by Buda, Chuck
“Oh. I see. HGH, yes. And we have steroids in stock for other ailments. So you think we can fight the virus with anabolic means. Or, at least, slow down the virus.”
Gorgon turned to face Shipley. “Precisely. It’s worth a shot. No pun intended.” He smiled at the rare joke. “In the meantime, I want the guards to begin a regimen of steroids to boost their immunity. We need them to work for us as long as possible. Can you begin working on that?”
Dr. Shipley nodded. “Right away.” He began to leave the office but the Warden stopped him.
“Make sure we don’t tell them it is steroids. Tell them it is an anti-virus. For now. And let me know the results of the treatment on the infected ASAP.” Shipley nodded at him and closed the door behind him.
Gorgon sat behind his desk and rested his elbows on the blotter. He noticed his hands shaking as he lifted his water bottle to his lips. For the first time in years, Gorgon was scared. Little boy in the dark scared. It was a difficult emotion for him to deal with since he had been so strong all his life. But facing one’s own demise could shake even the most stalwart, he surmised.
He hoped the steroids would prove fruitful. If the drugs could halt the virus long enough, then he would have more time to figure out how to survive this apocalyptic outbreak. Yet, it still wasn’t enough. Slowing the progression of the disease still led to the same results. Death. He needed to find a way beyond the infection.
Gorgon felt the walls closing in around him. He looked around the office and realized this must be how his prisoners felt. Claustrophobic. Trapped. The only way out was dying.
He gulped down the rest of the water in the bottle and leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands behind his head and started thinking about the next steps needed in order to save their lives.
Chapter 12
8-Ball stepped closer to Melvin. He invaded the old man’s space which irritated him. Melvin took a step aside but was quickly followed by his bunk mate.
“Back up, muthafucka. This ain’t no goddamn dance club.” Melvin held up his hands against 8-Ball’s chest. The younger man glanced down at the hands and then tilted his head at Melvin.
“Keep it down, yo. I wanted to ax you what you think is going down?”
Melvin snickered. “Don’t “ax” me nothin’, YO.” Melvin laid the mockery on thick without fear of retribution. He knew 8-Ball was an angry young man, but the hunger pangs left little room for patience.
“Yo, you trippin’.” 8-Ball got closer to Melvin. “I know you know what’s going down. I seen you with that honky bitch, Turk.” He poked a finger in Melvin’s chest.
Melvin glanced over 8-Ball’s shoulder. He wanted to see who in the pod might be watching them. Several inmates sat at the tables in the middle of the pod. But they appeared too lethargic to notice anything that was going on around them.
Frenchie hopped down off the top bunk. Melvin caught him sliding down out of the corner of his eye. He knew he was cornered now.
“What’s all the whispering about? If you guys gonna hook up, don’t leave me out.”
Melvin rolled his eyes. “Nobody is hooking up in here. Put it away for once, will ya?” He turned back to 8-Ball. “I don’t know much but shit is getting real.”
“Oh, shit be real already, yo. Check it. When they tossed me in the hole, that shit be real. Ain’t no food or water. And you gotta crawl around to find the toilet. Ain’t nobody see if they ass clean in the dark, yo.”
Melvin took a step back. He hoped 8-Ball had since cleaned his crack since he got back in C-Pod. “Yeah, well food is gonna get scarcer than they lettin’ on.”
Frenchie stepped in between Melvin and 8-Ball. “Hold up. Whatchoo mean scarcer. Ain’t scarcer than nothing which is what we got now.” He snapped his fingers and tightened the knot in his shirt. Melvin hated the way Frenchie wore his shirt like a bra.
Melvin looked around again. He poked a finger into both men’s chests. “Keep it down, now. Listen. A virus is killing people on the outside so the Warden is squeezing us so we last as long as possible.”
“What virus?” 8-Ball spoke loudly, causing Melvin to grab his arm with a tight grip.
“I told you to keep your muthafuckin mouth shut, didn’t I? Didn’t I?” Melvin squeezed harder and he could see his point was getting through to the young trouble maker. 8-Ball winced from the grip and glanced down at the hand, which was cutting off his blood flow.
