As Darren watched, Ribisi clapped a hand down on Morrow’s shoulder, squeezed. The Sicilian gave him a slow, wicked smile, and Morrow seemed to shrink. A moment later, Ribisi let go and left the closet. Morrow turned to follow.
“Ray.”
The officer turned back to Darren, his eyes normal again. “What’s up?”
“You know things went off the rails outside, that Ron knows I was in on it.”
Morrow nodded. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. One thing, though. Before sunset--before everything goes crazy tonight--I’m putting you and the rest of the staff in cells and locking you in.”
His friend shot him a sharp look. “No way, Darren. We can help, and we sure as shit aren’t going to be safe just because we’re sitting in cells. At least out in the open we have the choice to run.”
“You can also get hit when the State Police bust in, and you can get charged just like I’m going to. We put you in cells, you’re just hostages. You’ll still have a job when this is over.”
“Have you seen my job? It’s terrible. Trust me, I won’t mind losing it.”
“Ray, I’m not an idiot. I know what’s going to happen to you and the rest of the C.O.’s if you get put behind bars.”
Morrow shook his head. “I wish that was different than every other day, but it’s not. Look, I appreciate the thought, and I’ll even run it past the rest, but I’m just like you, okay? I’m in this until the end. If we get pinched, I’ll come up with something. Human shields, maybe. We could even convince Ron that you were forced to say that shit outside.”
“Don’t worry about me right now. Worry about yourself.”
Morrow threw an arm round his shoulder, gave him a grin. “You know me, Darren. I always do.”
Six
The sun crept toward the horizon, casting shadows over and past Burnham’s monolithic structure. The air took a turn for the cooler, and those both inside and out found themselves rubbing their arms or blowing on their hands in a vain attempt to warm themselves. They wondered if it was an actual drop in temperature or just nerves, but they never pondered the question long.
Outside the prison’s gates, Ron Timms watched as the State Police arrived by car, bus, and other forms of transport. A helicopter had landed twenty minutes before, and now it crouched at the edge of the parking lot like a carrion bird. Two armored trucks and a riot tank sat closer in, their operators speaking in a small cluster. About two hundred men had amassed so far, much less than the promised four hundred, but the officer in charge said more were on the way, it was only a matter of time. Timms nodded, but he had his doubts. At the opposite end of the parking lot, several news vans with satellite feeds had already arrived. Fucking wonderful.
Timms paced back and forth, his shoes scuffing against the payment. “Can we go in with what we have?”
“That’s a bad idea,” Brass told him. “This isn’t storming a barn full of religious nuts. We’re talking two hundred cops against almost ten times as many pissed off convicts. It’s crazy.”
“We’ve got to put this down.”
“When it’s safe.”
“Well, when the fuck’s that gonna be?”
“Morning, probably. First light. Half the men inside will still be sleeping, more probably. We’ll catch them off guard. It’ll work.”
“But....” Albright’s words pulled at him. Before sunset. They’ll do more good that way. He looked to the sun and saw it just begin to dip below the hills. He refused to buy Darren’s line about something unnatural inside Burnham. Still, doubts worried at the back of his mind. As he watched Burnham’s main entrance, he prayed he was doing the right thing. The first twinges of doubt told him otherwise.
“Sorry, Darren,” he whispered. “Looks like you’re on your own.”
***
In Unit B, Father Albright blessed another bucket of water and sent it off with an inmate. The tattooed man carried it up to the second floor walkway, where he stationed himself about thirty feet from the last inmate, who hunched over his own container of holy water.
They had only sealed a few places off, the far administrative wing and the exits that led to the yard. They may be trapped inside with the bloodsuckers, but those monsters weren’t getting outside.
They’d decided to keep the rest of the spaces open because of the sheer number of bodies involved. People needed room to move. Otherwise, the entire place would just turn into a giant meat-grinder. Hopefully, plenty of room would translate to minimal casualties.
Darren blessed the last bucket and sent it on its way. Morrow approached him, a crudely carved wooden stake thrust into his belt. Darren gave him a glance before holding up a small glass vial filled with water and blessing it, as well. He tucked the vial into his pocket, then turned to his friend.
“Well?”
“Nobody wanted to go in the cells. A few of them seemed like they maybe thought it was a good idea, but they don’t want to look scared.”
“They shouldn’t worry about it. I’m scared to death, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“Same here,” Morrow said. “Anyway, we’ve got people spread throughout the entire place in groups of no less than ten. We’ve got maybe three hundred stakes that we’ve distributed between everybody. Best we could do with the time we had, I guess.”
“How do you like the odds?”
“I don’t. We’ve got the numbers, but we don’t really know how to put these things down. It’s all guesswork. All we know about these things is that they’re incredible at killing.”
“That’s very true.”
“Thing is,” Ray continued, “We’ve got killers, too. A lot of them. We’ve got guys in here who aren’t ever going to see the sun again either, and they’ll fight like hell because of that.”
“So what you’re saying is it comes down to who’s more homicidal?”
Morrow gave him a weak grin. “Something like that.”
