Jungle Rules

by Charles W. Henderson

  After a brief conversation on the telephone, the staff sergeant looked at the sniper and then glanced back at the other guard and two captains in the room with him.

  “Any of you guys have an idea of what might happen if this sniper shoots that can?” Abduleses asked.

  “It’ll blow up,” the sniper said, still looking through his rifle scope. “Lots of oxygenated kerosene vapors under pressure, given how those two pumped it up. No question, a big bang. The good news is that the explosion will mostly vent from the hole my bullet makes. Probably rip out that side and make the cylinder take off like a rocket. Sort of like putting a firecracker under a tin can. Might be pretty spectacular.”

  Terry O’Connor smiled. He liked the idea of shooting the canister and watching the surprise of the idiot who used it like a flamethrower on the other prisoners.

  “Either of you captains have any objections if I clear this sniper to shoot that fire extinguisher?” Abdul the Butcher asked.

  “See if he sets it down, then shoot it,” Ebberhardt suggested.

  “We can’t wait too long; he may kill someone if he showers them with that burning kerosene,” Abduleses said, again looking at the man with his binoculars. “Sniper, take your shot when you see a good opportunity.”

  “Randy!” Kevin Watts screamed, laughing and shooting the burning fuel toward the fleeing prisoners. “Throw those other two buckets into the cell block!”

  Carnegie ran behind Watts, grabbed the first bucket, and hurled it at the window but hit the wall. Fire jumped as the liquid splashed against the concrete. Then he picked up the second bucket and just as he hurled it at the window, he heard what he thought sounded like a single gunshot, but then the fire extinguisher jumped past him and exploded skyward with a deafening boom. So he considered that what he had heard was the fire setting off the kerosene gas inside the pressurized container.

  The concussion from the explosion knocked both inmates off their feet and the fire extinguisher hurled across the night sky, leaving a trail of burning vapor in the air behind it.

  “Wow, man!” Kevin Watts screamed, looking at the canister sail over the roof of the cell block. “Fucking cool! Fire must have got inside and blew it like a bottle rocket. Fucking outrageous, man!”

  The Chu Lai Hippie got on his knees and slapped the hand of Kevin Watts, celebrating their successful destruction of the chow hall, and setting the cell block roof ablaze.

  “They don’t have a clue!” Staff Sergeant Abduleses said, and turned to the other Marines, laughing. “Those have to be the two dumbest people on this planet tonight.”

  “Someone running to the wire!” the sniper said, following the fleeing inmate with his rifle scope.

  James Elmore had sneaked to the kitchen and crawled in the stainless steel pot cabinet when James Harris had released him, just after the riot began. He had lain in the small space all night. Then when everything around him burst into flames, he ran through the fire and out the opening where the kitchen’s back door had blown off its hinges when Kevin Watts had set off the kerosene-fired pot boilers, cooking stove, and ovens. Had Elmore not hidden in the stainless steel cabinet, the violent force of the explosions in the kitchen would have killed him. He hoped that his good luck would still hold true as he made a desperate run for the fence.

  “We’ve got inmates running after him now,” the prison guard said, watching with binoculars.

  “Mind if I get a closer look?” Terry O’Connor asked, and took a pair of binoculars from the staff sergeant.

  “You know that man?” Abduleses asked, looking at the captain.

  “That’s my client James Harris,” O’Connor said, frowning as he handed the binoculars back to the staff sergeant.

  “I thought that was him,” Abduleses said, watching the prisoners now capturing the fleeing man, knocking him to the ground, and dragging him back toward the cell block by his feet.

  “I suppose there is no way to stop them,” O’Connor asked, watching Elmore writhing on the ground as the inmates dragged him. His screams echoed through the prison yard. “You know, they’ll probably kill him.”

  “No great loss, if you ask me,” Staff Sergeant Abduleses said, looking blankly at O’Connor.

  The lawyer looked back at Abdul the Butcher, started to say something, but then shook his head. He agreed that James Elmore offered the world little good, and most likely never would be missed. However, the vision and sounds of the helpless man screaming and struggling as the inmates dragged him by his heels to the sally port as the fire spread across the roof would live in his mind forever.

