Caged 5: A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller (Zombie Lockup Series)

by Chuck Buda

  Caged 5

  By Chuck Buda

  Edited by Jenny Adams

  Copyright © Chuck Buda (2019).

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any semblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read his work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought this book or telling your friends or blog readers about this book to help spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting my work. Without you the story would not be told.

  Cover art by Marc Gonzalez / mggdstudio.com.

  Contents

  Caged 5

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Special Thanks

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Continue the Thrills

  Inside the Hole

  Join C-Pod

  About the Author

  I Need Your Help!

  My Other Series

  Dedication

  To my friends and family.

  Chapter 1

  Shanika and Diandre whispered behind their hands. Bo felt as if she were walking in on her parents in the middle of a secret discussion. The memory of such events glazed before her eyes. Specifically, one evening when Bo returned home from a gang initiation. Her parents sat up straight at the kitchen table as if she had caught them making love. But she knew from overhearing them, the conversation was a plan to intervene before Bo got into trouble with the law.

  Bo snickered. She wished they had convinced her before she had ended up in Warsaw.

  “How’s she doing?” Bo refrained from entering the bunk room. She chose to maintain some distance in case she received backlash.

  Shanika cracked her knuckles. Diandre rose from the bunk.

  “She’s devastated. But she’ll come around.”

  Bo glanced over to the next room. Tracee stood in the doorway; arms folded over her chest. She shook her head, indicating Maria’s condition hadn’t improved. Bo sighed.

  “I did what I had to. It was going to be someone.”

  Shanika stood and approached Bo. “Fuckin’ A right. She was the weak link. If shit hits the fan, she the first one goin’ down.”

  “Shit hit the fan a long time ago.” Diandre reminded the women.

  Bo had suffered through the night with her emotions. She knew she did the right thing. However, Luna made it so much worse by accommodating the death sentence. Bo never saw the maturity or the clarity of mind coming. Like her pod mates, Bo had only witnessed the weak, frightened little girl. Luna had almost been a toddler trapped in a young woman’s body. To transform from total immaturity to reserved dignity had been a bigger leap than Evil Knievel attempting to jump the Grand Canyon.

  Maria cried out. The shrill noise sent goose flesh up Bo’s legs. The sound died away and Tracee disappeared inside the room. Bo figured Tracee would coddle Maria for a while longer. She wondered if she should go inside and offer her consolation as well. Then she thought better of it. No need to stir Maria over the edge. Best to let her grieve before addressing her involvement in her friend’s death.

  Bo hoped Maria wouldn’t harbor ill-will for too long. She’d eventually realize the inevitability of the decision. Or would she?

  “So what do you think we should do next? I figure they’ll be hungry for more blood soon enough.” Diandre rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. Everyone was bleary after a sleepless night.

  “I say bring them muthafuckas in here. We’ll show them only the strong are left.”

  Bo smiled. Shanika was always ready for a brawl. “Let’s not jump into another fight without a plan.”

  “What plan? We promised Janie we’d fuck her and she still killed Luna. Ain’t no plan left but fight and kill. Blood for blood.”

  Bo couldn’t argue with Shanika. Who was there left to trust? Janie had been their inside protective blanket. Perhaps it had all been a ruse. Regardless, they would need to re-visit the original plan or devise a new one. It would probably be prudent to create a few alternate plans in case more unexpected shit happened.

  Everything was unexpected these days.

  “I’ll work with Janie. See if I can get to the bottom of it.”

  “Make sure you bite her clit extra hard when you suck her pussy.”

  Diandre chuckled at Shanika’s aggression.

  “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

  “It will. She got eyes for you. You’ll be up to your temples in Amazonian pussy.”

  Bo choked back the acid which crept up her throat. She hurried the conversation along so she wouldn’t linger on the tasteless imagery.

  “Something tells me Janie would be more satisfied with your big, black cock.”

  All three of them broke into laughter. It quickly quieted as Maria’s moans rivaled their collective.

  Tracee shuffled into the room. She whispered updates on Maria’s condition. A fever had broken out, an extension of her sadness manifesting through illness. Maria was dripping sweat yet shivering under a pair of blankets. Tracee felt like Maria wouldn’t get over the loss of Luna any time soon. She warned Bo. Tracee thought Maria would come for Bo once the fever broke. She was a tough woman from the mean streets. Maria didn’t end up in Warsaw because she let transgressions go unchecked. Bo understood Tracee’s concerns. Honestly, she would probably do the same if Maria had sentenced someone like Tracee to death. Bo would hunt her down and ensure each drop of blood was avenged tenfold.

  Bo watched Tracee exit on her way back to Maria. Shanika slapped her big hand on Bo’s shoulder, a reassuring gesture backed by thunderous power. Bo thanked the girls for their support. She asked them to think of new ideas so they could better prepare for the next wave of violence. As she left the room, Bo decided to poke her head into Maria’s room. She knew it might be bad from a timing perspective, but her concern and guilt moved her to act against her better judgment.

