by Buda, Chuck
Melvin helped Jack up. He winced as his old back creaked. Jack heard the noise and rubbed Melvin’s lower back.
“Thanks, Mel. You should really let the younger guys do the work.”
Melvin shook his head. “They don’t make them like us anymore.”
Both men laughed.
Melvin dusted off his hands on his pants. “Guess the fight is off now that 8-Ball is in the hole.”
“The fight is off but I still win the bet.” Jack stared at Melvin.
“How you figure that?”
“Your boy acted up to get thrown in the hole. Classic fight avoidance. Therefore, the win goes to the opposite party.”
Melvin’s face looked serious. “Bet’s off if the fight’s off, Jack. You ain’t gonna bully me around like one of these punk ass muthafuckas.”
Jack patted Melvin’s arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t take all your arthritis cream.”
Melvin cursed under his breath as he walked away. Jack stole a glance at the C-Pod door. Muncie watched him through the thin, reinforced window.
Chapter 3
Thaddeus Gorgon watched the news broadcast in his office. As Warden of the prison, certain perks came along with the lofty position. His slicked back gray hair was impenetrable, much like his facility. He drummed his exquisitely manicured fingernails on the oak desk.
The news was bleak. For several weeks, there had been rumors of some sort of disease which had reared its ugly head. Tonight’s broadcast revealed the ugly truth. A designer retro-virus was accidentally unleashed somewhere in the Middle East. It was transmitted across the globe before being discovered. And now it was too late. There was no known cure.
Accidentally, my ass, Gorgon thought.
The CDC and the World Health Organization had joined forces to begin working on an antidote. The reporter advised the audience that officials didn’t expect to have a vaccine tested and created quickly enough to avoid mass casualties. They urged people to remain calm and self-quarantine at home. As he relayed the suggestion, images of panicked communities raiding supermarkets and pharmacies flashed on the screen.
Warden Gorgon wondered how they could survive the outbreak. The good news was the prisoners had not been exposed to infected populations. However, his security staff might have been. And then there were the staff members who interfaced with the outside world, namely, the food and laundry administration. While food was prepared on premises and the laundry facilities were housed within the confines of the prison walls, the supplies were delivered regularly from the outside.
“Get me Muncie.” He removed his finger from the intercom switch on his desk. Sheila knew better than to expect a “please” or a “thank you” for such requests.
The Warden began scribbling notes in his leather ledger. Television privileges would need to be revoked. All deliveries would be shut down, if any would even be coming now that the world was in panic. He leaned back in his chair with his fingers steepled. Then he jotted down some more notes as they came to him. Food and water would have to be rationed in order to survive. They could start with the prisoners and work their way up the line. He would even volunteer himself to eat and drink less. What he expected of his employees, he expected of himself.
“Get me Shipley while you’re at it.”
Shipley was the prison doctor on staff. Gorgon would have to work more closely with Shipley on survival tactics. How long could human bodies endure starvation and deprivation? Could they create some sort of antibiotic or medicine with their current supplies to stem the tide? How could they test security guards who may have been exposed beyond the walls? What type of quarantine would be necessary in the confined space? There was so much to consider. They needed to get to work immediately.
Gorgon contemplated his family. They would be on their own. He wasn’t a cold man, just practical. He knew he couldn’t do anything to save them at this point. And trying would just jeopardize his own life. Gorgon’s daughters would definitely be exposed. Susan was at the university. He knew how unkempt college living could be. Everything was communal and Susan had no chance of surviving. Kimberly had already started a family. The children would be carriers, especially from their time in day care. And her husband worked on Wall Street. New York City was an absolute cesspool even without an outbreak. The Warden’s heart fluttered for a second. He would miss his daughters and the grandchildren.
Beverly might have a chance. She mostly stayed at home reading classic books and working on large puzzles. But he knew attempting to bring her inside would lead to potential exposure. And he just couldn’t take that chance. He had an obligation, regardless of the events on the outside, to manage the facility with the utmost care. Prisoners needed to be rehabilitated. The general public needed protection from these hardened criminals. And then there was his own safety. Beverly would be an unintended casualty. There was nothing he could do about it. He would miss his wife, too, even though the marriage was more a relationship of comfort than passion over the last few decades.
He scrawled out an informal chart on his ledger. Gorgon titled the columns in phases. Phase 1 would be “Lockdown.” The first order of business would be to ensure they understood who was infected and who wasn’t. Then quarantine those parties in order to manage the lives under his care. Phase 2 would be “Extension.” The next order of business was to make proper use of the resources at their disposal. Food, water, supplies, arms. Whatever would be needed in order to wait out the time it took for the government to come up with a vaccine. The final phase would be “Survival.” This could be the most important phase and he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. It would encompass plans to survive beyond the limitations of the resources. Or perhaps, details on how to counteract a breach of the facility.
Warden Gorgon had his work cut out for him. His responsibilities were always taxing. But this situation called for drastic overtime. It would be all hands on deck in order to pull through.
