Alcatraz!

by Dakota Chase

  He gratefully took the small, scratchy towel and tiny chunk of soap from the person behind the window on the right. The man, wearing a threadbare gray shirt and pair of pants, not a uniform, was probably another inmate, Ash realized. He unfolded the towel, but it was too small to wrap around his waist. He settled for holding it front of himself like a small curtain.

  He realized in short order that he needn’t have worried. Nobody was paying him the slightest bit of attention. Everyone acted as if this was all second nature to them, as if communal showering with a bunch of naked men was as commonplace as tying their shoes. Men took their towels and soap and shuffled bare-assed into the shower without question or protest. They stood under the spray, soaped up, and rinsed off, moving quickly and efficiently, with as little noise as possible.

  The water was icy cold, and Ash gasped when it hit his skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks. Now he knew why the other men were washing up so quickly—it was that or freeze to death under the shower spray. He took the fastest shower in his life, soaping up the necessary parts, rinsing off, and practically jogging out of the room through the far doorway into the next area, rubbing his skin raw with the rough little towel.

  In the next room, several inmates stood behind a long counter. They were handing out neatly folded sets of clothing and pairs of shoes to the naked, damp inmates. Ash shivered violently as he waited his turn.

  The inmate at the counter, a burly man with a balding head and the tattoo of a mermaid on his forearm, smirked at Ash. “You’re a skinny one, ain’t you? What’s the matter? Momma too busy screwing the milkman to feed you proper?” He and the other inmates snorted and guffawed.

  A guard rapped his blackjack on the counter, just a hairsbreadth away from the inmate’s fingers. “Enough with the comedy, Billy Ray. Get on with your job, or I’ll have you reassigned to dumping the shit pots.”

  Ash didn’t know what disturbed him more—that there was such a thing known as a “shit pot” at Alcatraz and that men had to dump it out, or that the prison population seemed to think weak-assed insults to somebody’s mother were the height of comedy.

  “I was just—”

  The guard whacked the small of Billy Ray’s back with his nightstick, nearly bringing the big man to his knees. “That’s it! Get up. A couple of nights in the Hole will teach you.”

  He grabbed up the pile of clothing and boots another inmate slid over to him while trying to ignore the malevolent glare Billy Ray shot him at the same time. It was enough to make him forget for a moment that he was a buck-ass naked time traveler.

  “Best watch your back, skinny boy.” Billy Ray’s hoarse whisper was low enough for only Ash to hear, but his expression was black, and his intent was as clear as if he’d bellowed. If he got Ash alone, he was going to do Ash some serious damage. He didn’t get to say anything else because the guard marched him away, but then again, he didn’t have to. He’d already said it all.

  Ash hadn’t been at Alcatraz for more than a couple of hours, and he’d already made a mortal enemy. Swell.

  Where the hell was Grant?

  No one was given the opportunity to dress. Instead, the guards marched the naked men into the prison itself. To Ash’s surprise, there were no catcalls, whistles, or rude commentary like there always was in prison movies. There seemed to be three hallways, each lined with a triple row of cells. Although he could see faces watching intently from the cells as he walked by, it was so quiet all he could hear was the hard click of the guards’ bootheels, and the soft slap of the prisoners’ bare feet on concrete.

  “Up here.” The guard nearest Ash poked him again and urged him up a flight of metal stairs. “New fish get the cells upstairs on Broadway.”

  “Broadway?” The question was out of Ash’s mouth before he could stop it.

  The guard responded by poking Ash hard in the ribs with his blackjack. “Shut up. No talking.” Then, as if he hadn’t just bruised Ash’s ribs for the unforgivable crime of asking a question, he answered it. “All the halls are named after streets, see? This here is Broadway. Over there is Seedy Street, and the other way is Michigan Boulevard.”

  Ash bit his lip to keep himself from answering. Instead, he hurried up the stairs and followed the line of men down the upstairs walkway of Broadway. He was ushered into a cell halfway down the row. A number painted on the wall outside the cell proclaimed it to be B-180. His new home, at least until he found Grant and they got their hands on Al Capone’s locket.

