Lights Out

by Nate Southard

  Darren was about to betray a friend. For years, he’d held Ron as close as any brother, had trusted him in all things. He’d have done anything for the man. Now, however, he felt the need to go behind his friend’s back, to forge an alliance with four men who were almost surely evil in order to serve what he felt was the greater good. When all was said and done all was said and done, he could only hope that God would forgive him. Forgiving himself would be another matter entirely.

  A knock echoed through the office. He crossed the room, opening the door and beckoning for the men to enter.

  Morrow led them. Ribisi followed closely, with Marquez right behind. Sweeny and Diggs entered last, neither seeming to accept walking behind the other. Their eyes stabbed at each other with every glance. Darren nodded to each in turn, said “Hello,” in a voice almost too soft to be heard. The air inside the office seemed to crackle with energy, and it only grew more powerful as everyone sat down in the chairs he had arranged in a circle beforehand.

  Darren looked around, meeting each man’s eyes, hoping they got the message that he considered each his equal. He looked at Morrow last, received a cocked eyebrow in return.

  He took a deep breath before speaking.

  “Okay, what did everybody see last night?”

  The men remained silent, their eyes on him. He couldn’t tell if it was a game, no one wanting to be the first to speak, or if they really weren’t sure what they had witnessed.

  “A lot of people were killed last night,” he told them. “I haven’t seen the bodies, but I’m told every last one of them died painfully. Other people, both inmates and staff, are now missing. We’ve had more go missing in the past few days, but I understand some of them were seen last night.

  “I’m not a superstitious man, and I don’t care if you believe in God or not. I don’t believe in the supernatural. I don’t believe in monsters or ghosts or boogeymen or any of it, but I believe I saw three dead men lying on slabs in the morgue two days ago, and they weren’t there the next morning. In fact, it looked to me like they’d busted their way out of their freezers. Maybe something like that I can deny--come up with some sort of pseudo-rational explanation to satisfy myself with--but when more people die the next night, I start to think about it more and more.”

  “Chale?”

  He turned to face Omar Marquez. The man’s voice had been almost silent, almost a breath, but Albright had still heard the question. Now, Marquez was looking at him, his face calm, but his eyes letting Darren know how important the question was. The look was only there for a second before vanishing, replaced by the stone eyes the man wore when handing out orders to his men.

  “Yes, Omar. One of them was Chale. He was dead, his throat torn open. Did you see him last night?”

  The Mexican held his eyes, but didn’t give away anything.

  “I saw him,” Ribisi offered. “Saw Aldo, too. Aldo was one of my boys, worked the morgue with Chale. Ended up on the same slab.”

  “That’s horseshit,” Sweeny all but shouted. “We’re not seeing dead guys running around killing guards and inmates. Pull your head out of your ass!”

  “I know what I saw, you skinhead prick. You saw it, too.”

  “I don’t know what I saw, and don’t you try to tell me!”

  “Fuck you!”

  “That’s enough!” Morrow ordered.

  Sweeny shook his head in disgust and looked at the ceiling.

  “Hey,” Darren said, raising his voice just enough to get their attention. “I have neither the time nor patience for this. Right now, Warden Timms is hosting a press conference with the Governor. They’re going to say they’re working on finding who’s responsible for the deaths, but then they’re going to lock this place down so tight none of you will see the light of day until next year. In the meantime, whatever tore up those people last night is going to come back. Like I said before, I’m not superstitious, but I don’t think the Governor’s going to be able to arrest whatever killed those people. Does anybody feel like arguing that?”

  Silence. One by one, the inmates shook their heads.

  “So, what did you see last night?”

  Diggs let out a sigh. “I saw three of my boys die. They weren’t just killed, neither. They got slaughtered. I saw the things that did it, too. And I heard my boy Hall before they got ‘im. He knew what they were, and he wasn’t shy about throwing up a flag.”

  “He let everybody know?”

  “Yeah. Said it nice and loud so everybody could hear, too.”