He spun his chair around to face the window. The prison was located in a remote area of the state, surrounded by open swatches of farm land. He could see for miles to the south and the east from his office. The day looked ordinary. The sunshine baked the earth below. The open land was quiet. Gorgon imagined what the landscape might look like if it were filled with desperate people heading to the prison. The facility might be a beacon to the masses since they were outfitted with their own power and water supply. The prison was designed to withstand tornadoes and electrical storms, with the public’s safety in mind. A benefit during regular times. Perhaps a curse if this became the end of times.
The Warden stood and removed his suit jacket. He gently draped the coat over the back of his chair. He folded his arms and tried to picture the end game. Somewhere across the vast expanse of land, there was panic and rioting. Folks would probably steal and kill in order to save their loved ones or protect their final resources.
His mind toiled with the grave decisions that faced him.
Chapter 4
Muncie led his patrol to C-Pod. They had finished running a spot inspection a few hours ago. But he wanted to bring the hammer down when the prisoners least expected it. That would be now; it would be totally unexpected so soon after going through a similar shakedown.
Gorgon had met with both Muncie and Shipley about the outbreak. The Warden apprised Shipley and him of the horrible news. Muncie tried not to show he was shaken. His family would die without him getting another chance to see them. Or say goodbye. They were shut off from the outside world. And there was nothing that could change that fact without him risking his life.
Muncie rallied his troops for inspection. He disclosed the facts and threw in some lies in order to maintain calm in the ranks. Muncie couldn’t afford panic or dissension at this juncture. He needed every man to be on board.
The meeting was brief. Muncie told the guards who were able to attend to relay the information to those who were posted on duty. There would be longer hours and tighter rules until the situation could
be evaluated further by Dr. Shipley. Until then, no guard was to reveal the circumstances beyond the prison walls to any of the prisoners. The fear was the prisoners might riot if they knew they had nothing left to live for. In order to maintain order and obedience, the prison had to go on as if everything in the outside world was the same as it had been before the outbreak.
Muncie walked through the new rules the guards had to know but couldn’t disclose. Television privileges were revoked. Meals and water would be rationed to half portions and then would be re-evaluated. Commissary would be shut down, due to “system issues,” until further notice.
And, of course, there would be more inspections.
Pod sweeps would keep the guards occupied so they wouldn’t have to time to dwell on their own families and the perilous nature of the world around them. The shakedowns would also serve as a means to cull the misbehaved in order to save resources. Violations would be met with swift discipline including extended periods in the hole, and even death. Muncie didn’t mention this part, but, in the back of his mind, he thought if they could eliminate prisoners a few at a time, the resources would last longer. Muncie didn’t give a shit about the prisoners at all. And, if it came down to it, Muncie would do whatever he had to in order to survive. He would kill his men and even the Warden if it got to that point.
Muncie split up his crew. Rivera had D-Pod where the female prisoners were housed. Jonas had A-Pod. Crawford had B-Pod. He assigned each of the pods to his direct reports. He figured accountability and familiarity would breed better results. Of course, Muncie kept C-Pod all to himself. Muncie hated most of the prisoners on principal alone. But the men in C-Pod left a bad taste in his mouth. Especially, Turk.
He made sure each man checked their own equipment before the inspection. Muncie made it a point to walk through each weapon, spare magazine, protective gear. Everything. Prisons were inherently dangerous places. For prison guards, it was even more deadly. Prisoners, mostly lifers, wore injured or killed prison guards like badges of honor. Nothing gave a man as much status as killing a cop or guard. It was critical that each guard be fully prepared for their job. Inspections would become more dangerous to guards because they were in the belly of the beast. It was completely different from standing post outside the pods or in the hallways where one prisoner was being transported to another pod.
Muncie preferred to go in lightly equipped. For one thing, his overweight body always felt constricted by the extra protective gear. And it made him sweat more than usual, which was a lot. Going in light sent a special message to the prisoners too. It showed he wasn’t afraid of them. Prisoners could tell the difference between guards who were decked out in Kevlar and traveled in groups and those that weren’t and didn’t. But they also picked up on the confidence of guards who went into the pod the same way he patrolled it outside the protection of the locked doors.
The men were ready and so was Muncie. He unlocked the door to C-Pod and his eleven men crowded into the room. AR-15s and shields were followed by the shouts of the guards. The prisoners responded immediately to the surprise sweep. They lined up along the far wall with their hands and feet spread shoulder-width apart.
Muncie closed the door behind himself. He waited to hear the definitive click so he knew the door was secured. For backup, Muncie glanced over his shoulder and nodded to the guard stationed outside the door. Then he headed straight for Jack Turk. When he reached his most hated adversary, Muncie punched Jack in the kidney with all his might. Jack dropped to the floor, grasping his back and wheezing for air.
“You fuckers thought you could get one over on me, didn’t you?”
Not one prisoner responded to Muncie’s question or thought of making eye contact with him. He could sense the fear that emanated down the line. Jack Turk, still gasping for air, rolled over on his side. He stared at Muncie with an expression of defiance. Muncie kicked Turk in the gut as an exclamation point. Jack balled up in a fetal position as he struggled to breathe again.
