Lockdown f-1

by Alexander Gordon Smith

  "Well, you know when I said I loved you…" he said, laughing quietly. "No, you dope, we can use them to carry the gloves."

  He tied the ends of both legs, then began stuffing the gas-filled globes into the opening. After a while he looked up at me and nodded at my clothes.

  "Come on, don't be shy."

  I stripped, sealing the legs of my overalls and picking up a couple of gloves by their fingers. I could smell gas, but they all looked intact, and thankfully stayed that way as I squeezed them into my makeshift bag. By the time we'd located any strays that had rolled to the edges of the tunnel, I'd counted thirty-three gloves and Donovan had twenty-eight.

  "Lead on, Macduffer," he whispered, hoisting his stuffed overalls over his shoulder.

  We made our way into the tunnel, taking extra care not to trip. When the equipment room was out of sight we switched on our helmet lamps and I headed off in what I thought was the right direction. My memory may not have been great, but it was impossible to ignore the freezing air against my skin, and my goose bumps did a great job of locating the crack. We stood above it for a moment, savoring the roar of the river and the smell of the air.

  "You really weren't imagining it," Donovan said quietly, staring at the fist-wide ravine as if he could see right through it to another life.

  I placed my overalls on the rock, then got down on my knees. Pulling out a glove I eased it gently into the crack until it was completely below the surface, wedged perfectly between the two sides. Donovan followed my lead, squeezing his stash into the gap.

  "Stick to a small area," I said. "We don't have to blow the whole thing, just a hole big enough for us all to drop through."

  It took us no more than a few minutes to finish laying the gloves into a section of the crack roughly ten feet in length, layering them so that they were five or six deep.

  "That enough, you think?" Donovan asked. I shook my head.

  "One more lot like this should do it, then we're ready to blow."

  "Which reminds me," he went on, turning and blinding me with his lamp. "How exactly are we going to light these mothers? I mean, I sure as hell don't want to be doing it with that piddly kitchen lighter. I'm attached to my beautiful arms and I want it to stay that way."

  I untied my trousers and slipped back into my overalls without replying. To be brutally honest, that part of the plan hadn't even occurred to me.

  "We'll think of something, D," I said as we started walking back. "It's what we do."

  The blacksuit was back at his post when we returned to the tunnel, and we watched him from a distance until he walked into the first chipping room. Squeezing under the loose board we sprinted back into Room Three and started hammering at the walls with glee, trying to ignore the sparks that hit our gas-scented overalls.

  I was so excited that I didn't see the figures approaching from my side until it was too late. I felt a hand grip my neck, twisting my head around, then another slap me hard across the cheek. I dropped my pick and stumbled backward, only staying upright because Donovan caught me.

  When my vision had cleared I saw Gary Owens standing right in front of me, flanked by two snarling Skulls. I reached up to touch my stinging cheek and my fingers came away red, although somehow I knew that it wasn't my blood.

  "Red hand," said Gary, his face impassive as always. "Time for you to get your fight, little man."

  "What?" I asked, genuinely confused. Gary stepped toward me and held up his right hand, which was smeared with blood. I knew it must have left an imprint on my face.

  "You been marked by the red hand, little man. Gym, this evening, when my boys come get you." He walked off, the inmates parting like the Red Sea to let him through. "Fight to the death, little man," he shouted over his shoulder as he returned to his station. "Time to die."

  THE ARENA

  I WAS IN A STATE of shock for the rest of hard labor, hacking at the wall without knowing what I was doing while my exhausted mind tried to picture what was going to happen later that day. I knew all about the gym, about the bodies they dragged from there, the Skulls and Fifty-niners who came out grinning with bloody knuckles and bloodstained shoes.

  I was no fighter, they'd throw me to the wolves and I'd be eaten alive. Why now? Two more weeks and maybe we'd have been out of here, riding a river to a fate other than Furnace. Instead I was going to be slaughtered by an ugly psychopath with a taste for murder.

