He saw Dr. Wiseman glance at the two guards – Jorge and Marty, he repeated to himself, trying even now to make a good impression on his first day by learning everyone's names. Then the chief of staff leaned over and pointed again at the blue button that Jacky had apparently almost touched.
"The doors to the prison are on a separate circuit, so even if the power and the backup generator somehow blow out at the same time, we still have control over the cell doors. But it's minimal, just meant to get them out in an emergency." Jacky saw Dr. Wiseman swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, before he continued: "Touch that button once, the circuit activates. Touch it twice, the inner doors open but the outer cells stay closed. Touch it three times, and every door in here opens."
Jacky looked around.
Three floors of cells. Over one hundred wackos waiting inside them...waiting to come out and play. Now Jacky gulped, and his mouth was dry.
"Sorry," he managed to get out through his suddenly parched lips.
"'S cool, bro," said Jorge after a moment. "I shouldn't have let you get so close to the panel without telling you not to touch anything."
Jacky was about to apologize again, Jorge's reassurances notwithstanding, when suddenly the walkie-talkies that were strapped to Jorge's and Marty's belts both crackled as. "All units, Code Three alert," said a voice that Jacky didn't recognize. "Repeat, Code Three alert."
Jacky felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the atmosphere in the cavernous prison charged as though an electric storm had moved in with the words.
"What's a Code Three?" asked Jacky.
Marty ignored him, picking up his walkie-talkie and saying, "Where, Wade? Inside or outside?"
At the same time, Paul spoke to Jacky, and Jacky noted with dismay that the calm-seeming doctor now wore a shocked expression on a face that looked white and strained as a sheet on a tightly made bed. "Inmate escape attempt," said Paul, pulling a matching walkie-talkie from one of his voluminous coat pockets.
"Not sure yet," said the voice – Wade, Marty had said it was – and there was a short pause before Wade continued: "We think out. Definitely outside the prison facility. Not sure about the staff facility yet."
"Who was it?" barked Paul into his walkie-talkie.
"Steiger," came Wade's voice.
The air charged again, but this time Jacky understood why as he recalled Paul's words: "Steiger isn't quality, he's really mean."
SEARCH
Not what I needed today, thought Paul. Not what I needed.
Then he thought, What did you need today? Other than Sammy? before slamming through the front door of the staff facility, Jacky Hales hot on his heels. Paul had quickly debated the idea of leaving Hales in the prison facility where he likely couldn't get into any trouble, but realized that since no one knew where Steiger was yet, he'd just as soon have the new guy where he could keep an eye on him.
The cold outside hit Paul like a knife that easily sliced through the thin fabric of his coat and shirt. The storm was getting much worse, flurries thrown up and about in front of his eyes, snowflakes the size of pennies dropping all around them.
It was getting dark.
Not too dark to see yet. Thank goodness. Paul instantly spotted the fourteen inmates, being walked toward him, herded along by Jeff. He could also see beyond them to where three more guards stood, all looking nervous: Vincent, Donald, and the largest member of the staff – a guy named Mitchell who looked like he could pick up the bear-sized Darryl by the scruff of the neck as easily as Paul would a kitten.
Paul led Jacky around the inmates, giving them plenty of room as they re-entered The Loon. As soon as he and Jacky got past the inmates, he could see Wade and Sandy kneeling down beside what looked like a wadded-up uniform. Both had their tranks drawn, and Wade wore the unhappy expression of a man who has committed some mortal sin.
"We have a lockdown?" asked Paul as soon as he was close enough to Wade and Sandy to be heard.
"The security perimeter's unbreached," said Sandy. "We ran a gate diagnostic and the main entrance hasn't been opened or closed at any time."
That was good news, at least. The Loon's walls were forty feet high and utterly smooth on the inside, so climbing them was physically impossible. The main entrance was the only way in or out of The Loon, and the gate computer registered every single time it opened or closed.