“We’re gonna rip this place apart until we find every last violation. And the penalties are going to become increasingly more severe. Any fucking questions?”
Muncie walked down the line and hoped somebody would be stupid enough to turn around or shoot off their mouth. He wanted to thin the herd right away. And he wanted to make examples. This new situation beyond the walls of the prison just provided countless more excuses for Muncie to live his dream of increasing human suffering to sub-humans like prisoners.
“I didn’t fucking think so. Flip this motherfucking joint.”
Muncie stood back as his men entered the rooms in search of violations. He stood over Turk. In his mind, he willed Jack to glare at him so he had another excuse to levy a beating. But Jack must have learned his lesson because he stayed down on the floor, his face to the cement.
Chapter 5
Warden Gorgon went through the reports. He licked his thumb and flipped to the next page. There had never been reason to scour the books this closely before. The Warden had reviewed the data several times in the past. But he had been content allowing Sheila to manage the books through the years. And now, things had changed.
While Shipley and Muncie worked their responsibilities, Warden Gorgon needed to think a few steps ahead. What did the prison have on hand? How long would it last?
It was never too early to conserve, he reassured himself. There was no telling what the future would hold. So he decided to apply austerity measures from the onset. The food and water rations would be reduced. For the staff. The prisoners would starve. At least for a while.
Warden Gorgon didn’t take the decision lightly. He cared for his prisoners and their rehabilitation. But there was indeed a pecking order. And prisoners were at the bottom. They served the least amount of usefulness to his goals. He knew the prisoners would attempt to rise up and take control of the facility if they learned about the virus on the outside. Full bellies would give them strength and allow them to focus on the task at hand. But if he could keep them hungry...
Hunger did things to men. Thoughts became controlled by the overwhelming desire to feed. People turned on each other. Desperation caused them to commit unthinkable acts. The Warden understood the psychology behind the process. The prisoners would be too occupied with their starvation to rise up. And it would stretch the supplies further.
The phone on his desk buzzed. The Warden picked up the receiver and listened without saying a word. Dr. Shipley reported the details of his findings. Two security guards and four staff members had been exposed to the outside world. The doctor had them quarantined and he was running tests as they spoke. He indicated he would keep the Warden updated hourly on the progress of the symptoms and the test results.
Warden Gorgon settled back in his chair. “How long do we have?”
Dr. Shipley continued to reiterate that there was no telling how long they could withstand the virus once it took hold. He reminded the Warden that latent exposure could have taken place prior to the public outbreak. It seemed odd since the virus acted swiftly after the appearance of the initial symptoms, so anybody with latent exposure should have exhibited those symptoms by now. But anything was possible.
“Very good. Keep me in the loop. And do not waste precious resources on these people until we determine their status.”
Dr. Shipley paused on the other end. “Are you saying we shouldn’t feed the patients?”
“That’s exactly what I am saying Doctor. We can’t afford to throw away our own sustenance on dead men. Am I clear?”
Dr. Shipley confirmed his understanding. “Yes, sir.”
Warden Gorgon rested the phone upon the cradle. He spun around in his chair to face the window. The evening was beginning to take hold as the sky faded into a purple-orange twilight.
Rationing would only take them so far, he knew. They had to get proactive. There had to be a way to develop a barrier against infection. The walls of the prison could only last so long before the germs found their way i
n through some unseen crack or crevice. Or before the walls came down from an outside attack.
Gorgon clicked the television to life with the remote. He watched the escalating situation reported on each news network. People were killing each other to survive. More riots and looting. Authorities lost control in larger cities where they were severely outnumbered. The National Guard had been dispatched to various regions in an attempt to quell the unrest. But it appeared to make matters worse. People took the protective stance as an attack against their freedoms. The government was forced to defend itself, killing citizens who forced their hands.
What if we created an army?
The thought sprung to the Warden’s mind as he watched tanks roll through streets and men in Kevlar with guns taking buildings back from looters.
An army to protect us from the outside world. The Warden chewed on the idea for a few minutes while he rubbed his hands together. If he could build a force within the prison walls, he could maintain better control. They had weapons and body armor. The number of security guards provided a decent force.
Of course, he had problems of his own to solve. His guards wouldn’t be as mobile if they had to defend themselves from the prisoners. Maybe he should release the prisoners to the outside world and let them fend for themselves among the infected. That would be a terrible decision, the Warden thought. The prisoners knew the protection the walls provided. And they knew the layout of the facility. Releasing the prisoners would only place knowledgeable men with grudges in a position to use that intimacy and rage against him. Better to keep them within the walls.
What if the prisoners could be turned into an army force?
Gorgon mulled the thought over. Many of the prisoners understood firearms. They definitely possessed the lawlessness and ability to extinguish life without remorse. Perfect characteristics for his makeshift army. Although, he hesitated to even think about handing these miscreants weapons. There might be other ways to capitalize on his captive residents. Gorgon needed to figure out how to use the prisoners for his own survival without risking the security guards who protected the prison. And him.