  Darren nodded, coaxing him on. Diggs looked away, though.

  “What did he say?” Darren asked.

  “He said ‘vampire.’” Marquez again. He was looking past Albright, eyeing the cross. “You may not be superstitious, Father, but I am. I believe in monsters, because I am one. Hell, just about everybody in this room is. I’m not going to deny it, and none of the rest will, either. I’ve seen some terrible things, and I’ve done a lot worse. What we saw last night, though? That shit didn’t even compare. We saw men we know to be dead kill other men. I watched them drink those motherfuckers dry, too. They didn’t even act human, not the slightest bit. They were animals. Hell, they were licking blood off the goddamn floor. When I add it all up, it’s vampires. I’m not gonna fuck around and pretend it isn’t true. None of us should. You don’t believe me, wait until tonight.”

  Darren watched Omar for a long moment, searching for any sign of a lie in the man’s eyes. There was none. He’d worked at Burnham long enough to know when somebody was trying to pull one over on him, and Marquez was doing nothing of the kind. The man was honest, and he was scared.

  He looked to the others. “What about the rest of you? Do you feel the same way?”

  “I do,” Ribisi answered. “My father came over from the Old Country, close to where all the stories originally began. People over there, they’ll tell you the stories are just that--wives’ tales to make their kids go to bed early like good little boys and girls. You get the same people talking long enough though, get them to loosen their lips, and they’ll tell you that every tale has more than a grain of truth in it. So yeah, I believe in vampires. I don’t know where they came from, and I don’t know how it all began, but I know what I saw. It was vampires, and I watched them kill five men without so much as a second thought.”

  “I understand. The rest of you?”

  “I don’t want no more of my boys dying,” Diggs said. “I don’t want the dead ones coming back, neither. Guess I’m in this shit, cool?”

  Marquez and Ribisi nodded, but Sweeny turned away, snarling. Morrow tapped him on the shoulder.

  “You’re up, Sweeny.”

  “I know, goddammit! Let me think a second.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” Darren told him. “If you’re not back in your cells before the warden notices, this will all go up in smoke.”

  “I got it. Now, shut up.” The skinhead hunched over, eyeing the floor. His face scrunched up into a thoughtful scowl. He punched a fist into his open palm several times. Finally, he looked up, nodded.

  “Okay. Count the Brotherhood in.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “I want one thing clear, though. I’m not doing this for you, Father, and I’m not doing it for any of the rest of these assholes. I’m doing this because I don’t want any of my people to be next.”

  “You can work with us, though?”

  “If I have to.”

  “I can accept that. Again, thanks.”

  Sweeny waved him off, sneering.

  Darren turned to Morrow. “What about the guards? We need to know that they’ll help instead of cracking heads.”

  “They’ll be fine, Darren. Don’t you worry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Excuse me, Father.” Ribisi, leaning forward the slightest bit. “It’s all well and good that we’re on the same page, here, but we’re overlooking one minor detail.”

  “Yes?”

  “We’re in lockdow
n. What the fuck are we going to do?”

  Albright swallowed, followed it with a deep breath. When he was sure he had their attention, he spoke.

  “Well, I have an idea.”

  Thirteen

  “Hey, man. Wake up.”

  Maggot jumped awake, and when he saw it was still dark, he panicked. His arms and legs shot out, pain arcing through them as they slammed into the metal shelves. One of his feet kicked something hard but giving, and he heard an annoyed grunt.

  “Who’s there?” he asked. “Stay away!”

  Hands grabbed at him, large hands covered with dry skin. He swatted at them, fighting desperately for his freedom, but they clamped down like a monster’s claws, their strength incredible. A terrified cry left his mouth and filled the darkness.

  One of the hands disappeared and then slapped down over his mouth.

  “Goddammit! It’s me, man. Tree!”

