by Caleb Fast
“There is another way,” Clive says in a near whisper. Richardson knew Clive had been watching him too, ever since Richardson arrived nearly a year ago. Clive likely knew by now that he disagreed with how Jenniston ran the prison.
Richardson had done everything he could to ease the suffering of all the inmates he could, always careful as to not draw Jennison's attention. Richardson had also been able to figure out that Clive was the leader of the prisoners, but he kept that knowledge a secret. Clive, like the rest of those held captive in this hellhole, was a dead man if Richardson just stood by and let things happen like they were. Richardson figured he might as well reach out to Clive and see how he could help if it could save a few lives, especially after today. As far as Richardson was concerned, he had nothing left to lose. He also knew he still had a chance to get he and his team out of Dodge if all Hell broke loose.
“And what’s that?” Richardson asks finally, eying Clive suspiciously.
“Are you willing to help us?”
“Us? Who’s us?” Richardson asks, always eager to make Clive admit he was the leader of the inmates. Even though the slipup would do nothing, since no one else would find out, Richardson still wanted to hear Clive say it. Clive undoubtedly knew that Richardson knew he was in charge, but he made a game of not telling him.
“Are you willing?” Clive repeats.
“Is it a sure way out?”
“It beats what you’re doing.”
“Which is?”
“Laying low, paying off gangsters, hoping you can put in enough time. Hoping you don’t get killed.”
“Will it get everyone out?”
“A lot of people, mostly those who don’t deserve to be in here.”
Richardson eyes Clive who is now standing in front of him. Clive then pulls out several gemstones from a bag that was tucked away in his rags and plays with them idly. Richardson peers into the bag Clive has and catches the glimmer of several more jewels. Even though he wasn’t interested in taking payment for helping Clive’s cause, the jewels would make life easier for him. After several moments, he finally asks, “And what’s this way out of yours?”
“I got a whole plan lined up and getting you to help out will make it a whole lot easier.”
Three
Paradise, Galatia
Trix Callaghan always thought breaking into a Coalition barracks would be her end. A direct assault on any military installation meant death for all who had tried before her, so she figured she’d get lucky and join them—the dead that is. She had lost all of her raiding party in the attack, which left only her to suffer whatever consequence the Coalition decided upon. Said consequences landed her in this Hellhole they call a prison, every day, death sounded a little better than staying here even another moment.
Men and women alike, no matter how much money they had, could end up here. She had a cellmate for almost a week who said she was of the Gratian family. “Gratian Starliners, perhaps you’ve heard of it,” she would say to anyone and everyone. She offered to bribe the guards, offered to bribe other prisoners, anything to get herself out. She was lucky she lasted as long as she did, but all the same, she was executed for not producing. “One who does not work, does not live,” was the alleged motto of Jenniston, the cruel woman in charge of this death camp.
Trix had been in this camp for several months, and she knew she wouldn't be freed when she finished her sentence, but she couldn't shake the faint hope of freedom. It was in this hope that she would keep a tally on the wall next to her bunk of the days she had under her belt. And what drove her hope to get out was her greater hope of exacting further payback on the Coalition, the ones who had seemingly made sport of ruining her life.
In her first week she learned how things worked around here, and she had an idea on who she should go to for a chance to get out. However, as bad as things got, Trix had decided that she didn’t want to die anymore, "Near death experiences do that to people..." said an old cellmate who went by the first two numbers on her shirt. "You can call me 22. That, and what I am about to tell you is all you will get from me," 22 was more talkative than she initially let on though, she taught Trix all the ropes of this new life.
"Today," Trix whispers to herself, she finishes her plan in her head, repeating it yet again before her shift, Today I will talk to Jenessa, Trix thinks, I will ask her about an escape plan… any escape plan.
"What was that?" Asks her cellmate and friend who went by Srin, a name she took from the small distasteful creatures from Dregg-5. In short, a srin appeared to be a slug with a powerful set of kangaroo-like legs, a mouth full of razor sharp teeth complete the devilish creature. Fortunately, most srin were small, but they hunt in packs, and will take down anything and everything that moves, no matter how bad of an idea doing so may be. Trix had never met a woman as large, or strong, as Srin who even took on some of Trix’s workload to keep her alive after Trix had broken her arm, which really kickstarted their friendship.
"Today," Trix repeats a little louder so her friend could hear.
"Again with the escape plans?" She asks in a whisper, knowing exactly what Trix was thinking about, "Don't you know what they do to prisoners who try to get out?"
"22 said they kick them out of the prison. Into the jungle. And either way you are doomed to die, out there, or in here. I would rather die out of their reach," Trix says, and then she asks Srin for the millionth time, "Please come with me. No one should die in this place."
Thinking for a second, Srin reluctantly gives in, knowing resistance was useless against Trix. That girl just doesn't give up, "Alright, I will. Now stop asking me! Tell me if anything pans out today. You’re right, a chance of freedom beats none at all,” with a wink she adds, "And if you get caught, and rat me out, I will personally kill you."