  He stepped inside, facing the back wall, and jumped at the metallic bang of the door slamming shut behind him. There was a finality to the sound, as if the world and his life had both ended in that moment.

  The cell was smaller than their dorm room back at Stanton’s School for Boys. Ash estimated it to be about five feet by nine feet, or so, just big enough to hold a single cot, a toilet, sink, and a metal shelf that attached to the wall and must’ve served as a desk. On the shelf was a thin booklet. He glanced at the title—Institution Rules and Regulations. It had a small black-and-white drawing of Alcatraz Island on it.

  The top half of the walls and the ceiling were painted white, but the bottom half of the walls and the floor were painted puke green. There was no window, but the front of the cell was lined ceiling to floor with dull, gray metal bars. There wasn’t even enough room to properly pace. Three steps from the toilet to the bars, and a step and a half from the cot to the wall. That was it.

  How do they stand it? Living their lives cooped up in a room like this? His mind reeled. He hadn’t realized until then just how hard prison must be and was suddenly very glad the judge had sentenced him to Stanton’s School for Boys instead of juvenile detention. Juvie might not be Alcatraz, but he had the feeling it wasn’t far off either.

  He started, suddenly realizing he was still stark naked, and quickly dressed in the clothing he’d carried up from the intake room. There was a pair of long cotton underwear, pants, shirt, socks, and the boots. Nothing was particularly warm, and he wondered if they got coats and sweaters for winter. Maybe, but he was willing to bet they wouldn’t be as warm as his own winter coat.

  Feeling as if all his energy had been sucked out of his body, he sank onto the thin mattress on the cot, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang low. There was nothing else for him to do. He couldn’t go anywhere—he was locked in. There was no way for him to search for Grant. He’d just have to wait for Grant to find him.

  He hoped it wasn’t going to be a very long wait. He was desperately in hate with Alcatraz already.

  Chapter Two

  GRANT BLINKED rain out of his face. He felt a little disoriented, and everything around him spun crazily for a heartbeat or two before settling down into one spot. The feeling wasn’t unexpected—it was always the same when Merlin sent them back in time—but that didn’t make it any more comfortable.

  He sighed and began to take stock of his situation. Okay, Merlin, where did you drop us this time? He looked around. The first thing he noticed was that he was standing on a concrete dock, and a there was small boat approaching.

  Alcatraz. This must be the boat dock on the island. It looks different than when I saw it on vacation. Newer. Well, that makes sense, I guess. Merlin said he was sending us back to when Al Capone was incarcerated at Alcatraz, which would make it sometime in the 1930s. I think I remember Capone being one of the first prisoners on the island.

  The second thing Grant noticed was, while he wasn’t alone, Ash wasn’t anywhere to be seen. That was a first—Merlin had never sent them back separately before. He supposed Ash had lucked out and been placed inside the building instead of out on the dock, cold and wet. He wiped a hand over his face, which drew his attention to what he was wearing.

  It was the same uniform as everyone else who stood near him wore—dark gray double-breasted jacket and trousers, white shirt, red tie, and black dress shoes polished to a high gloss. On his head he wore a black-brimmed peaked hat, the kind policemen wore in his own time.


  Understanding drew his lips up in a small smile. He was a guard! Of course. It made sense for Merlin to send them to Alcatraz as guards. How else would they be able to move around the prison, get close to Capone, and find the locket?

  Now all he had to do was find Ash, and they could get started. Who knows? Maybe they could wrap this trip up quick.

  “That’s the boat with the new fish.” The voice belonged to a gray-haired man who stood in front of Grant and the other guards. He wore the same uniform as the rest of them, but his had a gold name plate and the insignia of a captain. “They’ll be brought up to the prison for intake where they’ll shower, receive their uniforms, and be shown to their cells. We’ll catch up to them later. Right now, we’ll continue with your orientation. This way. Step lively.”