Darren chuckled. “Sounds like politics.”
Morrow clapped a hand on the chaplain’s shoulder. “We could use a prayer, Darren. I’m sure everybody would appreciate it.”
Albright nodded. “Right. Just give me a second, okay? I’d like to go get something.”
“Sun’s going down.”
“I know. It’ll just be a minute.”
“Okay, hurry.”
“I will.”
“And Darren?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful tonight, okay?”
“I will. You, too.”
***
“Hey, Marquez!”
Omar looked up at the approaching voice. He’d been examining the wooden stake in his hands, hefting its weight and making a few practice stabs. It felt so small and useless in his hands, like something only a lunatic would use. He thought about what he’d done hours before when he’d returned to the kitchen. That had also been a lunatic idea, and he could only pray it might work.
Ribisi sauntered over, his smile friendly. The old man carried a stake of his own. He waved it through the air as he walked.
“Why the fuck they give these to us? Don’t they know we’re too old and fat?”
Omar chuckled at the joke. “They know you’re old and fat. They gave me this because they wanted to see if it was as big as my dick.”
The Sicilian laughed.
Omar turned to look out over Unit B, at the men who moved in groups, shouting encouragement to each other, trying their damnedest to prove they weren’t scared shitless. He knew how they felt. Through the years he’d spent rising to power, he’d needed to act the exact same way. Fear was weakness, and weakness was as good as a knife in the back. Now, he felt a strange finality mixed in with his fear, as if this might be the last time he would have to experience such a terrible emotion. It wasn’t comforting, but that was all right.
“Did you talk to your people, Ribisi?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Who are you leaving in charge?”
“Gin
o. He’s young, but he’s got a pretty good head for business. You?”
“Rocha. He’s a little loco, but he’s good. It’s important we keep this place under our care, right?”
“These other guys, they spend most of their time trying to think of new ways to kill each other. You and me, though, there’s always been respect.”
“There has. You’re a good man, Ribisi. A smart businessman. You’ve got honor.”
“And that’s important. You have it, too.”
Marquez gave him a nod. “The honor is all mine.”
***
Sweeny looked at each of his men in turn. His eyes remained narrow and alive, burrowing into each man, while his face grew drawn and serious. He saw the same intensity on the faces of his white brothers. When he spoke, he knew he had their full attention.
“Listen to me. Every last one of you. We’re about to see some serious shit, really freaky stuff. Remember that you are Aryans. You will inherit this Earth no matter what happens here tonight. It is our destiny.”
The men nodded. A few grunted their approval.
“So let’s do the right thing tonight. You see a bloodsucker heading your way, you take it out. You see a nigger off his guard, you take it out, too. This time tomorrow, we’re going to run this place.”
The boys slapped each other on the back. One let out an excited, “Yeah!”
“And another thing,” he told them. “I’ve got five thousand dollars for anybody who can prove to me they’ve killed that motherfucker Diggs.”
***
Diggs paced back and forth, watching Sweeny. He felt like he could burn the piece of shit with his eyes if he wanted. The cracker had been pushing for too long. Sooner or later, it was gonna be time to settle up for good.
“Look at the muthafuckas,” one of his boys said through his teeth. “Looks like they ready to set a cross on fire.”
“Hell, yeah,” Diggs answered. “You all best keep on your toes out there. Don’t let none of them fuck with you.”
“What about Sweeny, man? You know he’s gonna come for you.”
“Let him. I want to kill that cracka myself.”
***
Maggot stumbled forward as Officer Nicholas shoved him from behind. His ankles twisted together, and he lost his balance, crashing to the cell’s concrete floor. His chin cracked against the ground, sending a scorching lance of pain through his head. He rubbed his chin, and his hand came away streaked with blood.
Behind him, he heard Officer Nicholas laugh.
“Enjoy that landing, faggot? There’s more pain where that came from.”
Maggot pushed himself up to his hands and knees and looked around at the small cell. The cruel guard had taken him to solitary, and even now closed the cell door behind him. His smile made Maggot’s skin crawl.
“Nobody’s going to bother us here,” Nicholas said. “We can make all the noise we want, and nobody’s gonna give a damn. As of this moment, Maggot, your ass belongs to me.”
Maggot kept his head bowed slightly, yet still looked up at Nicholas.
“Please. Do not do anything to me.”
The guard’s nightstick came out of nowhere to crack across his mouth. Pain erupted through his face and head, and he heard the soft tinkling sounds of his teeth scattering across the floor. His mouth hanging open, blood seeping past his lips, he tongued his gums, felt the broken stumps of teeth and the empty cavities were they had been knocked out completely. The pain took over his entire world, and tears poured down his face like rainwater from a gutter.
“I’ll do what I want, Maggot, and you’ll do what I tell you.” Nicholas was unbuttoning his pants, pulling down his zipper. His smile appeared cruel even through Maggot’s tear-blurred eyes.
“Right now,” the guard said, “I want you to keep that mouth open for me.”
