by Buda, Chuck
Jack charged Swede. He shoved the large man’s chest but his arms were too fried from working out. He merely bounced off Swede.
“You better shut your fucking mouth, man. I’m not your fucking mommy and I’m certainly not theirs.” Jack pointed at the men milling about. Jack’s outburst attracted all the attention. The prisoners of C-Pod quieted down and drew nearer to the action.
“Listen up you fucking pieces of shit. I’m not the leader here. You’re all on your own from now on. So stay the fuck out of my way and I’ll let you live.” Jack stormed past Swede into the center room. The crowd shifted to allow Jack’s passage. But it followed him like a virtual worm of humanity.
Swede called to Jack over the men’s heads. “That’s fucking convenient, Jack. I’m sure Melvin would be proud of your attempts to save his life.”
As soon as Jack heard Melvin’s name, he spun and darted at the huge man. The crowd barely avoided Jack’s rage. He tossed a few prisoners aside in order to get to Swede faster. Swede prepared for Jack’s onslaught. He crouched down to stand firm on his massive leg muscles.
Jack hurled his body at Swede with reckless abandon. As he sailed through the air, Jack pictured old black and white Superman shows where the hero flew through the air with one fist outstretched before him. The punch made it past Swede’s defenses and caught his square jaw with a cracking smack. Swede stumbled backwards. He managed to clutch Jack’s arm into his armpit, carrying Jack’s momentum. They both smashed into the wall outside Jack’s room.
The prisoners flew into a riotous clamor. Hands pounded tables and feet stomped on chairs with a resounding thunder like a Roman coliseum cheering gladiators.
Jack tried to ram his knee into Swede’s balls but he didn’t have enough room to work with. Swede squeezed Jack’s head like a vise grip. It felt like his eyes would pop out of his skull. In order to avoid being squished to death, Jack bit down hard on Swede’s ribcage. Swede howled in anguish and released Jack’s head as he attempted to scramble away from the bite. Jack tried to keep his purchase but Swede managed to get away, loosening Jack’s front teeth.
The men pounded louder.
Jack spat a plume of blood onto the floor. Swede looked at his palm which had clutched at the wound. His hand and his side were covered with blood.
Chants echoed across the pod. “Swede. Swede. Swede.” The inmates had chosen sides after Jack had written them all off.
Jack glared around the circle of flesh. He growled at them. His rage flared, wishing to kill every man in C-Pod with his bare hands. He hated them all. Each man represented a link in the chain which tied Jack to his fate. A fate which was more unescapable now than it had been when he was sentenced to life in Warsaw.
He taunted the crowd. “Come on. Come get me. You think you can beat me? Step up and test your metal.” Jack pointed at Swede. “You should have learned your place, you big fucking retard.”
Jack charged Swede once again.
As Jack sprang forward, inmates along the sides of the room shoved their arms out towards him. Most of the men missed as Jack sped beyond their reach. Some connected, moving Jack off his course and slowing his progress. He tried to steal a glance at those who touched him so he could mark them for death when he was finished with Swede. Jack’s mental ledger of retribution was never closed for new entries.
Swede timed an uppercut perfectly. It caught the side of Jack’s mouth and knocked him into a sea of prisoners. The men took liberties with Jack, scratching at his face and throwing sucker punches from behind. They tossed his body back into the center of the circle where Swede waited for another shot. The big man moved in quickly, firing a speedy combination of punches. One blackened Jack’s eye immediately. The other forced blood to splash from his damaged nose. Jack’s legs buckled for a second. But he had been in this position many times in his life.
Jack shook the cobwebs from his brain. He lunged at Swede, pulling his friend’s head inside the crook of his arm. Jack used his weight to fall backwards, tugging Swede down on top of him. The move had been so simple and swift. Jack knew the fight would be over shortly. He had Swede’s head in a full choke position. Jack’s forearms tightened up against Swede’s Adam’s apple, extinguishing the air from his body.
Swede struggled to free himself. But the more he fought the choke hold, the deeper Jack’s arms worked in. Swede slapped his hands on Jack’s ribs to signal he gave up. Rather than allow Swede to tap out easily, Jack tightened his noose harder. He had to make an example of Swede, even if he was his friend. Jack had to ensure every man in the pod knew he was dominating.
