A Haunt of Jackals

by G. R. Carter

  When Aguilar had fed everyone his nightly quota of propaganda, the screen went dark again. The words “Secure Link” appeared, the Jordan Inc. logo now displayed where the President’s image had been. Marduk looked confused. Morton wondered if she’d had too much scotch; he’d never seen her indulge in Syn herself. Finally she shook out of her fog.

  “Give me the room, all of you,” she demanded as she stood. She fixed her clothing, picked up the bottle and the glasses, tidied the room and then looked at Captain Lewis, still seated and enjoying his glass. “Now!”

  Lewis’ face twisted in anger. He stood and stomped out into the reception area of Marduk’s office, followed closely by Morton and Malena. Morton didn’t say a word but continued out into the hallway, one hand on the wall as he steadied himself against the effect of alcohol and exhaustion. The door was open enough for him to see Malena start to press up against Lewis. Morton shook his head in disgust, more at himself than Lewis.

  He didn’t stay to watch. One step at a time, he stumbled down to his own quarters. He put his thumb up against the bioscanner and nearly fell in as the door slid open. He thought about a shower only briefly while flopping down on his bunk. He pulled the blanket up over his head, fighting off room spins.

  He didn’t have to be up until 0900 the next day and he just wanted to escape the pain. His feet ached against the boots still strapped to them but he didn’t care. There was nothing he cared about, nothing at all. Morton buried his head into the pillow as deeply as he could.

  Tomorrow, he thought through tears that tried to flood his eyes. I promise, my dear, I’ll try harder tomorrow.

  Chapter 5

  Western Illinois Correctional Center

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  Day One of the Great Reset

  Tomorrow, he thought through a pounding head. Already tomorrow.

  He awoke without his alarm, which was blinking 12:00. Electricity went out again. The split second needed for the emergency generator to kick on always cut the juice to his old clock radio they'd owned since…

  She was there again, his wife. Every morning her memory greeted him, haunted him.

  The sun was up. Judging by the light coming in through his room's small square window it was around 0700. Morton swung one leg out of bed and hit the floor. His boots hit the rug covering the cold concrete floor. He sat at the edge of the bed, trying to rub last night's poison out of his eyes.

  A deep breath and he unfolded his body until he stood as straight as age allowed. Morton looked back at the bunk and thought about falling back in. He could wave off his duty this morning. No one would begrudge Sarge a chance to sleep one off; as much as he drank, he never missed duty, so no one would complain this time.

  Morton shook his head. No, he had to get ready. The Kaplan family would be in this morning with their weekly delivery. He’d have to oversee the delivery himself, make sure nothing happened to the supply being deposited in the room-sized vault near the loading docks. He couldn’t trust anyone not to skim. There were plenty of ex-correctional officers out in the community because they’d been caught trying.

  One foot forward, then the other. He thought again about a shower—how many days had it been? But the prospect of unlacing the boots, taking of his clothes off…not this morning. Maybe after the delivery he’d come back. Who cares? I work with scum.

  The memory of last night reminded him he held himself in similar regard. A quick stop in the tiny bathroom. Morton tried not to make eye contact with himself, instead rubbing his jaw to decide if a couple of days’ growth was too much. He wasn’t a stickler with his men when it came to shaving, not like regulations said he should—gas masks were standard issue in case of riots, and a beard didn’t allow a proper seal around a guard’s face.

  Nah, one more day wouldn’t hurt. Besides, there hadn’t been anything closely resembling a riot here for years.

  A sharp knocking on the door startled him. “Sarge? You awake in there?”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled. “What is it?”

  “You missed breakfast. The Kaplans are waiting for you. I told them they couldn’t unload without your okay.” Morton recognized the voice.

  “McCoy, what time is it?”

  “0930, Sarge.”

  Crap, how’s that possible? “Yeah, okay. Sorry, I’m a little under the weather this morning.”

  “Want me to call off the delivery? Postpone it til tomorrow, maybe?”