  While we worked Donovan tried to teach me everything he knew about self-defense, telling me to go for the eyes and the throat or the groin. But even the thought of it made me feel queasy. Admittedly I'd sent Ashley tumbling to his death less than two weeks ago, but that had been different. I had taken a life to save a life, and it wasn't like it had been a proper scrap or anything. Against the Skulls I'd fold like paper.

  We met up with Zee and Toby in the yard. They'd both been on kitchen duty, smuggling another batch of gloves up to the cell, and were desperate to know how we'd got on that morning. They only had to ask a couple of times before they saw something was wrong.

  "We lost them, didn't we?" guessed Zee. "The gloves. I know it."

  "The gloves are fine," said Donovan. "Got them in place no problem."

  "Well, you obviously weren't caught," Zee went on. "What the hell's wrong?"

  "Them," said Donovan, nodding toward a group of Skulls heading to the gym. "They've challenged Alex to a skirmish, tonight."

  Zee's face fell.

  "They'll kill you," he said. "Alex, you can't do it."

  "He doesn't have a choice," Donovan went on. "I've seen this happen a million times. If you don't show up when you've been marked, they come after you and stick a shank in your back."

  "Well, we'll hide you then."

  "Where?" I snapped. "The garden shed?"

  We held our tongues as a blacksuit strolled past, his eyes glinting with an evil smile as if he knew I was toast.

  "Whatever happens," I said when he had moved on, "the plan goes ahead. Even if I die in there, you know what to do, right?"

  All three boys looked reluctant, but they nodded.

  "You never know," I added. "I might win."

  This time, nobody responded.

  IT HAPPENED so quickly. I thought that time would slow down, the seconds so heavy with fear that it would take each one hours to pass. But one minute I was sitting in the yard talking to the boys, the next I was yanked off my seat and practically dragged across the stone toward the gym. I fought against the two Skulls who held me, but they didn't even flinch from my pathetic blows. What good was I going to be in the arena?

  I heard a familiar voice by my side and saw Donovan walking with me, telling me just to go with it. We reached the door, manned by a Skull and a Fifty-niner, and I was shunted inside, tripping over my feet and landing hard on the floor. I thought for a minute that they were going to stop Donovan from entering, but I soon felt his hand under my arm, lifting me back onto my feet.

  Ahead of me lay the gym, roughly half the size of the trough room and filled with various pieces of rusting equipment-weights, benches, even an ancient-looking exercise bike. The kit was arranged in a rough circle around a ring of bare floor that looked a much darker shade of red than the rest of the room.

  What shocked me most about the scene was the sheer number of people packed into the small space. Most had Skull bandannas or painted cheeks, and were sitting on the equipment waiting for the show to begin. Others had no gang markings and crowded around the back of the hall, nudging each other for the best view. There must have been fifty people in there, all waiting to see my blood spill.

  I spotted Gary when he jumped off a bench into the circle, his arms raised as he addressed the crowd.

  "Little man come to show us how tough he is," he shouted, then he turned to me. "Get in here."

  "Eyes and throat," whispered Donovan. "Just don't go down. If you stay on your feet you might get through this."

  Easily said, but my legs already felt on the verge of giving out. I
walked slowly to the edge of the circle, trying to ignore the whistles from everyone around me. Gary walked up until my eyes were level with his chest. He bent his head toward me, his quivering blond lip-hair spattered with spittle.

  "Poor little man," he said. His face was expressionless, as it always was, but when I looked him in the eye I saw something moving in there, something primeval that swirled and swooped in the darkness of his pupils. He turned away, back to the audience. "Who called this challenge?"

  Three Skulls leaped into the ring. I recognized them immediately as the ones I'd fought before in the canteen, the ones whose friend had been chewed to pieces by the warden's dogs. For a second I managed to snatch a ray of hope. If it was just these three, then maybe I did stand a chance. I'd given as good as I'd got the last time I faced them.

  "All yours," Gary said, starting to walk away. Then, without warning, he spun around and punched me square in the jaw. I felt like my head had exploded. Fireworks burned my vision as I fell back, their color giving way to shadow as I fought to stay conscious. The blow had been like a sledgehammer, I could barely even remember where I was.

