Teddy had no idea what in the hell they had been working on, but the project looked abandoned.
FEMA had left behind a few broken-down military vehicles in the parking lot and cases of MREs in the cafeteria, but there wasn’t a single weapon or officer to be found.
Teddy walked the entire institution daily just to check on the state of things or for any signs of intruders.
Living alone in a place like this, he was aware that his situation carried inherent risks. He knew that one day, some drifter would find the prison or some roving street gang would decide to make it their territory—there was even the possibility that FEMA would return. No matter how the intrusion occurred, Teddy knew he did not have the energy to fight anymore. He accepted the fact that he would probably be at the receiving end of the bullet this time. Even so, he wasn’t necessarily in a rush to end things.
Yawning, Teddy opened his small grey locker and took out his hygiene pack, careful not to allow any of the weathered books that he had stacked inside his locker, to spill out onto the floor. As he took out his razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste, he yawned again and then walked back towards the sink. Given the accommodations, it wasn’t exactly a long walk.
When he had returned to USP Tucson, he had found his way back to his old cell. Nothing had changed except for the fact that Andy’s rotting corpse was gone, and the stool and window were both repaired.
Teddy hastily brushed his teeth with the brown water that dribbled from the tap and then swished his mouth with some iodine.
The toilet didn’t flush, but he made do in a trench that he had dug behind Logan’s old unit.
He doubted Logan, or anybody else in his gang would mind anymore.
Teddy buttoned up his khaki shirt, tucked it in, and fished the ring of Folger Adams cell door keys out of his pocket. He unlocked his cell, stepped outside, and locked it back.
He gave the cell door a few tugs just to make sure it was secure and then went down the iron steps as he put the keys back in his pocket.
Teddy glanced around the pod at the locked cell doors and darkened televisions that hung from the ceiling.
When he first came back, it was weird not seeing the usual gang of morons gawking up at the screens every morning, but honestly, it was a welcome change.
It was quiet for once.
Teddy walked towards the unit’s sally port, which stayed open because he couldn’t operate it with a key, and put his hands in his pockets as he waited.
An electronic buzzer echoed over the prison’s PA system—just like he had programmed it to do every day at 7:00 AM precisely, to mark the morning meal.
Teddy walked outside onto the footpath with his hands in his pockets, whistling.
It was a muggy morning already.
Another scorcher, Teddy thought.
He hoped that his unit’s HVAC would hold up for a few more years until he could think of a way to get a replacement.
He’d deal with it when the time came.
As he walked down the middle of the footpath towards the chow hall, he reflected on how nice it was to be able to walk without bumping into other people and not have guards barking orders from the sideline.
The sight of the playground on the yard did bother him, but he planned on dismantling that once summer passed.
Maybe he could use the scrap to reinforce one of the security grilles.
Teddy unlocked the central corridor’s door and stepped through the metal detector.
It beeped loudly in protest.
He always forgot.
“Dammit…” Teddy sighed, took the keys out of his pocket, and placed them on the plastic chair next to the machine.
No issues.
Teddy collected the keys, unlocked the chow hall’s door, and stepped inside the musty room.
He eyed the boxes of MREs, each separated by meal and labeled with signs that he made dictating the days of the week.
He had to think for a minute before remembering that it was Monday.
Eggs and bacon, he thought sourly.
The eggs were runny, and the bacon tasted like salty cardboard.
Not his favorite packaged meal, but it got the job done.
Teddy grabbed the breakfast MRE and filled a cup with iodine treated water. He walked past rows of empty tables before taking a seat at the one in the back of the chow hall where he used to sit with Maurice.
He plopped down and tore open the MRE pack.
As he started to prepare the meal, a voice spoke up in front of him.
“Morning,” Maurice said.
“Morning.” Teddy didn’t look up as he continued mixing the eggs and dumping it onto the tray. “Anything new in your neck of the woods?”
“Can’t call it.” Maurice adjusted his bifocals and flipped through the business section of an old yellowed newspaper. “Looks like it’s going to be a hot one today.”
Teddy shoved a spoonful of eggs into his mouth and shrugged. “What else is new?”
Maurice flipped the page. “Well, for starters, I heard a plane last night.”
Teddy chuckled, spewing a few bits of half-chewed food. “Here we go again…”
“I’m serious.”
“Probably military.”
“No… it sounded civilian.”
“Flying out of where? Tucson International?” Teddy chuckled again. “I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell you… There’s nothing left out there.”
Maurice looked away from the paper and peered at him. “You’ve been in here, so how would you know?”
Teddy waved the plastic fork at him. “Old man, I’ve seen it all for myself. There are no more planes, trains, or automobiles running around.”
“Then how do you explain the airplane or the dirt bike last week?”
“You hear what you want to hear. I get that you’re going stir-crazy, but just fall back on your routine,” Teddy said. “You’ll calm down, and your anxiety will pass.”
Maurice looked at Teddy with heavy sadness in his eyes.
“Ah, yes… The routine…” Maurice said. “Sometimes, the old con blinders start to get a little too comfortable, don’t they?”
Teddy put down his fork and looked across at the empty seat in front of him, frowning. For a while, the hallucinations had been a welcome distraction to the aching loneliness that broke through Teddy’s routine from time to time. Over time the shadow of his dead friend seemed to have taken on a life of its own.
He’s wrong, he thought adamantly. There’s nothing out there.
Nothing that he had any interest in any way.
Teddy finished his MRE, collected the trash, and dumped it on his way out. He locked the chow hall’s door, cleared the metal detector, and wandered back outside.
After doing his morning security round of the facility, he’d have roughly eight hours to kill before the dinner buzzer sounded, and then he’d have to lock himself down for the count.
What better way to spend that time than in the education department’s library?
There were so many books he still hadn’t read.
Once he finished, he’d gladly go through and reread them all.
No guards.
No prison gangs.
None of the baggage from the outside world came behind those concrete walls.
For Teddy, it all came down to a strict routine, and he couldn’t be happier because of it.
He walked down the middle of the footpath with a smile on his sun-baked face.
Teddy Sanders was finally home.
◆◆◆
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark D. Campbell was born and raised in a small subdivision outside Houston, Texas. In 2003 he studied creative writing at the University of Houston before finally entering a career path in the federal criminal justice system in late 2005. Mr. Campbell has always had a certain affinity for the horror genre and draws inspiration from the likes of Robert McCammon, Richard Matheson, and Stephen King.
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Mark Campbell, H7N9- The Complete Series
H7N9- The Complete Series Page 80