by T. H. Moore
The warden turned to the new inmates and prison guards. He calmly nodded at one of the guards. “Please describe to our new guests how life works here.” Without waiting for a reply or glancing at the prisoners, the warden turned and began striding toward the main building.
The brawny guard stepped forward and spoke in a measured tone, informing them of the bleak life they would lead from that day forward. The inmates, he told them, would receive one week’s worth of military-style food rations, a gallon of water, and one black uniform. Once their food and water was gone, acquiring more was up to the prisoner. After their basic processing in K-City headquarters, they would be released into the surrounding wasteland.
As for life in K-City, it was kill or be killed. There would be no policing from the guards or even simple interactions. Many of the inmates would die of dehydration, starvation, disease, or exposure within a week or two. Those, the guard said, would be the lucky ones. For those who survived their first week at K-City, rape, mutilation, murder, and cannibalism were common, and it was beyond the scope of the duties of the guards to interfere.
Those who survived were welcome to take residency in one of the ramshackle housing structures still left standing.
The guard finished with an encouragement to join a gang, since daily battles for any pool of water, or dogs, possums, rats, and other wild animals to eat, was seldom successful alone.
Chapter 9
THE TWENTY-THREE PRISONERS SHUFFLED INTO a cold, gray room, their chains a cacophony of cast iron against concrete. The steel door clanged shut behind them. They stood against a wall.
The warden walked the length of the line, pausing to look each prisoner in the eye. Behind him was K-City’s team of correctional officers, who stood so tall the ceiling lights cast halos down onto their shaved heads.
“My name is Warden Johnston, the archangel of the Global Judiciary System.” He smiled at his little joke and gave a bow. “You all are now citizens of Katingal City. This island, which is as far away from civilization as humanly possible, is humanity’s sole maximum-security prison. Six point seven million prisoners in her history, and not one has escaped. The outer wall stands seventy feet high and forty feet thick. For those of you keen to test my wall, my guards have specific orders to fire without warning on any prisoner attempting to scale, penetrate, or burrow underneath it.”
The warden walked over to a wall-sized map of the island.
“You are here.” He pointed to the center of the desolate continent. “Just shy of three million square miles of desert wasteland surrounds you. To put that into perspective, if you were to walk seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day without rest, it would take you half a year to get from one coastline to the other.
“Here in the southern quadrant of the continent, the temperatures drop as low as twenty degrees at night and rise as high as one hundred twenty during the day. So, go ahead, escape. There will be no search party hunting you. You saw the skeletons littering the outer walls of my city. They were prisoners who were expelled from my city for challenging my authority. Starvation and thirst compelled them to return. Can you imagine the level of desperation that would compel a person to prefer reentering prison? Of course, once they are expelled, they are not invited back. My marksmen crippled those who returned with shots to a limb, leaving their fate to heat, cold, insects, and vermin.”
The guards ushered the prisoners forward to pass by a metal table that held their survival gear, leather satchels, twenty-one military-style Meals-Ready-to-Eat or MREs, and one-gallon bottles of drinking water.
“Some of you may find life inside the walls of K-City too much to bear,” the warden continued. “Some of you will take your own lives rather than face the savagery required to survive here.”
He inspected the prisoners as they gathered their rations and returned to the line along the wall. Two were female. When the last rejoined the line, he began applauding.
“Congratulations on your acceptance to this very distinguished club.”
His clapping grew in intensity until the guards joined him, banging their batons against their full-body shields.
“You’re in esteemed company,” the warden said. “Adolf Hitler, Mao Zedong, Leopold II, Benito Mussolini, Joseph Stalin, and countless others who chose anarchy over peace have spent their final days here.” The warden pulled a pair of leather gloves from his hip pocket and slid them onto his hands. “Life is very simple here. Survive or perish. We are the gatekeepers who ensure you never leave this continent.” He paused to sweep his eyes over the line of prisoners. “You are the worst this world has to offer. We’ve endured your savagery long enough. And now you’ve been segregated from civilization to live out the rest of your natural lives among your brothers and sisters who have also embraced your wretched way of life.”
Donato rolled his eyes. Charles wondered what the warden would have done to the Italian if he had noticed.
“I weep for you and what you’ve allowed yourselves to become.” The warden stepped to the front of the line. “Let’s get acquainted. Here we have Pedro Alonso Lopez, a Colombian-born, confessed serial killer accused of raping and killing more than three hundred women across South America.”
The warden moved to stand before the next person in line. “Petr Zelenka, Czech serial killer. A male nurse!” The warden scoffed. “The male nurse that murdered seven patients by lethal injection before being caught.”
He skipped past four or five men to the first female convict among the shackled. “Juana Barraza, the Mexican serial killer dubbed ‘La Mataviejitas,’ sentenced to seven hundred fifty nine years for killing eleven elderly women.”
Charles wanted a better look at the quiet, older woman the warden had just addressed, but the warden blocked his view. When Charles tried to peer around him, the warden turned suddenly and gave him a quick jab to the face, and Charles discovered the hard way that those gloves were comprised of more than leather. Charles was knocked to the floor and blood shot from his mouth. His weight pulled down the two men shackled to him on either side. The correctional officers leaped to keep the other prisoners against the wall and in line.