  Grant followed along with the rest of the guards, listening to the captain drone on about the island. He caught the words “maximum security” and “unescapable” several times. He knew that already, but being here, he could absolutely understand where Alcatraz got its reputation. The island was little more than a big jagged rock in the middle of the Bay. He couldn’t imagine anyone trying to swim to shore in the frigid waters, not if they expected to survive. It seemed impossible, although he’d seen a recent documentary that claimed men had escaped on a raft and made it to shore, even though the government claimed for years they hadn’t.

  “These are the residential cottages for officers and their families. At any time, there are upwards of two hundred civilians living on the island, and workers. Farther on you’ll see the residential quarters for the guards’ families. Notice the children in this area.” Grant looked toward the group of small homes and saw several kids ranging in age from about five to early teens playing. “Children are not allowed up at the main building under any circumstances. They’re taught this early on, but keep an eye out anyway. Sometimes they try to sneak up on a dare, especially the older boys.”

  They continued walking around the perimeter of the island, skirting the cottages. On one side of the path was a sheer drop to sharp rocks and crashing waves; on the other were sheer rock walls climbing up to the top of the island. Grant wondered what it would be like to live on Alcatraz full-time, year-round, and immediately decided he would hate it. It seems so… bleak. That’s the word for it. Bleak and gray and dreary. Depressing.

  “Captain Grayson? Who lives there?” One of the other new guards pointed toward a pair of houses that were larger than the other cottages.

  “The associate warden, myself, and our families live there. The warden’s house is up at the top of the hill, next to the lighthouse. You’ll see it in a short while.” Grayson ducked his head a little into the whipping wind. “Step lively. It’s getting colder out here, and I think a storm is getting ready to blow in.”

  They passed another low building, which Grayson pointed out as the bachelor quarters. “Most of you know that already, of course.”

  Grant supposed they did since most of them were bachelors and probably had rooms there. Since Merlin just popped him into a uniform and set him on the island, he doubted he’d have a room waiting for him. He hoped he wouldn’t be on Alcatraz long enough to have to figure out where he could spend the night without getting caught out. Somewhere without a nice warm bed, no doubt.

  In fact, he hoped Merlin had included whatever passed for human resources at Alcatraz in his hocus pocus, or Grant would be exposed as a fraud the first time someone decided to take roll call.

  They began walking up a steep path that eventually led to the upper level of the island, where the main building stood. Grant paused at the top of the path and looked down at the rest of the island.

  It was forbidding, to say the least. There were four guard towers, one for each direction of the compass, and Grayson mentioned another was in the process of being built. Each was manned by armed guards. The rest of the island was either rock or concrete. There was no grass, no trees, no flowers. Just rough gray rock and crashing green-black water.

  Grant’s group was entering the main building, and he hurried to keep up. It wasn’t much warmer inside the building, but at least there was no wind.

  There another guard, this one bearing the rank of lieutenant, stood waiting. The lieutenant snapped off a salute, which was returned by Grayson. “Lieutenant Merloch will take over from here. Lieutenant, I leave the new recruits in your capable hands.”

  “Yes, sir.” Merloch turned toward the guards. His gaze flitted from face to face, and Grant got the distinct impression he was searching for weaknesses. He seemed a little disappointed. “Follow me. Step lively and keep sharp.” He stalked off through a short tunnel. Following him, Grant found himself in the prison proper.

  It looked like there was a main street running north and south, with several corridors set perpendicular to it. A double row of cells lined each side. Grant could see convicts in each cell. A few looked up, casting a disinterested look in their direction.

  “Welcome to the Rock. Above your heads is the west end Gun Gallery. There are no guns allowed on the floor of the prison—only in the gallery. Let me repeat that. No guns on the floor of the prison. Can’t take a chance on a prisoner disarming a guard and getting his weapon. You pull duty down here, you leave your gun in your locker. You don’t, and you’ll find yourself on the next boat to shore and the unemployment line.”

  Grant looked up and saw several guards pacing the length of a second-floor loft overlooking the prison. Each of them carried a rifle.

