by Lee, Damien
“You’ve got two days!”
5
Amy’s hand shuddered as she held a mug of coffee. She could feel the gaze of her manager and the security guard, but she didn’t look up. It had been over an hour since she’d witnessed her colleague being eaten. Since then she had cried uncontrollably, spoken to the police, cried some more, been given a mug of coffee, and now she felt like crying again. Nothing in her life even came close to the massacre she had witnessed that morning. She looked up as a man spoke.
“Can I get you anything else?”
It was Ben, the security guard. He had a warm smile as he sat down next to her, but she could see the torment in his eyes.
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
“Amy, with everything that has gone on today, I think it best that you have the next few days off.”
She looked at her manager. “Are you sure? This place is hectic.”
“I’ve got a dozen agency nurses drafted in to help. We should be fine.”
Amy nodded in agreement.
“But stay here for as long as you want. Have your coffee, sit and rest, and when you feel well enough, you can go home.”
“Thank you,” she replied as her manager left the room. She turned her attention back to the steaming mug when Ben spoke once more.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Amy nodded, her glazed eyes staring at the cup.
“Do you need a ride home?”
“No, I drove here.”
“Oh, right.”
She blinked, breaking her reverie, and smiled at him.
“Are you going home too?” she asked, trying to clear her mind of the gruesome images it was harbouring.
“Yeah, my shift finished an hour ago. I was leaving when you caught up with me. Lucky I didn’t sneak out early, huh?”
Amy agreed, her head filled with the sight of the demented cleaner once more.
“What was with the bag you were carrying?”
“I was supposed to be playing cricket with some lads from work. I guess that was lucky too.”
“Yeah, I guess. But won’t you be missed?”
“I should hope so. I was the one bringing all the gear.”
Amy managed a weak smile.
“I’m Ben.”
“I know; I heard you on the radio. I’m Amy.”
“I know; your manager just told me.”
“Right.”
“So, Amy, I’ve not seen you around here before. Are you new?”
“Yeah, today’s my second day.”
“I guess it doesn’t leave a good impression of the place then, huh?”
Amy shook her head, returning her gaze to the cup.
“Well, I hope the incident hasn’t scared you off. This kind of thing never happens here. I’ve… never had to stop anyone like that before.”
Ben offered a smile, rising to his feet. Amy looked up as he put on his jacket.
“So, have the police cleared you of everything? Did they not want to question you?”
“No idea. They got a call halfway through speaking to me and had to dash. They told me to stay put, but they’ve got my address. If they want to speak to me, they can.”
“I see. So what are you going to do now?”
“Well, the police took my bat, and you can’t play without one of those. It’s just not cricket.”
Amy smiled as Ben raised a hand in farewell. He left the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. The images her brain replayed were unsettling, and she quickly drained the cup before getting to her feet. She had to take her mind off the carnage. She grabbed her bag and walked out of the room. The hospital seemed empty. She knew it was no longer visiting time, but she wasn’t used to seeing corridors so deserted. Feeling a chill creep up her spine, she hurried down the hallway and went to turn the corner.
She flinched as a gurney raced past, cutting off her path. The elderly man atop it was coated in blood, his limbs twitching. A doctor examined him whilst two nurses and a porter rushed the trolley down the corridor. Amy looked after them until they disappeared around a corner. So many patients had been admitted to the hospital with the same symptoms. Yet, they still could not establish a cause. Even more worrying was how the infected people seemed to deteriorate rapidly until their demise. Although the symptoms were similar, there didn’t appear to be a link between any of the patients. Everyone seemed to be vulnerable.
Amy left through the main entrance and shielded her eyes. The sun shone from a clear blue sky, warming everyone who ventured under its rays. She dug into her handbag and produced a pair of sunglasses as she walked to the car park. Most people strolled around in summer wear. She even saw the porters wearing navy shorts as they went about their work. One of them grinned at Amy as she passed, casting a lecherous eye over her tight-fitting attire. She strode past him, not returning his affection.
“Going home already?” he called after her.
“Sure am.”
“Alright for some, eh? Going to do a little sunbathing?”
He cast another eye over Amy’s white skirt and navy blue T-shirt.
“I highly doubt it.”
She turned her back on the man and made her way over to her car. Sunbathing was the last thing on her mind. After the morning’s events, all she wanted to do was relax in a cool shower and curl up in bed. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, she felt exhausted. Locating her keys, she unlocked her car and pried open the door. She groaned as the suffocating heat billowed out, engulfing her as she slid behind the wheel. She lowered the windows and adjusted the air conditioning as she started the car.
Cool air caressed her face and toyed with her hair as she made her way out of the car park. The roads were empty; a welcome alternative to those that she was used to back home. Minutes passed and Amy only saw four other road users as she left the town and accelerated along the country road. Her home was almost twenty miles from Sunnymoor in the neighbouring town of Cranston. She had considered moving closer to work, but she could never bring herself to part from the beautiful countryside that she could enjoy every day. Yet, there was something about the rural landscape that didn’t feel right today, something that threatened to shadow the serene beauty.