“Chill, nigga.” 8-Ball complained a bit louder than a whisper.
“Don’t ever tell me to chill. And I ain’t your nigga, muthafucka.” Melvin was huffing through his flared nostrils. He’d had enough of 8-Ball. He knew the minute he had laid eyes on him the man was nothing but trouble. Melvin threw caution to the wind. What was he going to do? Kill Melvin? They were all dead anyway, he thought.
“Jack is gonna help us out. He’s working on a plan to get us outta here.”
8-Ball exhaled as Melvin let go of his arm. He massaged the life back into his limb. “That wannabe cracker ain’t gonna help nobody but himself. He’s one of them and he got you played.”
“In here, we’re all one of them. Get your head on straight.” Melvin stepped closer to 8-Ball.
“We got our self a Uncle Tom, yo.” 8-Ball pointed at Melvin but addressed Frenchie.
Frenchie stood up for Melvin. “I’d listen to Mel if I was you, player. He takes care of us and if he say Jack workin’ on something then he workin’ on something.”
8-Ball stepped back with an incredulous look. “Muthafucka’s all be drinkin’ the Kool-Aid.”
Frenchie raised his hand to slap 8-Ball but Melvin grabbed his wrist before he could follow through. He glared at 8-Ball.
“Jack and I go way back in this shit hole. Before you grew your first pube. And he has never played me. Not once.” Melvin sighed and looked at the floor. “He’s more of a friend to me than most of you other assholes.”
8-Ball folded his arms. He glanced at Frenchie who lowered his hand to his side. “So what we supposed to do? Sit around and wait for whitey to save us again?”
Melvin chuckled. “You got a better idea?” He didn’t wait for 8-Ball to respond because he knew the dumbass had nothing but an angry disposition. “Keep this shit to yourself. The less people know about stuff, the less trouble we’ll have.”
Joker saw the men standing in the middle of the bunk room. He grinned and started to make his way over. Melvin saw him coming over 8-Ball’s shoulder.
“Shit. Here comes that crazy muthafucka. Shut you damn mouth. We’ll talk later.” He pointed at 8-Ball and then Frenchie. “Not a word.”
The three men began to split up when Joker walked into the room. He immediately carried on about finding mice in the air ducts and drawing them out so they could eat. Frenchie put his arm around Joker’s shoulder and they sat on the lower bunk to talk. 8-Ball clucked his lips in disapproval and climbed up on his top bunk. Melvin watched him closely. He knew he had to keep an eye on 8-Ball.
Melvin sat on his bunk and rubbed his cheek. He scolded himself for spilling the beans. He’d been around long enough to know nothing stayed a secret for long in the joint. But he felt like he owed some kind of explanation to his mates. And he needed to talk about things with someone. It itched him to keep things all bottled up inside. Jack was the only one he could talk to about it but they had agreed to keep their distance so things appeared normal. If they started spending extra time together, talking, then the inmates would catch on that they knew something.
Melvin sighed and lay back on his bunk. He closed his eyes but all he saw inside his lids was food. Tables upon tables of food.
Chapter 13
BJ shook the last drops and tucked his penis in his underwear. He flushed the toilet and turned around. Joker was standing right behind him. He never heard the man creep up.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” He shoved Joker away from his personal space.
Joker giggled and did a little dance. His crazy grin sent chills up BJ�
�s spine.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy, man.”
Joker immediately stopped dancing. His expression transformed from glee to seriousness. He stepped closer to BJ and whispered in his face.
“Crazy is as crazy does.”
“Get your Forrest Gump ass outta my face before I put a whoopin’ on you.” BJ shoved Joker away again.
Nothing seemed to deter Joker. He sidled up to BJ, even closer this time.
“You have something for the Joke man, don’t you?”
BJ rolled his eyes. “I’m not gay, bro. Go find Frenchie.”
Joker shook his head while smiling. “Not like that. Not like that. I’m talkin’ ‘bout secrets.” He laughed and then stuffed the sound back into his mouth with his hand.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man.” He tried to walk past Joker but an extremely strong hand stopped his movement.