***
Father Albright returned to Unit B in his full vestments. A flowing white robe obscured his physique. A red and gold stole hung from his shoulders, a silver crucifix dangling on a chain between. He carried his rosary in one hand. Now that he wore the outfit, he felt a new sense of confidence, like a knight after strapping on his armor or Superman after exiting a phone booth. He looked out on the men of Unit B and saw a growing confidence in them as well. Morrow smiled, and Darren nodded in return.
The cellblock fell silent around him. The air felt still, heavy. He could sense the eyes on him--the anticipation--and it charged him even further. As the presence of God filled him with strength, he cleared his throat.
“Let us pray.”
The inmates bowed their heads as one. For Darren, the simple movement packed the power of a dozen suns. It nearly stole his breath. He closed his eyes and spoke.
“Lord, we ask for Your blessing and protection in this hour. May these men be kept safe through this trial, and may we all see Your will be done.” He drew in a breath, feeling power burn deep within him.
“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour--”
The first scream stopped him cold.
Seven
Close to fifty men stood outside the storage closet. They waited in the hallway, most of them huddled near the tiny room’s doorway. When they first heard the quick scraping and shuffling sounds of the monsters charging toward the tunnel’s entrance, most of them rushed forward, spurred on by adrenaline and a mad sense of confidence. A few backed away or even ran, and that was the only thing that saved them. Those who pressed in close soon found themselves helpless, pinned by those behind them. The group shoved forward, all but presenting the helpless few in front to the first creatures that sprang free of the tunnel.
The terrified men tried to raise their arms to defend themselves--tried to brandish the wooden stakes they’d been given--only to find their arms pinned to their sides by the compressed surroundings. Helpless, they stared, screaming, as the first of the vampires leapt free of the ground and laid into them.
It slashed a Sicilian across the throat, spraying a fan of arterial blood across the closet’s drab walls. The man collapsed, unable to even place a hand to his gurgling throat, but the crushing pressure from behind kept him pinned against the wall.
A second man, this one snarling through a two-day growth of beard, squeezed into the closet and stabbed downward with his stake. The creature, its pale and dirt-streaked skin peeled tight over its hungry features, grabbed his arm with both hands and snapped it like dry kindling. A horrible, splintering sound echoed through the tiny space in the split second before the man’s screams took over the world. The stake fell from his limp hand, clattering on the ground even as a second vampire crawled free of the tunnel. Teeth clamped into the screaming man’s throat and tore it open, stealing his voice as his blood spurting into a cold and foul mouth.
Still, the men pressed into the cramped space. The first touches of panic had taken hold, overriding their brains and forcing them to keep moving. As screams and warcries mingled, the cons pressed against the closet as a single, terrified throng of flesh, and the monsters met them eagerly. Talons tore through tissue and organs and blood vessels. Teeth ripped throats open, and dead tongues explored the ruined cavities beyond. The creatures cut a swath through them, the way growing easier as more men came to their senses and ran like hell. Soon, the bodies of the dead and dying, as well as a few bodies that would soon rise again, littered the hallway.
A gangbanger called Cee fell last. He stood at the end of the hallway, shaking and fighting to keep himself from screaming. In one trembling fist, he held a wooden stake he’d picked up after a fleeing inmate had dropped it. It felt cold and slick in his hand, but he gripped it tightly just the same. He watched the monsters charge him, almost ten of them by this point, and at the last moment he shoved his fear aside and launched himself at the closest creature. Screeching, he thrust the stake forward and felt it punch through flesh and
crash past ribs. The monster howled, grabbing the wooden weapon with both hands, and then fell over, black blood pluming from its heart. Cee let out a cry of celebration, but then two more monsters fell on him, their teeth finding the soft flesh of his throat and cutting the cry short.
***
The monsters hit Unit B like a tidal wave of hunger and rage. Darren heard the first snarls as the creatures approached. Their death stink followed and then seven of the undead charged out of the hallway and onto the floor. The inmates surged forward, meeting the attack despite the screams of terror that filled the room, and the two sides clashed in the middle like walls of living force.
He saw a gout of blood shoot through the air, and a limp body followed it. The sick sounds of tearing flesh and snapping bones rose to fill the block, and still the inmates battled against the monsters. Roars from both sides melted together into a single cry of violence, a deafening sound like the rolling of thunder.
***
Somebody lit a single match and touched it to the rest of the book. Flame popped in his hand, and he tossed the fireball onto the pile of mattresses, magazines, and paper. A pillar of flame erupted in the center of Unit B, casting heat and shadows over the area.
The battle continued.
***
In the thick of it all, Rocha waded through the men around him, struggling for every inch of ground. The sudden heat of the bonfire pressed against his back, pushing him forward. A hand grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him back as another inmate clawed to get ahead of him. His legs twisted, sending him crashing to the floor. A heavy foot came down on his chest and disappeared. Another stomped on his gut as prisoners and guards alike rushed past him. He cried out, the pain in his body making his arms and legs go limp. Somebody stepped on his elbow, and he felt the joint separate. He started to let out another scream, but a boot clipped his temple as its owner charged past. His vision dimmed, but then a burst of stars brightened the darkness.
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