Zombie Lockup Series (Book 1): Caged 1

by Buda, Chuck

  He yanked on the arm several times until it came free with a tearing sound. Lots of skin and several fingers disappeared inside the zombie guard’s mouth. It chomped in delight as Shipley pulled the wheelchair backwards to safety. Mabel never even responded to the attack. She was so unconscious the pain hadn’t registered. Yet, he thought.

  Samantha took care of Mabel’s wounds without needing commands from Shipley. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, hoping the images would change once he finished. No luck, two blood covered zombies and two new, soon-to-be-undead. He had done it. Atta-boy, Shipley. He admonished his behavior. No more morals or ethics to contend with. Just straight forward killing and anti-medicine. Fuck the Hippocratic Oath, he thought. He wanted to cry but he didn’t want to break down in front of the women. They seemed fragile enough with all that had happened. If he lost his shit, they would never rebound. He turned and walked back to his desk. He needed his clipboard and charts to continue documenting everything. Time of infection, speed of illness, onset of death, timing to reawakening and of course, a full work-up of lipids.

  As he neared his desk, Shipley caught his reflection in the glass case holding models and awards. He stopped and stared at the man inside the reflection. It dawned on him that some monsters could be hidden in plain sight.

  I AM the monster!

  Shipley shook it off and continued with his duties.

  Chapter 18

  A couple knocks on the door frame drew Jack from his thoughts. He rolled onto his side to see who had interrupted his planning. BJ stood in the doorway. He looked like a little kid who knew he was interrupting his parents during screw time.

  “What’s up?” Jack placed his hands behind his head and stared at the kid.

  “Sorry to bother you, Jack. I just wanted to apologize for earlier.” BJ stuffed his hands in his jumper pockets and looked at the floor.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Swede grumbled without moving an inch.

  Jack chuckled. “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he hasn’t twisted anyone’s head off yet today.”

  BJ gulped and shot a quick glance at the lower bunk where Swede lay.

  “Come on in.” Jack slid down off his bunk. “So what exactly did you do that requires an apology?”

  “Uh, I was the one who, um, told Joker about the news.” BJ removed his hands from his pockets as if he needed to be ready to defend himself.

  “Oh. You’re the rat.” Jack got closer to BJ. “Swede, looks like we found our culprit.” The large man jumped out of his bunk and towered over BJ faster than he could blink. BJ faltered backwards into the door jamb, clunking his head. Swede grabbed the man and pulled him up off the floor by his neck. He only needed one hand to do so. Jack grinned at Swede’s strength.

  BJ’s feet dangled and kicked as he struggled for air. His eyes bulged down at the large man in fear.

  Jack tapped Swede’s shoulder and the large man dropped BJ to the floor. BJ crawled into the corner, clutching his neck. He gasped and choked.

  “Just fuckin’ with ya, kid.” Swede spun around high-fived Jack as both men enjoyed the prank.

  “That’s not funny, man. I almost shit myself.” BJ complained with a high pitched voice.

  “Almost? You’re losing your touch, big guy.” Jack chided Swede over his shoulder. “Get up, kid. You’re amongst friends. For now.”

  BJ slowly lifted himself off the cold, cement floor. He rubbed his throat and glared at Jack. Jack tried hard not to lose control in the boy’s face. The joke had been priceless and Jack needed the levity. Even if it came at someone else’s expense.

  “Don’t worry about Joker. He’s crazier than a shit house rat, but he would have been part of the group anyway. We need everyone in on the plan if we hope to pull it off.” Jack stepped closer to BJ again. “But I’d keep my mouth shut next time if I were you. It might be costly for you if it were to be a repeat offense.” His grin faded and he made sure his tone sunk through. “You know, Swede doesn’t like mullets and he’s liable to rip yours right off your head, back to front, scalp and all.”

  Swede grumbled like an angry bear.

  “I won’t. I won’t. I promise.” BJ kept massaging his neck. “So...we good then?”

  “We’re good.” Jack patted BJ’s shoulder. He turned to climb back in his bunk. As BJ made his way to the door, Jack stopped him. “But you know what? It’s still gonna cost you.”