  Maria rolled back and forth on her bunk. Her entire figure and most of her head obscured by the blankets. Tracee sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Maria’s back. The fever was too strong. Maria couldn’t see Bo, her eyes clenched tight in anguish. Tracee nodded toward the door, signaling Bo to keep moving before Maria noticed her presence. Bo ignored Tracee’s warning. She knew she’d had to face the consequences at some point. Did it matter if it was now or two days from now?

  Before she wandered back to her own room, Bo promised herself she would make things right with Maria. Just how she would accomplish that promise would still need to be determined. But she would do whatever it took to see Maria’s forgiveness. Or at least, her understanding.

  Bo dropped onto her bunk. Sh
e felt rundown. Exhaustion had been creeping into her bones since they took Claudia. Since that dreadful day, the weariness had eaten at her soul.

  And in some cases, her humanity.

  Bo buried her face into the pillow. She cried at the truth. Her humanity was gone now that she had killed Luna. On the outside, Bo had killed others who were evil and wanted to harm her and her friends.

  Killing Luna had been cold. And without malice. Leaving her hands bloodied beyond cleansing.

  Chapter 2

  Jack ignored the comments. Most of the men in C-Pod disliked Frenchie. He had an abrasive quality which rubbed many guys the wrong way. They’d still use Frenchie’s talents in the shadows of the night. But they hated his outlandish behavior. To a man, nobody lost much sleep over the loss of Frenchie. They were smart enough to understand it had been a choice between their own hides and Frenchie’s. So why not send him to the gallows in their place.

  Two birds, one stone.

  However, nobody rested deeply last night. Instead of mourning Frenchie’s life, the men in C-Pod worried when their own number would be called. The time had been growing short since the onset of the crisis. And the wiser ones would realize it would get bloodier soon. End of days scenarios never dragged out. They slid downhill at increasing speeds.

  “Fuck that homo. Good riddance.”

  “Watch your mouth.” Jack’s voice carried an edge of danger. He kept his back to the man who made the comment.

  “What. Now you’re a fan of Frenchie? I thought you hated him more than anyone.”

  Jack stared at the wall. “I did. But he deserves respect.”

  The man snickered. “Does he?”

  Jack turned slowly. He leveled his gaze at the man who spoke boldly.

  “Not really. Not from me.”

  The man raised his eyebrows.

  “But you should respect him anyway. Could be you next time.”

  Jack grinned as the petulant prisoner walked backwards with a fearful scowl upon his mouth. Jack enjoyed the resurgence of his pecking order in the pod. Sitting atop the heap, Jack liked his chances for getting what he wanted. And he wanted to get the fuck out of C-Pod and Warsaw.

  “Take it easy, man. You’ll burn the bridges you just mended.” Swede pointed after the man who skulked to the far corner of the pod.

  Jack shrugged. “He’s worthless to me anyway. And to the rest of us. That guy once whined about the sour milk a few months ago.” Jack ruffled Swede’s hair. “Trust me, he’s not gonna help any of us without drinking from his mother’s teat.”

  Swede appeared the consider Jack’s analysis. He answered Jack with his own shrug.

  “I don’t think we’re gonna get out of this one, Jack. The Warden has turned up the heat. Shit must really be bad on the outside.”

  Jack weighed Swede’s words. Maybe the Warden had grown desperate. Whittling down the population would enhance the likelihood of stretching resources. But why one man at a time? Why not swoop in and decimate an entire pod? At least the cage fighting served a dual purpose. Population control and a fearful stick against any notions of escape. Snatching one man from the pod and marching him to his death was not efficient. Jack would have to dig underneath the possibilities of such a plan.

  “Last time I checked, the shit was really bad on the inside, too.” Jack climbed up to his bed. “There’s something else at play here.”

  Swede shadow-boxed against the mattress above him. Jack felt a couple of soft jabs poke him from underneath.

  “What about Muncie?”

  “What about him?” Jack bristled at the man’s name.

  “Maybe the Warden had nothing to do with taking Frenchie. Maybe it was Muncie acting out on his own.”

  Jack thought about it. Anything was possible. If Muncie wanted to kill somebody from C-Pod, he’d most likely choose Jack. Muncie hated Jack more than any other soul in Warsaw. The hatred motivated everything the man did. He couldn’t have done it on his own. If he had, Jack would be dead now.

  “Nah. Muncie couldn’t fart without Gorgon approving. As much as he wants to strut his stuff around here, it ain’t him.”

  They tossed around a few different scenarios which could arise as the world collapsed into the zombie void. All of it was pure conjecture unless they could gather some much-needed intelligence. Jack implored Swede to poke around BJ to find out what his old high school buddy knew. Each small particle of information could prove invaluable to Jack. Not only to plan ahead but also to act upon with his skillful smarts. Swede protested aloud before relenting. Jack smiled as he listened to Swede’s whines transform into acceptance of his chores.