As Swede blacked out, Jack released his choke hold. He kicked Swede’s torso off his chest. Jack stood over Swede’s body. He hammered a few punches to Swede’s unconscious face to put an exclamation point on the bout. The warning would be clear. The fight would only end when Jack said it ended. Even if the opponent was out cold...or dead.
Jack glared around the silent pod. All the men backed up a few steps. The collective bravery of the horde was gone. Jack faked a couple of bluff charges at other prisoners. He enjoyed watching the men crawl over each other to get away from his reach.
“I better not hear Melvin’s name in this place again. He was a stupid old man. Nothing more.” Jack gasped for air. He rested his hands on his knees to breathe in all he could summon. Jack was exhausted.
He shuffled over to Swede who was beginning to come out of his unconsciousness. Jack stood over Swede.
“None of us can save Melvin. He was dead already. He just didn’t know it yet.” Jack swabbed blood from his nose with the back of his forearm. He stared down at the crimson stains on his skin. “The sooner we all start acting like dead men, the sooner we will get out of this shit.”
Chapter 18
Warden Gorgon prayed.
He repeated Guyton’s words as he stared into the window of A-Pod. His eyes followed the movements of the things shambling about. The fascination of his new powers threatened to overtake his concentration.
Guyton finished the prayer. The rhythmic sounds more lyrical than the simple words spoken by Gorgon. Guyton’s forehead glistened in sweat. The white of his eyes nearly glowing in the shadows of the hall.
Warden Gorgon commanded the zombies to line up inside the pod. He bid the creatures to stand in height order. The monsters looked unsure, sizing each other up and slowly bumping into each other as they shifted into proper position. He was pleased to see the zombies follow the letter of his instructions without pause.
Warden Gorgon felt dizzy. His body still struggled to reconcile the lack of blood in his veins. Forcing concentration further depleted his energy levels. But there would be no time to rest. Not now.
Guyton cleared his throat. It snapped the Warden from his thoughts. Instantly, the zombies in A-Pod wandered out of place. They searched for their next meal, a chunky piece of flesh. Gorgon grimaced. He needed to work on controlling his army while he was doing other things. Multi-tasking. He wondered if it would even be possible.
“What shall I do now, sir?” Guyton swabbed his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.
“You are free to go, Guyton. You have done a wonderful job.” Warden Gorgon patted Guyton’s shoulder. He felt a tremor of anxiety beneath the clothing. “Remember. Tell nobody of our arrangement. The moment I can’t trust you...” He allowed the veiled threat to drift over the space between them.
Guyton nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir.”
Warden Gorgon watched Guyton as he hurried away.
Things had begun to snowball. His plan was rolling along now. One pod down. Three to go. Secretly, Warden Gorgon wished to convert everyone to their new role in his dreadful army. Except for Shipley. He would need the doctor by his side in case the shit really hit the fans. Then he would have Dr. Shipley enact Plan B.
He rested his hot forehead against the cool cinder blocks. The coolness lessened his nausea but it did little to combat his fatigue headache. A few moments later, Warden Gorgon transmitted his
thoughts through the window. Once again, the zombies moved according to his desires. He smiled like a child mastering a new set of toys. The Warden had a fictitious world and he manipulated the characters as he saw fit. The only difference was this world was far from fictitious. It was real. Blood real. Death real.
Warden Gorgon played with the pieces of his toy army. He quickly grew bored and shifted his thoughts to the cage. The time had come to test his new skills again. Each battle provided an opportunity to learn from his mistakes and perfect his creations. It served another purpose. The cage fights entertained his men and quelled the improper behaviors of his prisoners. They would realize the hidden lesson soon enough if it hadn’t sunk in already.
Challenge me and face these monsters alone.
Warden Gorgon smiled again. Guilt crept into his mind at his pleasure. Of course, he took no pleasure in harming people. Or scaring them. It was a necessary evil in order to survive. He had to do whatever it took to make it in this new world. The inmates he had been charged with caring for became pawns. The guards he had hired, had spent time meeting their families, had become his weapons.
This is necessary.
