by Tripp Ellis
“Seems like your gut landed you in this place. May want to reevaluate.”
“What’s Tiny’s story?”
“Does he need one? He’s trouble. That’s all you need to know. I’d tell you to keep your head down and steer clear, but you’re already on his radar.”
“His real name is Beauford T. Jackson,” Kirby said. “He’s in for murder, aggravated sexual assault, drug trafficking, and conspiracy.”
“How do you know all this?” Marlow asked, surprised.
“I hacked the correctional system database. I wanted to find out as much information about this place as possible.”
“What else do you know about this place?” Slade asked.
“Lots of stuff. Daily operations. Maintenance and delivery schedules, annual revenue. I know this place is probably cooking the books.”
“How so?”
“They’re claiming more inmates than they have. By my count there’s 2037 inmates in the mess hall, give or take. There’s 2354 on the official roster. Where are the other 300?”
“People go missing around here all the time,” Marlow said. “Or worse.”
“What do you mean, worse?” Slade asked.
One of the guards strolled past the table.
“Some other time,” Marlow said, keeping an eye on the guard.
The guard thwacked his stun baton on the table, then pointed it at Marlow. The cups of breakfast slop bounced and fell over.
“You eyeballing me, old-timer?”
“No, sir,” Marlow said.
“Clean that mess up. Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
Marlow grabbed a napkin and started mopping up the spilled slop. He wiped it off the edge of the table and shovel it back into the cup. Then he gulped it down.
Slade looked at him with wide eyes.
“You gotta take what food you can get around here. Trust me, you’ll do even more degrading things in order to survive.”
This was the kind of place that broke you down mentally, until you just gave up and complied. But Slade had never been one to comply. She wasn’t going to start now.
“Just watch yourself,” Marlow said. “They’ll come at you in the bathrooms, the showers, they can even get to you in your cell after lockdown.”
Kirby was rattled. His face went pale and his big eyes stared at Marlow. His hands were trembling. “How can they get into your cell after lockdown?” he stammered.
“The guards are as crooked as the cons in this place,” Marlow said. “Inmates buy them off with money, drugs, sexual favors, or a share the profits for turning someone out.”
Kirby swallowed hard.
“Don’t accept any favors from anyone,” said Marlow. “You may soon find that you owe them something.”
Slade had heard enough, she was going to set the tone right here and right now—in front of everyone, for all to see. She pushed up from the table and marched over to Tiny’s table. The whole cafeteria went silent.
Marlow watched with concern.
Tiny’s glaring eyes pierced into her. He sat still and waited for her to speak.
“I hear you run the show,” Slade said.
“The inmates have put their faith in me. Have you come to worship?” His voice boomed in a low rumble.
“I came to tell you that your show is over. It’s my show now. And I’m gonna make you my bitch.”
Tiny’s gang burst into laughter.
“Damn, honey. You got big balls for a sweet little thing,” one of them said.
“You gonna let her speak to you like that, Tiny?” another asked.
Tiny wasn’t laughing. He pushed up from the table.
Slade got an eyeful of just how massive this man was. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach, like she had made a big mistake. But she couldn’t back down now. She looked him up and down, then let him have it. “Yeah, you look bitch to me.”
There was no laughter this time.
Tiny’s gang was stunned. They stared at Slade, slack-jawed with wide eyes. Nobody ever insulted Tiny, and lived.
Tiny clenched his jaw, and the veins in his forehead bulged. Rage boiled behind his eyes. He cut through the clearing between the tables, and the mammoth man squared off against Slade.
The guards had taken notice. But they weren’t going to do anything. This was a free show. And they were going to let it play out. It wasn’t often they saw someone go up against Tiny.
“Tell you what, sweetheart,” Tiny said. “If you drop to your knees right now, I might be willing to forget this whole incident. Let me put the faith in you.”