Amy’s eyes narrowed as she tried to determine the source of her unease. Whether it was the cloying feel of the air, the stench that strengthened as she drove further, or the sheer silence that was unusual even for the countryside, she could not tell. She glanced out of her windows at the empty fields on either side of her. Normally filled with grazing sheep, the grassland contained no visible life at all.
A gradual movement in the distance caught Amy’s attention. It looked like two people running across the moors, but with the speed she was travelling, she would have to stop to confirm. She didn’t slow, but kept her eyes rooted on the figures. From the position of the people, it almost looked like the one in the front was fleeing the other. She watched the pair run until they disappeared from view. It was the first time she had seen anybody on the moors other than sheep and cattle.
She looked back to the road and slammed on her brakes. The vehicle screeched as it skidded towards the edge of the road, narrowly missing the animals in the centre. The world seemed to spin as her car lurched to a stop. Amy groaned as she released her grip on the wheel. She blinked hard, trying to clear her distorted vision. She didn’t feel hurt, nor could she identify any visible injuries as she examined herself in the mirror. With her heart hammering in her chest, she turned to look back at what had caused her to swerve.
The fox remained where it was, undaunted by the near-fatal collision. It stared at Amy for a few seconds before burying its head into a sheep’s carcass once more. Tufts of wool littered the road, and a crimson trail showed it had been dragged. Wide areas of ribcage and bone had been exposed. The fox pried a section of the neck away from its prey and looked back at Amy. It chewed the gristly meat, its eyes fixing the car with an unblinking stare. Amy shuddered under the fox’s glare.
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br /> The animal didn’t seem to notice her starting the car. It turned back to its meal, tearing off another morsel. Amy drove ahead, giving the fox a wide berth. She kept her eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror as she continued her journey. The fox stared after her, watching the car as it drove into the distance.
6
A metallic clatter echoed around Frank’s cell, rousing him from his slumber. He squinted towards the source of the noise as his eyes tried to adjust to the light. His blurred vision picked up a small bowl left on the floor. He staggered to his feet, wincing as the pain in his arm surfaced. Events of the previous night swarmed around his mind as he made his way over to his breakfast. He wondered what had happened to Gus and his thugs, he considered how long Henderson had left to live after the stunt he’d pulled, and he contemplated whether the kid he fought was in a stable condition or buried outside in the recreation yard. He almost hoped for the latter. The kid was in for a rough time if Henderson got his hands on him.
He stooped down and picked up the porridge. The bowl was cool to the touch, and its contents looked even worse than the rations he had consumed in the army. He pounded on the metal door and listened for the approaching guard. A few seconds passed before a small, eye-level compartment on the door snapped aside.
“What do you want, Lee?” the guard said, peering through the gap.
“What the hell is this?”
“Sorry, bacon and eggs are only for the obedient cons. Trouble makers like you get standard-issue gruel.”
The guard chuckled as he snapped the tiny door closed. Frank listened to his departure down the hallway before looking back at the bowl of grey sludge. A small air bubble formed on top of the mixture, gradually easing the lumps aside. It popped after a few seconds, sending ripples through the murky liquid. Dropping the bowl in disgust, Frank returned to his bunk.
The segregation unit was designed to punish inmates for stepping out of line. But keep them in too long and it served as a torture device, destroying their mind until they go insane. Frank wondered how long Henderson planned to keep him locked away. Not giving the guard what he wanted usually had drastic consequences. He half expected to spend the rest of his sentence staring at the same four walls.
“I told you I’m not eating that shit!”
The roar from down the hall made Frank smirk. He strained his ears, listening to more of Gus Razor’s tirade.
“I don’t care what Henderson said! I want my fry up and newspaper in five minutes or I’ll be using your bollocks as castanets!”
The guard must have declined, as moments later a clattering sound met Frank’s ears. He imagined the plastic porridge bowl hurtling through the air and colliding with the observation panel on the door.
Silence descended on the wing once more with the sound of the clattering bowl still fresh in Frank’s ears. What would be the consequences of such an action? How could they punish a con more than putting him in the seg? Since it was Gus Razor, not a lot. The gangland boss had nearly every screw under his thumb. Apart from leaving, Gus could do whatever he wanted, which made it even more surprising that Henderson had ordered him into the cooler. Segregation was the one area that Gus Razor had never found himself in, and he clearly didn’t take kindly to being there.
Frank closed his eyes and tried to think of something to keep his mind occupied for the duration of his stay. He journeyed back to his childhood; the acres of farmland, the calls of various animals, the sweat and toil of labouring with his father, and the mouth-watering reward of dinner at the end of the day. For as long as he could remember, he had always worked on the farm. Even from the moment he could walk, he had helped herd the chickens back into their pen. It was only once he hit early adolescence that he decided on a different path.
His father had originally expressed disappointment at his son’s decision to join the army. He had intended Frank to take over the farm once he was unable to carry on. But, after lengthy discussions, he had wished him well before his departure at sixteen. The horrifying sights he’d witnessed during his service quickly replaced the heart-warming images of his farmyard upbringing. He had trained for two years; enjoying every minute of his military lifestyle, until, at eighteen, they sent him to fight in Iraq. It was an ordeal he would never forget.