  “WHOA, MAN!” BRIAN Pitts said as he awakened, coughing from the acrid smoke that filled the hallway and upstairs cells. When he opened his eyes he saw fire licking through several holes in the roof, and he leaped to his feet and ran out of his cell.

  “Hey! You can’t leave us here!” Chief Warrant Officer Frank Holden screamed at him. He, Gunny MacMillan, and Michael Fryer sat in the cell farther down the passageway, coughing.

  “Fucking die, motherfuckers! Fucking roast in hell!” Kevin Watts screamed, running from the top of the stairs, dashing toward the entrance to the cell block control room.

  “Get out of my way, dirt bag,” Brian Pitts growled, and shoved the skinny derelict to one side. Then he ran to the wall and pulled down the control handles, releasing the locks on all the cage doors. “Where the fuck is Mau Mau, and who set the roof on fire?”

  “Harris’s downstairs, man.” Watts smiled his slimy grin at the Snowman, and then proudly pointed to the roof. “Me and Randy got that motherfucker to burning. Ax Man told me to let you and those three assholes burn. Said I should lock your door if you still asleep.”

  “Fuck-an-A you say!” Pitts snapped, glancing toward the stairwell. “I guess I’m lucky I got out before you had a chance to shut me in then, you slimy little roach.”

  “No, man, I wouldn’t let you burn,” Watts said with a smile. “I was gonna wake you up an’ get you out. Let them out, too. Honest! Ax Man, he one crazy motherfucker. Wantin’ you all dead, man.”

  “Get the fuck outta my way,” Pitts snarled, and wrinkled his nose. “Even in all this smoke you’re chokin’ me out smellin’ bad.”

  “Snowman, I’m sorry, man,” Watts whined and trailed behind Pitts, trying to gain a little favor. “We ain’t got no water now. So I can’t wash all the kerosene and shit off me. I’m sorry I stink.”

  “Disappear, you fucking maggot!” Pitts yelled, then he turned and looked at the three men he had just released, who also followed him. “I don’t know what I can do for you guys, but I sure as hell don’t want you dead. Maybe when we get downstairs you can slip out through the crowd and confusion.”

  Chapter 21

  JAILHOUSE JUSTICE

  “YO, MOTHERFUCKERS!” BRIAN Pitts bellowed as he stepped from the stairwell, and threw Kevin Watts down the hallway toward the sally port where Ax Man and Mau Mau had James Elmore hanging from the bars overhead the gateway. They had tied his feet and hands with mattress ticking ripped from beds the inmates had torn apart, and suspended him to the entrance’s upper frame with the heavy blue-and-white-striped fabric.

  Celestine Anderson hissed and showed his teeth behind curled lips when he saw the worthless body of Kevin Watts slide along the concrete floor after the Snowman had slung him down and sent him skidding.

  Frank Holden and Ted MacMillan crouched behind Michael Fryer in the stairwell, staying in the darkest shadows to keep out of sight. The three Marines hoped that Brian Pitts could distract the mob so they could slip out via the sally port. With James Elmore now trussed by his heels like a pig awaiting the knife, screaming and sobbing, the deputy warden and watch commander as well as Fryer quickly realized that they had no realistic chance of escaping through that door right now.

  Heavy smoke billowed down the stairwell, leaving the two hostage brig supervisors and their compatriot fighting back the urge to cough, which would draw attention to their presence. Trying to fi
lter the air, the men slipped their noses and mouths under the necks of their T-shirts. The

  trio knew that unless something dramatic happened soon, they would have to step into the crowd.

  “Kill my ass, will you! Burn me in my bed, that right, motherfucker?” Pitts yelled at Celestine Anderson, and then charged full force at the Ax Man.

  “Ho!” Mau Mau Harris shouted, and jumped between the Snowman and Anderson, wrapping his arms around Brian Pitts and pushing him backward, away from Ax Man, who now laughed and beckoned the aggressor, taunting him and waving his hands while he danced like Muhammad Ali.

  “Come get it, cracker-ass motherfucker!” Anderson jeered, glancing over his shoulders at Clarence Jones and Samuel Martin, who also began to shout their own dares at Brian Pitts.