So Steiger's in here with us, thought Paul. "When did it happen?" he said, and was now close enough to see that the orange cloth was in fact a uniform. An empty uniform.
"Just a minute ago," said Wade. "I called it in right away. He was here, playing in the snow, then he wasn't."
Paul looked around, glancing at the enormous form of Mitchell, then moving to Vincent and Donald, finally settling on Wade and Sandy. "Who was watching the courtyard from the tower?"
He saw Wade and Sandy exchange guilty looks and felt his eyes narrow. "You two," he said. "In my office when this is over."
He widened his gaze to take in all five of the seasoned guards at once. "All right, spread out and check the courtyard."
"Where's he gonna hide out here?" asked Wade, clearly seeking to hide his guilt by attacking Paul.
"I don't know," Paul snapped. "But the perimeter's intact, which means he hasn't gotten out, which means he's still inside. We check the courtyard and work our way in until we find him and that includes looking under the snow if you have to!"
Sandy, Vincent, Donald, and Mitchell split up, two of them heading in each direction, a circuit that would eventually take them all the way around The Loon. Wade didn't move for a moment, staying behind to start a short staring contest with Paul.
Paul felt himself get genuinely angry for the first time. This was clearly Wade's fault, and the guy was dense enough to think now was a good time to try passive-aggressive blame-shifting tactics. "I'm going to notify God that there's a problem," he almost hissed. "And you're going to be out here fixing that problem while I do so, right?"
Wade moved off without replying, following after Vincent and Donald. Paul watched him go for a few steps, then turned toward the staff facility, knocking into Hales as he did. He had forgotten in the heat of the moment that the new guard was still with him. He felt himself slip on the deep snow beneath them, but Hales caught him and kept him from going down completely.
"Anything I can do to help?" asked Hales.
"Yeah," said Paul, hurrying toward the front door of the staff facility. "Follow me. When we get to the lobby, sit and stay."
"That's it?" asked Hales, still close on Paul's feet as they reached the front door.
Paul keyed in his code, swiped his card, then opened the door. "If a naked guy comes in, scream," he replied, then stepped through into the lobby area.
Hip-Hop and Leann, The Loon's longest-working female employee, were manning the security monitors now; apparently they had assigned Darryl some other duty while Paul and Jacky had been outside.
Both Hip-Hop and Leann jumped to their feet as Paul slammed open the door, twitchy hands holding their already-drawn trank guns.
Paul raised his hands quickly.
Stupid, he thought, cursing himself for forgetting to announce himself before entering. That was a good way to take an unscheduled nap.
"Whoa, whoa!" he hollered, waving his hands in the air. "Just the good guys."
Hip-Hop and Leann holstered their weapons and returned their gazes to the monitor screens. Paul pulled Jacky around to where the two older guards sat. He glanced at the monitors for a moment but knew without looking that Steiger would show up on none of them. The man was too smart for Paul's liking. Insane, but calculating. Careful in spite of his shredded grip on sanity.
"Okay, guys," said Paul, "we're in serious crap. Hip-Hop, you man the monitors. Leann, I want your trank drawn and aimed at that door," he motioned at the door that led outside, "and you shoot anything that comes in there without notice."
"You woulda been downed if that's how we were playing
it," said Hip-Hop, but Leann did as Paul had said.
Paul nodded. "True." He pulled his walkie-talkie out and put out a call on the general frequency. "All outside units, front is covered. Warn before entering. Repeat, you don't want a trank guard in the face, you warn before entering."
A chorus of "confirmed" came through on the walkie-talkies. But they sounded thin. Too few.
"What's the staffing situation today?" Paul asked.
His stomach felt like it was dropping another foot or two closer to the floor when Hip-Hop answered: "Sent Darryl in to cover the prison with Jorge and Marty. So that's three in the prison, five outside, two here. Ten total. Eleven with the newbie."
"What?" Paul almost shouted. "Where is everyone?"
"Called in sick," replied Hip-Hop, his hands moving rapidly across the monitor control bank as he scanned the prison for traces of Steiger. "No one wanted to get caught in the storm."
