Lockdown f-1

by Alexander Gordon Smith

  "Think you can march in here and take over?" Kevin screamed, along with a few choice expletives. He was shaking Gary, but the big boy wasn't folding. He was studying Kevin with a look of cold detachment, a look that reminded me of a spider's emotionless glare right before it bites into its prey. "Gonna kill you, new fish. Gonna skewer you."

  He pushed Gary back and a number of Skulls grabbed his overalls, holding him in place. A length of gleaming silver had appeared in Kevin's hand, and he waved it menacingly in front of Gary's face.

  "Even the tough kids learn the rules pretty quickly in here," Donovan said.

  I wasn't so sure. With a twist of his body Gary sent one of the Skulls holding him skittering across the stone floor, then smashed his free fist into the face of his other captor. The boy's legs buckled with the impact and he fell to the floor, his landing spot already marked out by the blood gushing from his nose.

  Kevin screeched like a wild animal and backed away, motioning for his henchmen to attack. But nobody moved. They weren't Mafia enforcers, they were kids. Gary strode forward and grabbed Kevin's arm, bending it in such a way that the shank fell from his grip. The Skull was yelling in pain, his fury replaced by fear.

  "Kill him!" Kevin yelled to dead ears. "Cut his heart out."

  "This is great," said Donovan. "Kevin's been asking for it ever since he arrived. About time he got some himself. Hope the new kid roughs him up a bit."

  Gary kept twisting Kevin's arm, using both hands to bend back the wrist to an impossible angle until, in horrible unison, a crack and a scream echoed across the yard. The prison had been plunged into silence, everybody watching as Kevin dropped to his knees clutching his broken arm, tears streaming down his face. Gary placed a foot on Kevin's shoulder and sent him sprawling, and at once a huge cheer broke out from the inmates.

  "This is great!" Donovan repeated with more enthusiasm. "How the mighty have fallen, eh?"

  "You think this means we'll be free of the Skulls?" Zee asked.

  "Reckon so," Donovan replied. "Maybe he'll take out the Fifty-niners too."

  Gary bent down and snatched the bandanna from Kevin's head and the shank from the floor. He held them up in the air for us all to see, like trophies. Some of the other kids had gone right up to the boy, circling him as if he'd just scored the winning goal in a soccer match. One inmate had even put his arm around him and was jumping up and down.

  "Wanna go join the celebrations?" Zee asked. But I stayed where I was. Something wasn't right. Gary wasn't smiling, he didn't look like somebody who had come to save us. He eyed the crowd around him with the same dead gaze that he had given the Skulls. Then, with a flash of silver and an arc of crimson, the boy who had been holding him staggered across the yard, looking at the wound on his arm with disbelief. The inmates turned their shocked expressions toward Gary as if there had been some mistake, but the new kid slashed out again, catching another victim in the chest.

  For a moment the yard was chaos as the prisoners climbed over one another to get to safety. In the center of the maelstrom Gary tucked the stained shank into his overalls and pulled the Skull bandanna over his head. I felt my heart sinking. He wasn't a savior, he was a psychopath.

  The siren blasted out across the yard, a fitting funeral dirge for the boys who lay squirming in their crimson coffins. Donovan pushed himself off the railings.

  "Like I said, Alex," he said as he watched the injured kids fold into themselves, all sobs and snot. "It's the only thing we can do, curl up and cower and wait for death."

  ROOM TWO

  THE THOUGHT OF FACING another evening locked down in our cells was almost unbearable, but a small part of me was relieved that there was a set of thick metal bars between us and Gary Owens.

  As soon as the siren blew, the blacksuits had come running, one knocking down Gary with the butt of his shotgun and the rest hauling him and his victims through the vault door. After a couple of hours of restless pacing, I saw the massive portal swing open again and a couple of guards escort Gary, bruised and bloody, to his cell-which fortunately was on the second level, a long drop from mine.