  Merloch motioned them forward down the center corridor. “This is Broadway. Each of the ‘streets’ are named—Broadway, Seedy Street, Michigan Boulevard, and over at D Block we have Sunset Strip. All new inmates are put in B Block. Ain’t got nobody in A Block presently—we use it for storage. And D Block is where we have the segregation cells. Thirty-six of ’em. It’s where we keep the coloreds. D Block also has six solitary confinement cells. Prisoners call them the Hole.” He smirked. “Of course, for the prisoners who refuse to follow the rules, a few days in the dungeon usually sets ’em to right.”

  “The dungeon?” The question flew out of Grant’s mouth before he could stop it. Once, when Merlin sent them back to medieval Germany, he’d had to endure being locked in a dungeon. He still had nightmares about it, and he shivered to think there was another one somewhere beneath his feet.

  Merloch gave him a nod. “Yup. Alcatraz wasn’t built as a federal prison. No, sir. Back in the 1800s a fortress was built here to protect San Francisco Bay. Had a hundred cannons here, and the first West Coast lighthouse. Then the US started storing some of their war prisoners here, confederate soldiers, Indians, and such. The prison population grew during the Spanish American War too. They had dungeons full of ’em back then. It was only a few years ago, in 1933, the government decided to officially make Alcatraz a federal prison. Oh, they did some improvements, built new structures, sure. But underneath we still have the tunnels and dungeons from the old fortress.”

  “Aren’t tunnels dangerous to have at a prison?” Another guard, this one looking only a couple of years older than Grant, piped up. “I mean, couldn’t prisoners try to use them to escape?”

  “Nobody, and I mean nobody has ever escaped from Alcatraz, and no one ever will,” Merloch growled. He turned a fierce scowl at the young guard. “Don’t let me hear you talking about the possibility neither. The higher-ups don’t like it. Gives prisoners ideas if they hear it. Besides, the tunnels are blocked off with gates at each end. Can’t saw through the bars they put in there neither.”

  “What about the bars on the cells?” Another guard pointed toward the double row of cells lining Broadway.

  “Same thing. See, when the prison was first built, they used iron for the bars. You can saw through iron if you got a blade. But now they had all the old bars replaced with new ones made of hardened steel. A man could start sawing on them the first day he gets here and still be sawing at them fifty years from now without making a dent.”

 
The group of guards murmured in appreciation of what Grant supposed was new technology. Grant hmphed along with them, trying to blend in. They eagerly followed along behind Merloch like a gaggle of adoring ducklings behind their mama.

  Grant’s mind wandered as Merloch again began pointing out additional trivia about the inner workings of Alcatraz to the guards who hung on his every word. Where the hell is Ash? He’s not here, and I didn’t see him on the dock. Did Merlin even send him back in time? Was I the only one sent back?

  The thought sent a finger of trepidation tripping down Grant’s spine. As much as he disliked having to go back in time to fetch the items he and Ash destroyed, the idea of going back alone terrified him. What if he got hurt? He was beaten during one trip back—what if it happened again? Who would help him?

  His tie suddenly felt too tight around his throat, and he had to resist the urge to pull on it and loosen it. He felt as if there wasn’t enough air, as if the walls of the prison were closing in on him. It was a panic attack. He knew it but was helpless to stop it. He’d had one before, after the last time they came back from a trip in time. He’d been in their dorm room, and they’d been talking about the last trip they’d taken. Suddenly, he felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. He’d needed to see the nurse, who gave him something to calm him down, and a crash course on breathing techniques. Ash thought it was a one-time thing, but it obviously wasn’t, not if Grant was having another one.

  He tried to breathe the way the nurse taught him, tried to calm himself down, talk himself out of his panic. It’ll be okay. Ash must be here somewhere. If Merlin was going to send me back alone, he would’ve said something. Merlin is powerful, but he’s not cruel. No, I’m sure Ash is here. I just haven’t found him yet, is all. He looked around, trying to take in details of the prison and distract himself. His gaze wandered down the row of cells.