  “He sent that rat maggot upstairs to lock me in my cell!” Pitts said, pointing to the floor where Kevin Watts still lay. “Ax Man told him to let me burn to death with Fryer and the gunny and Gunner Holden. He was running up there to lock my fucking door, but I got out before he made it to control, the motherfucker!”

  “Ax Man, you tell Watts to do that shit?” Harris asked, still embracing Pitts and looking at his enraged ranger lieutenant. “You know I told you the Snowman is my main man. Take him down, you take me down, too.”

  “No, man, I ain’t told that shitbird nothing,” Anderson said, and then glared at Watts on the floor. “That lyin’ sack of shit! If I want to kill a motherfucker, I’d done it myself. You know that about me, bro.”

  Seeing that he had no allies, Kevin Watts scrambled on his hands and knees to the sally port, and then jumped to his feet and fled outside.

  James Harris and Brian Pitts ran after the departing slimeball, boxing James Elmore’s head like a punching bag as each man shoved his way past the dangling prisoner. When Harris stepped off the concrete porch, following Watts with his eyes, watching as the creep scrambled under a table next to his buddy, the Chu Lai Hippie, Mau Mau noticed three men starting down the sidewalk from the blockhouse. Pitts saw them, too, and fell in step behind the ranger leader.

  Mau Mau watched as one of the three men ran from the other two at about the midpoint in the recreation yard. He quickly recognized the burly shape of the third person’s body when he ducked under a picnic table. It was Donald T. Wilson.

  “Stupid motherfucker,” Harris said, watching Wilson as he talked to inmates and then dashed to the next picnic table. “Fuck him.”

  “Looks like Lieutenant Schuller and probably that lawyer, Kirkwood,” Brian Pitts said, walking behind Mau Mau Harris. Celestine Anderson, Sam Martin, and Clarence Jones now followed on their heels, and then the mass of other Black Stone Rangers flowed out of the sally port behind those three inmates.

  As Michael Fryer made his way to the door, he climbed up the sidebars to the gateway and began pulling at the mattress ticking that held James Elmore by his feet.

  “Here’s my pocketknife,” Chief Warrant Officer Frank Holden said, handing the blade to the sergeant.

  One swipe and Fryer had the prisoner’s feet cut free, and the wriggling, terrified man fell into the arms of Gunny MacMillan.

  “Here you go,” Michael Fryer said to the gunner as he handed him back his knife and then climbed off the bars.

  The deputy warden quickly cut the bonds off the prisoner’s wrists, but then grabbed a handful of the man’s T-shirt and held tight, so he didn’t try to flee through the crowd and draw the mob’s attention to them. Gunny MacMillan casually slipped through the sally port behind the distracted prisoners as the last of them jammed behind their leaders in the recreation yard. Then he took a good look outside.

  “No way we’re going to get through that cluster-fuck right now,” he said over his shoulder to Fryer and Holden. “You see anyone down at the library?”

  “Looks empty. It might be a good place to take cover,” the warrant officer said, and then coughed. “Lots of smoke, though, building up here. I can see lots of fire down at the end of the passageway, in the chow hall, so that exit’s blocked. Looks like they piled all the tables in the middle of the dining area and then touched them off.”

  “We go in the library, there’s no way out. I think we’re better off waiting out here, near the door, where we can get away from the fire,” Fryer said, trying to appraise their options. “No way they’re going to let this dirtbag that they just had strung up simply walk through that crowd. I bet that you two guys can get out, though, if you just step through that door and start walking. I don’t think they’ll do anything out there in the open. Not with all that brass and the whole guard company up in the blockhouse and on the fences watching them. That’s your best chance to escape, right now.”

  “I can’t do it, Sergeant Fryer,” Chief Warrant Officer Holden answered after thinking about what the sergeant said to him. “Ted, you take a run for it. I have to stay here. They’ll kill this man. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Gunner, we’re better off sticking together, all four of us,” MacMillan said, looking out the sally port at the unruly mob. “Let’s fall back near the library door and wait. They may forget about us.”

  “Not likely when they notice Elmore not hanging where they left him,” Holden said and smiled. “They’ll eventually come looking, but maybe whatever has their attention right now will buy enough time so that the guard company can storm these assholes. I don’t understand why they haven’t done it before now. Maybe because of the darkness, but now it’s starting to get light.”