  BJ groaned. Jack enjoyed watching him sweat.

  “All the shit I gave you for winning the non-fight? Bring it back to me.”

  BJ’s face sunk. He whined about the unfairness. “But, you said...”

  Jack cut him off immediately. “I did say you could have it. But that was before you fucked me. So there’s a little penalty that needs to be paid up. The shit comes back to me, and you get to keep that horrendous haircut.” Jack smiled wider than usual.

  BJ nodded in defeat. Jack had him over a barrel and there was nothing he could do about it. Being in prison was like owning an accounting firm. Each day, your ledger had debits and credits. At the end of the day, you wanted to have more on the plus side. And good accountants knew how to work the system. They knew how to turn neutral transactions into revenue or write-offs. Jack was very good with his accounting.

  “See you in a few minutes, buddy.” Jack spoke aloud to BJ’s back as he shuffled off to retrieve the booty.

  ***

  Jack sat back and let Melvin run the show. He didn’t always feel the need to control everything. Sometimes he enjoyed handing off the tasks to others and observing from the sidelines. He felt like this would be a good time to do that.

  Melvin walked the inmates through the plan. He assigned the responsibilities as he and Jack had discussed earlier. Melvin called on specific individuals by name so the group knew who was accountable for what. If the plan went sideways, they could identify who dropped the ball and at what point in the process things failed. Jack and Melvin understood management tactics.

  As Melvin asked if there were any questions, not one hand went up. Jack remembered his days as a student, a long time ago. He had a math teacher, Mrs. Simons, who used to ask the class if there were any questions after a tough algebra lesson. All the children were too disinterested or lazy to raise their hand and ask a question. So Mrs. Simons would say, “I expect everyone to get 100% on their test since you all understand the math perfectly.” Jack wanted to say something similar but he chewed the inside of his mouth so he wouldn’t sound like an old school-marm.

  Melvin handed the session over to Jack. He stood and approached the central table. “I’m glad we’re all on the same page and the plan will be successful.” He rolled his eyes to himself that he had said it anyway. “This is the most important thing we can all do right now. Life and death. Food or starvation.” His eyes met each inmate’s around the pod. “We cannot fail. We might not get a second chance.”

  As Jack glanced at the door, he saw Muncie staring at him through the small glass window. Jack felt his stomach bile gurgle. He hoped Muncie wasn’t on to them. But something told him the way they had held their meeting, all the pod mates together in a group, would look suspicious to the guards. He wished they had used word of mouth to get the plan around. It would have been less conspicuous. But then they would have had to rely on the failing children’s communication game of “operator.”

  A cold sweat broke out on Jack’s forehead.

  Chapter 19

  Warden Gorgon entered the Infirmary. The pungent smell of bleach and other cleansers struck his nose immediately upon entry. He ignored the odors and searched for Shipley. It was three in the morning and a spot inspection at an inconvenient hour was necessary in order to ensure progress.

  When he turned the corner, Gorgon found the two nurses huddled together on a leather sofa in the Dr. Shipley’s office. Shipley was absent. The Warden entertained the idea of waking the nurses up but reconsidered. He followed the hall to the large examination room which doubled as
a makeshift operating room.

  Gorgon peeked through the window on the door. Six zombies thrashed within their restraints. Two on tables. Two in wheelchairs. Two in strait jackets chained to the cell bars. He took a deep breath and pushed his way through the swinging doors. The cleansing agents were more noxious in the far reaches of the Infirmary. A grating sound to his left drew the Warden’s attention.

  “Dr. Shipley. There you are.”

  The doctor jumped at the intrusion. He must have been deep in thought as he worked the centrifuge. Shipley finished jotting a few notes and then gave the Warden a fake smile.

  “How are things progressing?” Gorgon loosened his tie. He figured he earned it at this hour of the night.

  “You want the good news or the bad news?”

  “I expect it all to be good news, Shipley.” He watched the doctor’s face sag. “Just fill me in.”

