The Secret Weapon

by Bridget Denise Bundy

  PART 1

  CHAPTER ONE

  A year and a half passed and Coraset was still a resident of the Mojave Prison. She never had any visitors, but that never truly mattered to her. She still had her stepfather, but she didn’t want him travelling from the Barat Region to Death Valley by himself. It was at least a four hour drive, and anything could happen. There were people who still lived outside of Erato, and they would try to take his car or mug him if he stopped to get gas. It was a worry she didn’t want to bear.

  Coraset sat on the bed with her hands together in her lap, and she waited patiently for her breakfast and to take a shower. She stared at the bare wall in front of her. She never wanted to make her cell feel like home. She hated being there. The small space remained just as empty as the day she arrived.

  Finally her tray of food was shoved in through the slot in the door. The eggs and soggy toast was never edible, but she always took a couple of bites to satisfy her angry appetite.

  An hour later the food was taken away, and Coraset was finally taken to the showers. She placed her towel and comb on the tiled wall in front of her. She took off the orange jumpsuit she was required to wear that indicated she was a dangerous inmate and her underclothes, but she kept on her flip flops. She stepped under the stream of cold water from the rusty hooked shower head. With her eyes closed, Coraset tilted her head back letting the water beat on her face, neck, and chest. The steady rhythm on her body felt absolutely heavenly.

  Coraset was the only inmate in the showers, and she was being watched by male armed guards. She was used to it. She simply acted as though they weren’t there. Most of them looked forward to watching her while she was showered.

  The first time in the prison shower, one of the guards tried to take advantage of her. Coraset got the best of him. She gave him the impression that she wanted him, and when his guard was down, she got his gun and killed him. Coraset was placed in extreme solitary confinement with no lights and no windows. Her shower privileges, outside privileges, and her library privileges were taken away. She remained in there for three weeks.

  When Coraset returned back to her regular cell, another guard decided to try his luck. She let him have his way. She was all over him as much as he was all over her, and she got a hold of his night stick. She brutalized him, and he eventually died of his injuries. She was put into extreme solitary confinement for a month. The warden ordered the guards not to touch her or approach her alone. She was considered very dangerous, and she was to be treated as such.

  The three guards that watched her that day in the shower had their rifles armed and ready. They noticed her smooth chocolate colored skin, her malnourished thin frame, and subtle but perk breasts. Her wet black hair was pasted to her back, arms, and shoulders in twisted strands. Before she could apply soap, the shower abruptly stopped. The guards lifted their weapons higher, surprised themselves that the water had stopped so sudden. Coraset looked at each one of them, turning only to look at the guard against the wall behind her. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t ask any question.

  With angered impatience, Coraset snatched the half towel from its resting place on the waist high tiled wall. She wiped herself completely down and dressed back into her clothes. She grabbed the wide toothed comb that was on the tiled wall and raked her hair into a ponytail. She wrapped the wet strands around and tucked it to create a bun. When she was done and had all of her things, two guards approached her, and one stood behind her. They led Coraset to the only door into the shower room and waited for the loud obnoxious buzzer that indicated the door was unlocked.

  Once they were in the hallway, two more guards showed up, and one of them placed her wrists in cuffs. Coraset stared at the floor, never making eye contact. She never wanted them to see her emotions or read her expressions, and she didn’t want to look in their faces.

  Coraset was taken to her cell, and she was released of her restraints. She noticed their normal practice of escorting a prisoner had changed a bit. Usually she had to be completely in the cell with the doors closed, and then she had to stick her arms through the rectangular slot to have the cuffs removed from the outside. Coraset wondered why the change in procedure, and soon her silent question was answered.

  The guard commanded in a dry tone, “Get your things. You’re leaving.”

  Coraset was looking into the clear blue eyes of the guard that gave her the order. She didn’t know what to think. She opened her mouth to speak, but thought again remembering where she was. She turned and stared at the room. She didn’t have any personals, just underclothing. The room was bare of pictures just like the first day she arrived. No drawings, no letters, and nothing to remind her of a family she once loved. The bed was made, folded in precise military style. A slit of light shined across the small space illuminating dust particles as they swirled in midair. Her clean underclothes, which consisted of five pairs of underwear, bras, and socks, were folded on top of a foot locker. She placed her clothing in a blue bag that was wedged underneath her undergarments. Coraset took one last look at the room.

  She turned around waiting for the guard’s instructions, noticing he was the only one left at her cell. He walked out the door, and Coraset followed. She was thinking maybe she was being taken to the general population, but that couldn’t be right. The Warden made it perfectly clear that wasn’t going to ever happen.

  Coraset and the guard arrived at a door with the name ‘Warden Devon Cobb’ in big block letters. Inside was a small office that was as bland as the walls of Coraset’s cell. A brunette with a solemn look sat behind a desk typing at a computer. She didn’t look up as they crossed the room to another wooden door.

  The guard knocked and waited patiently for permission to enter. Warden Cobb finally sounded from inside, and they entered into a room that was decorated with expensive upholstered furniture, clay sculptures, books, and oil paintings. He stood at a wide window that was as long as the wall it was in, and he was viewing the barren landscape of Death Valley that stretched for miles.