  Some time later Kevin was dragged back out into the yard, his arm in a rough cast that was the same shade of pale gray as his face. As soon as he emerged, Furnace's long-suffering inmates began whistling and whooping through their cell doors, calling out insults with a vicious ferocity fueled by years of abuse. Kevin made no effort to reclaim his air of menace-he let himself be dragged up the steps, never taking his wide eyes off the floor. Looking back, I almost felt sorry for him. Little did I know then that he had far worse coming to him than a few jeers.

  When all fell quiet in the yard, I tried again to get Donovan interested in escape. It was like trying to get a hippopotamus interested in ballet.

  "There's nowhere to go," he said for the umpteenth time.

  "There must be, there's no such thing as a prison with no way out."

  "Furnace is a prison with no way out, you plank."

  "I can find a way, I know it."

  "There's nowhere to go."

  Around and around and around in circles. Shortly before lights-out he sat bolt upright in his bunk as if he meant to strangle me, his expression so incensed that it was scary.

  "What?" I asked, backing off toward the bars just in case he'd finally lost it.

  "Why are you so desperate to die?" was his reply. I tried to argue but he cut me off. "There's only ever been one escape attempt in Furnace, a couple of years ago. Was a kid a little like you, only cleverer, smarter. He spent months learning the way the prison worked, especially the elevator, you know. Nobody knows how he managed it, but somehow during a lockdown he got himself inside the air vents. He stayed in there for five days while the guards and the dogs hunted him down, then when they brought in more blacksuits from the surface he found his way onto the roof of the elevator and hitched a ride up."

  "He made it?" I asked, my heart pounding at the very thought of somebody getting out. Donovan smiled wickedly and shook his head.

  "Oh no. They found him. They caught him climbing into the vents of the Black Fort on the surface. He was so hungry and thirsty he'd gone delirious, was singing to himself. Guess what happened to him."

  "The hole," I said, sighing.

  "He wasn't that lucky. The warden, damn his soul, he brought that kid back down to the yard and tied him up good. Then he let three of his dogs loose." Donovan faltered, his mind somewhere terrible. "They treated him like a toy, tossing him back and forth like some teddy bear until he was limp and broken. Then they ate him."

  "You're kidding," I said, certain that he was making the story up to scare me.

  "Ask anyone who's been here longer than two years. They never talk about it but they all remember it. Scott was his name, Scott White. You wanna end up the same way as him, then you carry on talking about escape, kid. But don't say I didn't warn you."

  "So the air vents," I went on, trying to forget everything I'd just heard. "They're still there, right?"

  Donovan collapsed down on his bunk with a cry of frustration.

  "Warden sealed them off the week after White was killed, replaced the tunnels with pipes so narrow you couldn't fit your hand inside. Why do you think the air is so thin down here? We're all suffocating 'cause of the last idiot to think of freedom."

  He said something else but it was lost beneath the siren. With a snap the lights cut off, and I felt my way across the tiny cell to my bunk. Stripping to my underwear, I crawled under the rough sheet and tried to ignore the brutal images that paraded past my open, sightless eyes. A kid like me, being chewed and dismembered by beasts with bloody breath while the whole of Furnace looked on. It was almost enough to make me forget about escape, to resign myself to a lifetime behind bars.

  Almost. Surely doing nothing was the worst kind of death imaginable-endless days rotting in the guts of the earth, dying piece by piece by piece. As sleep blotted Scott White's violent end from my mind, I resolved to find out what lay in Room Tw
o, even if it cost me my life.

  AS IT TURNED OUT, I didn't have too long to wait. The next morning's work chart put Donovan and me back on chipping duty, giving me the perfect opportunity to scope out the abandoned cave. After a hearty bowl of gunk we walked across the yard toward the crack in the wall, Donovan giving me concerned sideways glances practically every other step.

  "I don't like that look you've got," he said as we reached the entrance to the chipping rooms. There was a blacksuit on duty, as always, his shotgun locked, loaded, and aimed directly at our heads as we filed past. Donovan waited until we were out of earshot before continuing. "Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

  "As if I would," I replied, beaming at him with a kind of wild-eyed insanity. He looked at me, openmouthed, then shook his head and started selecting his equipment. I did the same, lifting a pick from the racks and slapping a hard hat onto my head. Switching on the lamp and pulling down the visor, I snatched a look across the hall at the entrance to Room Two. It was sealed up with thick planks, but they were just wood. I gripped the pick, wondering how quickly I could hack my way inside.

