He seemed to be the only person in the vast room.
Standing, he looked down on his dark blue shorts, a t-shirt of the same color. He didn’t remember putting them on. There was a storage locker at the foot of his bed. When he opened it, Jason found a pair of white socks and running sneakers. He reached down, retrieved the foot gear, and settled back on the mattress.
He was starting to remember things: His cold cell…what they’d done to him…the needles…Dr. Kaku. Jason shuddered.
Though he was by himself, he didn’t appear to be a prisoner. Despite the Spartan, uniform surroundings, he didn’t feel like a prisoner. Apparently there was no Dr. Kaku here. After he pulled on his socks, Jason tied his sneakers. They fit perfectly.
He made his bed like he’d been taught, pulling the sheet and thin blanket tight, tucking both under the mattress. He patted the bed when he was finished, satisfied he could bounce a quarter off it. His head feeling better, clearer, Jason decided to poke around his environs, see what was what.
The barracks could hold hundreds of people in two-tiered bunks. The beds were laid out in neat rows, a fixed space between each, groups of four bunks set off by aisles. Painted lines marked the aisles. Almost like boot camp, thought Jason, or maybe some combination of boot and what he imagined a disaster relocation center might look like.
He stepped out into an aisle. There was a set of double doors at the far end of it. Looking in the opposite direction, he didn’t see a door in the far wall. The expanse of the dorm made it hard to tell if there was one. Jason walked towards the doors he could see, crossing the room, checking the other bunks as he went, satisfied that he was the only person here.
As he walked, other details stood out in his mind. There were no signs of life in the room, no rumpled sheets or blankets, no personal belongings or pictures taped to bed posts. Each bed was neatly made. Each had a foot locker. No windows in the room. Harsh, fluorescent light emanated from recesses in the ceiling. As he neared the doors, Jason noticed a blinking green light above them, and he immediately thought of the camera outside his cell wherever he had been. When he got close enough he saw his intuition was correct, that the light accompanied a lens tracking his movements.
He wanted to wave at the camera but suppressed the impulse. Not wave merrily, but wave to show he was here, to show that he was awake. Like, hello motherfuckers. But whoever’d put him here knew where he was. And Jason didn’t know who had placed him here. Just because he wasn’t in a cell, he reminded himself, didn’t mean Dr. Kaku wasn’t nearby.
The wide double doors under the camera gave to a long windowless hall. Jason stepped through the doors and into the corridor, looking back once as they closed behind him, spying a second camera on this side of the doors. He flipped it the bird, hoping someone was watching, hoping that someone was Kaku.
Passing several double doors on either side of the hall, he paused briefly to try each. None would give. He walked for what seemed several minutes, but Jason wasn’t certain. He looked down at his wrist. His watch was gone. That’s right. Kaku had smashed it in front of him. Cocksucker. That, Jason grudgingly gave the man, had been a nice touch, psychologically. Kaku knew what he was doing. However, Jason admitted to himself, he felt at a loss, because he had no idea what Kaku had been up to.
He followed the corridor to another uniform set of double doors where another green light blinked on another camera.
Jason pushed through the doors, entering a mess hall several times larger than the barracks he’d come from. Looking around, He took in his surroundings. The room was immense, capable of seating and feeding thousands. Row upon row of steel picnic-style tables with benches attached blurred together. Fifty-five gallon plastic garbage containers were placed between every four tables.
Though the room could conceivably house thousands, there were only a handful of other men and women in it. These were seated in the same general area, but within this space they were spread out, each seated alone except for a group of four. Some looked up as Jason walked in, and most who did so quickly glanced away. One of the men in the group of four made a comment that only his friends could hear, and a couple of them laughed. Jason hadn’t caught the remark, but judging by the look of the men, he figured it hadn’t been kind.
Whatever. He chose to ignore them, walking over to a buffet-style serving station. White plates were stacked and steam rose from trays of food. Jason hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He took a plate and worked his way down the buffet, loading up on bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage and pancakes. When he couldn’t fit any more food on his plate, he filled a coffee cup from a stainless steel urn and started to look for a suitable place to consume his meal.
The woman closest to him didn’t look friendly. Nor did she look like she wanted someone sitting next to her. But Jason remembered the female voice from the cell next to his, and he wondered if this could possibly be that woman. She was big and rough looking, with tightly curled hair that looked in need of a shower and comb through. As Jason approached, the woman looked down at her plate. It wasn’t like she was intimidated. More, he considered, like maybe she hoped by ignoring him he wouldn’t say a word to her, that he would just walk past.
“Hi.” Jason stopped when he was still a couple yards away. “Are you…?”
A muscle in the forearm of her hand gripping the fork contracted.
“Were you in the cell next to me?”
The woman looked up long enough to cast Jason a withering glance, gripping the fork in her balled fist. “Get the fuck away from me.” As soon as she opened her mouth to hiss at him and Jason heard her voice, he knew she wasn’t who he’d thought she might be.
He raised a hand, palm out, apologetically, as he backed away, circling the table, turning and walking away from her.
The wise ass at the table of four who’d made his crack earlier leveled another comment, causing two of his companions to laugh. The fourth guy at the table was smoking a cigarette and watching Jason lazily.