People were starting to place bets on how long the fight would last, or if Slade would comply with his request. Nobody was betting on who would win the fight. It was a given that Tiny would crush her. He was an easy 400 pounds. Slade was maybe 105 pounds, after a meal.
Slade held up her pinky finger and wiggled it. “I bet it’s no bigger than this. Are you sure you want to embarrass yourself in front of all these people?”
Tiny clenched his jaw, and his fists balled up. He had taken all the abuse he was going to take from Slade. He charged at her and swung a sweeping right hook. She ducked down, slid under, and bounced up behind him. She could feel the wind from his swing as it narrowly missed her face.
The crowd was on their feet, screaming and cheering.
Tiny and Slade had switched positions. Tiny turned around and came back at her with the same right hook. Same result. She ducked again and bounced up on the other side. He was big. Big and slow.
Slade needed to keep him moving and wear him down. Just one hit from those cinderblock fists would be enough to put her out cold. This was going to be a war of attrition. Gorilla tactics.
Tiny charged her again. He was like a Mack truck, barreling down the highway. And he was coming in low. She wasn’t going to be able to duck under him this time.
Slade feinted right, then left. But she had nowhere to go, stuck between the rows of tables.
Tiny swung an uppercut that connected with Slade’s jaw. The impact launched Slade into the air, throwing her several feet back. She smacked the hard concrete floor like a stone.
Tiny was moving in for the kill.
20
WALKER
Strong tentacles pulled Walker closer to the rows of serrated teeth. A razor sharp shredding machine. Walker’s arms were wrapped up tight. It felt like a boa constrictor squeezing his torso. He had no control.
He was well below the surface. Only the narrow beam of the flashlight on the shore lit the cavern. This creature was pulling him into the dark depths of the water. Soon he would reach his breakpoint—the point where your body will involuntarily gasp for breath. A last, dying attempt for oxygen.
Reapers went through extensive underwater training. A two minute breath hold was required at the Advance Special Warfare School. But that was nothing. Walker could easily do 3 times that, under normal circumstances. But this was anything but normal. When the creature had pulled him into the water, Walker didn’t have a full breath. There was no way he could hold his breath for even two minutes with an empty set of lungs.
As Walker was pulled toward the thing’s meat grinder of a mouth, he kicked the monster right between its ugly eyes. The blow stunned the slimy bastard, momentarily. Its tentacles went slack. Walker wrenched an arm free and grabbed his tactical sword. He pulled it from its scabbard and hacked the rubbery tentacles in half, freeing his other arm. Then he severed the tentacles that gripped his legs. Black, inky blood filled the water.
More tentacles curled around his legs, pulling Walker closer to the creature’s deadly mouth. Walker desperately needed air, but the thing was dragging him deeper. Another foot, and Walker was going to feel the sting of this monster’s teeth.
As he drew close, Walker jammed his blade right between the monster’s eyes. It squirmed and flailed. Tentacles waived and twisted. It let out a hideous screech. Then the thing retreated into the deep in the blink of an eye.
&nb
sp; Walker sheathed the blade, then he pulled and kicked toward the surface. His lungs burned. His heart was pounding. His arms felt like rubber, worn out from the struggle. His vision was beginning to fade. He was so close, but the surface seemed so far away. He could hear Bailey barking, and it sounded like a distant dream.
He kept pulling toward the surface. Toward that narrow beam of light. He finally broke through the surface and gasped for air. He swam to shore and pulled himself out of the water. His chest heaved for breath. Air never tasted so good.
Bailey was still barking at the monster lurking in the deep. Walker scooped him up and carried him back a safe distance. There was no telling if that thing would come back. Hopefully it was dying at the bottom of the pond, but Walker couldn’t be sure. He would have to be extremely cautious the next time he needed to get water from this hole. But right now, it was the only source of water they had.