They both chuckle weakly at the irony of Srin’s threat as they make their way toward the prison’s cafeteria for the evening mess. Trix had expressed her worries nearly a thousand times to Srin about whether or not they would even get to eat in the evening after the chaos from the day before. From what Trix had heard, fifteen guards had been killed, alongside four dozen or so inmates. The casualty counts for prisoners was always up to interpretation though, since the guards and Jenniston didn’t pay any heed to their lives.
“You smell that?” Srin asks excitedly as they approach the mess hall.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who smells it,” Trix jokes as her stomach growls. Their rations never gave off much of a scent, since they seldom resembled anything like normal food. In fact, their food tasted like dust, which wasn’t far off from what it actually tasted like. With time however, Trix’s nose began being able to pick up the slightest whiff of their coveted provisions. Factor in the fact that they didn’t get to eat the night before, and Trix’s nose was working double-time, trying to pick out anything that resembled food in the air.
“I’m starving,” A man complains from behind Trix. Glancing over at him, Trix realizes she hadn’t seen the man before, and she was good with faces. The man was thin and looked like he hadn’t worked a day in his life, odds were, he was part of the recent emergency shipment of inmates. Rumor had it that the latest shipment was made up of politicians who had either defected, tried to defect, or somehow aided the Resistance or the Alexandrian Republic. Evidently, the Coalition had begun purging its own ranks for those among them who would like to see change.
“That’s the point,” Another points out with a morbid chuckle as they elbow the newbie. Several others also laugh at the joke that rang true, despite how painful the fact was to accept.
“At least we didn’t lose anyone last night,” Trix whispers under her breath so only Srin could hear, “Beats morning shift.”
“Hmm,” Srin agrees with a nod as they round the corner into the cafeteria.
“Sit down!” A guard shouts from the far end of the room. Trix watches as the guard forces several people into some seats at a nearby table as other guards stand next to a b
ody which is lying in a pool of blood.
The mess hall is far quieter than usual as everyone does their best to tune out and ignore the scene that is unfolding at the front of the room. The room was built much like the countless cells in the prison, save the fact that the ceiling was much higher here. Above the inmates’ heads is the control center where the guards got to watch the prisoners from behind their mirrored glass and lock off any section of the prison with the press of a button. Much of the masonry in the prison was crumbling around everyone’s heads, since the structure hadn’t been built to stand as long as it had been. From what Trix had heard, this had once been a jewel in the Coalition’s crown, some sort of compound for the elite, but that was ages ago.
“Plenty more where that came from!” A guard shouts near the doorway Trix had just entered from. Trix turns in time to see the guard smash his rifle against a woman’s back, sending her sprawling to the ground. Smiling, the guard continues, “Keep moving.”
Trix hesitates as she considers doubling back to help the inmate up, before Srin forces her along. After several steps, Srin whispers, “Nothing we can do today.”
“You always say that,” Trix returns as she tries to tug her arm away from Srin’s firm grasp.
“No, look,” Srin says as she points toward a line of people who are all battered and bloodied, and then to a pile of corpses Trix hadn’t noticed before. She pauses long enough to look around and confirm they are out of the guard’s earshot before continuing, “They must be executing everyone from that riot last night.”
“So soon?” Trix asks as she lines up behind the man who had complained about being hungry to receive their petty amount of provisions for the morning. She looks back to Srin before continuing, “They normally wait a few days before killing them,”
“Well, something’s different now,” Srin responds as she eyes the line of people against the wall again. As she watches another inmate is forced to their knees into the growing pool of blood by another guard.
“Since when do they execute them during our meal like this?” Trix hears someone ask from behind Srin.
“Guess we did ‘em in good last night,” Another responds happily, “Wish I could have been a part of the action.”
“Then you’d be up there with them,” A nearby prisoner says flatly. He continues with the same sad tone, “I heard they do this before Jenniston calls for another purge,”
“Don’t say that,” Yet another begs, “I don’t want to know just how numbered my days are.
“I heard they rioted after hearing they were being starved in preparation for another purge,” An inmate whispers to the group as she returns from the ration dispenser with a tray full of the dust-flavored pellets.
“Where’d they hear that from?” The person behind Srin demands.
“One of the guys who’s been here for a long time said it,” The person with their food responds before hurrying to a table.
“Is it always like this?” The newcomer asks behind Trix after a beat. Trix eyes the man and reads the name on his ID badge: Carson Walskie.
“It depends, Carson,” Trix responds quietly, “But it isn’t usually this bad.”
“Are they really going to kill everyone up there?” Carson continues, as they motion toward the line of the condemned. As he asks, a shot rings out and echoes in the large mess hall. All around, everyone flinches, as they try to not look toward the bloody sight before them as yet another body is added to the pile of the dead.
“That answer your question?” Trix asks as she bites her lip in concern.
“But there’s so many of them,” Carson continues.
“The guards are doing this as a revenge killing,” Dream says, overhearing Carson as he approaches from where he had been sitting at his table. Glancing around the room briefly, he continues in an urgent whisper, “Fifteen guards were killed last night.”