Twelve men he’d trained alongside were killed in the first week, some right in front of him. He could still smell the mud, chemicals and excrement, and hear the deafening blasts all around. He saw one man’s head exploding inches from where he stood, and another whose entire right side was obliterated in a cloud of blood, flesh, and entrails.
A slamming door made Frank bolt upright. His body trembled and his clothes were sodden from sweat. He looked around, wondering how long he had slept. Trying to control his ragged breaths, he sat on the end of the bed and listened once again as raised voices filled the wing. He heard a series of metallic snaps as the viewing panels were pushed aside on every door. Frank listened as the guards got closer to his cell, trying to decipher what they were saying. Eventually, the beady eye of Barry Henderson looked into the cell.
“It must be the meat.” Henderson turned to someone stood beside him. “These arseholes are fine.”
“That’s what you get for serving ungraded pork, Henderson,” Frank yelled at the disgruntled guard. A howl of laughter came from the cells back down the corridor.
“You tell him, Frankie!” Gus Razor chuckled.
“Shut it, Lee. Or I’ll bury you right next to that kid you killed.”
Henderson’s comment floored Frank. He felt a knot develop in the pit of his stomach. So the kid had died. He knew the impact had caught the teenager off guard, but he never thought it would kill him. He looked down at the ground through his trembling hands; something which seemed to delight the smug guard.
“Oh, so you have a conscience?” Henderson sneered. “Where was that when you killed your wife?”
The comment was too much for Frank to handle. He jumped to his feet and slammed against the metal door, causing Henderson to jump back.
“Easy, Lee,” Henderson said, regaining his composure. “The inpatient beds might be full to bursting point with all those sick dogs, but I’ll still beat you within an inch of your life!”
“Try it!”
Frank fixed his unblinking eyes on the guard. Henderson looked away and rested his gaze on his silent companion.
“C’mon, McAllister, let’s leave these scumbags to rot.”
He made his way down the corridor, duly followed by the second guard. A few of the inmates jeered at the pair as they passed, but all Frank could do was stare after them until they were out of sight. He returned to his bunk, his conscience at war with his brain. With the teenager dead, that meant he’d murdered two people, three if he counted the hit he’d arranged through Gus Razor. Nice going, Frank.
He looked around at his small enclosure. Scrawls from previous inmates covered the white walls. He tried to estimate how many prisoners had sat where he now found himself. He knew the majority were people who showed no remorse for their crimes. In fact, most would still murder, rape, and torture if they were released. People like that should never be let out. People like him. He looked down at his hands again, only this time he could see his wife’s blood dripping from them. He could see her mutilated corpse lying face down on their marital bed. She was naked, her body glistening in sweat and blood. He felt rage burn in his stomach once more. Adrenaline coursed through his body. He clenched his teeth as he relived her murder, feeling a sense of elation wash over him as he struck her again and again. The bloodied hammer had clumps of hair and flesh stuck to the side, something which he had only noticed in hindsight.
He jumped to his feet and approached the wall, eager to expel the massacre in his mind’s eyes. He read the untidy scrawls. Most were made up of pornographic sketches and obscene words. There were some terms, however, that caught Frank’s eye; ‘Bless me O’ Lord for I have sinned’, ‘Help me God’, and ‘Forgive me’. The religiou
s sentiments took him by surprise. During his stay at the prison, he had witnessed many inmates spouting religious drivel. But they usually performed their pleading for salvation in front of authoritative figures. Given the choice, the majority would rather worship Satan, Loki, or the seventy-two Spirits of Solomon than revere a divine god. Yet, many believed the appeal board would more likely consider a prisoner reformed if he embraced religion.
Frank traced his finger over the paintwork, checking for other religious quotes. There were more, many written in a different hand. He sat back on his bunk. He had never expected any of the prisoners to seek redemption, even in the confines of their cell. Segregation was just that; alone. If these prisoners were still pleading for forgiveness when nobody was around, perhaps they weren’t as bad as he first assumed. He sat back and stared at the ceiling, all the while mulling over the possibility of convicts repenting for their crimes. He found it hard to take in. Nobody he had met so far in the prison had shown any remorse.
“Soup’s up, ladies!” a guard yelled down the corridor.
A crescendo of unlocking doors echoed through the silent confines. Frank looked up as his door opened. Henderson entered the cell holding a plastic bowl and wearing the biggest grin Frank had seen in a long time.
“What’re you so happy about?” Frank asked as the guard stopped beside his bed.
“Some of the boys in the inpatient beds are dying.”
“What?”
“Oh yeah, looks like a bad case of food poisoning.”
“Food poisoning?”
“Okay, a very bad case of food poisoning,” Henderson said. “Let’s just hope it’s nothing to do with the meat.”
Frank eyed the bowl warily as the guard lowered it to the floor.
“Chicken soup. Cold, of course. We don’t want to waste any energy on you troublemakers do we?”
“Probably taste like shit, anyway.”
