A Haunt of Jackals

by G. R. Carter

  Sy didn’t laugh along. “You know I'm right. We’re too far away from what our ancestors knew,” he said somberly. “Just think about it: the power’s out for a few hours, and it’s like we’ve lost part of our brain.”

  “Aw, lighten up, mate,” King said. “We’re having a good time.” He raised his mug of beer. “Let’s get into a few more of these, and we’ll lose the rest of our brains. Just for tonight, then I’m sure things’ll be back to normal come morning.”

  Chapter 3

  Western Illinois Correctional Center

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  The chaos of the prison’s general population was a world away from the room that once held an interfaith chapel. Warden Kishar Marduk sat silently in the pitch-black chamber, completely soundproofed save the sound of a pleasant breeze blowing in from the vents. Surrounding her were the worst scum modern society produced: killers, rapists, abusers, Syn cookers—no one in their right mind would be alone with one of them.

  But here the warden herself sat, with not just one, but many. In her mind she looked at a calm, sunny day, grass and trees waving in the breeze all around. A bright circle of white light appeared like a beacon, calling to her and her mind moved toward it. Her heart rate evened, beat by beat, while her mind leapt in a joy. “Can you see the light?” she asked calmly. “Can you see the perfect circle, illuminating your soul?”

  “I can see it…”

  “Yes, I can see it.”

  “There it is, Kishar, just like you said,” came the answers.

  Marduk hummed in a low tone. The occupants of the room joined. “Step into the light. Feel the peace wash over you.” She hummed again. “This is the gift Continuity gives to you. The Mahdi shows you the way. Prepare your mind as you prepare your bodies.” More humming. “Continuity is peace.”

  The trance lasted for several minutes. Finally, she rose to her feet and clicked on a small battery-operated light she held in her hand. The illumination was slight, but still caused those closest to squint after having been immersed in total darkness.

  She smiled to them all. “Now, warriors of the Circle, soldiers of the Mahdi, go in peace. The time grows near for you to take the next step in your Progressions. You are the future. Take your rewards and do your duty.”

  Everyone in the room rose to their feet. Men and women stood next to each other, some holding hands.

  Kishar held up her hand. “Go in the blessed peace of Continuity. May your union be fruitful, and as unending as the Circle.”

  Without a word, each couple left the room together to return to their prison cells. Marduk patiently watched the last of them walk through the door.

  “I never believed in all that higher power BS, but you sure as shootin’ a real-life miracle worker,” said a tall man in a corrections officer uniform standing next to her .

  “Continuity is not BS, Peter. You’ll figure that out some day. You really should participate in the Progressions, improve your profile while you can.”

  Captain Peter Lewis, commander of the guard force, the Big Eel himself, chuckled at the notion. “I thought when we ran all the other religions out of here we’d be done with the faith peddlers. Then we get a warden who’s also a priestess…go figure.”

  Marduk turned and looked at him, nearly eye-to-eye to the guard’s face. “Peter, Peter, Peter…” she tsked at him like a mother. “For two years we’ve built this place into a model facility. Violence against your Eels is nearly zero. Inmate violence is down fifty percent. What more proof do you need that Continuity is the true path to peace?”

  “I’ve got nothing but praise for you on that, Kishar—er, Warden Marduk. I don’t care what you’re selling these sharks, long as they’re staying in line.”

  She turned her eyes and lifted her nose with a sniff. “You act like it’s just some sort of con. Take your Progressions seriously, Peter. For your own sake, not just for your career.” The voice tone delivered her message with crystal clarity.

  Lewis nodded and grinned back nervously. He wasn’t sure if Marduk could see his discomfort, but he was pretty sure she could sense it, anyway. “I’ve been doing everything you asked, Kishar. And I’ve made all my Eels do the same.”

  Marduk smiled sweetly to relax her right-hand person. “Most of them have, yes, that’s true. I just want to make sure you’re feeling the improvement. Each Progression is important to build on the next.” Her voice grew excited. “They’re building blocks.” She waved her hand toward the prisoner housing area. “You see it in guests who have taken it to heart. Their lives are improving. They’re ready to serve a greater cause.”

  “Come on, Kishar. You know calling them ‘guests’ drives me crazy. They’re inmates. Most are soulless animals looking to play a scheme any way they can. They’ll lie even when the truth makes more sense.”

  “Perhaps that’s true, my dear. But Jordan Inc. has sent us rewards every quarter for how well our guests behave. Those bonuses are how you pay for inconvenient expenses…like your child support, right?”

  He nodded. “Whatever makes the bosses happy. Especially you.” Lewis smiled at her. “Of course, making the place coed sure does help settle some of those men down. I still can’t believe that worked.”

  “You give a man something to believe in, and then give him a woman who believes the same thing, and nature will take over.” She smiled at him. “It’s not tough to figure what keeps men in line.”

  “Yeah, but almost every couple has a kid on the way already,” Lewis said. “That’s something I don’t figure with the company’s strategy. They don’t want me to have more guards because it costs too much. But they’re letting the inmates have kids? Like, they actually want more mouths to feed around here?”