Trix had always been fond of Dream, a well-mannered, well-kept, quiet man who always had a peaceful look on his face. He spoke only when necessary and held the respect of the guards and prisoner alike. Rumor had it, Dream had been some wealthy banker or investor, and ended up being sent here after losing a fortune of Coalition funds that had been entrusted to him. From what Trix had gathered, Dream had funneled the funds into countless Resistance cells and had intended to escape to some frontier world before he was captured and tried for his crimes.
“Fifteen, eh?” The inmate that had wished he was part of the riot asks with a content nod, “Good on ‘em.”
“Not really, you see where they ended up,” Dream says, motioning toward the pile of corpses. He then whispers something into the ear of a nearby woman who proceeds to nod and whisper something back.
“What are they talking about?” Carson whispers to Trix.
“I can’t say…” Trix whispers back as she tries to look like she isn’t looking around or talking too much. Remembering she was talking to a newcomer, Trix continues, “The guards don’t like nosey people, so keep you head down.”
“They’ve stuck me here, what more can they do?” Carson asks as he steps up to the counter they had long waited to reach and picks up a tray.
“They can do that,” Trix answers as she points to another inmate who is being forced to their knees next to the pile of corpses. Oddly enough, all of the guards doing the executions seemed to be Triborn’s men, despite the fact that they were assigned to day shift, and Captains Yalland, Copen, and Koch were assigned to nights. Glancing back to the killings, Trix picks up a tray of her own and grabs a cup of the prison’s murky water. No matter how bad the water was, it was still the only way she could get the dry pellets the guards called food down her throat.
“Let them,” Carson says, he continues pointedly, “I’m not afraid to die.”
“Then shut up and do something,” An inmate says as they shake their head in annoyance, “Do us the favor.”
“Maybe I will,” Carson responds matter-of-factly.
“Keep it quiet,” A guard warns as they approach from a nearby group of tables.
“Do what he says…” Dream warns as he melts away and returns to his table.
“I can talk if I want to,” Carson says defiantly.
The guard whips out his baton from his belt and draws closer still before menacingly asking, “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah,” Carson answers with the same tone of defiance as he stands a little straighter and sizes the guard up.
“All right then,” The guard says as he swings his baton and brings it smashing against Carson’s shoulder so hard that Trix can hear his collarbone break. The guard follows up with a jab to Carson’s ribs, and he forces Carson to the wall at baton length before continuing, “Are you still sure about that?”
Trix turns away from Carson and the guard and slips behind the guard silently in order to get to the ration machine before things escalated further. She hears Carson respond, but doesn’t quite make out his words as she scans her badge and is rewarded with a cascade of pellets down the hopper of the feed machine onto her dingy tray.
“Trix!” Srin calls from behind Trix, who turns in time to see Srin flicks her own badge to her. Trix catches the badge, intercepting it before it smacked her in her face, and shoots Srin a quizzical look before Srin continues, “Get mine too,”
Trix turns and scans Srin’s badge and watches as Srin’s portion of pellets is added to her pile of ‘food’. Turning from the ration machine Trix can’t help but hear the sound of Carson being beaten with a baton behind her. At first, she can hear cries of pain, but after a short while, Carson falls silent, and Trix can’t bring herself to look and see if the man was still alive.
“Thanks,” Srin says as she motions for Trix to take a seat across form her at their usual table. Once Trix is seated, Srin sweeps half of the pellets from Trix’s tray onto her own and she starts shoveling the food into her mouth. She continues between sloppy mouthfuls, “Things got too heated for me to get mine too,”
“Ni
ce throw,” Trix compliments her with a chuckle as she takes a bite of the chalky pellets. Today’s chow tasted a lot like dry rice, mold, and dirt, which meant that the food was ‘fresh’, or at least fresher than the usual garbage. She returns Srin’s badge as she works her way through the hill of maggot colored beads.
“Thanks,” Srin says, still shoveling her food into her mouth at a pace that made Trix wonder if she was just swallowing her food whole, “I’ve been practicing.”
“Why?” Trix inquires as she takes a drink from her cup in order to return some semblance of moisture to the desert which was currently her mouth. That was the other issue posed by the pelletized food, it was drier than a desert planet between two suns.
“You never know when a skill like that might come in handy,” Srin says plainly as she chugs down several gulps of her water.
“You keep me posted on if it ever does,” Trix says with a laugh.
“How are you two doing?” Dream asks as he silently seats himself next to Trix.
“Woah!” Trix exclaims with a slight jump, taken off guard by Dream’s intrusion.
“Sorry,” Dream apologizes with a sheepish look.
“It’s fine,” Trix says after seeing that Dream wasn’t about to continue until his apology was accepted. As odd as it was, Dream always needed someone to accept his apology no matter how harmless his actions were.
“I saw you were talking to the newcomer before…” Dream starts, before trailing off and casting a glance behind him.
“Before he kicked the bucket,” Srin finishes as she gathers the dust from her pellets and pours them into what remained of her water—a habit prisoners on Paradise developed to get the most out of every crumb.
“Yes, that…” Dream continues, eying Srin with concern for her bluntness.
“Yeah, I was talking to him,” Trix admits after a beat. Sighing, she continues, “I wish I could have stopped him,”