  “The bad news is I am no closer to identifying a cure.” Shipley pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “That’s not necessarily bad news, Doctor. Even the CDC hasn’t figured it out yet.” He returned his own fake smile. “And the good news?”

  Dr. Shipley waved the Warden over to look into a microscope perched on the tall counter. Gorgon bent to observe the slide beneath the lens. Squiggly strands moved around on the slide.

  “What exactly am I looking at?”

  “Those are red blood cells of zombies treated with HGH.” Shipley yanked the slide out and gingerly filled the void with another slide. He indicated that the Warden should have another look. “Now, what you see are red blood cells of zombies NOT treated with HGH.”

  The Warden noticed the difference in size and color of the strands. It also appeared that the cells were not moving at all.

  “Meaning?”

  Shipley pushed his glasses up. “Meaning, the HGH does indeed work to slow the degeneration of mitochondrial health. In fact, it STRENGTHENS the cells.” He beamed with his hands clasped together.

  The Warden stared at Dr. Shipley, waiting for it to be put in terms that a non-scientist could understand. He chose not to state it, refraining from any overt admission. Shipley picked up on the expectation.

  “Let me demonstrate it for you.” Shipley walked over to Rico, who struggled in the wheelchair. Rico gnashed his teeth and tried to lean his head forward to bite Shipley, who remained just out of reach. “Rico, here, was potentially exposed but had not contracted the virus.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem, you asked us to infect him with the disease. We did so by allowing the chained up guard to bite Rico’s neck. Observe. The neck wound is almost completely healed. Therefore, even though Rico is technically dead, or undead, he still has healing abilities.” Shipley waved his arms as if to say ‘ta-da.’

  “What about infected without HGH?” Warden Gorgon searched the zombies for evidence of this type of specimen.

  “Step over here. This is Mabel. Mabel was bitten by the guard on that table. Notice her hand. The bite wound will not heal. The arm is slightly gangrenous, if you can’t tell by the horrific odor that it emits.”

  “In a nutshell, Doc, you’re telling me that the steroids are keeping our undead residents alive?”

  “I wouldn’t characterize them as alive, but yes. They maintain tissue integrity which means we can utilize them to battle the monsters outside the walls should we be breached.”

  “And how about the conditioning experiments?”

  Shipley bowed his head. He clicked his teeth together. “We haven’t begun those experiments yet. It has taken all of our time to learn all this...”

  Gorgon cut him off. “Then wake up your nurses and continue the work. We must figure this out. We don’t have time.” He huffed through his flared nostrils. Deep inside, he knew Shipley was doing all he could with their limited resources. But a field general had to demand the impossible in order to win the battle.

  “Sir, we are doing all we can. I haven’t slept in nearly two days. And the ladies just crashed a little while ago. I thought they could use the rest...”

  “No time for rest, Shipley. I haven’t slept either. You don’t hear me whining about it, do you? Now, wake them up and get back to work. I’m counting on you. We’re ALL counting on you.” He poked the doctor’s chest with two strong fingers.

  He could see Shipley despised his aggression. But now wasn’t the time to worry about feelings and relationships. It was time to find out if they would live beyond a few more days or not. Gorgon tightened his tie and left Shipley in a bad mood. He understood that angry employees threw their frustration into their work.

  As he passed Shipley’s office, the Warden pulled the office door shut with a slam. Then he re-opened it to find both nurses groggy, wondering what the loud bang was. “Sorry to wake you, ladies. Chop-chop.” He left the office door open and continued around the corner to exit the Infirmary.

  The drab walls worked closely with the toxic smell of bleach to narrow the hallway. It felt like the walls angled inward as his eyes followed the gray paint ahead. Gorgon’s breathing became more labored and the constriction, while more imaginary than real, forced him to re-loosen his tie. His mind drifted to the beat of his heels clicking along the floor, synchronizing with his heartbeat. The Warden decided to slow his pace so his heart rate would normalize. He giggled to himself that it would be ironic for him to drop dead of a heart attack when zombie virus strains would most likely be the cause of his death. Quite ironic, he thought.