  “We’re forming a community here, Peter. Think of it like a new version of Australia. The English settled their prisoners halfway around the world. Look what happened. Within a few generations Australia became a vibrant, strong ally for the rest of the civilized world. Every guest rehabilitation center owned by Jordan Inc. is executing the same plan. Long-term vision.”

  Lewis sighed at the sight of her. He knew their relationship was changing, at least in his mind. He was enjoying it, although the physical tension during work hours distracted him. Each minute together made him feel like he knew what made her tick just a little better.

  “That the reason we’re getting extra rations, extra supplies, that sort of thing?” he asked her.

  She shrugged. “Malik Mason told me we’d be getting extra everything for the next few weeks. Said he wants the storerooms full as they can be.”

  “He’s Jordan’s VP in charge of the whole system,” Lewis said in surprise. “Interesting that he’d take a personal role in something as mundane as rations.”

  “I speak with him about a lot of things. He’s really quite brilliant.”

  Lewis tried not to get jealous. He shouldn’t be worried about his boss talking to her boss. Still… He changed the subject for his own benefit.

  “You’re getting nervous, though, aren’t you? About something…I can’t tell what it is, but something’s eating at you,” he said.

  Marduk sighed in disgust. “Like you said. This is a for-profit business, Peter. Food expense is our biggest line item except payroll. The extra supplies are blowing up my budget.”

  Lewis growled in agreement. “Yeesh, we lose that much money and that’ll kill our bonus.”

  The warden nodded. “Extra rations, the new generator—an old style one at that, it’s not even computerized… They even shipped us extra rifles and ammunition. Silly keeping guns around a rehabilitation center. All we need is enough for our Rapid Response Team, and we've got plenty for them.” She shook her head, deep in thought. “I’m sure Malik has a good reason for doing all this. Just wish he’d let us in on it.”

  Then she smiled at Lewis again and grabbed his hand. She led him to her office. “I’m tired of talking business. We've got a little while before the next class… Come on,
our guests shouldn't be the only ones having fun.”

  Chapter 4

  Western Illinois Correctional Center

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  The prison auditorium room was standing room only. All along the wall stood more men and women in their casual uniforms. The entire union membership except for a skeleton crew watching the floor was present, making the room packed and stuffy. The topic of the day added tension to the discomfort. Sergeant Red Morton sat at small folding table on the stage, looking out over the group he considered family.

  “I don’t think someone sleeping with management is really looking out for the good of the union,” a hidden voice shouted from the back of the room.

  “That’s enough!” Morton shouted back. “Captain Lewis has always acted with our best interests in mind. He’s negotiated a pay raise with the Jordans in every contract. Full benefits, too. You think you can find just as good a job outside this facility, be my guest.”

  Morton stewed and stared, waiting for anyone to respond. He didn’t know who had made the comment, but one of his loyal officers would tell him later.

  “No one got the stones to say anything to my face? Then keep your fool mouths shut. We’re lucky to have these jobs. And we’re lucky to have a warden who treats her people like people.”

  “Sarge, I got something to ask.”

  Morton didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrow and waved the question in.

  One of the men seated in the front row looked down at his hands, searching for the words he needed. “Look, Sarge, you know I don’t like to complain…”

  Morton gave him a small nod. Orson McCoy was one of his best guards, and was typically a team player, that was a fact. Which made it even more annoying he’d speak up before voting on a new contract. Morton wanted this over and done, with a unanimous vote to hand to Captain Lewis before he met with the Warden.

  Morton cooled and softened his tone. “I know that, McCoy. Speak your mind.”

  McCoy nodded a thank-you. “I get making the prisoners do those Progressions. Man, it’s really made a difference in the way they act. And I didn’t mind doing some of them myself…”

  “But?”

  “But I’m just not comfortable with what they’re asking us to do in this new contract. Feels like I’m joining a cult, you know?”

  Morton didn’t say anything. He agreed with McCoy 100 percent. Those creepy Jordan Inc. reps, and their puppet warden, treated his guards like preschoolers at Sunday School. As far as he was concerned it was like brainwashing.

  But what choice did they have? His argument about finding other jobs was valid, no matter what New Age silliness they had to suffer through. Guards in the union were making three times what any other job—where there were other jobs—paid anywhere outside of the regional capitals. Benefits like healthcare and retirement were non-existent outside the union. No, Morton and the rest had no choice but to go along.

  “McCoy, you’re a good man. But if you’re talking religion, you know what the real Golden Rule is,” Morton said with a sigh.

  Almost in unison half the room responded, “Those who have the gold make the rules.”

  Morton chuckled. “That’s right. Like it or not, Continuity is here to stay. Just suffer through the Kumbaya stuff, okay? You get paid for the time, don’t make waves for us. Jordan Inc. could just as easy shut this facility down and move it closer to the city.”

  He surveyed the room. McCoy didn’t say any more, he just stared down at the floor. The rest were either looking and nodding at him or just looking away.

  He stood and banged an old wooden hammer on the table. “All those in favor of ratifying the new contract on behalf of the Guards’ Union, say ‘Aye,’” he said firmly.

  “Aye!” came the reply.

