Beyond the security door, it was hot and humid. There were puddles on the floor of the hallway from leaky pipes. The brick would sweat in the summer but it was never enough water to satisfy the man. It was just enough to torture him. It was a dark and dank Hell, and that is where the prisoner remained. His body eventually healed, at least the swelling and bruising went away. His jaw hung at an odd angle. His damaged leg made it difficult for him to get around, he was stooped over from what I guessed was an untreated spinal injury, but worst of all were his hands. They were difficult to look at.
“Did you recognize him when he had healed?”
I did not. His beard had grown, his hair had grown, the dim lighting of his environment: all of those elements kept us from identifying him. The younger guards occasionally made guesses about his identity. The most popular belief was that he was a terrorist of some kind.
“Did the prisoner ever say anything?”
He demanded to know about his wife. That’s all he ever asked for. He wanted information about his wife. He would become quite agitated about it. I remember him pounding away on the bars and screaming out to the camera in the hallway. It was a nightly ritual. His hands were getting worse every day from the pounding. I remember him banging his head as well. He split his forehead open once. The guards came in to help him that time. The cut was quite severe.
Three were killed.
The guards tried to get their revenge after that. It’s the way of the prison. When an inmate attacks a guard, there is always some sort of retaliation. As warden, I look the other way. If I didn’t, the men wouldn’t work for me.
Prisoner 187 was tortured terribly but he still somehow managed to kill yet another one of my guards. After that, I alone possessed the key to his cell. I needed to keep my men away from him. I needed to keep him away from my men.
Almost six months after Felltrop took possession of Prisoner 187, the prisoner escaped his cell.
“How did he do that?”
He wedged the frame of his bed between the bars of his cell and bent them apart. It took him that long to unscrew the bed frame. His mangled hands weren’t very useful but still, it must have required tremendous strength to unscrew those bolts from the wall.
He killed another three guards. They saw him squeeze through the bars on the security monitors. In a panic, they came through the security doors understaffed. It wasn’t until the prisoner entered the elevator that we were able to regain control of the situation.
Major Crass had a tank filled with some sort of knock-out gas built into the elevator as an extra security measure. Prisoner 187 went down after five minutes of choking. Still, the guards were rattled. New guards had to be trained to replace the ones we had lost. I had a lot of explaining to do. I was forced to lie quite a bit.
Lying made me nervous. I wasn’t a liar. I wouldn’t normally mind holding an extra prisoner in exchange for the offer Major Crass had made, but Prisoner 187 had succeeded in making me regret ever laying eyes upon Major Crass.
The breakout was the last straw. Something needed to be done. The guards were afraid to even move past the security doors.
I contacted Major Crass. I explained all that had happened. To my surprise, the man didn’t seem shocked. He paid Prisoner 187 a visit two days later.
Say what you will about Major Crass, the man had balls. He walked past that security door and straight down the hallway all by himself. He spoke to Prisoner 187. I’m not sure all that he said. I could only pick up a few whispered words every now and then through the speaker system of the security monitor. I saw the prisoner collapse to floor in his cell. I saw Major Crass walk back towards the elevator with a smile on his face.
Prisoner 187 was finally defeated.
“What did Major Crass say to him?”
From what little I could hear, it sounded like he told him that his wife had died.
After that, Prisoner 187 never assaulted another guard. He also didn’t move from the floor of his cell for three days after Major Crass paid him a visit. It looked as if he was dead, and that worried me, so I went in with ten of my men.
We checked his pulse. Prisoner 187 was alive, but he was broken. He didn’t even try to attack us. At that point, I ordered my men to get revenge for our fallen friends. They beat the Hell out of him. He didn’t scream. He didn’t react. The man was just a hollow shell, and a few words from Major Crass were all it took.
I, on the other hand, was a happy man. Things in the prison immediately got back to normal. The guards were no longer afraid to enter that damn hallway. Things were going great. Occasionally, I would hear some rather odd noises coming from beyond my bookcase but that didn’t bother me much. I had no interest in investigating. My career was finally taking a massive upswing. I even won some prestigious awards.
Then, Prisoner 187 stopped eating.
That didn’t concern me at first. I didn’t even bother to look at him through the monitors when his situation was reported to me until he stopped drinking his small allotment of water that ran through a pipe in his cell. A puddle of water forming on the floor is what tipped us off.
I contacted Major Crass once again.
“What do you mean there’s a puddle of water in his cell?” Major Crass demanded.
“The Hell with the puddle,” I said. “Your prisoner won’t survive very long if he’s not drinking.”
“You idiot,” Major Crass screamed. “You have no idea what will happen if he comes into contact with water.”
“Not a damn thing,” I countered. “He’s been laying in it for a few days now.”
Major Crass was there that evening.
He turned the lights up to full power in the cell and in the hallway. I went with him as he visited Prisoner 187.
The prisoner looked horrible. The amount of weight he had lost was staggering. His breaths were ragged. His body was limp. He had a chill due to the wetness in his cell.
“He’s sick,” Major Crass said. “He’s lying in a puddle of water. He hasn’t healed from his wounds, and he’s sick. I don’t understand this at all.”