Walker deflated. The flashlight was still resting at the edge of the water. He let out a deep exhale. He didn’t want to go anywhere near the water. Not today. He had enough of slimy water monsters. He had enough of things trying to eat him. But that flashlight was too valuable to leave. Like the shuttle, it had a power supply that would last for the next 20 years. There really wasn’t much difference between it and the shuttle’s power supply. Same technology—different voltage circuits. He had to hand it to the Saarkturians—they had better technology, all the way around.
Walker set Bailey down. “Stay here. That’s an order, Sergeant.”
Bailey whined.
Walker crept toward the edge of the water. It was still rippling and lapping against the shore from all of the commotion. The sound echoed off the cavern walls. Walker knelt down and snatched the flashlight, keeping his distance from the water. His legs were ready to spring away at the slightest hint of the monster. Pools of its inky blood had risen to the surface. He shined the light deep into the water, but didn’t see a trace of the slimy creature.
He stepped back from the water’s edge and shined the flashlight across the cavern. It looked like it continued on, but he was in no mood to further explore it today. He didn’t even want to know what lurked deeper in this cave. But his imagination couldn’t help but run wild.
He led Bailey up to the front part of the cave near the entrance. Walker peeled off his armor, and underclothes, and set them near the edge of the cave. It didn’t take long in the extreme heat to dry.
He waited out the scorching midday sun, then went looking for firewood. He returned with enough wood for the night. He started a fire and grilled up some sabertooth. He and Bailey ate like kings again. After the day they had been through, they deserved it.
The cave seemed to be ideal. The rock formations at the entrance kept the wind out of the cavern. The fire kept the front portion of the cave comfortably warm at night. It was elevated and provided a good view of the canyon. There was a fair amount of wildlife in the canyon to hunt. It seemed like a sustainable shelter. Walker felt like he and Bailey had found their new home, for the time being.
He grilled up another section of meat and tossed it to Bailey. The little guy devoured it. It seemed like he could eat twice his weight.
Walker watched him with a smile. “Don’t you have any family, Bailey?”
Bailey looked up at him and tilted his head. Then went back to his meat.
“How did you end up out here, all alone?”
Bailey’s big eyes looked at him again for a moment.
“I know you didn’t fall out of the sky, like I did.”
Bailey rushed over to Walker and licked his face.
Walker chuckled. “I guess we’re family now, huh, Sergeant?”
Bailey barked.
Walker pet Bailey and scratched his belly, just the way Bailey liked it.
Walker smiled. There could be worse things, he thought. He could be stuck on this planet all alone. At least he had Bailey to keep him company.
After he had finished his meal, Walker stood up and walked to the mouth of the cave. He looked up at the stars. It was a crystal-clear night. It seemed like you could see all the way across the galaxy. Somewhere out there, one of those specks of light was the sun that New Earth circled around. He wondered if he would ever see it again.
His mind drifted to Captain Slade. Her supple skin. Her luscious curves. Her no bullshit personality. A woman like that could give a man hope. And that’s what Walker clung to. If he ever got off this rock, he was going to find her, and take her to the Zeta Hydrus nebula, and finish what they had started.
The thought made him smile, and gave him something to dream about. But his dream was interrupted. A high pitched whine woke him in the middle of the night.
21
SLADE
Slade’s vision was blurred, and her jaw hurt like hell. She spit out a piece of a chipped tooth. It bounced across the concrete, along with her pinkish saliva, tainted with blood.
She saw Tiny charging at her—a blurry figure, like an ox. She sprung to her feet and dodged just in time to miss his next devastating blow.
He wasn’t expecting her to get up so fast. He was expecting her to dodge like she did. His fist, like a wrecking ball, narrowly missed her face. The breeze fluttered her hair. Tiny had put all of his weight into the swing. When he missed, the momentum carried him forward, and he fell to the ground.
Slade reeled back and kicked him with everything she had—right in the groin. You could hear a collective “Ew,” among the crowd. The men instinctually grabbed at their own gonads in sympathy.