  “Opposed?” he asked with a glare to no one in particular at the back of the room. He didn’t need to worry; whoever actually opposed it would stay silent now. The room was for it, and no one really wanted to face leadership’s wrath.

  He slammed his old wooden gavel a little harder than he intended. “Motion carried. I’ll deliver the news to Captain Lewis and Warden Marduk right away. Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. You just guaranteed our future for years to come.”

  ****

  Scotch always felt good as it worked its way down Red Morton’s throat. The amber liquid was a fiery wave washing away the bitter taste in his mouth.

  He was a stooge. A once proud man now barely able to face himself in the mirror. Someone willing to sell out his brothers and sisters for the sake of his own position. A shell barely worthy of the space he occupied.

  A young woman grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him hard enough to click their front teeth. He didn’t kiss back; he didn’t need to. She was ramped on Syn, totally lost in a foggy world where time and action meant nothing.

  In a way he envied her. Synners cared only for the trip. The next high would take away their pain for hours or even days sometimes. Meth and opioids destroyed a body’s physiology as well as the mind. But not Syn, at least not the physical part. It was a marvel of modern chemistry. Not cheap to make, but relatively simple if one had access to the tightly-controlled ingredients. One thing was for sure: Morton’s employers seemed to know some very proficient cookers quite well.

  “I want you,” the girl said to him with hollow eyes. Morton wasn’t sure what those eyes actually saw in front of her. He sincerely doubted it was his face. He wasn’t much to look at even when he had been a young man, which he certainly didn’t feel like these days. More likely the Syn was making her hallucinate, giving her the vision of whoever she really loved or wanted. Might have been a first love, might have been a Hollywood star. Whatever physical side effects Syn spared its user, the damage to the mind made up for it. Each dose removed a little more of the person’s personality. Eventually even speech was affected, making the victim more closely resemble a zombie as dementia set in.

  This girl was still young, a juvie repeat offender who had just graduated to the adult system. She probably should have been in a minimum-security facility or a halfway house for small-time offenders. It was her physical characteristics that got her a trip to this prison. The model setup by Jordan Inc. needed a near 50/50 male to female mix. Since men were much more likely to commit crimes, small-time screw-ups like this girl ended up in the same facility as hardened criminals. It was just a matter of time before she belonged to someone inside the walls. From her looks and shape, her new husband would likely be a shot-caller, a leader of one of the important tribes.

  But not tonight. Tonight she was a token of appreciation from the warden herself. The only caveat was that Warden Marduk got to watch the fun in person. She was smiling, drinking her own glass of expensive scotch. Captain Lewis sat next to her, the same smile and the same drink in the opposite hand. Each seemed to be having the time of their lives, enjoying the show and each other at the same time.

  As the girl—What was her name? Malena, I think—kissed up and down his neck, Morton looked up at the beautiful light fixture visible in the low light of the room. The decorations were the finest, mostly imported from overseas, from what Lewis let slip. The warden’s office served as her living quarters, and Jordan Inc. had spared no expense in outfitting luxuries for one of their faithful executives.

  Malena’s hands were all over him, trying to get his clothes off one fumbling button at a time. He was dead weight, too numb to join in the effort.

  Morton closed his eyes and came face to face with his wife, long departed from this world but ever present when he was in his cups. As Malena moved along his body Morton fought off tears. He remembered her sadness, trapped in the depths of despair, unable or unwilling to climb her way out. She was clutching a picture of their boy, killed in the endless wars of the Middle East. DC had fought to keep the American Empire intact by spending the one asset still available in ample quantity. Desperate young people from depressed areas grasped at a lifeline of free college
, a way to escape hopelessness, a steady income for someone without the connections needed to find gainful work in the cities. A little flag waving, some well-timed terrorist attacks, and the only child of Red and Betty Morton marched off to basic training with hugs and well wishes. He’d come back in a box with a form letter expressing the gratitude of their nation.

  Red didn’t even notice when Malena stopped. He drifted half between consciousness and dream, disinterested in being anywhere but gone. A bright light flooded the room, then a familiar voice. Red searched for the source without opening his eyes, forcing his mind to focus. The TV, he thought. That’s the TV and President Aguilar’s voice.

  “Why do you have to turn that son of a bitch on every time he speaks?” Red mumbled through his haze.

  He wished he had his words back. People speaking ill of those in power didn’t have an easy time of it in this country.

  “That man is the reason we have our luxuries,” the warden said. But she wasn’t yelling at Red. Marduk wasn’t even looking at him. She stared at the screen, hypnotized. Red finally noticed Malena wasn’t on top of him anymore. She sat staring also, mumbling something of her own at the nearly full-sized image on the wall. The fact that she was naked except for a simple cotton tank top seemed lost on her.

  Red buckled his pants as he watched the President spout his nightly diatribe against this evil or that problem. That got Malena’s attention, and she moved her hand to stop him, but he didn’t. He grabbed the bottle of scotch and refilled his glass.

  Morton stared at the screen, watching President Aguilar’s mouth move but unable to internalize the words. He was no different than the others. Even ending the wars overseas hadn’t helped Morton’s view of him. Aguilar just took the money once wasted on bases around the world and handed it to his cronies here in the States.