  Coraset was on edge as she waited for him to speak. She looked back slightly at the guard, sensing he was staring at her.

  Warden Cobb cleared his throat and said without turning, “I remember the day you arrived. You were unconscious and restrained from your head to your ankles. You also came with a set of rules. I thought that was quite strange. No prisoner in here comes with a set of rules.” The aged man turned to glance at Coraset before sitting. His glossy brown eyes met hers. He didn’t smile or show any other kind of emotion.

  He opened a file and lifted a white sheet of paper, covering his face up to his eyes. He read the words aloud, “You have been accused and convicted of the murder of a Barat Police Lieutenant, and you murdered two Mojave Prison guards. I’ve had inmates executed for stealing bread from the chow line, and here you are still alive after killing three people. Exactly who are you?”

  She didn’t answer his question.

  Warden Cobb exhaled loudly as he tossed the paper in the garbage bin under his desk. He announced coldly, “You have been officially released from the Mojave Prison on this day, June 12, 2027, approved and signed by levels beyond…me.”

  Coraset wondered if she heard him correctly. Released? Was it true? A small smirk appeared at the corners of her mouth.

  Warden Cobb started typing on his computer. He was purging all of Coraset’s prison records. He stood once finished and said with conserved anger, “You better hope this is your last visit. Because if you do return, I will personally see to it that your first day back is your last day breathing. No one on this earth, including your high Federation connections, will be able to save you.”

  Coraset didn’t react to his threat. She gave him a dry, uninterested look.

  He turned back to the window and said, “You are allowed to make one phone call before the bus leaves. It only stops in Baker.”

  Coraset heard the door open, and she turned and walked out. The guard escorted Coraset to an office labeled
‘out-processing’ all the way at the end of the hallway. A man behind a desk slid a box to her. Inside were her cell phone, point card, ID card, and the clothes she was arrested in. The cell phone was dead, and she figured the 400,000 points on the point card were gone. She didn’t bother to ask.

  A brown bus drove up outside. It was spitting out black smoke and making a horrid racket. Coraset didn’t like the fact she had to ride in that thing, but if she was going to get away from the Mojave Prison, it would have to do.

  The guard pointed out, “There is a terminal if you want to make a phone call.”

  Coraset looked across the room and saw a computer screen with a phone attached to it. She thought about making a phone call to her stepfather, but she quickly decided against it. She knew of someone that drove through Baker every morning, and she’d catch a ride with him.

  Coraset took the box under her arm and started for the door. The annoying buzz sounded overhead indicating the door was unlocked, and she swung it open. She rounded the front of the bus and boarded the musty, run down vehicle. The door slid closed, and the bus chugged down the football length dirt driveway to the first gate. It slid open slowly like it was fighting itself. The armed guards from the towers watched as the bus went through both entrances. Their attention never left the gates until they were completely closed and secured.

  The bus made an abrupt right turn, which alarmed Coraset. She knew he was supposed to be turning left towards Baker. She stood and hit the metal wall that separated her from the driver, and she yelled for him to turn around. He never responded, and the bus kept barreling down the road, creating a cloud of dirt and dust behind it. Coraset sat back down dreading where she might end up.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The desert sun baked the inside of the bus. Coraset unbuttoned the two top buttons on her polyester orange jumpsuit. She fanned her face with the box top she was given back at the prison, but she still sweated profusely. Twenty minutes into the trip, she put down all the windows. The wind carried the outside heat and dust into the bus making the ride even worse.

  The ride seemed to go on for an ungodly amount of time, and she was growing impatient fast. Just as Coraset was about to hit the metal divider to get the driver’s attention, the bus passed by a man walking in the same direction the bus was going. The walker was completely covered. He wore a leather cap that covered the entire back part of his head. His coat collar was up, and his hands were covered with dusty brown leather gloves. Coraset wondered why someone would be wearing winter clothes in the middle of the desert. She had a bad feeling. She hadn’t seen an abandoned vehicle or any other signs that humans lived out in the desert since they left the prison. Coraset moved to the other side of the bus to stay out of sight of the walker.

  The bus pulled off the road, and the walker kept coming. He didn’t look up into the passenger area of the bus, but he stopped when he got to the driver. They began talking to one another. Their conversation was mumbled, almost like they were whispering.

  Then Coraset heard someone else approaching from the side of the bus she was on. He was looking up through blue goggles into the bus. She slid to the floor as silently as she could.

  Without warning two gunshots went off. The bus jerked forward and it picked up speed. Coraset kept her head down. The bus started fishtailing, and then it flipped thunderously onto the driver’s side. The bus slid through the hard dirt and rock until it slowly came to a stop.

  After taking a moment to just breathe and to make sure she was still alive, Coraset got back on her feet. She was standing on the broken windows and walls on the driver’s side. She went over to the back emergency exit and kicked at the red handle until the door fell off the hinges. Coraset stepped out and backed away from the bus, amazed that she made it through the accident. She turned and saw the trail of wreckage, and the walker, who was spread eagle beside the road a few yards back.