Sitting at a table where he could face the four men, Jason kept his eye on them. At the opposite end of a table across from him, a lean woman gave him a barely perceptible nod before returning her attention to her food.
Jason tore into his meal. Damn, it was good. As he ate, he wondered where he was. Why were there no windows? Was this a military base? If so, where? And who were these people? He was a little surprised to see women. He knew he shouldn’t be. Women served among the front line troops in today’s military. There’d been a woman in the cell next to his…unless, that is, Jason had to concede, his mind had played tricks on him. He didn’t know. He remembered the injections. The hell was that? He banished the train of thought, swallowing a mouthful of eggs.
He was assuming everyone in this cafeteria was some kind of military. He thought about it and knew he had nothing to show for it. Everyone appeared to be dressed similarly to himself: dark blue t-shirts and shorts, white socks and sneakers. There was a dark-skinned guy a few tables over. Dark skinned, not black. Looked foreign to Jason. The woman across from him—the one who’d nodded—she was dark skinned too. Not as dark as the foreign-looking man, more olive-like. And she looked athletic: young and tall, lean and wiry. Straight black hair to her shoulders. Not unattractive.
The four at the table…their hair grown out on their heads and to varying degrees on their faces. Their ages, Jason guessed, were all over the place. He pegged the smoker as somewhere in his fifties, while the youngest of the four—one of the guys who laughed at the wise-ass’ comments—was maybe in his late twenties. Something told Jason the smoker was the closest the group had to a leader. Something else told Jason he didn’t want to hang with those guys. He was just glad to be out of that cell…away from Dr. Kaku…away from the things they’d done to him.
He was almost done with his food when a black guy came and stood directly across from him at his table. Jason looked up at the man and stopped chewing, a chunk of pancake on the tines of his fork.
“Y
ou sittin’ in my seat,” the man challenged. Jason looked at him, ready to throw down. The guy was young but had one of those faces you’d think he was thirty, like Mook. He was about Jason’s height, but he carried more muscle in his chest and shoulders.
“That right?” asked Jason. The table was between them. He figured the guy had an advantage standing like that with him seated, but Jason had a fork in his hand. Motherfucker come over the table at him, Jason would stick him in the neck. Like the woman he’d spoken to had looked ready to do to him.
A smile broke out over the black man’s face. “Relax. I’m jus’ fuckin’ with ya.” Uninvited, he sat down at Jason’s table. “Welcome to the party, main.”
Jason shook his head and then, in spite of himself, he grinned and stuffed the pancakes into his mouth.
“See,” the black guy said, “I got cha.” Without further introduction he started wolfing down the food on his own dish. “This my second plate,” he managed between swallows. “Shit’s good.”
“Yeah. It’s good.”
“Finish up and go git yo’self more. Shit’s all-you-can-eat.”
“You have any idea where we are?”
The man didn’t look up from his plate. “Nah,” he replied, dismissively.
“You know any of these people?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. Name’s Jason.”
“Jason?” The black guy put his fork down and looked disapprovingly at him. “Jason?” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I’m ‘a act like I didn’t hear that, okay?”
“Why?”
“Listen main—don’t go tellin’ people yo’ real name roun’ here. Aight?” “All right.” It didn’t make sense to him, but Jason didn’t want to challenge the man. It wasn’t that he feared the guy. He hoped to find out what he could from the man. And he was just glad he wasn’t sitting by himself any more.
“I’m a call you—you know what I’m a call you?” The guy rubbed his chin as he considered Jason. “I’m a call you Buford. How’s that sound?”
“Buford?”
“Yeah. That tight, right?”
“Not really.” Jason smirked and the other man did as well. “Why Buford?”
“Come on main,” the guy said in a tone of mock-chastisement. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Buford Pusser.”
“Buford who?”
“Buford Pusser motherfucka.” The way the guy could call you motherfucker and not insult you. Yeah, this guy reminded Jason of someone. “You know, Walking Tall?”
Jason thought he had heard of that somewhere—was it a movie?—but he wasn’t sure. “Nah, I don’t know.”
“Day-em. Look main, I don’t mean it no diss, aight? It’s just you come on in here like whoever that white boy was played Buford Pusser in that movie, thas’ all.”
“That a fact?”
The man bobbed his head as he chewed, his cheeks chip-munked out from all the food he had shoveled in.
“I guess that’s good,” concluded Jason. “I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t feel like I was ‘walking tall’ walking in here. So what do I call you?”
“You—” the man chewed “—can call me—” he swallowed and tossed back whatever was left in his coffee cup “—Bronson.”
“Bronson, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Jason thought it bizarre but he agreed.
“You don’t recognize me, B, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
Bronson put down his fork again, apparently full, shaking his head once more. “Day-em, B. You was next to me…” Bronson looked like he was trying to find the right words “…in there.”
“In there?” Even as he said it, it hit Jason. In there. Bronson had been one of the people next to him, in the cells. “Holy shit. You’re real?”
“Course I’m real. What you think?”