  "Levels one to three, Room One," bellowed the blacksuit, pointing his shotgun at the black hole on the other side of the room. "Rest of you get into Room Three, now."

  We shuffled forward with the same lack of enthusiasm we always did, and I let myself drift to the back of the crowd. The blacksuit was watching us go, his silver eyes never blinking, but I knew from experience that he wouldn't stand there all morning. Sooner or later he'd start patrolling the workrooms, and that was when I was going in.

  Once we'd passed through the cracked portal into Room Three, I stationed myself as close to the door as possible. At this angle I could see back into the equipment room, where the long shadow of the guard sat heavy and motionless across the rock. After refusing once again to help me out, even by providing a distraction, Donovan swaggered over to the far end of the room and began hammering the rock. I added the sound of my pick to the familiar percussion, but there was no strength to my swings. I was saving my energy for when it counted most.

  The snakelike shadow didn't budge for the better part of an hour, by which time my brow was dripping and my overalls were drenched despite my lack of effort. The adrenaline shot that rocked my body when I saw the guard move almost made my legs buckle, but I embraced the boost. I checked the room to make sure nobody was watching, then edged my way toward the door.

  I could hear the blacksuit's footsteps growing fainter as he strode into the first chipping hall, but even when the sound had stopped it took me a good few minutes to build up the nerve to peek around the corner. With a shuddering sigh I saw the equipment room was empty, and I dashed across the stone floor to the wooden boards that sealed off Room Two.

  There were eight long planks in all, each fixed to the wall like a ladder. They didn't do a great job of concealing what lay beyond. Through the gaps I could see a tunnel stretching out into blackness, and my heart soared as once again I sensed the wind blowing through the cracks, the fresh air making me euphoric after the long days spent in Furnace's stale passages.

  I breathed deeply, feeling like the sensation could lift me off the ground. Then I remembered what I was doing. I checked the entrance to the first room, but there was no sign of the blacksuit returning. I jammed the head of the pick behind the plank closest to the ground then leaned on the handle, using it as a lever. The bolts securing the plank to the stone didn't budge.

  Cursing, I tried the next board up, but it was equally stubborn. Taking another look in the direction the guard had walked, I steeled myself and swung my pick at the wall. The sharp edge struck the bottom set of bolts, sending a shower of sparks flying out into the room. Under normal circumstances, the noise would have been deafening, but it was easily lost against the backdrop of a hundred pickaxes hammering against stone.

  I lifted the pick a second time and swung with every ounce of strength, gouging a hole in the rock where the bolt was secured. Wedging my tool back into the gap between the board and the floor, I pushed down again. This time, the bolt held on with a little less conviction, then gave up and pinged out across the room, leaving one end of the plank flapping against the wall. I pulled hard, creating a gap that looked big enough for me to crawl through.

  Ramming my pick into the nearest tool rack and slinging my helmet across the floor, I got down on my hands and knees and pushed my face into the hole. A blast of cool air slapped me, giving me strength, and I squeezed my left shoulder through the gap, ignoring the sting of sharp rock slicing into my skin.

  It was as I was pushing my other shoulder through that I heard the sound of footsteps, each louder than the last. I froze, peering through the gap to the entrance of Room One and knowing that the blacksuit was returning. I had seconds, at most. Push in, or pull out. I should have listened to my instincts, wrenched myself out of the hole, and run back to work.

  But I didn't.

  I forced my body forward, gritting my teeth with the pain. The steps were getting louder, crunching against loose pieces of stone on the floor. My sleeve caught on the plank, hooking me in place, and I desperately tried to wrench it free.

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. No time.

  With a rip my sleeve came free and I tumbled forward. I pulled my feet in with the speed of a rabbit disappearing into a burrow, the board snapping back against the wall just as the black shadow swept across the room.

