you fucking cunt,’ D wing’s voice is muffled but still carries. The implication is clear, Randall snaps his head to glare at Jonas.

  ‘Fuck it, NOW!’ Jonas screams, men from all sides join the roar as they surge in. Randall dances back, punching out at anyone within range. Carnage ensues as violent men explode with fury, full of fear, nerves, excitement and they drive in. All of them in the blue and grey colours of the prison clothing. None of them able to distinguish who is from which wing. All-out battle takes places. Men punch friends, head-butt associates, kick at cell mates. Razor blades held between fingers slice into faces, sharpened toothbrushes stab and snap into necks. Socks filled with rubble get swung round, smashing cheek bones and fracturing skulls.

  Randall fights like a demon, his sheer brutal strength demolishing every opponent that comes at him. His men gather round him, desperate to prove their worth and show their loyalty. The other wings disintegrate as every man fights for his own survival. Jonas and his close associates stick together, forming a tight circle as they batter at anything within reach.

  Men, who minutes before clapped and cheered each other for the freedom they had gained, kill and die without discrimination. Bleeding out on the sun scorched concrete, slipping into unconsciousness never to awaken. Feet stamp down on the fallen, the fighting is dirty, eyes gouged out, ears bitten off. Anything goes. These men were held away from society for a reason and they show it now. Weak men become warriors as they launch from foe to foe, strong men become overwhelmed at the numbers around them, becoming confused who to attack and where to go.

  Minutes go by as the killing continues, the exhaustion starts to show as the men stagger away to bend over, breathing hard and fighting for breath. Men lean against other, trading feeble blows. Some find inner strength and lash out with a final ferocity, ending their opponents life and staggering away to drop down.

  Jonas and his group stand their ground, chests heaving, knuckles and hands bloodied, feet sore from stamping and kicking. Cuts and bruises on all their faces.

  ‘Jonas you motherfucker,’ Randall screams, ‘me and you right now, we end this.’

  ‘Don’t do it Jonas, we stick together,’ one of his men mutters between gritted teeth.

  Randall starts moving his group towards Jonas, their faces set and determined. Everyone else pauses, watching the action play out. The two titans of the prison about to go head to head.

  Jonas stares at the oncoming group, his face bitter with anger and regret. This didn’t play out the way he intended. Now there’s too many of them, he glances round, nowhere to go, no place to run and hide. There is only two ways out of this and one of them involves dying.

  ‘What’s up motherfucker,’ Randall taunts him with an easy grin, ‘you wishing you spent more time in the gym now or what? Sat in your cell being all lord of the manner and now look at you, you sweating like a rapist Jonas, your face is all red and shit, out of shape Jonas,’ he laughs, a grim disturbing sound, ‘hell, I’m not even warmed up yet motherfucker.’

  Jonas pauses, the future mapped out. Not just the immediate future which he knows involves his life ceasing to be within the next few minutes, but the future for mankind. Men like Randall will rule from now on, their strength and character will give them power over everyone else. Jonas suddenly feels very sorry. Sorry for every bad thing he ever did, sorry that men like him and Randall walk this earth. He stands up straight, letting his arms drop and walking quickly towards Randall. His men call him back, too fearful to break their rank and go after him.

  ‘I’m done Randall, I’m too old for this shit. Leave my men out of this, they just did what your blokes did and followed their leader, they’ll follow you from now on.’

  Randall drops the act, standing with a serious look on his face. He nods at Jonas, ‘you got my word on that,’ he says softly.

  ‘Do it then,’ Jonas growls.

  ‘Oh I will Jonas,’ Randall launches in, grabbing Jonas by the throat with one massive hand. His fingers dig into the sides of his windpipe, squeezing hard and compressing the small, fragile trachea. Jonas gargles at the suffocation, dropping to his knees as Randall increases the pressure of his grip. Eyes wide, his mouth smiling demonically. Jonas stares up, his eyes bulging and filling with blood. His hands flail weakly at Randall’s arm, his vision blurs, sound gone, only his conscious remains. That inner part that makes him human. Silently he gives thanks that he won’t be a part of the suffering he knows men like Randall will give out. His body shuts down, the brain, starved of oxygen, begins diverting the remaining blood to the vital organs. Jonas slips first into unconsciousness, then dies. A nasty brutal death delivered one handed by a man of almighty strength.

  Randall stands back, releasing the body and watching as it falls to the side. He stares down, amazed at watching the very second the life went away. Silence everywhere, Jonas’s men stand ready as Randall slowly lifts his gaze up to them.

  ‘Prisoners don’t make promises,’ he says softly. His men surge in, led by Randall as he attacks the remaining men. They’re ripped apart, destroyed and killed within seconds. Every other man just stands watching with a sense of sickening unease growing in their stomachs.

  As the last one of Jonas’s men falls, Randall spins round, glaring at the fifty or so men that remain standing, albeit covered in blood, cuts and bruises.

  ‘You men,’ Randall booms, ‘have proven yourselves worthy of life, you are mother-fucking warriors born to survive. Well, here we are, the last men standing. Crazy dumb-ass motherfuckers too stupid to die, I want you with me,’ he bellows, ‘I want strong men with me, fuck your wings, fuck what happened inside that place, this is a new life we got, we stick together and we’ll survive, hell, not just survive but we’ll live like mother-fucking kings surrounded by big ass titties.’

  Some of the men nod quickly, stepping forward to show their allegiance. The few that move quickly prompt the others. The sense of power shifting instantly as all eyes take in the new leader. Not one man stands back, every one of them knows the outcome if they decide anything different.

  Randall grins at them, nodding back as they slowly converge.

  ‘Now…how the fuck do we get out of this shit hole?’ He asks with a smile.

  Thirteen

  Half a mile down the road, a world away from the violence erupting behind the walls of Parkhurst, Marcy stands in front of a vast horde of undead. Thousands of bodies, fresh from the kill. The injuries sustained are minor, an explicit instruction, a command willed by Marcy that only the most essential of cuts be made to ensure the infection is passed.

  To the casual observer, this horde would appear to be a protest gathering outside a maximum security prison housing the country’s worst sexual offenders.

  A closer look shows the thousands of red bloodshot eyes staring blissfully towards one woman stood at the very front

  ‘Well the main gate is open so I think w
e should just send them in and wait here,’ Reginald says, ‘there really is no need for you to go in, April is more than capable of leading this venture.’

  ‘Okay okay Reginald, you’ve made your point, in fact you’ve made it many times in the last hour. I’ll go part of the way and make sure they can get in but I won’t enter the area where the inmates are, are you happy with that?’

  ‘I would agree to those terms,’ Reginald sniffs, ‘but I don’t believe for one second you will be able to resist going all the way in.’

  ‘April, you are going to lead the girls in and I will stay outside…unless,’ Marcy adds quickly, ‘something develops which requires me to go in.’

  ‘That is not fair, the something could be anything which only you would know and then tell me about later.’

  ‘Well if you’re so sure I’ll be telling you about it later then why are you so worried about me going in?’

  ‘In case there isn’t a later for you to tell me about?’

  ‘Wait, I’m lost…oh forget it, look I’m going in to make sure they can actually get in, wait here,’ she tuts, shaking her head and moving off. April and the girls walking just behind her.

  The main gate, this being the large solid metal vehicle access gate was slightly ajar, allowing enough room for the women to walk through, entering a long vehicle access bay with raised walkways on either side and doors leading into security control buildings.

  Marking on the road surface indicated to stop here. Marcy looks with interest, having never before seen the inside of a prison other than television documentaries. Ahead of the long vehicle bay was another high wall, topped with coils of razor wire and a spike topped metal gate set in the middle.