by G. R. Carter
The portly man in charge of the ten-person staff caught Morton’s eye and gave him a thumbs-up. They’d made pizza tonight, the overwhelming favorite of the general population. With that and the extra “medication” being distributed with the meal—his jaw clenched every time he thought about drugging the prisoners like this—Morton hoped for an extra peaceful night.
Time ran out for him to put off the scratch list. He went to the shift commander’s office in the corner of the control room. The space was really just a cubby with a screen and a chair, but at least it afforded three walls of privacy. He unfolded the list for each tribe, looking over the names, picturing each person’s face. Even with two thousand inmates housed here, he still knew at least a little something about each one. He put together the picture painted by each list, determining motivations for the shot-caller to include them. Most were newbies, or anyone suspected of having loyalties to someone other than the shot-caller on site.
There were a few who seemed to cling to a religion different than Continuity; he knew that only because there had been written complaints filed by the occasional new fish still under the impression their rights mattered in a privately owned prison like this.
The shortest list was eleven; Angel Trevino didn’t like letting any member of the Asesinato Uno go. As brutal as they were, Unos were as close to a community as any of the tribes. Of the handful of unaffiliated inmates, the few who refused to latch on to a tribe, almost none were Spanish-speaking.
The longest list came from Cha Cha Dawley’s Code 11 Syndicate. That wasn’t surprising; the population here was 40% black, so the tribe had a much larger population to choose from. Morton could have made Dawley’s list for him. In a group that large, subsets were bound to form. Ruthless rulers would always be looking to stamp any challengers out. Morton read up and down the Code 11 list, stopping at a name towards the bottom. Andre Collins.
Morton closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Andre Collins was one of the good ones, not any easy thing to say about any inmate who’d made his way this far into the system. He’d been a perfect inmate since arriving just over twelve months before. Morton suspected his only crime against the Code 11 tribe was encouraging new fish to get right with God and take advantage of every education program offered. To Morton’s knowledge, he’d never caused any drama and was perfectly respectful to Dawley; popularity among the Eels and the new fish was what made him a threat.
He thought briefly about crossing Collins off the list, then decided against it. He tried to convince himself the man was just an inmate, a faceless cog in the wheels of justice. Then he justified that it was for the greater good of peace in the population; that didn’t work either. Ultimately he realized that if it got bad enough for the scratch list to be used for its ultimate purpose, Dawley would take Collins out anyway. The outcome was inevitable.
He leaned up to the screen in front of him, eyes wide open. “Recognize,” he said clearly. He heard a beep and spoke again slowly. “Morton. Eugene. Correctional Officer Union President.” He stayed still for a moment as his retinas were scanned for identification. Another beep and the screen glowed white with the word GRAPEVINE in block letters. All guards had some access to the Network for their own use, but this was a portal only he, Captain Lewis and Warden Marduk had access to.
“Access prisoner transfer,” he said, a little louder than he had to. The new members of the COU still laughed at old men like him who once used a mouse to point and click on the screen.
“Access denied,” came a monotone reply.
He tried again. Another denial. “System reset.”
“Access denied.”
“Network search.”
“Access denied.”
“Grapevine, explain access denial.”
“No network access.”
Yeah, no kidding, Morton thought. It’s not working because it won’t work, perfect circular logic. He suddenly reminisced about powering off to reboot his old desktop computer, just as ancient as he was.
Morton thought for a moment about waving one of the whiz kids in who had grown up around artificial intelligence. He didn’t want anyone to see the lists, though, so he gave it one more shot.
“Access diagnostics,” he said.
The screen remained the same, then went black. He leaned up to the screen. “Recognize.”
Nothing happened.
Crap.
Time was running short. He kicked himself for not starting the process sooner. Stupid computers. Now he’d have to do everything manually, without the computer opening and closing the doors to lead each inmate into the holding areas like livestock to the kill floor. “No chance of staying behind the glass now, Captain,” he said quietly to his long-absent commanding officer.
Mentally he started putting together a team to accomplish a task few would want. Then he remembered the list of guards Lewis handed him before leaving: the COU’s own scratch list. Lewis had been adamant about who should handle the transfer. Morton’s subconscious had made him forget that particular order. Now it had to be faced.
He opened the paper, typed and printed on Warden Marduk’s personal letterhead. Morton read the names one at a time, picturing not only their faces but in most cases their families. Eight men and two women stared back at him…including, just as he had figured, Orson McCoy. He’d be glad to have McCoy on his team for this difficult task. Steady hand, strong as an ox, good with the electric wand the Eels carried but slow to use it. Respected and feared by most of the tribes.
But he’d likely been labeled a troublemaker for his resistance to Continuity. Plus word likely got back to Lewis and the warden about his speaking up at the COU’s contract vote. Or they’d been watching on the monitors. The prisoners aren’t the only ones with no privacy here.
He’d address that with Lewis when he got back, but for now his team was set. Without access to Grapevine, only the ancient intercom system remained to call each of the names to meet him in the control room.