  “No, no. Just give me a second. I’m up, I just need to throw some water on my face.”

  Morton stuck his face down by the sink and ran the water ice cold. The shock cleared his brain as he cupped his hands and drank.

  He rubbed his face and head with a towel, threw it into the laundry basket, and grabbed a fresh uniform shirt. Second nature let him button up without even thinking. He tucked it in and opened the door. As Morton stepped out, McCoy made a point to keep looking down the hall, giving him the courtesy of rank. Morton tried not to notice it; he was getting used to his team disapproving of his downward spiral.

  He moved quickly, trying to outpace the shame, step by step building speed as he moved toward the loading dock. As he got closer he heard a mechanical humming noise coming from the physical plant. “Why’s the backup generator running?” he asked.

  “The electrical grid crashed again about 2 a.m. Still not back on. The entire town is dark, according to third shift.”

  “That explains why my alarm clock didn’t work,” Morton mumbled. “Good thing we stocked up on fuel. The warden bitches about the expense, but it’s worth it. Last time the grid was down for a few days.”

  “Can’t even imagine what this place would be without electricity,” McCoy said with a shiver and a wince. “Terrifying.”

  Morton refused to even entertain the thought. Almost two thousand of society’s worst, trapped inside a soulless hellhole. Even the warden’s Continuity cult wouldn’t be able to control the population without electricity. Food wouldn't be an issue; they had a few weeks of ration bars built up.

  But there were certain luxuries leadership of the prison tribes expected. Fresh food required refrigeration, and the leadership of the prison’s gangs expected their meals to be prepared fresh. So did his guards. Plus, a constant stream of music and movies helped pacify the general population, and the most violent of video games gave men with time on their hands something to do besides kill each other. A prisoner’s whole world ran on electricity; dark prisons were the stuff of real nightmares.

  The two guards stationed at the overhead door saw Morton walking up and raised the door. The outside light made him squint. His bourbon headache lingered.

  “I don’t like havin’ to wait on your ass,” Hector Kaplan yelled to Morton. Two other of the Kaplan clan stood with weapons in hand, and both smiled in agreement and nodded.

  Morton didn’t acknowledge the insult; it came along with working with people like the Kaplans.

  “Let me see the counts,” he replied.

  Herscher handed him the paperwork and he inspected the shipment manifest. Morton looked it over routinely, then glared at Hector. “24,000 units? That’s three times as many as usual. What are you trying to pull?” he asked.

  “Your bosses ordered it, smartass. Look at the back page, purchase order is right there.” Hector pointed a stubby finger on the clipboard, leaving a greasy smudge.

  Morton flipped all the pages over except the last. Right there on the third line was what he was looking for: 24,000 farm-fresh eggs. The signature at the bottom was one the one he recognized as the purchasing manager for Jordan Inc.

  Morton flipped back to the front page and signed. He shoved the clipboard back over to Hector and waved to his men to unload the cardboard boxes off the truck. Each one was marked “EGGS” in large black letters, a ridiculous charade fooling no one.

  One by one the boxes went onto a cart, then down to the basement below via the stairs. No elevator today, too unreliable with the generator running. Morton g
rabbed a carton himself and took the walk, hoping the exercise would get his heart pumping and clear the poison out of his system.

  When he returned to the loading dock, Hector pulled him aside. “We’ll be back with another batch day after tomorrow. You got enough room down there in the storage room?”

  Morton couldn’t hide his surprise. “You just delivered three times our regular weekly shipment, now you’re bringing me another week’s worth?”

  “No, man, we’re bringing you 40,000 units. Warden just gave Erline the news overnight. Got her out of bed, she was pissed,” he chuckled. “We got our cookers working around the clock to fill the order. Even I’m gonna have to mess with that crap, I hate it.”

  Morton was speechless. The fog of the night before added to his confusion.

  “Hey, Morton. You listening? I need you to make sure you got room for the delivery,” Hector demanded.