“He’s very sick,” I said. “If he doesn’t receive medical attention soon, he’s going to die. What do you want me to do? We have a doctor on the premises.”
Major Crass continued looking at the prisoner. It was as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“He looks so old now,” Major Crass said. “Look at all the grey in his hair.”
“Do you want to let him die?” I asked.
“What?” Major Crass asked. “No, keep him alive. I still have plans for him.”
I never saw Major Crass again.
I had tried to contact him several times but he never returned any of my messages. The prisoner continued to deteriorate. The prison doctor did what he could. Eventually they resorted to a feeding tube and IVs, which the prisoner would immediately remove the moment he was left alone.
We strapped him down to a hospital bed in order to keep him alive but eventually that became unnecessary. The prisoner became too weak to remove the tubes. I wasn’t sure what plans Major Crass had for the man but I knew he was running out of time. The prisoner was dying. The damage done to his body and then the hunger and water strike had taken too much of a toll.
It was a cruel fate but one I felt he deserved, and he seemed to want. Unfortunately for him, it was my job to keep him alive. He got around the clock care. I even brought in a small staff to see to his needs. They were appalled by the look and smell of him of course, but I had plenty of funds to keep them quiet. With their help, I would be able to force the man to stay alive for months, maybe even a year if I got lucky.
Prisoner 187 contracted pneumonia.
The staff was convinced they were going to lose him. Actually, they were surprised that he had even managed to live as long as he had. The man was completely unresponsive to any stimuli. I tried to contact Major Crass for the final time. I received no response. I paid off the medical staff, and I had them re
move all the tubes and IVs. After that, I placed Prisoner 187 back in his cell, and I waited for him to die.
I won’t lie to you. I wanted the man to die. I planned on throwing a party for myself when we put him in the ground. I hated him that much. Those wild eyes of his haunted my damn dreams. His freakish strength had frightened my men, and guards at a prison can’t afford to be frightened. He was like one of those stupid axe-wielding killers in a movie. No matter how many times we knocked him down, he just kept getting back up for more. And he always gave better than he got.
He was the worst kind of prisoner. He was dangerous, and we couldn’t deal with him. It took Major Crass to finally break him, but Major Crass had done his job too well. The ruin he left behind needed expensive care. Well, I was done with all that. A major thorn was about to be removed from my side. If Major Crass had a problem with any of my actions, he should have picked up the phone when I attempted to contact him. As far as I was concerned, my life had just gotten easier.
Then the Regulators came to Felltrop.
My world turned to shit.
They came in fully suited up and armed to the teeth. With them, they had an older gentleman, with flecks of grey in his dark hair. The man was wearing an expensive suit. He introduced himself as Mr. Hardin.
They also had a small battalion of soldiers with them, but they left these soldiers outside the prison. The group that entered didn’t look military. Instead, they looked like a band of marauders. There was a menace that permeated out of their narrowed eyes and scowling faces. All of them wore a large patch on their arms depicting a bandana wearing skull with two musket pistols.
I wish I could have prevented them from entering. However, the Regulators aren’t bound by normal laws. I made calls. Nobody wanted to step on their toes. Before I knew it, they were all standing in my office.
One man wasn’t wearing that patch. He seemed a bit more military-like than the others but the bushy beard on his face told me that he wasn’t an average soldier.
“How much did you know about the Regulators at that point?”
Just what the news had shown. Obviously I knew about the zombie outbreak in El Paso, Texas. I also knew that there was a team of men assigned to deal with it. That wasn’t anything new by a long shot, and I had seen the footage where one guy is fighting off a horde of the dead. It looked rather fake to me. Regardless, whatever was going on down in Texas wasn’t happening in my neck of the woods. I gave it very little attention.
“What about your guards?”
The younger guards knew all about the Regulators. They even grouped around them looking for autographs and pictures. The older guards were just as ignorant as I was.
“So what can I do for you gentlemen?” I asked.
“We are here to retrieve the General,” Mr. Hardin stated.
“I’m not sure who that is,” I said.
“I think you do,” Mr. Hardin said calmly. “He’s easy enough to recognize, if not by his appearance than by his actions.”
I immediately knew who they were talking about. There could be no other prisoner in Felltrop. The sinking feeling in my gut must have registered on my face.
“Who is this man to you?” I asked.
“He’s the leader of the Regulators,” Mr. Hardin said.
I began sweating profusely. I didn’t know much about these men but I knew enough to be worried. I was in trouble. I hated Major Crass at that moment. I hated him for bringing this trouble to my front door.
“I’m not sure I have the man you’re looking for,” I lied. “Perhaps you would like to look at our roster? Maybe you can point out his picture.”
“I doubt he’s on your regular roster of inmates,” Mr. Hardin smiled. “Major Crass would have told you to keep him a secret.”
“Things are about to go very badly for you,” the youngest of the group said from the back of the room. “Give up my uncle, NOW!”
I didn’t like the look of that one. He was younger, rasher, and there was a hint of violence lurking just behind his imposing stance. His fingers were even twitching at the 1911 holstered on his right hip.
The largest of the bunch, a virtual giant of a man, exhaled loudly. It sounded like a bear waking up from hibernation. These men were about to hurt me.
