And they all knew when.
***
Father Darren Albright stayed locked in his office, praying to the Christ on his wall. His stomach tossed and grumbled, and more than once he had to halt his prayers so he could breathe deeply, struggling to keep his belly in check. Sweat soaked his face, any coolness provided doing little to calm his jangling nerves.
As he prayed, the same words tumbled from his lips again and again. “Lord, protect and forgive me. Lord, protect and forgive me.”
Fifteen
“How long until the Feds arrive?” Timms asked. He held a cup of coffee in his hands and looked deep into the dark liquid. It reminded him of his career--black and bleak.
Governor Graham shrugged, stirring the cream into her own cup. “A few hours. They wanted to send somebody local, but I told them I wanted Washington boys or nobody.”
“Sure,” Ron said. “Makes sense. Get the best, right?”
“I’m up for re-election next year, warden. I don’t want an opponent telling me I’m soft, that I didn’t try. I get these boys to come in, take a look around, and I’m bulletproof. Doesn’t matter if they find anything or not. I can officially pass the buck.”
He nodded, feeling a little twist of disgust in his gut. Graham was a bitch through and through, but sooner or later she might prove to be a great asset to him, as long as he could help her. So he dealt with her, doing his best to let the bad things roll off his back. He could change things when he reached the top, but he’d have to swallow his fair amount of shit on the climb.
He didn’t think that made him a sellout, but he wasn’t so sure.
“I’m sorry you had to come here for this,” he told her. “We’d hoped we could handle it. Hell, we thought we had.”
“Well, it’s getting handled now.” She sipped at her coffee, grimaced. “Shit. Can’t you get something better than this?”
“You’ve seen our budget.”
She shot him a look, and he held up a hand. “Sorry, Governor.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t get elected by being the prison system’s best friend. I bring crime down, and that raises prison population. Cost of doing business. You understand.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Will you be here when the feds arrive?”
“Me? No. I have other places to be today. Don’t think just because I make a stop you’re suddenly my favorite kid.”
“I wouldn’t make that mistake. Governor, I would like to be a bigger help to you.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. Her smile was an amused one. “Do you think you can be?”
“I do. I’ve been in the trenches more than a little bit. I’ve seen how things work, and I know how to make them work in my favor.”
She let out a little laugh. “Really? How on Earth does what’s going on here work in your favor?”
“Because when it stops, I’m a hero. I saved the lives of men who were in danger of being slaughtered.”
“You saved the lives of complete bastards with my help. There’s a difference.”
“Depends on which way you spin it; you know that more than I do. I go on TV and say, ‘I couldn’t have done this without the timely assistance of Governor Graham. If she cares this much for the State’s convicts, I can only imagine how deeply she cares for its citizens.’ I come out as the man who stopped a series of murders, and you’re the woman who made it all possible. It’s a rosy picture, and it’s a can’t miss.”
Her amused smile widened, sincerity creeping in around the edges. “I like it,” she said. “You’re pretty clever, warden.”
Ron nodded his thanks.
“I’ll tell you what. You get this place sorted out and squared away, keep it that way, and I think I can find a position for you in my administration. Does that sound like a fair shake?”
“More than fair.”
“Good.” She finished her coffee and set the cup down on his desk. “I’m getting out of this hellhole. Keep me informed. I expect to know the second you have somebody in custody.”
“You will.”
“I better.”
And she left.
Ron leaned back, smiling to himself. He felt a small stab of guilt, but it was something he could live with. A step up was just the thing to remove that kind of sting.
***
“No. Not possible.”
“It is. Fuckin’ deal with it.”
Maggot felt sweat pop up in beads on his forehead, on his palms. His stomach twisted in a knot.
“The killing things...It will not matter what we do. They will murder every one of us.”
He turned to look Officer Nicholas in the eye, but received a slap across the back of the head for his troubles. “Eyes front, asswipe,” the C.O. said. “Tell you the truth, Maggot, I don’t believe in any of this shit. Everybody else seems to, though. Looks like I’m stuck going along for the ride.”
“You could leave.”
“I’ve fuckin’ tried. That cunt of a Governor’s got this place sealed up tighter than a nun’s snatch. Nobody gets in or out until they find the killer.”
“The killing things.”
Another hand crashed across the back of the skull, this one harder. “Cut out that ‘killing things’ bullshit, okay? You’re not fooling anybody with it. People are doing this, plain and fuckin’ simple. All we’re gonna do is declare open season. Morrow and the priest, they got their heads up their asses, and they’re taking the rest of us with them.”
“Father Albright?” Maggot wanted to turn around, but he kept his eyes forward. Even so, he flinched as if another blow was coming. It never arrived.
“Yeah. It was his dumb ass came up with the idea, so I’ve heard. Maybe he thinks the Lord will give two shits about how much we’re gonna pay for this fucking scheme.”
“Father Albright is a nice man. If it was his idea, it will work.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, Maggot. One part about it I do like, though.”
“What?”
Maggot felt the guard’s warm, sticky fingers on the back of his neck.