  “Yeah sure, right. We’ll figure it out,” Morton stammered.

  The Kaplan crew jumped in their trucks and drove off as the Herscher punched the button to close the overhead dock door.

  “What is it, Sarge? What’s wrong?” McCoy asked as Morton stood and stared.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered. “But I intend to find out.”

  Chapter 6

  Ridgeview Hunting Lodge

  Rural Brown County, Illinois

  Day One of the Great Reset

  By the time Ridgeview Lodge's mascot rooster crowed the next morning, Sy and Max Bradshaw were nearly finished with their morning chores. Even at ten, Max was his uncle’s right-hand man, fetching tools and tending to animals.

  “Max, I’m going to head into town this morning. I need you to look after the place while I’m gone.”

  Max said nothing, but the look of disappointment was clear.

  “Don’t worry, little buddy. I’m just going in to see if I can find out why the phones aren’t working. I’ll be taking the Caseys in to see if they can get a hold of their family.”

  “Is Little Trey going with you?” he asked.

  “No, I need you to help look after him while I take his dad and granddad, okay?”

  “Okay, Uncle Sy.”

  The little boy took his ball cap off and looked at it.

  “What’s bothering you, little man?”

  “Dad was supposed to call tonight. He was going to tell me when he’d come see me.”

  Sy put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. He used every fiber of his being to hold in his anger at Pete Lewis. Sy hated few people in the world like he hated Max’s father. This morning was just one more reason why. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m sure he’ll call. Maybe an emergency at the prison last night.” Sy took a deep breath so he could get the next words out without feeling ill. “Your dad has a real important job there at that prison, making sure those bad dudes don't get out.” Max straightened and smiled a little, but Sy wasn't sure if he had made him feel better or worse. “Tell you what, I’ll try and get ahold of him from town, okay?”

  Max nodded and followed his uncle up to the main lodge. Darwin King was already awake and making camp coffee over an outdoor fire pit. “Morning, fellas. Makin’ the rounds, are ya?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. King. I imagine Marjorie has coffee cooking in the kitchen. I hate to see guests having to do things like that themselves.”

  “No worries, Sy. Happy to do it. Besides, poor Marjorie can’t make anything this mornin’. Nothin’ workin’ at all that needs pluggin’ in.”

  Sy smacked himself on the side of the head. “Of course. I’m still forgetting that. First visit I’m making in town is the dealer I bought that generator off of. You still coming with us, Mr. King?” Sy asked.

  “Naw, don’t reckon I will. I been wantin’ to get a little fishin’ in while I’m here. Don’t ‘spose I’ll have another chance while I can still claim my phone ain’t workin’…”

  “Someone help! Call 911!” a panicked voice yelled from inside the Great Hall. Sy ran inside with King close behind. Kara was standing in the middle of the room, red-faced and sobbing. “I can’t wake him up!” he cried.

  Bounding up the stairs two at a time, King and Sy didn’t stop to ask Kara who she was trying to wake. They rushed into the lodge’s largest suite—Casey Sr. called it the Presidential in jest—to find the man lying motionless in the bed. Sy grabbed a wrist to check for a pulse, but King remained at the foot of the bed with his head down.

  “He’s gone, mate.” King had seen dead men before. He recognized when the spirit had left. “Truly gone,” he said shaking his head slowly and quietly sobbing.

  Kara came into the room. She fell to her knees beside Ben's bedside and held his hand. The unnatural coolness of Benjamin Casey Sr.’s skin told her any attempt at revival would be fruitless. She sat down on the bed beside her friend and benefactor. The Bradshaws had never had so much as a broken bone here at the lodge. Confused and frightened, she didn’t know what to do…

  Who do I call? she thought, then corrected herself.

  What do I do if there’s no one to call?