  Coraset looked on either side of the bus, but she didn’t see the goggle guy. She wondered where he went. Coraset circled the bus carefully, looking backwards every so often.

  When she got back to the front of the bus, she knelled down to see if the bus driver was okay. He was still buckled in his seat, and he had a bullet wound to the neck. Coraset tapped on the window hoping he’d respond. He didn’t. She looked around before climbing on top of the bus, and she worked the door open. Once she was inside, she positioned herself to check the driver’s pulse. He didn’t have a heartbeat, and he wasn’t breathing. Coraset took his guns and his handcuffs before climbing back out. She stood on the side of the bus and spotted a shack in the distance. She hopped down and went to the back of the bus to get her things. She lowered her body and stepped carefully inside. Coraset shook her belongings free of the dirt and glass and replaced everything back in the blue bag. She left the dirty box behind. She heard the goggle man moving around outside, and she reconsidered putting away both guns. She wasn’t going to face him without protection. Coraset took one gun out of the bag, and when she stepped out, the other fell out to the dirt. Goggle man looked down at the gun and then at her with a smile.

  His tanned face was dirty. His brown hair was askew and dusty, and his clothes were ragged and too big. Coraset stared at him, trying to remain calm. She tightened her grip around the gun she had hid behind her right thigh.

  Goggle man shifted his spectacles above his brows, revealing paler skinned circles around hazel eyes. He looked young, maybe in his early twenties with sunken cheek bones and a pointed dimpled jaw. He had on blue baggy pants issued by the Mojave Prison, indicating he only committed a small misdemeanor, and a filthy white t-shirt that swallowed him. Goggle man scratched below his bottom lip as he summed up the woman in front of him. He immediately noticed that Coraset was wearing an orange jumpsuit.

  “You’re Coraset, right?”

  She didn’t answer him. The fact that he knew her name didn’t sit right with her at all.

  Their eyes met for only a second, and he set his attention to the gun on the ground. He shifted around, looking back at his friend who still lay unmoved on the ground. Then he walked a few paces from side to side trying to see around the sides of the bus.

  Coraset waited him out patiently, never taking her eyesight off of him.

  Feeling uneasy, goggle man laughed searching for something to say. He kicked at the rocks and pulled his hands through his head again before finally asking, “What’s going on, girly?”

  “Nothing,” Coraset answered in a cool manner.

  He hesitantly took a step towards her and demanded, “Give me that gun.”

  “No,” she said as she kicked it to the side.

  Goggle man didn’t have a clue as to what to do. He was warned about Coraset. She killed two guards at the prison, and she wouldn’t hesitate to defend herself, even to her own death.

  He started walking towards her. He was studying her emotionless face, hoping to bring weakness or fear to the surface. He picked up the pace, and by the time he reached her, Coraset had the gun pointed directly to his face. The man threw his hands up and backed away.

  “I’m just messing with you.” He stated with a fake laugh.

  Coraset grew tired of his games and ordered, “Get on your belly right next to the bus.”

  “I don’t think so,” goggle man remarked.

  Coraset pulled the hammer back and aimed at his right shin. She shot him, and he fell to the ground screaming and writhing from pain. She tossed her bag to the ground and pulled out the handcuffs in one swift motion. Before the man realized it, Coraset had his wrist cuffed and was dragging him to the bus. She clamped the other cuff around a metal bar that was attached to the emergency exit. The man yanked so hard to the point where he hurt the muscles in his arm.

  She grabbed the other gun on the ground, and she started for the man up the road. When she got to him, she moved around the body until she saw his face. He was shot in the temple. His eyes and mouth were wide open. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to be a problem, she went
back to the bus where goggle man was screaming and fighting to get out of the cuffs.

  Coraset picked up her bag completely ignoring him and began her track for the distant shack. Goggle man began screaming someone’s name, but she didn’t stop or pay any more attention to him.

  With a clear mind, Coraset thought about the situation she was in and what just happened. Two guys with no sign of transportation were in the desert, and one of them shot the bus driver. How did they get out there? Better yet, how did goggle man know her name? The situation wasn’t coming together in her mind, and nothing about it was right. But she knew she wasn’t safe. Goggle man was calling for someone right before she walked away, and his friend was dead up the road from the bus wreck. That meant there was someone else out there.

  The dirt road ended right in front of a wooden shack in a circular turnaround. Coraset looked back up the road. The third guy could be hiding in the wooden hut. Coraset wasn’t taking any chances. She shifted her shoulder so the bag would slide to the ground. She went around to the back to eyeball the size of the hut. It was perfectly square and flimsy. She was surprised that it was still standing. Coraset pulled open the back door, lowered her body and entered. There was an unlit lamp in the center, and streams of light penetrated the cracks between the panels. It had a wood panel floor, and there were stacks of boxes on each side. In the far right corner a man was on his belly. He had no shoes and no socks and was shirtless. His ankles and wrists were bounded together with zip ties.