  Chapter 20

  Jack glanced over his shoulder. He felt nervous, like kissing a girl for the first time. Good nervousness. Melvin nodded at him and then signaled the prisoners tasked with setting the fires. The time for rebellion had arrived.

  A couple of inmates ran out of the back room of the pod, the communal bathroom, each with a burning rag. One man ran up the stairs to the rooms on the second level. Another ran into the adjacent room. The last man stumbled toward the front of the pod. They set the rags upon the heaps of pillows and blankets. It didn’t take more than few seconds for the flames to grow.

  Jack nodded at the men assigned with staging the fights. Their goal was to make it appear that it was more than just some small fires set inside the pod. They needed to sell the guards that some of the men were taking advantage of the chaos. The hopes were that it would draw an immediate response and enough guards to present opportunities for grabbing weapons and gear. The men assigned with fighting were encouraged to make it real. Not a hard sell amongst a group of killers and deviants. The chance to let off steam and strike fellow prisoners was relished.

  The pod began to fill with the smell of smoke. It wasn’t thick enough to cause the men harm but it would get worse unless they tricked the guards into coming in. Shouting and the sounds of bare knuckles connecting with flesh made Jack wince. The din was excessive for a contained space, but necessary for their purposes.

  Jack watched the melee ensue. Men climbed on tables and jumped down on unsuspecting brawlers. Flames rose higher in the somewhat controlled piles of sundries. He glanced at Melvin who stayed back inside his bunk room. Melvin had insisted upon full involvement but Jack feared for the old man’s safety. He implored Melvin to stay out of reach and hidden. Melvin protested and Jack had to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He sent Swede to convince him. And Swede didn’t talk much.

  As the craziness ramped up, Jack watched the window of C-Pod. Crawford stared in through the window with a slack jaw and wide eyes. Jack could see the man’s lips shouting for help even though he couldn’t hear him. Jack smiled to himself. It would happen quickly so he prepared himself mentally.

  Jack signaled to the inmates who lined up along the wall of the pod. The men were assigned to stay flat along the hallway wall so they could spring upon the first responders. Once they jumped the guards, the rest of the pod would use that as their cue to attack. A full-blown riot would unfold and the weapons and gear would be theirs. Not to mention access to the outside of C-Pod. He knew once the prisoners were outside the po
d, their struggles would continue. There were three other pods and plenty more guards attached to the other pods. But each journey began with one step, Jack recalled the old adage.

  Crawford disappeared for a moment and Jack saw another guard poke his head against the glass. The second guard made the same expression as Crawford, disbelieving his eyes.

  This escape plan meant more to Jack than food or freedom. It was cosmic in its scope, something larger than the present world was capable of comprehending. It was about hatred. Revenge. Jack wanted Muncie more than anything else. He had prepared himself for his own death, if that’s what it took. For Jack, this plan would only succeed if he killed Muncie. And he wanted to do it with his hands. No weapons. No assistance. Just raw hatred channeled through his limbs. Muncie had to pay for his sins. Jack remembered all of them as if they were tattooed on his chest. Jack had a long memory. He never forgot punishments that were owed. Never.

  He watched as Crawford shoved the security guard away from the door. Crawford seemed to be fumbling with his set of keys to unlock the door. Jack whistled. The line of men along the wall heard the signal. They prepared to pounce. Jack took a handful of steps toward the door. He was still halfway across the pod’s main room, standing behind the burning pile of fire. Waiting.

  Suddenly, Crawford turned his attention to the left. Jack watched as he appeared to be yelling at someone in the hall. His facial expressions changed from surprise to fear and then anger. A huge hand placed on Crawford’s chest guided him away from the window. In his place, Muncie’s fat face followed the huge hand into the frame of the window.

  Jack swallowed. He tasted the bitterness that crept up his throat. Jack felt the butterflies in his gut increase their fluttering.

  Muncie stared at Jack.

  Jack glared at Muncie.

  Muncie smiled. Slowly at first. Then the smile grew wide.