  Chapter 7

  Western Illinois Correctional Facility

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  Day One of the Great Reset

  Captain Peter Lewis sat in the officer’s dining hall working his way through a plate of pancakes and sausages piled high and nearly overflowing from the plate. The room was pleasant enough, in the sterile style of an institution. Tinted glass made it look like early evening any time of the day, but the view to the outside world was one of the few offered in this concrete and steel fortress, a welcome portal to the reality beyond the walls.

  “Honest to God, Red, I don’t know what the big deal is. So she ordered extra stuff? I’m sure she’s got a reason,” Lewis said, licking the sausage grease off his finger. He washed it down with a glass of water. “By the way, thanks for leaving that girl all hot and bothered for me last night. After that tantrum Marduk threw at me last night, it was good to blow off a little steam, you know what I mean?”

  Morton didn’t reply to the debauched compliment. He sat back in his chair trying to figure out what kind of mess Marduk had created this time.

  Lewis looked up from his plate and stopped chewing. “Sergeant, what part of ‘it all pays the same’ do you not understand? We’re not paid to make these decisions, she is. We’re paid to carry out her decisions. We clear?”

  Morton just nodded.

  “Good. Because she’s got me chasing my tail this morning. This is the first chance I’ve had to sit down and relax. I don’t want my one chance at a decent meal today messed up,” Lewis said. He was glaring at Morton, who just stared at the table, deep in his own thoughts. “Come on, Red,” Lewis pleaded, his tone softening. “I need you 100 percent on board. The Eels would follow you through hell. Our men will pick up any doubts you have about the new contract. So we good?”

  “Yeah, Captain, we’re good.”

  Lewis nodded and took another bite. “That’s a relief.” He chewed and wiped his mouth, then looked at Morton. “Because we are going to have a bona fide problem on our hands in a few days.”

  Morton groaned as Lewis continued. “Marduk says the grid isn’t going to be coming back up for a while. Don’t know how she knows that, but she seems certain.”

  “What else is new? We’ve got the generator.”

  “For now we do. What happens when we run out of fuel for it?”

  Morton's heart jumped into his throat. He'd already allowed that thought to creep into his mind earlier. Now hearing Lewis, the eternal optimist, mention it struck even harder. “We order more. She seems to have an unlimited budget these days.”

  “That’s what I said, too. Turns out there was supposed to be a big tanker truck on-site. Could have lasted us a few weeks. But it never showed, she doesn’t know why for sure. Something about breaking down outside St. Louis. Either way, it never made it here.”

  “So order another one.”

  Lewis shook his head. “No
chance of that. Highways are jammed with stalled cars.”

  “Not all cars are electric.”

  Lewis shrugged. “I guess this glitch with the grid is affecting everything with a computer in it, which is just about everything these days.” He chuckled at the thought of the I.T. department trying to fix the delicate world they’d created.

  “Can we at least get an old tanker truck up here, like one of the ones they use on construction sites?”

  “Pumps won’t work at the fuel terminals; no electricity.”

  Morton crossed his arms and huffed. The smell of sausage made him a combination of nauseous and hungry. He went with the latter. He whistled and waved a plate over from the server’s window.

  While he waited for his coffee to be poured he said, “Captain, I think that’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard. We can’t make electricity because we have no fuel, and we can’t get fuel because there’s no electricity.”

  Lewis chuckled again. “Yeah, I didn’t think about it that way. But I guess you’re right. Either way, no fuel means we got us a major-league FUBAR situation here.”

  “Buy from one of the service stations in town?” Morton asked.

  Lewis nodded. “I was hoping you could take care of that. I’m not exactly well-loved around this town anymore. Figured they’d be more likely to do business with you.”

  “They’ll hold it against us that we never buy anything local.”

  “Except fresh food.”

  Morton nodded. “I guess that’s true. Okay, I’ll leave right away. Wait, do we have any vehicles of our own working?”

  “Haven’t tried any yet. Worst case, I’m sure the old service truck will run. That thing’s ancient, doubt if there’s so much as a radio in it, let alone a computer.