Nicholas whispered right in his ear, his breath hot and awful. “It gives you and me some time together. I like our alone time. I like beating the shit out of your little faggot ass.”
Maggot shivered, but he never turned to face the horrible guard.
“You’re gonna be mine again,” Nicholas said. “Gonna be my little Maggot the faggot. I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t stand.”
“Please--”
“You begging me to do it? I like that. Beg me to let you suck my dick. I want to hear it.”
“Please do not.”
There was a chuckle, slow and deep. “Do not? That’s not on the menu. I’m afraid it’s not even one of the manager’s specials. We’re strictly in a Do situation, you and me.”
Maggot felt the tears well up in his eyes, but he blinked them back. He did not want to cry in front of Officer Nicholas. Crying would earn him a beating, and he could not handle that right now. He simply could not. “Okay,” he finally whispered.
The breath disappeared from his ear, the fingers from his neck. “Good. That’s real good.”
Nicholas grabbed Maggot’s arm and dragged him to a halt. The guard unlocked the door to Maggot’s cell and shoved him inside. He slammed the door shut and snickered. “See you later, Maggot.”
Maggot did not turn around to watch Nicholas leave. Instead, he stared at the cell’s rear wall, trying to lose himself in the drab concrete. He did not even blink until he heard his cellmate’s voice.
“Welcome home, bitch.”
Sixteen
“You serious, Tree? You killed one of those things?”
“Yeah, man. Stomped my way right through its damn neck.”
“That’s some good shit to know. How ‘bout you tell me all about it.”
***
“Why are we doing this, Omar?”
“To save our lives.”
“I sti
ll can’t believe that was Chale. That’s some crazy shit.”
“It’s true, though.”
“I know.”
“And we’re going to see him again, too.”
***
“How do we know they won’t just go apeshit and try to kill us?”
“Because they’re scared, too.”
“Maybe, but they’re only scared of those things, Ray. I’m afraid of the cons, too.”
“I know. I’m right there with you.”
***
“Aldo, my boy, I’m sorry. I’ll put you to rest soon.”
***
“You like that, Maggot? Do ya, you fucking turd?”
“No.”
“Say, ‘Yes.’”
“Yes.”
***
“You get the word out?”
“Yeah. It went to everybody in the Brotherhood. No matter what, Diggs gets airholed.”
“Good. Music to my fuckin’ ears.”
***
“Hello, Father.”
“Officer Morrow.”
“What brings you to Unit B today?”
“Nothing special. Thought I’d give the men a chance to take confession.”
Seventeen
Just after lunch, Tree grabbed his gut and screamed. He wrapped both arms around his midsection, and his face twisted in an expression of brutal agony. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He cast a single look up at Diggs, received a small almost invisible nod, and then crumpled to the floor.
Diggs leapt off of his bunk and wrapped his fingers around the bars of his cell. Pulling himself close to the door, adrenaline roaring through his system, he screamed.
“Guard! We got somethin’ goin’ on up here!”
***
Darren stood near Unit B’s guard station, behind the desk and the console that controlled the cellblock’s lights and locks. He kept his hands in his pockets, where they shook as if he was freezing. His forehead grew sick with sweat, but he didn’t bother to wipe away the perspiration. The last thing he wanted was for anybody to notice how frightened he was. Instead, he turned to Morrow. His friend was nervous, too. Darren could tell by the way Ray’s eyes darted from place to place, unable to linger on any single spot for more than an instant.
When Diggs’ cry rang through the block, they both craned their necks toward the man’s cell. Darren felt the knot of anxiety in his belly give a hard twist, and his breath almost disappeared. Ray gave his shoulder a pat, but it didn’t help. He watched as a guard trotted toward the cell and wrenched the door open.
The guard let out an exaggerated puff of air as Tree and Diggs shoved him aside. Inmates began to yell as the two cons bolted down the walkway to the stairs.
Diggs hit the ground floor and sprinted toward the guard station, moving like a locomotive. Morrow had already punched the alarm, and its claxon screech filled the entire unit. Darren pressed his hands against his ears, but the sound remained a hot blade piercing his skull. He watched as Diggs vaulted over the guard station desk and gave Morrow a smile. The guard smirked in reply and presented his chin. The gangbanger hit it with a glancing blow, but Morrow still went down like he’d been creamed by a dump truck. Darren backed off as Diggs looked over the console for a moment. The banger raised an eyebrow at Darren and then started flipping buttons.
And all the cell doors flew open.
The noise was deafening, a tidal wave of yells and curses and warcries. Men in prison grays streamed into the room, dragging their mattresses, bedclothes, and toiletries behind them. Things flew into the air. Mattresses fell from the upper floors. The inmates wrestled each other, shoved, spat. Guards screamed, doing their best to act as though the riot had taken them by surprise. Some ran into the growing crowd, drawing their batons. Inmates pushed them to the ground before they had a chance to swing. The punches the prisoners threw looked real enough. Darren hoped only a few had thrown their fists with any real force. He could explain that to the guards as simple excitement. Anything more would be pushing it.