“Let me make a call,” I said. “I may know a prisoner that fits that description.”
I called the control room for prisoner 187’s cell. I told them to bring the man up to the infirmary. Then I called in four guards to escort the Regulators to their leader. I couldn’t warn my men outright but I managed to slip in a code word that meant they should arm themselves.
Mr. Hardin insisted that I accompany them to the infirmary.
“You’re not looking very well, Warden Smiles,” Mr. Hardin said. “Is something troubling you?”
“I don’t like a group of armed men entering my prison,” I replied. “I don’t like the air of you people. It’s as if you’re looking for trouble.”
“Is that why your men are armed?” Mr. Hardin asked.
“They always carry weapons,” I said.
“I doubt that,” Mr. Hardin said. “But don’t doubt this. I have very little control over this team. Their leader better be one hundred percent healthy, or there will be Hell to pay.”
“I was brought a prisoner to watch over by Major Crass,” I said. “He is well aware of everything that has happened. If you have any problems, you can speak with him.”
“I’ve already arrested him,” Mr. Hardin said.
We waited in the infirmary for about twenty minutes. The young one was pacing up and down. He was cursing under his breath. My guards kept their hands on their belts, near their pistols.
Finally, two more of my men wheeled prisoner 187 into the infirmary. They parked his gurney against the nearest wall and stood back.
The team didn’t recognize him.
Instead, they were looking to me expectantly.
“I believe this is the man you’re looking for,” I said with an arrogance I certainly did not feel.
“What the fuck are you talking about,” the young man said. “I’m sick of playing games with this asshole, Nick.”
The big man stepped up behind me. I’m sure he was going to hurt me but another team member interrupted.
“Wait a second,” the only man wearing a helmet said as he studied prisoner 187. “Oh my God, I think this is him. I think this is Jaxon.”
The young man went over and took a closer look at prisoner 187. He then began to tremble. Perhaps I could have calmed things down. I’m not sure. I never got the chance; one of the guards that wheeled the prisoner in chose that very moment to open his mouth.
“Serves the bastard right,” the guard joked. “Shitty way to go, but he sure as Hell deserves it.”
The young one raised his head up slowly and looked at the guard. Then he calmly walked over to him, drew his pistol, and shot my man in the face. Brain matter exploded all over the white wall.
“Damn it, Dudley!” Mr. Hardin shouted. “Control yourself. How am I going to explain that?”
“About as well as you explain this,” the big man said as he raised the machine gun strapped to his chest.
My guards didn’t react fast enough. They should have drawn and fired as soon as the young man drew his pistol. However, when the big man raised his weapon, my guards finally went into action.
A firefight exploded into existence right in my infirmary. I ducked down, and ran out of the room. I went down the long hallway and up a short flight of stairs.
“You think you’re getting away?” The young man screamed behind me. “You’re a fucking dead man!”
I was being pursued. The young man was going to kill me. I yelled for my secretary to sound the alarm as I ran into my office and locked the door.
I heard the bells echo throughout the prison as I made my way into the secret bookshelf exit. It was my first time using it. I had never seen the inside of the long hallway of the secret exit, an
d I was shocked as I stepped out on a metal platform, and overhead lights began to turn on, one after another. Below me was a short flight of steps. Directly in front of the steps was a large podium with a single red button.
I ran to the red button. I poised my hand above it, and I began to have second thoughts. I didn’t know what would happen if I pressed it. I looked down the concrete hallway. The lights were still turning on. I could see metal doors recessed into both sides of the concrete.
There was a car parked at the opposite end. A door slid open to the outside world just beyond the car. I had a way out but I still had doubts about pressing the button. I heard gunfire coming from the open door of my office behind me, and I made up my mind.
I pressed the button.
A loud alarm began to blare. It overpowered the alarm of the prison. A voice came over an intercom. The voice told me to run to the vehicle and exit the building. I hesitated. I worried about what I had just unleashed upon my employees still inside the prison.
The metal doors along the walls began to slide open slowly. A horrible smell permeated the hallway. I heard moans; terrible, dark moans that spoke of a hunger never to be satisfied. A metal grate began to descend from the ceiling just in front of the car.
I ran for my life.
I had to get beyond the metal grate before I was trapped inside the hallway. I’m not exactly in shape. The hallway was long. Dark shapes began to emerge from the walls. I heard screams. I felt hands reaching out for me.
The gate was halfway down.
I didn’t look behind me. I refused to look. Still, I could feel their presence. I could sense their hunger. The young man finally came through the bookshelf. I heard him curse. I heard him shoot his weapon.
I slid under the gate.
I finally took a brief moment to look behind me. The hallway was filled with zombies. There must have close to a hundred of them, but maybe that’s just my mind exaggerating things. At the opposite end, the young man was firing his pistol into the heart of them.
I entered the car. The keys were waiting for me in the ignition. Thankfully, the vehicle started. I drove out, and as I peeled away, I took one final look back at Felltrop. Metal bars and doors had descended from hidden slots in the building I had just vacated.
Broken (Book 3 of The Guardian Interviews) Page 27