“There are secrets crawling around these walls. Secrets you let in.”
BJ stared at the crazy prisoner before him. He swallowed hard and tried to figure out how to avoid spilling the beans. He didn’t want to betray Jack.
“Secrets need air, to breathe. They must go here and there.” Joker’s fingers tickled the drabness between the men. “Secrets wish to live like men.”
BJ’s stomach fluttered. This crazy bitch is scaring me, he thought. He wanted to escape the close quarters but Joker’s strength had him penned. BJ worried what would happen if he fought his way past Joker. The man was small and skinny like him. But his strength was surprising.
“Come on. It’ll be safe with me. Don’t you trust the Joke man?” He grinned and the silver caps on his front teeth sparkled in BJ’s face. “I know you found something and then told Jackie-poo. And he told Momma Melvin. I just want to be one of the guys. On the inside, bro.”
Joker wrapped his arm around BJ’s neck. He felt the lean bicep tighten behind his head. BJ slid under the arm and stepped away from Joker.
“I told you. I don’t know anything. Leave me alone or I’ll...”
“You’ll what?” Joker cut him off.
BJ stared at the crazy grin. He scrambled to figure out a way to get out of the toilet. But he was trapped. Three walls and a nut job, BJ complained to himself. “Look. All I know is something bad is going on out there and it is affecting what goes on in here.”
Joker shifted his weight. “Is it World War 3?” He rubbed his dry hands together as if enjoying the prospect of a major conflict. Joker forced BJ further back into a corner of the toilet.
BJ looked down. “Not a war but just as bad.” He ran his hand through the long hair of his mullet. “The shit has hit the fan. People getting sick and tearin’ shit up. Some virus is killing people. And the ones who survive end up killing each other for food and supplies.” BJ rubbed his face and stared at his feet. He felt ashamed for caving to the pressure of the lunatic who trapped him. “It’s why we have no food or commissary.”
Joker got close again. BJ smelled his rotten breath just inches from his face. “If I find out you know more than you are telling me, we will have to talk again.” He raised his eyebrows at BJ who felt another chill run through his body.
BJ brushed past Joker and immediately felt the relief of the slightly larger space of the pod room. He took a deep breath. He searched for a table with a few inmates. He figured there would be safety in numbers.
As he approached a table of three prisoners, BJ glanced across the pod. He saw Jack staring at him from his room. BJ averted his eyes in shame. He had betrayed Jack, when BJ knew Jack was the one person he could count on in jail. Everyone else seemed to be two-faced and out for themselves. He knew Jack was out for himself as well. But Jack made it clear what his intents were. For everything. So Jack would tell you to your face if he was going to fuck you over. Yet, BJ had stabbed him in the back.
BJ chastised himself for leaking the information. He should have known better. His cousin, Drippy, had warned him about life in the walls. He told him not to talk to anyone and to always keep his head on a swivel.
Jack must have understood the look because he nodded back at BJ. He then made a motion with his head as if to invite BJ to his room. BJ felt like he wanted to obey Jack’s wishes. But his need for distance and safety won over. It would be too claustrophobic being stuck in one of the rooms again. At least at this moment. He shook his head at Jack with a slow movement so it wouldn’t attract attention.
BJ saw Jack fold his arms and lean against the door jamb. Jack glared at BJ without blinking. BJ maintained eye contact as long as he could before he eventually broke down. It reached a level of discomfort that caused him to shy away. And he also felt fear. Jack didn’t look like much but everyone inside knew the one man you never wanted to tussle with was Jack Turk. BJ started to wonder if it was a wise decision to pit himself against the most frightening man in the pod.
Hadn’t Jack been fair with him? He gave him shit for winning the non-fight with 8-Ball. He gave him some more shit for faking the sickness to learn things from his old high school buddy. Jack didn’t have to talk to BJ at all. He could have just used him like anyone else would have. But there was something more behind it, wasn’t there? BJ thought he felt something when Jack talked to him. It was like they were friends, even though friends were an illusion in prison. BJ wondered how he could navigate his emotions. He was still pissed at himself.