  The scream died in Maggot’s throat. He remembered. The giant who had brought him here, had defended him from the killing things. The demons flashed through his mind, their talons and their teeth aching for him. One of them had looked like Dr. Wilson. He felt tears spill from his eyes and snot bubble out of his nose. The hands jerked away.

  “Jesus, man! You one disgusting fuck!”

  They were in a closet. He remembered that now. The giant had thrown him in last night, after saving him. That explained the darkness. Why hadn’t the big man turned on the lights?

  “No light?” he asked.

  “Naw. Empty socket. We got some cheap folks runnin’ this bitch.”

  Maggot pushed himself across the floor until he leaned against the shelves. They dug into his back, but he did not care. He had felt worse. Any day he remained alive was a day he felt something worse. The air was sharp with the stink of fear and fatigue. “Are they gone?”

  “Don’ know. I think it’s morning, though. I heard folks outside, yellin’ at first, then just talkin’. I think whatever happened is finished.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Not sure I do, either. They ain’t gonna feed us in here, though. You follow?”

  Maggot nodded. It never crossed his mind that Tree could not see him.

  “We should try soon,” the giant continued. “They gonna be pissed, they find us in here. Probably think we tryin’ to mount an escape or some shit.”

  “Thank you,” Maggot said. His voice came out as almost a whisper.

  “Huh?”

  “You saved me. Thank you.”

  “Maggot, I saved myself, okay? You was along for the ride.”

  “If you want, you can....” He let the words hang, almost afraid to say them.

  “Huh? I ain’t followin’, man. What you sayin’?”

  “You can...do what the rest do to me. I don’t mind. I owe you. You deserve it.”

  The hands came back, moving over him fast and rough. They found his waist, traveled up until they gripped his shoulders. One of the hands disappeared again.

  The punch came out of nowhere, colliding with his cheek like a runaway train. Maggot’s head snapped back, banging against the shelves, and his teeth clacked together. A field of strange colors whirled in the darkness. He never cried out, but instead went silent at the first sign of pain. It was a trick he’d learned a long time before, and it had served him well.

  The second punch didn’t hurt as much as the first, but it still sent a tidal wave of agony crashing through his head.

  Tree’s voice was hushed and angry.

  “You dumb fuckin’ faggot! If I wanted yo pasty ass, I woulda had it long before now! You got me?”

  Maggot nodded again, the movement making his head throb.

  “I said ‘You hear me?’”

  “Yes,” he answered. His voice sounded like a child’s, tiny and ashamed.

  “I done told yo ass, Maggot. I saved you ‘cause I was busy savin’ myself. I din’t want no chunk outta yo freak ass. Fuck you for thinkin’ so!”

  “I am sorry, sir.”

  “And talk like a regular person, dammit. ‘I am sorry, sir.’ You sound like a bitch.”

  There was a long stretch of silence, and Maggot closed his eyes, riding out the rest of the pain. It slowly settled into a steady ache over half of his face. He felt a little dizzy, the same way he did sometimes after Nicholas hit him.

  “You okay, Maggot?” The note of concern in the big man’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Yes.”

  “You sure? I hit pretty fuckin’ hard. I’m used to bustin’ heads.”

  “I am... I’m okay.” The contraction hurt as it bubbled out of his throat.

  “Think you can stand?”

  Maggot reached out, gripping the shelves on either side of him. He pulled himself up until he was standing, then released the shelves and waited. The world did not tilt or slide out from under him. Yes, he was okay. He felt around the closet with his hands, found Tree standing nearby. The giant shoved his hands away, and he let them drop to his sides.

  “I’m standing,” he said.

  “Okay. Let’s see what’s out there.”

  Maggot grabbed the shelves again, this time so tight he thought his knuckles might pop. He did not want to leave. It was safe here. Outside was where the killing things walked. They had not been able to get him in here, this dark room that was almost a womb. Out there was another story. “Don’t want to,” he said.

  “Then fuck you. I’m goin’. You want to chill here, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll tell the hacks where to find yo ass.”