His thoughts pivoted to ancient memories. His wife. His daughters. He missed them. The Warden smashed his fist into the door. The pain of personal loss reminded him of the costs in this new world. Every ounce of his being knew his beloved family was gone. They couldn’t have lasted long once the virus broke out. They were unprepared for the mayhem.
It was my fault. I should have done more to get them ready.
Warden Gorgon winced, his lids forcing the tears to run down his face. His mind consoled him. Nobody could have predicted the world would fall prey to a microbe which would wipe out the population, twisted their flesh into fiendish replicas. His heart chastised. He wouldn’t have needed to predict the future if he had prepared for the worst. Taught his wife and girls to use guns. Forced them to take classes on survival. Listened to all those silly commercials about prepping, storing food and supplies for the eventual collapse of society. He had written off the propaganda as paranoia and aggressive sales pitches, feeding off the fears of people.
Now it was too late.
Too late for Beverly and the girls. But not for him.
Gorgon sniffled away the tears. He straightened his shirt collar and stood stiff against the fogged window to A-Pod. His shaky fingers stroked away the condensation from his breath. His eyes opened wide.
A dense crowd of chomping faces pressed against the glass. Gaping maws with strings of spit dangling from purpled lips. A droning of hunger, barely audible against the reinforced door. The Warden took a step backward. Never once taking his eyes off the horde of undead.
Scratching.
Chomping.
The grotesque monsters disturbed him until he remembered their purpose. These wretched creatures would salvage what little life he had left to live. These zombies, previously images of his imagination, would protect him from certain death.
Gorgon worked out his inner demons with the zombie. He told them to club each other. His mood lightened while he watched the monsters fight themselves inside A-Pod. A former guard, now gray in pallor, wrestled with a hunched over inmate. The two zombies locked in a sickening dance of violence.
The Warden summoned the zombies to halt their movements. Instantaneously, the horde of undead ceased fighting. They stood in various stages of purpled rot. Staring off as if they could see through the thick cement walls.
He felt more assured of his new powers. Each practice run made him more comfortable. Confident. The time had come to bring this act to the stage.
The next contestant had landed in the Warden’s lap. And he aimed to make perfect use of the example.
As he walked with purpose, the Warden planned a special treat for his top man, Muncie. He wished to counter Muncie’s threats with something which he hoped would convince his first in command to abide by the order of the day. There would only be room for one leader. One man in charge of Warsaw. One man. The idea was simple but would be completely effective. It would sprinkle the smallest seed of doubt in Muncie’s mind, without beating him over the head with the way things must be.
Warden Gorgon snapped his fingers several times, mimicking the cadence of his stride. His confidence grew strong. Tonight would be a cause for celebration. A triumphant evening. One which would leave a lasting impression on many minds.
Chapter 19
The room was filled to capacity. Many prison guards shouted and slapped the cage with their gear. The din doubled in volume as the noise reverberated off the hard walls.
Warden Gorgon remained at the back of the room. He stood upon an old desk to maintain perfect sight lines from his vantage point.
Muncie stood like a statue along the left side of the cage. His face peered between the bars. A grimace of anger painted his lips.
Inside the cage, a diminutive zombie shifted its weight from foot to foot. It gnashed its teeth and dripped long strands of saliva. The sunken eyes were milked over.
Across from the zombie, a man was tossed inside the sole door to the cage. It slammed shut behind him, forcing a visible shiver up his spine. The sound of the key twisting to close the tumblers squeaked above the cheering.
Melvin felt the urine stream down his leg. It was warm and soothing, completely opposite of his situation. He wanted to cry but he knew this show was being televised to his friends in C-Pod. And probably broadcast to all the pods. He tasted death on the back of his tongue. His mind skipped through memories of life outside the walls.
Melvin rubbed his eyes to make sure he knew who stood before him.
8-Ball.
What used to be 8-Ball, anyway. The annoying cellmate had changed. Drastically and yet, not so much. Melvin thought the kid looked like an older version of 8-Ball. One which had been dug up from a shallow grave.
8-Ball groaned and clashed his gold teeth together.