The warden crouched over Charles and whispered in his ear. “I’ve been given the authority by the President of the UTA, with the blessing of WICC, to do whatever it is I deem necessary to enhance your suffering, Inmate Gravo.”
He gestured to a guard wearing a ring of keys. The guard separated Charles from the others. He stood alone, about two feet in front of the line, shackled only to himself at the wrists, ankles, and waist.
The warden flexed his fingers and frowned. “It’s always been my experience,” he pontificated, “that in every new group of inmates, one thinks he or she is exceptional—the most heinous murderer, the most sadistic rapist, the cleverest of white-collar criminals, the most feared and powerful of all tyrants.”
From the corner, the warden retrieved a rusted steel chair with large welded hoops in all four of its legs and positioned it in the center of the room. The correctional officers secured the remaining prisoners to hoop locks built into the stone wall.
“For those ‘exceptional’ prisoners I’ve just described, I have always found it beneficial for them, as well as their chain gang, to learn just how exceptional they’re not. It’s so very enlightening to educate those like you, Charles Gravo, so you’re aware of just how vulnerable you are here in my world.”
The warden walked to the other side of the room, turned, and signaled the correctional officers flanking Charles. They led him to the metal chair, bent him over the back, snaked his chains through the welded hoops in its legs, and bolted the chair to the floor. Blood dripped from Charles’s mouth onto the seat of the steel chair.
The captain of the guards stationed at the door interjected in a booming baritone, “Don’t you think this is an excellent time to introduce our newest inmates to Kristoff, Warden?”
&
nbsp; “Indeed, I do,” the warden agreed with a smile.
Two officers entered the room, escorting a hulking inmate with SS and swastika tattoos littering his body. Even though the officers were large men, the inmate towered over them, and his massive arms and shoulders rippled with underlying muscles and tendons.
“After his capture,” the warden began, “Charles Gravo’s network of pedophiles managed to orchestrate the abduction of the child of one of the most respected citizens in our international community. Governor Negesso oversees the most powerful territory in the UTA. Some say he’s slated to be the next president. And you thought it was a good idea to kidnap his son?”
“My daddy always told me to aim high,” Charles said. Despite the severe discomfort, he managed to smirk at the warden.
The warden stared at him for a long moment. Then he spoke in measured tones. “Inmate Gravo, you probably think of yourself as a man with a keen sense of humor. I’m sure the young girls you raped and murdered thought differently of you sense of humor. The spirits of your victims hover above, watching you here in K-City, from heaven. They’re the ones laughing now that your smart mouth will bring you nothing but trouble.” The warden gestured at the guards, and Charles prepared himself for the onslaught of blows.
Chapter 10
“INMATE GRAVO!” ONE OF THE overgrown correctional officers sang as he stood over Charles. “Wake up!” A warm stream of yellow urine saturated Charles’s hair and ran down over his face.
“That’s enough, officer,” the warden said.
Charles roused himself and cast a glance around the gray room. He had been knocked unconscious by the beating his smart mouth had earned him, but apparently had been out for only a few minutes. He was still draped painfully over the back of the metal chair, held in place by the chains attached to his wrists and ankles. The other inmates from the bus, most grinning at his predicament, stood watching.
The officer zipped his pants as the warden stepped to Charles. He bent down and looked into his eyes. “Just being around you sickens me.”
A different officer knelt and adjusted the dial on his Taser wand before sticking it into Charles’s ribs. Amplified by the fluid, metal chains, and chair, the electrical current curled Charles and kicked the sweet scent of burning into the air.
“One can’t afford civility in this line of work,” the warden said. “But I’d like to think that I’m fair. Which is why, Inmate Gravo, I’m offering you the rare opportunity to right your wrongs.”
The warden listed a series of demands, including the location of the governor’s son, the names of all members of Duenno, particularities of their finances, addresses of safe houses, and the whereabouts of every child trapped in the network. He crouched down to talk face to face with Charles.
“Let me be frank,” the warden said. “You’re one of the younger, fitter prisoners here. You’ve had military training, and from the report on your KPP orientation, it seems you’re now exceptionally intelligent. You’ve heard the stories about life in K-City. Eventually all of you will fall victim to starvation, disease, murder, and some even rape. If you give me what I want, your introduction to this world will be fair. If you don’t, I’ll slowly escort you through this hell myself.”
As though that was their cue, the two large officers restraining the inmate called Kristoff laughed and yanked him forward.
“You must have gotten a call from someone really important to make me such a long-winded offer,” Charles said. “Was it the governor or the president?”
“You are a smart one.” The warden pursed his lips and came close to Charles’s ear. “The governor was very disappointed at the lack of information you provided. We still need the names of your accomplices, safe house locations, all of it. This is your last chance.”
“The governor, I’m guessing,” said Charles. “He was pretty pissed off when he got that call from the president. What’d he offer you? A way out of this rathole?”