One by one they filtered in, curious to find out what the change in routine would be. One of them, the young woman who’d waved at him from the floor below, was still suited in her tactical gear. She seemed nervous, unsure of what she’d done to deserve being called to the office. Morton was surprised that the next to last one to arrive was McCoy, with Kalvin Jackson closely following. McCoy gave him an eye roll and Morton knew he’d gone and found Jackson—Kal, they called him—doing God knows what instead of his job. There was a name he and Lewis could definitely agree on. He’d have to go.
“Special treat tonight,” he said with a gruff smile. “We’re going to move some of our guests out of gen pop and into the holding areas.” Groans and curses met his words. “Don’t worry, it gets better. I suppose as a result of our electrical issues, Grapevine isn’t working, so we’re going to have to do this old-school. I’ll have one of our techs push the buttons for the doors, but we’re going to have to be there to make sure everyone behaves.” The curses got a little louder, right up to the edge of appropriate among the tight-knit group.
“Kalvin with a ‘K,’” Morton said to the last arrival, “you’ll be the first in since you were the last to arrive.”
“Man, you know I hate it when you call me that. Besides I was busy, can’t penalize me for doing my job,” Jackson fired back.
“Don’t think of it as a punishment. Consider it an honor.” The rest of the group laughed and jeered at Jackson, who remained completely unamused.
“Go down to the armory, get suited up. Double-check your tactical suits, make sure those batons are charged up. I’m not anticipating any problems, but let’s make double sure. Who knows what other glitches are being caused by the power. Okay, let’s do this, people.”
The grumbling didn’t stop as the team made their way out the door and down the stairs to the armory. McCoy stopped when he and Morton were the last ones. “Something I need to know, Sarge?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was l
ooking around the room and this wasn’t exactly a group of high-achievers. I’m not complaining, the job’s the job. But is that the way you see me?” McCoy asked.
Morton thought for a moment, and then lied to McCoy’s face. “Captain gave me the list, I didn’t have any say. But I chose you to help me with them because I needed a steady hand out there tonight. I guess that’s your reward for being good help.”
McCoy beamed and nodded. “Thanks, Sarge. Hopefully this kinda job will help me become a team leader someday.”
He stepped quickly to leave while Morton stood and stared at him. Yeah, Pete and I are going to have words about that one, he told himself.
Chapter 15
Ridgeview Hunting Lodge
Rural Brown County, Illinois
Day Two of the Great Reset
The back lawn of Ridgeview Lodge was packed with people from all over Brown County. Some held plastic cups full of ice tea, others Styrofoam coffee cups, and there was the occasional bottle of homebrew mixed in. Nearly all held plates of fresh-cooked barbecue.
“Our dad used to say ‘No eating, no meeting’ in this part of the country,” Kara Bradshaw chuckled.
Darwin King leaned his head back in a hearty laugh. He wiped sweat off his brow. Even in the cool fall air, standing over a six-foot-long open grill was hot work. “We got that covered, love. I just hope they enjoy the feed, because I suggest cuttin’ back drastically on food rations starting tomorrow,” he said.
Kara gave him a questioning look. He explained, “We’ve got plenty of grub for now. But winter’s a-comin’. I’ve been in the Midwest during winter before; gets mighty cold and barren here come February.”
“February?” she asked. “You think the power is going to be out all winter?”
Darwin nodded. “I’m guessin’ if the power is out a few more days, it’ll be out for a long, long time to come. Gonna be massive damage to infrastructure.” He stopped and waved his spatula around. “Massive damage to people, too. Better to save every morsel we can now.”
Kara nodded her understanding. “And early spring is the worst, because nothing is really growing yet, and anything you stored up from the summer is gone.”
“Right. At least here; a little different back home. Different down south of here too, I reckon. Longer growing seasons.”
Kara wasn’t smiling anymore. “Then every one of these people is an extra mouth to feed.” She turned with a question. “Why invite them here, then? We can’t afford to give away a single bite of food we’ll need for our staff and their families.”
Darwin didn’t answer right away. He was turning meat and tending the hot coals beneath. After Kara told him how much meat they had in freezers—no-longer-working freezers—he’d volunteered to work the grill, something he didn’t get to do much away from his beloved homestead. Outdoor cooking was a hobby and a stress reliever for him. He’d stop every once and a while, smiling and nodding at people as they walked by, especially when they complimented him on how good it all tasted.
Kara smiled as she watched her brother laughing and carrying on with the service manager from the Mt. Sterling FS. Darwin pointed to Sy. “Politics, my dear. That’s why we’re having this shindig, even at considerable cost to our supplies. We celebrate the life of a dear friend—good karma, that—and at the same time show everyone Ridgeview Lodge is their friend also.”
“Goodwill?”
“Too right,” Darwin said. “You think the Caseys and I built multimillion-dollar businesses by hoarding? I mean, yeah, sometimes you do. Can’t just throw things away willy-nilly. But don’t be afraid to spend to make people love ya. If things get bad around here, we’re for sure gonna need someone’s help.”
“That’s a little bit cynical, don’t you think?” Kara asked, eyes fixed in accusation.