  Somehow I managed to stay on my feet. I shook my head, clearing my vision in time to see Gary walking back to the edge of the circle. The three Skulls moved quickly to fill the space, the first running at me with his fist raised, ready to strike.

  I stepped back, arms held up to block the blow, and more by luck than anything else I managed to weave out of the way. The momentum of the missed punch carried the Skull past me, flying into the crowd, who turned him around and pushed him back. The second thug advanced, feigning a strike to my face but changing his angle of attack at the last minute and raising his fist into my gut. It hurt, but he'd missed his target and I wasn't winded.

  Fueled by adrenaline and fear, I lashed out, my fist scraping the side of the Skull's head. Before he could recover I struck again, this time connecting more firmly. I wasn't sure whether it was my knuckle or his nose that broke, but he reeled backward clutching his face. I went to finish him off with a kick to his stomach but before I could I felt something slam into my lower back. I tried to turn but the pain came again as one of the Skulls rammed his fist repeatedly into my kidneys.

  I shouted, looking into the crowd to see Donovan stepping forward. But the inmates blocked his way, a wooden shank held at his neck to ensure he didn't break the rules by entering the ring.

  I swung an elbow around, missing my attacker but forcing him back. I'd only been fighting for a few seconds but already my energy was fading, my limbs seizing up. I screamed, then threw myself at the boy, arms wheeling like a toddler in a tantrum. He raised his hands to defend himself and I took the opportunity, kicking him hard between the legs. A collective groan rose up from the crowd as the kid collapsed.

  Spinning around again I saw the last Skull run toward me. I jabbed my fist at him but he was too quick. The punch missed and he grabbed my arm, twisting it until I was bent double. I saw a shadow approaching from behind, the strike almost shattering my spine. My legs buckled and I collapsed onto my knees. Another blow caught me on the back of the head and I sprawled forward.

  If I didn't get up I was a dead man, but every time I pushed myself off the ground a foot sent me crashing down again. After a couple of attempts I gave up, curling myself into a ball as the kicks rained down. My head, my back, my stomach, my chest, nothing was out of bounds. They landed everywhere, each sending a bolt of pain through my body until it seemed like every part of me was broken.

  I felt like I was sinking into the ground, blackness creeping over my vision. I heard the jeers and the cries as though through a coffin lid, muffled and distant and growing increasingly faint. I risked one last look at the arena, seeing past the blurred legs to Donovan. He had moved around the ring, and was pleading desperately with Gary. The psycho wasn't listening, he wouldn't take his eyes off me as I was pounded closer and closer to death.

  Then, as if he'd been stung, Gary snapped his head around and stared at Donovan. I knew what my friend had said, I knew what he was doing, and I tried to call out for him to stop. But it was no use, I could barely even breathe, let alone shout.

  I watched Gary grab hold of Donovan's throat, watched Donovan nod frantically. Then the Skull jumped into the ring and wrenched my attackers away from me, pushing them back out into the crowd. There was a chorus of boos from an audience denied their bloodlust, but Gary didn't seem to care. He bent down and grabbed my dripping overalls, pulling me up until his face was an inch away.

  "Your lucky day, little man," he hissed in my ear, confirming my worst fears. "Looks like I'm hitching a lift out of this place with you."

  BACK TO WORK

  "WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?"

  It must have been the tenth time Donovan said it as we made our slow way out of the gym. I was so battered and bruised that I couldn't even pick myself off the ground, Donovan had to haul me up and drag me from the arena. I tried to put one foot in front of the other, but even the smallest of movements made me cry out in pain. It felt as if all my joints had been filled with grit, my bones laced with razor wire. I spat out a mouthful of bitter blood and tried to tell him it was okay. What came out was a low groan.

  "I couldn't let them kill you, man," he said, helping me across the yard. Zee and Toby were waiting by the stairs, and ran over when they saw us, but none of the other inmates looked the least bit concerned.