"Geez, Hip-Hop, you're supposed to tell me these things. Ten is barely enough to maintain a skeleton shift, much less a harsh-weather situation with a Code Three lockdown thrown in for good measure."
Hip-Hop ignored him, glancing at Jacky and saying, "How you likin' your first day?" to Hales.
"Uhhh..." began the younger man.
Paul cut him off. "Cute, Hip-Hop. Watch Jacky and don't let him get in the way."
"Where you goin'?" demanded Hip-Hop.
"To tell God," answered Paul, heading toward the door that led into Crane's private office and quarters.
"He said he didn't want nobody disturbing him," said Hip-Hop, moving to block Paul from reaching the prison owner's door.
Paul gently but firmly pushed Hip-Hop out of the way. "What?" he said, entering his code and swiping his card through the reader on Crane's door. "He wants to be the only undisturbed person in this place?"
Paul stepped opened the door and threw it open.
And gaped at what he saw.
OFFICE
Paul stepped further into the office to verify what he was seeing. Or rather, what he wasn't seeing.
A radio was playing in the corner, static eradicating the voice every couple of words. "National Weather Service...already closed roads...Clay and Jackson Counties due...preliminary storm danger –"
Paul snapped off the radio. Silence, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind.
The room was empty. Which it shouldn't have been: Crane was always in his office. Always.
Paul stepped to the door that led to his boss's private living quarters. He knocked, saying, "Dr. Crane?" in a hushed voice before knocking harder. "Dr. Crane!" he said again.
No answer.
Paul again swiped his card, entered his code, and went through the door. He was treading on thin ice here, he knew: Crane despised being bothered, and had made it very clear early on that his room was off-limits. Still, Paul had been there once or twice, and he also thought that if anything merited an uninvited trip to his boss's room, the prospect of Steiger escaping would be it.
He opened the door.
And faced another empty room.
Where was Crane?
HUNGER
It hurts. It slides and slithers and tries to get away from the pain, but it cannot. It cannot do it.
The monster won't let it get away.
Never.
Always pain.
Never escape.
Just pain.
Then hunger. It feels itself grow hungry, then famished, then starving in a matter of seconds. The hunger becomes a new kind of pain, and the thing can hear the sizzle of its own flesh dissolving within itself as it feeds. If there is no other food, it will eat itself.
Because the hunger must end. The pain will go on, the monster will never leave it in peace, but hunger...
Hunger cannot be borne.
LETTERS
Crane sat at the edge of his stool and watched and listened as his creation started to make strange noises. Like the sound of acid etching across metal, and Crane started as he realized he could actually see the thing in the cage shrinking.
Losing mass, thought Crane. He checked his watch, noting the time on the lab computer, and thought, Its metabolism is speeding up.
Crane pressed a button then and a new sound entered the lab: the sound of metal on metal as a small door in the side of the beast's cage opened. A huge dog charged out, flinging itself madly about inside the larger cage it had been allowed to "escape" into. A flurry of sparks bit at the dog each time he hit the bars, but the animal continued to ram into them, as though sensing what he was with, as though suspecting what was about to happen.
It didn't have long to wait.
Crane watched as the beast waited for a moment. Then it moved. Lightning fast, so fast Crane almost couldn't see it in the darkness of that side of the lab. It hit the dog, and the dog made a sound Crane had never heard before. It sounded like a child's scream, high-pitched and horrified.
Then the same acidic sizzling noise returned as the beast...engulfed the dog. The dogs screams disappeared, replaced by a pant/whisper/whine that was even more horrifying to hear. And then that sound, too, disappeared, leaving behind only that awful sizzle and a sound like a toddler sucking at the last bits of strawberry milkshake.
The sounds ended.
The beast moved away.
The dog was gone. The cage floor steamed where it had been, the acid scorches visible even from behind the wall of light where Crane sat.