  The steps halted, and despite the endless hammering from the rooms next door it felt like I'd been plunged into a pool of silence. As gently as I could, I rolled onto my back then stood up, staring through the gaps in the makeshift door to see the black-suit standing in the center of the equipment room. His head was cocked as if he was listening out for something, but he wasn't looking in my direction.

  We remained like that for what seemed like an eternity, mirror images of each other's stillness. Finally, the guard straightened himself and paced toward the entrance to Room Three, eventually disappearing from sight. I breathed out as slowly and quietly as I could, then turned to see if this was truly my road to salvation.

  It was then I realized my mistake. The tunnel that led into Room Two was darker than Furnace at night. I had absolutely no way of seeing where I was going.

  I stood like an idiot for a couple of minutes, wondering what I'd expected-lights along the walls and a red carpet? I cursed silently again, wishing I still had my helmet with its lamp, then began edging my way forward. The lights from the equipment room sliced through the wooden planks to form faint stripes on the uneven floor, but the glow was powerless against the black heart of Furnace and by the time I'd taken a few steps I was smothered by cold, dead night.

  I took comfort in the fact that there had been no cry of alarm from the blacksuit in the chamber next door, no blast of the siren. With tiny steps I pushed onward, running my hand along the wall for guidance. Every now and again I'd trip, but I managed to stay upright.

  Eventually the wall arced away to my left, and from the slight change in echo I knew I'd entered the cavern. There was still no light, but the air here was definitely fresher, cooler. I felt certain that it wasn't my imagination. There was something down here, some chink in Furnace's armor. I just had to get back in with a light and I'd know for sure whether that chink was our way out.

  That was when I heard it. It started so quietly that I barely even noticed it, then it began to grow in volume-a low hum, like a cell phone vibrating in somebody's coat pocket. I felt my skin break out in goose bumps. I wasn't alone. There was something in here with me.

  The sound shifted in pitch, fading then reasserting itself. I couldn't work out what it was but it chilled me to the bone. I thought about the thirty kids who'd died in here when the cave collapsed-thirty angry spirits charging back and forth across the deserted cavern for all time looking for somebody to take their anger out on. Maybe the hum was their collective screams, so loud and furious that it breached their ghostly plane and entered ours.

/>   I took a step back and the noise changed again, growing louder. It toyed with my hearing, playing tricks on my tortured imagination. I couldn't tell whether it was far away or close. If distant, the noise could have been a roar. But it also could have been a whisper in my ear from something right next to me. No, not a whisper-a growl.

  I suddenly panicked. The noise grew louder, a guttural snarl that could only have come from one creature. It was a dog, one of the warden's monstrosities. He'd obviously put one in here to devour anyone stupid enough to try to escape.

  Blind and terrified, I swung around and ran. But I'd lost track of where I was, and with a crunch I slammed into the rock wall. Something hot dripped into my mouth, choking me, and I spat out my own blood, gripping the rough stone for support.

  The growling was getting closer, and I saw the darkness begin to take shape, morphing into a nightmare creature that bounded toward me. I felt so sick that I thought my stomach was going to flip inside out, and I held up my hand to ward off the monster. But as soon as I did, the illusion vanished back into the night.

  I blinked hard, my throat slick with blood and bile. The wall had to lead back to the equipment room so, doing my best to ignore the persistent growl, I fumbled my way along it, expecting to feel daggerlike teeth sinking into my shoulder at any minute. But nothing came for me. Each time I looked back and thought I saw the beast in the blackness, it vanished with a blink of the eye, a hallucination brought on by fear and fatigue.

  I rounded the corner of the corridor and found myself staring at the boarded door, light squeezing through the cracks like golden fingers trying to embrace me. I took one last look into the cave, then crawled through the bottom board, staggering back into the equipment room.

  Too late I realized I should have checked the room first. I heard feet pounding on rock and swiveled around in time to see a massive black shape swoop toward me. The blacksuit had just emerged from Room Three, and like a speeding train he rammed into me, wrapping his hamlike fist around my throat and lifting me off the floor.