  Jack needed to strike while he felt strong. Sitting around and waiting for the next shoe to fall wouldn’t lead to positive outcomes. Plus, it wasn’t Jack’s style. Rioting and using Muncie’s anger as a lever had both failed as strategies. He’d need to devise something new. A trick nobody would see coming. Not even the men who knew him best. Jack stretched his limbs, feeling the relief inside his muscles. His body had begun to recover from all his battles. With his mind back in working order, Jack could strike like a coiled viper.

  He drifted into a light slumber using the steady whir of conversations from the common area as a white-noise machine. At first, Jack fought the sleep off, preferring to spend his time more wisely, plotting the destruction of Warsaw Prison and his two favorite friends, Muncie and Warden Gorgon. Eventually, he succumbed to the restorative requirements of his body. Rather than fighting it, Jack allowed his mind to take a back seat. It would prove more important to be fully fueled for the upcoming war. He knew the best laid plans were useless in the hands of so many extraneous variables. The fact that the end of the world was upon them made it even more of a risk.

  Jack swore to himself that when he awoke, he would be ready for the end. The time had come for him to push forward with reckless abandon. If he didn’t take the fight to them, then they certainly would bring it to him.

  And like all great fighters, Jack understood the importance of making the first move. Catching his opponent looking elsewhere. And he remembered his education very well. Momentum was a huge tool. He would get the party rolling so momentum was on his side. Jack would cause the action to unfold on his terms.

  Chapter 3

  Muncie scratched at his armpit. His whole body had begun to itch as he tried to remember the last time he had showered. With reduced access to water, everyone within the walls of Warsaw Prison had begun to stink. The pods always reeked. Muncie knew inmates preferred to shower as little as possible to avoid being jumped with their back turned, literally. That, and the potential for getting raped. Luckily, Muncie and his men only encountered the stench of uncleanliness whenever they tossed a pod. But now the guards were as filthy as the animals caged in the prison.

  He sniffed his fingertips, smiling at the aroma fresh on his hands.

  “Sir.”

  Muncie groaned. He’d been content to lose himself for a brief moment until Rivera approached.

  “I did what you asked me to.” Rivera struggled to catch his breath as if he had run from one end of the building to the other. Muncie made a mental note about Rivera’s poor stamina.

  “Good. Did he say anything else?”

  Rivera shook his head. “No, he looked agitated as all hell. But he refused to bitch.”

  Muncie chuckled. He had Crawford where he wanted him.

  The intent was to sow seeds of distrust throughout the ranks, specifically inside Crawford’s troop. Muncie created a fictional scenario whereby Jonas had been playing both sides of the fence, pretending to support Crawford’s cause while also protecting his flank by working with Muncie. And the Warden.

  With multiple stress points, Muncie counted on Crawford shooting himself in the foot with every contingent. He would act aggressively with Jonas and question the Warden’s authority. Crawford’s only way out would be to fall back in line behind Muncie’s direction. That would quell Crawford’s insurrection and solidify M
uncie’s numbers against the Warden.

  “You did well, kid. Keep playing ball like this and you’ll be my right-hand man.”

  Rivera stammered. “I thought I WAS your right-hand man, sir.”

  Muncie realized he may have slipped up. “That’s what I meant.” He could tell Rivera didn’t buy his quick cover-up, but he really didn’t care. Maybe it was better if Rivera doubted his position. He’d work harder then.

  “Now, let’s see who we can scare up for a little entertainment.”

  “Sir?”

  Muncie grinned. “We need some reward for all our hard work, don’t we? A little cage match to get the blood pumping. Eliminate another worthless mouth to feed by forcing them to dance with the zombies.” He laughed hard enough to pee himself. Muncie felt giddy. The hooks in the water with Crawford and his plans of taking over the prison from the Warden left him feeling light and happy.

  It was a strange feeling, he thought.

  “Should I drag Turk our of C-Pod?” Rivera’s face brightened as if he wished to please his boss with a timely suggestion. Muncie ceased laughing. He narrowed his eyes upon Rivera.

  “Turk is mine. Understand?”

  The rage bristled the hair along Muncie’s arms. Comfortable waves of anger returned to his system.

  “I’d prefer one of our own.”

  Rivera’s mouth gaped.

  “What’s the matter, Rivera? Afraid of a little blood?”

  Rivera audibly choked on his saliva.

  “Nobody gives a fuck about the prisoners. Not even the prisoners themselves. No, what we need is a sacrificial lamb. One of our own. It will raise the stakes and send a strong message to Crawford and Jonas. They’ll shit themselves for sure. No man is exempt from punishment.”

  Muncie finished his thoughts internally. The death of a guard would also shock the Warden. Gorgon would see to what depths Muncie would reach in order to topple the tower. The Warden would realize Muncie controlled the shots, deciding who lived and who died. Not some tight-ass in a necktie, protected by his locked doors upstairs.