"Very good," he murmured with approval. He checked the computer, which had sensors throughout the cage, and saw that the monster's eating speed was increasing as well.
An inhuman cry of rage made Crane turn back to look at the beast. It threw itself at the iron bars which separated it from its master and maker. As they had before, the bars sparked, and the beast's cries were loud and long. But still it tried to push against the bars.
Crane smiled. "Now, now," he said in the same tone of voice one might hear a mother speaking to a wayward child. He grabbed the nearest flashlight. "You know the rules."
At this the beast immediately began to whine and moved as far back as the rear bars on its cage would permit.
Crane's smile grew even wider.
He turned on the flashlight.
The dog's screams of pain and fear were as nothing compared to those that emerged from the beast's cage. The thing jittered around the cage, trying to avoid the beam from Crane's LED flashlight, but the light followed it mercilessly. It was almost like watching a strobe light, the beam moved so fast. And where it hit the beast, the skin of Crane's creation seemed to flow like mercury.
Finally, after a few minutes of fun, Crane turned the flashlight off. He could hear panting and realized after a moment that it was him, and that he had been aroused by the sounds of pain that came from the beast.
No time to think on that fact, though, for movement drew his eye back to the cage.
The beast had moved to the front again. Meekly, though, no fight left in it. It paused, and then a wet tendril-like appendage emerged from its side, dripping. The liquid it spilled spattered against the floor, again leaving etch-marks behind.
The tendril touched the ground. Sizzling. It lifted, then dropped again. More noise. Crane couldn't fathom what he was looking at for a moment, then realized:
Letters.
The beast was writing.
Crane wanted to look at the words, to see what the thing was writing. But he didn't want to use the flashlight until the thing was done, for fear of dissuading it. He made furious notations on his computer log until he heard the noise stop.
At the same time as Crane swiveled back to face it, the beast made a noise that Crane had never heard before. A weird, undulating sound that ground into Crane's mind like a spike. Frightening.
It was laughing. The thing was laughing.
Now Crane looked at the letters:
i wiLL Kil U ForEVer
Crane frowned. He felt suddenly unsure and unsafe, as though the bars and the light could
not hold the beast back, or as though they might suddenly disappear and leave him as defenseless as the dog had been.
As much to reassure himself as for the pleasure – no, science – of it, Crane turned on the flashlight.
The weird, dancing laughter disappeared.
And the screaming began once more.
JOBS
Paul walked back out into the lobby, confused and more than a little worried about Crane's absence.
Hip-Hop was still watching the monitors, Leann still aimed her trank at the front door. The new Mr. Hales sat behind Hip-Hop, clearly trying to help look and just as clearly unable to figure out what he should be looking for.
"Anything?" said Paul as re-entered the lobby.
Hip-Hop shook his head. "Almost done with the exterior sweep." He flipped through a few more camera angles, then said, "What did God say?"
"He wasn't there," said Paul.
"Had to be," said Hip-Hop. "I been sitting here since he went in. He's in there."
"Then he was being invisible when I looked," growled Paul. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Hip-Hop's minor attitude problems.
Hip-Hop opened his mouth – no doubt to keep their little argument going – when the walkie-talkies everyone wore crackled to life. It was Mitchell, the huge man's voice oddly comforting. "Sweep done. Five coming in."
Hip-Hop unclipped his walkie-talkie and spoke into it. "Cleared. Come on in."
The door clicked and then buzzed as Wade, Sandy, Donald, Vincent, and Mitchell entered the room. Hip-Hop kept watching the monitors, flipping through them uselessly. Leann kept her gun out and pointed into the storm until after the door closed, and then she resumed aiming at the door, the five guards who had just entered quickly moving out of her way.
Paul looked at Sandy. As the member of the sweep crew with the most seniority he should have spoken to Wade, but he wasn't about to deal with the older man's particular brand of guilt/assholeness, so he spoke to the other member of the tower team that should have kept this situation from happening. "You didn't find anything?" he asked.
The Loon Page 8