Melvin figured he should bring the fight to 8-Ball instead of waiting for an attack. He forced his feet to carry his weight forward. His body resisted the movement, knowing it was heading straight into the mouth of danger. He closed the distance to 8-Ball before the zombie made a move of its own. Melvin punched 8-Ball in the face. Its head snapped back for a moment. The creature hissed at Melvin. It picked up his old body and slammed him to the floor.
The air rushed out of Melvin’s lungs. He coughed in a fit while 8-Ball climbed on top of him. The rotted cellmate reached into Melvin’s mouth and pinched his tongue. 8-Ball ripped at the organ and tugged it outside Melvin’s lips. He screamed as 8-Ball bit down on the end of the tongue, chewing the pink meat. Blood gurgled in Melvin’s throat, drowning out his horrific screams. He fought against the monster above him but it had the strength of two men. Melvin’s tongue tore free as the chewing had finally cut through. 8-Ball sat back on its haunches, stuffing the flesh into its mouth while blood bubbled down the sides of his jaw.
Melvin, half-pissed and half-frightened, bucked the zombie off his lap. 8-Ball skittered to the floor. Melvin climbed to his knees and then pulled himself up to his feet using the bars of the cage. He charged the toppled 8-Ball. Melvin threw his weight upon 8-Ball, pinning the creature beneath him. Melvin punched and punched but it did nothing to deter the zombie from finishing its meal. It continued to gnash and grind the meat of Melvin’s tongue without blocking any punches. Melvin screamed through the blood filling his mouth. His war-cry sounded like it came from someone off in the distance. It sounded foreign to his own ears. He ripped some hair from 8-Ball’s head. Patches of blood formed where there used to be follicles. Still 8-Ball did little to fend off Melvin’s attack.
Suddenly, 8-Ball rocked forward, head-butting Melvin’s face. His nose erupted in a spray of blood. Melvin’s eyes watered and he lost sight of his opponent. He clawed his way along the cage, searching for the exit. Batons smashed his fingers as he felt for his escape hatch. One baton caught two of his fingers, breaking the bones so severely t
hat his fingers were shaped like the letter-L. Melvin howled in pain.
While Muncie watched the battle, the zombie lurched in his direction. It stared through the iron bars, blood dripping from its teeth as it formed a low growl. Muncie smiled and spat a wad of snot through the bars. It smacked 8-Ball between the eyes. Then the zombie shot its arms through the bars with lightning speed. Its dirty fingernails gripped Muncie’s throat with tremendous force. Muncie wheezed and yanked himself back to break the choke. But it did no good. 8-Ball held tight, smashing its face against the iron bars as Muncie had pulled it forward.
Muncie gasped and tried to shout for assistance. Nothing came out of his mouth. The room began to darken as the edges of Muncie’s vision faded. Just as suddenly as 8-Ball had lashed out at Muncie, the zombie released its grip and turned back to the prisoner locked within the cage.
Muncie slumped against the cage, rubbing his throat. Several nearby guards came to his aid. Muncie elbowed them away from his side. He lifted himself higher to look above the heads which bobbed in delight at the battle. Muncie thought he saw a smirk on Warden Gorgon’s face.
8-Ball shuffled to Melvin’s side. It bit down on Melvin’s neck and began to tear through the tender flesh. Melvin screamed a few times before succumbing to the blood loss. His last thought was a moment when he and Jack had been shooting the breeze back in C-Pod.
Once Melvin expired, 8-Ball crawled off the dead man’s body and returned to the opposite side of the cage. The cheering died down and the guards mumbled about having to return to their posts.
Warden Gorgon motioned for the guard with the camera to cut the feed. He stood proudly as the men funneled out of the room. His eyes met Muncie’s. Muncie rubbed his neck and glared at the Warden. He paused in front of the desk, staring up at the Warden before following his men out the door.
The Warden was pleased with the results of his combatant. It was beginning to feel more natural, like the zombie was an extension of his own hands. He began to think forward about the possibilities of controlling multiple zombies in several locations simultaneously. He would have more work to do in order to achieve such levels of mastery. He would have to take one step at a time. However, his steps needed to come more frequently. Time was short. There was no telling when the infected outside the walls would arrive. The Warden had to be ready for that moment. He wouldn’t be afforded the luxury of training himself and his undead army during a true wall breach.