The warden backed up a bit. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been presented with a once-in-a-lifetime offer that I intend to collect on. I help him find his son and get the information I need to bring down Duenno, and I’m free of this continent.” He widened his eyes and smiled. “For two decades, I’ve held the line and kept you savages at bay. Now I’m ready to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Which means you will give me what I want.” His smile grew smug. “Naturally, you have a choice. Tell me what I need to know, or I’ll make sure your suffering in K-City will be legendary.”
Charles mirrored the warden’s sweet smile. “Fuck your deal with the governor, and fuck you. The moment I die, his son will be auctioned to the highest bidder, and his innocence destroyed while the entire world bears witness.”
The warden spat in Charles’s face. “Kristoff!” He threw his arm in the air to summon the oversized Nazi. “Inmate Gravo, let me introduce you to my handpicked mayor of K-City.”
Kristoff paused to size up Charles. “Du hast mich eine saubere Weibe versprochen!”19 he blurted in a gravelly voice.
“Mind your tongue!” the warden snarled. “You were promised someone clean. No one promised a woman. Women are a rare commodity in K-City, especially ones as young and attractive as our newest arrival.” He glanced at Elaina, who stared back defiantly.
The warden nodded for his guards to circle around Charles, leaving enough space for the other inmates to watch. Kristoff looked at the warden, panting in anticipation of the command from his master.
“Na ja, Kristoff,”20 the warden said with a disgusted wave of his hand. “Haben Sie oder gar nichts.”21
Kristoff stormed to Charles and tore away his prison jumpsuit, first with his black fingernails, and then with his rotting teeth. He wasted no time ripping off Charles’s briefs. The metal legs of the chair clattered and rattled as Charles struggled.
“You let this happen and the governor’s son dies!” Charles yelled.
“You think I give a damn about what happens to the governor’s son?” the warden replied. His voice was smooth, delicate, wrapped in silk. “You and I both know he’s likely already dead. Kristoff, halt!”
Several officers pounced on the heaving, sweaty Nazi and moved him away from Charles’s naked, quaking body. In one hand, Kristoff clenched a fistful of Charles’s black hair. The other hand fondled his thick erection through the front of his soiled prison jumpsuit. He gave the warden a questioning look, his heavy brow furrowed.
“You can continue in a moment,” the warden promised. “But I don’t have to watch it. Captain.”
“Yes, Warden?”
“Process the prisoners and release them into K-City.”
The guards unlocked the chain gang from the wall one by one and led them to a large, circular door with the words Katingal City etched in the stone above. The captain keyed a code into the control panel, placed his eye to the retinal scanner, and then set his palm on a flat, hand-shaped panel. The circular door opened into a thick glass tube. The hall stretched fifty yards to a matching circular door. The guards unshackled the inmates one by one and shoved them forward.
Behind them, Charles still arched over the back of the chair. He watched as Elaina and the Spaniard passed through the threshold. The Spaniard looked back at Charles before the door closed.
Most of the prisoners remained clustered together in the first twenty feet of the portal. When the door shut behind them, it made a sucking sound as it sealed. The intercom crackled, and through it came the warden’s voice, echoing in the tube.
“This passageway serves two purposes. The first is that it is your portal to K-City. Now that the door behind you has been shut, you will notice that the door at the other end has already begun to open. You will have forty-five seconds to exit the passageway. Once the forty-five seconds has elapsed, the hydraulic door will close.
“The second purpose of this tube is that it serves as a gas chamber. Should you
fail or refuse to cross into K-City in that time, you will be confined inside the airtight portal while hydrogen cyanide filters into the air vents.”
The warden’s warning sparked a mad rush for the opening door as the prisoners in the back of the pack began to push those in front toward the exit.
“Thirty-three seconds remaining.”
The prisoners continued their scramble toward the door, with Elaina and the Spaniard bringing up the rear. One of the warden’s correctional officer’s voice could be heard under the warden’s voice. “Warden, what do you want to do with Gravo?” “Kristoff, du hast ja 15 Minuten,”22 said the warden. Within seconds, screams and grunts were bursting through the portal’s intercom speakers.
Back in the tunnel, the only one that did not move was a skinny Japanese prisoner who knelt on the glass floor with his long black hair hanging over his face. The digital clock hanging from the ceiling at the midpoint of the tunnel taunted the inmates with its countdown.
One by one, most of the prisoners made it through the door until the tunnel was empty. The only ones who remained were Elaina, the Spaniard, and the kneeling Japanese prisoner, who had closed his eyes and appeared in a meditative state despite Charles’s piercing screams over the intercom.
Elaina looked at the Spaniard, who was almost at the door. She knew rape and violence awaiting her across the threshold of K-City. Her knees began to bend to join the Japanese man in his pose.
The Japanese prisoner briefly opened his eyes and swept away his hair to look at Elaina. He smiled peacefully. “I am glad my final vision on this Earth is a beautiful one.”
She felt a sense of peace, too.
The Spaniard turned around. “What are you doing?” he yelled, startling her. “Get up!” He ran back and grabbed her by the hair. “Death will come for us all in its own time, but for you, it must wait. Today, the brave endure and cowards die alone.”