Slade leapt into the air and did an elbow drop on Tiny, smashing his head against the concrete. Blood spattered from his nose and lips. His front teeth shattered against the concrete.
But that didn’t keep him down. The big, toothless son-of-a-bitch pushed off the ground.
Slade kicked him in the head, hard. His head rocked back a few inches. That was it. A kick that hard should have split his head open. It would have knocked the average man unconscious. He should have had brain damage. Instead, he was just pissed off. He glared at Slade and stood up.
He spit blood onto the concrete and charged her. 400 pounds of pissed off meat, barreling toward her.
Slade dodged, but Tiny swung a colossal blow that connected with her chest. The punch lifted her from her feet and flung her back. She heard a few ribs crack. Slade crashed into a table of inmates and rolled off of them, back onto her feet.
Tiny swung again.
Slade ducked and dodged underneath and spun around behind him. She gasped for air. Every breath ached.
The crowd began to chant: Tiny, Tiny, Tiny…
This guy was unbeatable. He just kept coming. He charged at her again, and swung a wide hook.
Slade ducked and tripped him as he passed. She pounced on him, getting him in a chokehold from behind. Tiny punched at her, bloodying her face. But she held on tight. This was it. If she let go she was dead.
After a few moments, Tiny passed out.
She could kill him now. Or, at least, paralyze him. It would be an easy snap of the neck. She thought about it long and hard. The best defense was a good offense. If she snapped his neck, she’d establish her dominance. Nobody would come at her again.
Slade had killed before on the battlefield. But that was the enemy. She had never killed in cold blood. And she wasn’t going to start now.
She loosened her arm from Tiny’s neck.
The crowd was dead silent.
Slade stood up and wiped the blood from her face. She spit blood onto the concrete and surveyed the crowd with weary eyes.
They all stared at her, slack-jawed. Never in a million years did they think a woman would take down Tiny.
Slade grabbed his ankle and lifted it high in the air. Then she kicked his knee sideways with all her might. It bent 90 degrees in the wrong way. Muscles and tendons and ligaments snapped. You could hear it clear across the cafeteria. She strolled around Tiny’s body and lifted his other ankle. With a massive crunch, she sn
apped the other knee.
Tiny would never walk in the same way again. He certainly wouldn’t be a threat anymore. It was enough of a demonstration to keep anyone from thinking she was weak. There was a valid argument that it was even more cruel than killing Tiny. He’d have to spend the rest of his life in this prison with the embarrassment of the loss to Slade. But then again, nobody in this prison thought of Slade as an ordinary woman anymore.
“Anybody else want a piece of me?” Slade said.
The room was silent.
“That’s what I thought.”
The guards rushed in cautiously. Even they were skittish of her now.
She surrendered, knelt down, and let them shackle her.
“You just broke one of our fundamental rules,” Pemberton said. “No fighting.” But even he had enjoyed the show. “That’s 30 days in the hole, scumbag. We’re about to see how tough you really are.”
Pemberton yanked her to her feet.
Marlow and Kirby watched with a mix of glee and concern. Marlow knew what 30 days in the hole could do to a person. But he was proud of the way she had fought.
Kirby was nervous. Slade was his only hope of protection.
“Anybody fucks with you, tell them they’ll have to deal with me,” Slade said.
Pemberton dragged her away to the pit. Solitary confinement wasn’t just a 6x9 cell with no human contact. It was a water-filled pit, with about 3 inches between the surface of the water and the grate. The only way to survive was to cling onto the grate and pull your nose above the waterline to breathe. It was too deep to stand in. And you had to do all your business in the water. And who knew if they ever cleaned it? Most people didn’t survive 24 hours in the hole, much less 30 days.
22
WALKER
It took Walker a second to place the sound. But then it became clear. It was a sound of a thruster powering up. But then it sputtered and died.
Walker rushed to the edge of the cave and tried to pinpoint the direction of the sound. It was due south. Maybe four or five clicks.