  Maggot heard the doorknob jiggle in Tree’s grip, and he almost screamed. Tears ran hot and fast down his cheeks, but he remained silent, same as always. His teeth ground against each other, and he felt a sudden warmth between his legs as his bladder let go.

  Light reached his eyes as the door swung open.

  He expected one of the killing things to be waiting on the other side, teeth bared. Instead, there was only an empty hallway. A faint slash of light cut through the dim space. Sunlight. Morning had arrived. That did not mean they were safe, though. The killing things could be anywhere, waiting.

  The giant stepped into the doorway. Maggot reached out to grab the man’s shoulder, but stopped himself. He did not want to get hit again. Instead, he called after the big man.

  “Wait for me!”

  The giant looked back. “You better follow.”

  Maggot squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his jaw tight. He shook his head, hoping the fear might evaporate, and then stepped toward the door.

  The cool air from the hallway hit him, and he remembered he was not wearing any shoes. How far was it back to the hospital? There were blankets there, and the killing thing that had been inside was dead, destroyed. He did not think it was far. He would follow the giant there, and he would be safe.

  He stepped into the hallway and found Tree staring at something. The hall had been crossed with yellow tape. Blood had splashed the floor and walls, even the ceiling. A sheet covered what could only be a body. Maggot remembered watching the killing things tear the man in two last night, and he shivered.

  Several men stood near the taped area, examining it and trying not to step in the blood. Maggot watched them fumble around, and he suddenly realized how funny it was. He imagined one of the men slipping, just like Officer Nicholas had done when they had found Dr. Wilson, and a loud peel of laughter erupted from his body. Tree jumped, and the men turned to look at them.

  They ran toward him, shouting with angry voices. Tree moved at once, pressing his chest against the wall and putting his hands against the back of his head. Maggot looked at the giant’s position against the wall, and it just made everything that much more hysterical. Everything hid behind a wet haze of tears. He tried to wipe at his eyes, but suddenly the men were on him, their hands grabbing and their arms wrapping tight, and they were wrestling him to the ground. Maggot never fought them, never did anything but laughed. He wished he could see. How he wished he could look at their
red faces as they huffed and puffed and sneered down at him.

  Tree was yelling, “We didn’t do nuthin’!” over and over again, but Maggot did not think the men cared. They did not appear to care about anything other than yelling and holding him against the floor. His cheek pressed against the cold tile, and when he opened his eyes his vision was strangely clear.

  He gazed down the hall, ignoring the angry men, and looked at the blood. It pooled on the dirty concrete. When he breathed in deep, he could smell it. The thick scent attacked his nostrils, and suddenly it was all too much. His laughter died, and soon he was crying again, weeping because he’d seen so much blood lately.

  And because he knew he’d see more.

  Fourteen

  It started as whispers, nearly silent words that would have been considered rumor if they hadn’t been spoken by the leaders and guards both. The message spread slowly at first, then began to pick up steam as hushed words sometimes do. It moved from person to person and cell to cell--a virus of words.

  A strange electricity began to course through Burnham. As word built, starting to spread at a faster and faster rate, the whisper stream began to hum, sounding like the current racing along a high tension line. The message leaked from Unit B to Units A and C. The guards whispered about it in tight circles, wondering just how crazy they must be to agree to such a thing. Surely it was suicide. The inmates chittered like excited schoolchildren talking about how things were going to fucking change, and then word would come down from their leaders. Business first, then pleasure. Anything different would be dealt with.

  Shortly after breakfast was over--nervous inmates forcing themselves to eat their apples and dry cereal--the whispers quieted. An awkward hush filled the vacuum. The air felt thick and heavy, oppressive. Stomachs tightened with nervous tension. Sweat beaded.

  The inmates sat on their bunks. They paced. They looked questions and answers at each other or leaned against their bars and watched the other inmates sit or pace or look. But none of them spoke. They didn’t need to anymore. Neither did the guards. They all knew how it was going to go down, and they all knew why.