He didn’t want to find himself on the wrong side.
Chapter 14
Warden Gorgon watched the testing with fascination. He couldn’t believe zombies could exist. What was pulp fantasy a week ago had now become reality.
When he first saw the infected, the Warden had lost his breath. The haunted groans and rotted flesh made his skin crawl. It didn’t take long before his mind realized the possibilities.
An army of zombies.
Dr. Shipley approached the former security guard turned zombie. He injected the zombie’s rear with the steroid solution then backed away. Slowly. The zombie raged against the straps that had it pinned to the examination table. Gorgon observed the creature as it fought for release. The thing never stopped struggling. It was as if the brain’s mechanism for locomotion were stuck in gear.
The doctor reported his latest findings. “It’s still too early to tell, but it looks promising. The HGH and steroids appear to slow decomposition. The flip side is the infected continue to develop musculature. Reminds me of how the hair and fingernails can continue to grow beyond death.”
“So they are indeed dead?”
Shipley adjusted his glasses. “Four of the six, yes. The other two have not fallen ill even though they were potentially exposed.”
Warden Gorgon thought about his idea. If he could somehow control the outbreak, then maybe he could harness the zombies to ward off marauders. It was a stretch, but something to think about.
“When do we think the other two will get sick?”
Shipley laughed. “Oh, they won’t get sick. If they haven’t shown symptoms yet, they are past the point of infection. They’re healthy.”
Gorgon turned to face Shipley. “So how long will it take for them to come down with it?” He posed the question again, hoping Shipley understood it phrased another way.
“Uh, they won’t get sick, sir. They’ve been quarantined.”
The Warden folded his arms. “I don’t think you understand. We need to expose them so we have more test results.”
The doctor’s jaw dropped open. “I don’t...that would be unethical...exposing healthy...”
“Do it.” Gorgon made sure his stern tone matched the brief command. “Ethics don’t exist in a world where the end is upon us. It is survival only that matters. In order to survive, we must understand EVERYTHING about our enemy. That enemy is the virus.” Gorgon pointed at the zombie guard still straining against the leather straps. He emphasized “everything” slowly so the doctor couldn’t mistake his intent.
Shipley removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Sir,
I have been working without sleep to figure this out. It is extremely dangerous work with four of these...these... things. Adding two more will increase the risk of one of them escaping and doing harm. Not to mention more risk for infection.”
The Warden listened to only half of what the doctor whined about. He watched the zombie with wonder. He began to think about the possibility of living forever. Undead, so to speak, sure. But, if the process could be refined or figured out, fear of disease and aging would cease to exist.
“I’ll double your rations. For you and your staff. Just get the work done. Quickly. We don’t know how much time we have before things get really interesting out there.”
“We can’t go on like this. The extra food is great. But we need sleep...”
“You’ll sleep all you want when death comes.” Gorgon stepped closer to the creature on the table. He touched its back, feeling the flesh beneath his fingertips. It felt real. He somehow imagined the body would be different in its state of decay. If the steroids worked, preservation of the body would be the first step. Getting inside the brains of these things would be next. “I need you to train these zombies too.”
“Sir?”
“See if you can teach them to do rudimentary things. Pick up objects. Choose between items. We can maximize our time while we are testing their blood.”
Dr. Shipley approached the Warden with visible trepidation. His face showed worry in addition to exhaustion. “What on earth for? They’re monsters. Dead things.”
“They’re far from dead, Shipley. You can see for yourself, can’t you? Top of your class at Harvard and multiple advanced degrees. Surely, you know life when you see it?” He smiled at Shipley. “If we can control the preservation of the body and teach them how to behave, using Skinner, Pavlov, all of it, we can protect ourselves against invasion.” Gorgon felt his heart skip a beat with excitement. There might be a way out of this, he hoped.
Shipley stared at the Warden. He swallowed and hung his head before nodding in agreement. The doctor turned to get back to work. Gorgon grabbed the doctor by the shoulders and spun him around. He brought his face closer to the doctor’s.