  "Oh no," said Zee when they reached us. "Is that him?"

  "Of course it's him, you moron," said Donovan. "Who else is it going to be?"

  "It's just… his face."

  "What's wrong with my face?" I tried to ask, but all that emerged was another groan.

  "Let's get him back to the cell," Toby said. "You think you can get him up the stairs?"

  "You think you can help?"

  Together they pushed, pulled, and carried me up six flights of steps. A couple of times they folded under my weight and I almost toppled over the railings. Right at that moment the agony was so great that I didn't really care. Let me fall, let it be over. But a few minutes later I ended up on my bed, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position to lie in while Donovan recounted my embarrassing attempts to defend myself. He left out the deal he'd struck with Gary, eyeing me nervously as he told them that the Skulls had just let me go after a beating.

  "You were lucky," said Zee, perched on the bed next to me. He reached out as if to touch my face, then pulled his hand back. "You don't look it, but you were lucky."

  I ran my tongue over my teeth. One of the bottom ones was missing. By the way my face was throbbing I thought that was the least of my worries.

  "I wasn't lucky," I said, the words coming out like I was chewing a mouthful of toffee as I spoke. "Donovan saved me."

  "Donovan?" said Zee, looking at the bigger boy who stood by the cell door, staring out into the yard.

  "He saved my life," I went on.

  "Nice one, big guy," said Zee. "You go in and show 'em who's boss?"

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then Donovan spun around and faced us all.

  "What was I supposed to do?" he shouted. "Leave him to die?"

  "Whoa," said Zee. "I don't blame you, I'd have done the same thing if my arms were as big as yours."

  "He didn't fight," I said. "He made a deal."

  "A deal?" Both Zee and Toby looked worried. "What kind of deal?"

  "We've got another passenger," I slurred. "Gary."

  "No way," said Zee. "No way, Donovan. You didn't tell him?"

  "It was that or Alex died," Donovan spat back. "You want that?"

  "Well, what… I mean, we all get a plus-one now or something?"

  "Zee," I said. "It's fine, it just means one more person. Donovan did the right thing."

  "But Gary's a psycho, he'll tell all the Skulls and then there's no way we'll get out. We're all going to the hole. Either that or he'll stab us in the eyes just to get out first. This is a bad idea. This whole thing
's a bad idea."

  Donovan slammed his hands on the bars and stormed out of the cell, disappearing down the walkway.

  "Leave it, Zee," I mumbled through swollen lips. "He did the right thing."

  Zee just snorted, but his expression was one of fear. If my face had been able to move at all, it would have probably mirrored it. The thought of having Gary on board was terrifying. He really would snap our necks if he thought he could get out alone. Hell, he'd probably snap them even if we made it to safety, just for fun. But I couldn't complain. The alternative was having my guts spilled out across the gym floor.

  "It will be okay," I said. But I wasn't sure how much I believed it.

  ____________________

  THE REST OF that day I spent drifting in and out of sleep, with endless dreams of being beaten senseless. Each time I woke I thought the pain had been part of the nightmares, until I tried to move.

  Donovan only returned when the night siren blew. I didn't ask him where he'd been, but he apologized for storming off and reassured me that he hadn't told Gary anything about the escape except for the fact that it would be happening soon.

  "He can't give anything away and he can't do it without us," he said as the lights shut off.

  I went to hard labor in the morning even though I thought I was going to die. I didn't have a choice-anyone too injured to work was dragged off through the vault door to the infirmary, a place that few returned from. Fortunately we were on trough duty and Donovan sat me in the corner, happy to do my share of the work as well as his. Despite the fact that my skin was purple and unbearably tender to touch, I still managed to squeeze a couple of gas-filled gloves against it. Donovan managed to smuggle out eight, and we were back on track.

  It was on that morning that Donovan had a brain wave about the fuse for the explosion. He spent an hour trying to weasel off the end of one of the giant stove lighters, draining the fluid inside into a glove and filling it with string from one of the crates. He slipped the flint free from one lighter as well.