  “They’ve got two important hostages, sir,” Michael Fryer reminded the deputy warden. “If I’m the commander of the reaction force, I’m going to be reluctant to storm the place until I know where you and the gunny are, and that you’re okay. I think if you two will make a run for it, then the guard company may go ahead and shut down this riot. Just my opinion, sir.”

  “Gunner,” Gunnery Sergeant MacMillan said, looking out the sally port and seeing the silhouettes of two men approaching and noticing glints of silver flashing off their collars, “here comes the distraction: Two officers approaching. I think it’s Lieutenant Schuller and a taller guy with him. Looks like they’ve finally come to powwow with Harris and his boys.”

  Frank Holden looked out the door, too.

  “That’s the lieutenant, all right,” he said, and if I’m not mistaken, the other guy’s Captain Jon Kirkwood. Just like Harris asked. Looks like our side decided to take advantage of the invitation so they can run recon before assaulting. If we can hold out a little while longer, until the good guys attack, we’ll have it made.”

  NINE MEN CROWDED under the last of the picnic tables that Donald T. Wilson had to visit. While Lieutenant Schuller and Captain Kirkwood listened to Mau Mau Harris’s and his Black Stone Rangers’ demands, the pretrial confined sergeant had agreed to gather as many peaceable inmates he could find and lead them to the blockhouse while the two officers held their parley. Talking to this final group, in the poor light he did not recognize Kevin Watts and Randal Carnegie, who slouched with their heads down.

  “Obviously you’re not part of the cause of this disaster, or you’d be over there with those fucked-up individuals,” Wilson said to the group. “If you want to get out of this mess, get some chow and a place to sleep, then follow those two officers when they start back to the blockhouse, unless they instruct you otherwise. That’s Lieutenant Schuller, and a lawyer named Captain Kirkwood. They’re arranging for Harris and his gang to allow you to leave with no trouble.”

  “You think it’s cool?” Robert Matthews said, crouching close to Wilson. “The guards won’t open fire on us, will they? I mean, what if they think we’re going after the warden and that captain?”

  “Don’t sweat it, we’re cool. I was with the lieutenant when he gave Staff Sergeant Abduleses the instructions. No shooting,” Wilson said, and put his hand on the smaller Marine’s shoulder. “Lots of guys out here, like you and me, want no part of this shit.”

  “That’s me, Jack,” Bobby sa
id and smiled. “I’m probably lookin’ at six-six and a kick for desertion, but that’s all. I can do six months standing on my head, but these guys rioting, they’re looking at a couple of years, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t know, but I bet a couple of years is probably the minimum,” Wilson said, looking out from under the table and watching Mau Mau Harris waving his hands with excitement as he talked. He could hear the echo of his voice but couldn’t quite make out what he said.

  “Look here, motherfucker! I’m the man, now. So listen the fuck up,” Harris ranted, and pointed at Mike Schuller as he spoke. “You goin’ to do what I say, or we start stringing up hostages. You dig?”

  “Settle down, Mister Harris,” Kirkwood interrupted. “Things are not nearly as bad as you might believe. So far you and your men have killed no one, and that’s good. However, we do have three guards hospitalized, and that’s not so good. We’ll know more about their conditions later this morning, but they’re alive and we’re optimistic. Releasing them so that they could get medical attention put you in good stead with the powers that be. You’ve killed no inmates, have you?”

  “Fuck no, man,” Harris snapped. “We all bros in here. We tight. We together. This a protest, man. We ain’t intendin’ to kill nobody. Not unless you make it happen. Anybody die, it’s your fault, not mine.”

  “Some of the men out here in the recreation yard, they may want to go ahead and move out, get a little chow and some rest at the temporary quarters we’ve established across the road,” Schuller said. “It would look good for you if you at least allowed those prisoners who wish to leave, to do so.”

  “Ain’t nobody but you keepin’ any man inside this brig,” Harris said, and looked over his shoulder at Brian Pitts, who nodded his approval of Mau Mau’s assertion. “I seen Wilson come out the door with you, and then jump off in the rec yard. He probably got all the chickenshits told what to do by now anyway. Like I said, they free to go, they want to.”