Darwin shrugged off the insult. “Life is all about relationships. Outside a few people—and I mean a very few people—relationships are mutually beneficial agreements. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” He gave her a smile. “Come on, love. You know it’s true. You’d do anything for your brother and little Max, sure. But the circle gets a little thin after that, right?”
“That’s not what my faith teaches me,” she protested. “I’m supposed to give to everyone with no expectations of return.”
“I haven’t got much use for that faith, or any others for that matter,” he said as he wire-brushed a side of the grill he’d finished with. “Just a way for moochers to get money from producers. Passin’ the plate like its some way to salvation. Pssh. There’s only this life, love. What you do with it is what matters.”
Kara didn’t push the issue. But one thing she realized she did agree with Darwin about was community. The lodge wasn’t an island. They needed supplies from in town more than the town needed the lodge—at least for now.
Sy was waving his hand to her, giving her the signal to hurry up and get the meeting started. Kara moved towards the back porch she intended to use as a podium. She froze in her tracks as a group of ragged-looking men and women walked around the corner of the lodge.
“What is it, Kara?” Darwin asked.
“Kaplans,” she said spitefully. “Syn cookers.”
Darwin didn’t say anything, just watching the new arrivals’ every move. Everyone else stopped and watched, too. Three women with long, straight hair pulled back in ponytails were surrounded by four bearded men. Each had a similar flannel shirt unbuttoned over t-shirts and untucked from denim jeans. Each had a rifle slung over their shoulder. To an outsider, they’d fit the hillbilly stereotype. Except on closer inspection a careful observer would see they weren’t dirty, just unconcerned about making any appearance save intimidation.
The whole yard went quiet save for birdcalls and the sounds of kids playing tag.
King quickly moved everything still cooking on the grill over to the warming side. He hung the tongs and spatula from the metal hooks above and pulled off his apron.
“Welcome to the meetin’, mates,” Darwin shouted with a big smile and a wave. To Kara’s surprise he walked directly to the Kaplan family’s leader, arm outstretched in greeting. She couldn’t hear everything Darwin said, but the greeting seemed to be reciprocated by the look on the face of Erline Kaplan.
Kara met the eyes of Sy. Her brother stood with mouth literally wide open in shock. She shrugged, took a deep breath, and walked to join Darwin engaged in a lively conversation. The smile on Erline’s face drained away as Kara approached.
“You gonna kick me off your land again, Miss Bradshaw?” Erline asked sarcastically.
Darwin cut in before Kara could reply. “Naw, she ain’t gonna do nothin’ like that, Miss Erline. Are ya, Kara? We called this meeting for everyone in the county. Don’t matter what’s happened between us in the past, just wanna worry about the future,” he said.
Erline looked at Kara. She asked without speaking, to which Kara answered with a simple nod, begrudgingly given.
“A’right then,” Erline said. “Mr…uh, King, was it?”
“Darwin, love, please. Just Darwin will do.”
Erline stared at the Aussie for a moment. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail; from the way her forehead was tanned all the way to the hairline, she likely kept it that way all day, every day. Wrinkles formed at the corner of her eyes, a greenish hazel standing out from skin nearly as tan as Darwin’s. First glance would suggest an intellectual drop out to most. Darwin recognized the shrewd mannerisms of a wily fox.
A show of coffee stained teeth, not quite a smile and not quite a snarl, made her appearance change. “Okay, Darwin, we’re here to talk things over. Guess if you’re gonna give us a chance to be here, we’ll give ya the lowdown on what we know,” Erline said.
Darwin turned to Kara. “How’s about Erline and I step inside to talk in private? I think maybe that’d ease a bit a tension. Okay? You go ahead with the meetin’ here without us.”
Kara shifted uneasily. She wanted to object, but couldn’t think of
any immediate reason. It made some sense, and she trusted Darwin. Still, something didn’t feel right.
Darwin’s expression told her he was going to do it either way, so she nodded to go along. She watched the two walk inside, his hand lightly on her back in the friendly way he was so good at. When they were out of sight, she walked up the stairs to the back patio to speak to the crowd. She nodded to the Kaplan men, trying to be cordial yet strong. At the top rail she looked out at the collection of local farmers and townspeople—likely 200–300 in total.
They all looked to her, quiet now and wondering what answers she might have. She sighed. There were no answers, just more questions. But someone had to do something, right or wrong. Someone had to make a decision. She glanced once more at the lodge's back door, wondering what Darwin and Erline were discussing.
She gathered her thoughts. “Well, thanks for coming, everyone. I mean it. I know you’ve all got a lot going on, trying to keep a little bit of normal life going on for your farms and businesses. Sy and I called you all here today to talk about how we might try to keep things running a little smoother, at least until we get the electricity back on. So I thought I’d lay out our plan here for the lodge, then we’ll open up discussion about what you all think you might do.”
She took another deep breath and smiled as big as she could. “We believe that this latest power outage might go on a little longer than the interruptions we’ve had before. I can get into some specifics about why we think that, but I’m less interested in the whys than I am about what’s next. If we’re right, it’ll be a while before we see any help from the state, the Feds, or anyone else outside our community.
“Here’s how Ridgeview Lodge is going to survive the winter…”
Chapter 16
Western Illinois Correctional Facility