Marquez sauntered over, his smile as big as Diggs’ had been. “Afternoon, Father,” he said. “We having fun or what?”
Darren shrank away, making it look good. Above him, Diggs was on top of the desk, yanking the wires out of the Unit’s lone camera. “We cool,” the banger reported, and then Morrow was back on his feet, punching buttons on the console. Throughout the cellblock, barred doors slid shut. Locked.
Morrow gave Darren another nod. “That’s it. We’re shut in.”
“Good.”
Albright saw Ribisi come down the stairs, taking his time. Sweeny approached from across the floor. Throughout the Unit, men acted like bloodthirsty animals. Darren watched a group of them pile their mattresses into a mound. Still more dragged every solid object they could toward the Unit’s entrance, where they formed a high, dangerous looking barricade. Toothpaste, mouthwash, toilet paper, and homemade liquor rained down from above. It was the first riot Darren had ever seen, and even though it had been his idea, his creation, it still scared the hell out of him. “I don’t ever want to see one of these for real,” he whispered.
“Give it time,” Diggs told him through his grin. “We just gettin’ started an’ shit.”
“Calm down, Diggs.” Ribisi, his poker face still pristine. “Don’t go scaring the man. We’re going to need a priest on our side, remember?”
“Yo, I’m just fuckin’ around.”
“Well can it, nigger,” Sweeny spat. “Don’t need your monkey ass screwing this up.”
“You wanna--”
“Cool it,” Marquez warned. The glare he gave Sweeny silenced the Aryan without protest. The look inspired the same reaction in Diggs. “This sure as shit ain’t the time or place.”
“Thanks,” Darren told him. The Mexican gave him a small bow in response.
The roar swelled, almost overpowering the alarms. One by one, the guards converged on the station, only a few of them appearing relaxed. Most balled their hands into fists or shook with the power of their excitement and fear. Darren wondered where their batons might be, but he figured that out a second later. “This everybody?” he asked.
Morrow shook his head. “Give it a second. I opened us up to Units A and C. We got a lot of guys coming in.”
“We have room?”
“We’ll find out.”
He saw a few fistfights break out, and he was amazed when other inmates pulled the combatants apart. Maybe it was working. Maybe it would be okay.
Something like hope flickered within him.
The tide of men slowed to a trickle. There were no doubt others who hadn’t made it, were either taking their time or had decided to celebrate their few hours of freedom by not giving a damn. Darren decided it didn’t matter. He had to do this now. Marquez confirmed it by patting him on the shoulder.
“Go ahead, Father.”
He froze. What was he going to say? How was he going to pull this off? Would they even listen to him? What if they refused to stop, just kept going and turned this in to an honest to God riot? It would all be his fault. And when night fell and the vampires returned, who knew how many men would be slaughtered? Maybe the inmates could stop those monsters, but not without heavy casualties. He couldn’t live with that. No way.
How was he going to talk to these men?
“Father Albright,” Ribisi said. His eyes were kind, but showed the slightest trace of impatience. He motioned toward the desk. “I believe the floor is yours.”
Darren swallowed hard, shared a final glance with Morrow. His friend reached for a switch, flipped it. The alarm stopped, and the inmates fell silent almost immediately.
They looked to him.
“Here we go,” he whispered to himself. His voice sounded strange, almost alien. He climbed on top of the desk and looked out at the sea of convicts and guards, now rising to their feet, who looked back at him. More peered down at him from the balconies. On the third floor, he saw Maggot’s mouse-like eyes peeking out from b
ehind a larger inmate. The room was still except for the wisps of paper and other debris that floated out of the sky like a rain of ashes.
He took a breath, then spoke. “Some of you may not know me. My name is Father Darren Albright. Together, we’re going to put a stop to this.”
The Unit erupted into applause. Hands clapped and feet stomped and men roared their approval. The sound was joyful, confident, and terrifying. Darren thought it would never end, that his words had sparked a fresh round of chaos, but the inmates slowly quieted. It wasn’t until he glanced behind him and saw the faction leaders motioning for silence that he understood why.
“It’s just past noon,” he told the men. “The sun goes down at seven, so whatever we’re going to do, it has to been done by then. Once the sun sets, those things will be back. We all know that.”
The men nodded, inmates and guards alike. He looked at their faces, and he saw the determination there, the anger and the fear and the sheer desire to survive. They remembered what they’d seen the night before, and they weren’t about to let it happen to them. They’d made their decision, and it was survival.
“All right,” he told them. “Let’s get organized.”
PART THREE
One
Timms slumped behind his desk, rubbing his temples and hoping against hope the clusterfuck that was his career might sort itself out, when the screech of the alarm jolted him out of his trance. His jaw dropped open and his breath caught in his throat. When he managed to say something, it was a terrified, “No, no, no!” How many times did he have to hear this goddamn thing go off in one week? Both fists crashed down on his desk as he wondered how many bodies had been found this time. He stood, rolled his head to the left and to the right in an attempt to ease the growing tension at the base of his skull, and checked his suit, smoothing out as many of the wrinkles as he could manage. Something close to satisfied, he left his office.
Lights Out Page 18