“You’re really real. It’s just that…my last day—the last day I remember, I was talking to you, and then they come and got me, and when they walked me past your cell…you weren’t there.”
“I don’t remember everything…” Bronson rubbed his index finger against his teeth, trying to dislodge a piece of food “…but I remember dey took me out of there ‘fore dey took you.”
Jason motioned with his hands and face, indicating he didn’t get it.
“Listen, B. I think I’s got an idea what’s going on here, aight, but I don’t got it all worked out. Sometin’ I do know: time was passin’ in there, I couldn’t tell how much or nothin’. But they was giving us drugs in them cells, right?”
Jason would never forget the bald man and his needles.
“Yeah. Hey, how’d you know it was me…in there…in here?”
Bronson took his finger out of his mouth and pointed at Jason. “I got real nigga vision, B.”
“You got…?” Jason suppressed a laugh as he realized the man was joking with him.
“No. You got. You got white boy written all over you.”
“And they don’t?” Jason nodded past Bronson to the seated group.
Bronson didn’t bother to turn around. “Shit if it was dem.” He didn’t sound thrilled with the four.
“What about him?” Jason indicated a young light-skinned man who sat by himself, furthest from everyone.
“Oh, dat boy just ain’t right.”
“What do you mean?”
“His eyes. You get a chance, check out his eyes. Why you smilin’, B?”
“Nothing. You remind me of someone. That’s all.”
“One o’ yo’ students?”
“No.” Jason was thinking of Tucker. Bronson reminded him of Tucker. Somewhat less abrasive perhaps; it was too early to tell. But Tucker…Tucker had reminded Jason of students he’d taught. “Yeah, maybe,” Jason hurriedly amended. “So, what do you think is going on?”
“I’ll tell you what I think, B. I think shit here’s about to get real interestin’.”
The wise-guy from the table of four had walked up to one of the women—not the one Jason had tried to talk to and not the one who sat at the table next to his. This woman was pretty in an understated way, like maybe with a little make up and a different setting she’d be something else. Jason could see the guy clearly now. Curly hair, five o’clock shadow, a paunch. He didn’t look military. He looked like a miscreant.
The man must have said something the woman didn’t agree with because she gave him a dirty look and spat something right back at him. If her words were intended to offend or dissuade the man they didn’t seem to have that effect. He laughed maliciously and put one hand down on her table, leaning his weight on it, bending in to talk to her.
The woman at the table next to Jason and Bronson spoke out loud. Jason didn’t catch her words.
The paunchy man had. “What’d you say?” He stood up straight, glaring at the lithe, thin woman. “I said, what’d you say?”
“Yeah,” Bronson muttered under his breath, “shit gonna get real interestin’.”
The guy with the belly was walking towards the lone woman’s table. A second man—the youngest looking of the four—had risen and followed in his friends’ wake, circling the tables to come up behind her.
Everyone in the cafeteria was watching the scene unfold.
The woman pushed her tray away from herself and repeated whatever she had said. It wasn’t in English, but the meaning was clear. She didn’t look intimidated.
The chubby guy stopped when he was on the other side of the table from her.
“Got something you want to say, princess?”
The seated woman rested both hands on the table in front of her, palms down.
“Huh?” the chubby man challenged her, the intent on his face unmistakable.
A set of double doors banged against the wall and two uniformed men strode into the mess hall. From their height, similar attirement, and gait, they appeared twins. Walking side by side, their footfalls ech
oed in the cavernous mess hall. Neither wore a sidearm, but both had tasers in their web belts.
“You—” one of them spoke as they approached, indicating the petulant man “—back to your seat, now.
“You too,” he commanded the man’s friend.
The two chastised men looked at each other, then to their table. The man smoking the cigarette waved them back before grinding his smoke out in a tray. The chubby guy whispered something to the seated woman, turned and left.
The uniformed duo came to a halt, standing at attention. They didn’t speak. Their eyes were cold and hard.
The double doors opened with another boom and a third man in camouflage marched into the room. He was shorter than the first two but older. He wore no identifying insignia or leadership tabs, yet he possessed an unmistakable air of authority. Bald, he wore mirrored aviator sunglasses, and a pistol rested on his hip.
Jason found himself standing up, raising a hand to his forehead in a salute. Bronson, looking up at him, scoffed and lowered his head.
The man walked over to where the other two had stopped, stepping between them. “At ease.” His voice boomed in the capacious mess hall. Although Jason was the only one who had stood and saluted, the words were meant for all. Jason sat back down and the man continued.
“The usual formalities will not apply here. The rule is simple: show respect, and you will be accorded respect.”
He stopped for a few moments while one of the two other men repeated what he said in a language Jason did not recognize.
“I am Major Hess. I am your operations coordinator. You will do what I tell you to do. You will not question what I tell you to do. You have all been talked to. You have all agreed. You are here for a reason. I am here for that same reason.”
Major Hess paused periodically for his attaché to translate.
“My presence here is very simple. It’s my job to keep you alive. I am here to see that you emerge from the other end of this thing in one piece. There is no guarantee that that will happen. However, in order for me to achieve my objective, you need to listen to me as you work, in turn, to achieve yours.
Warlord: Dervish Page 7