by Buda, Chuck
“I didn’t give you any fucking orders. I would know if I gave you any fucking orders.”
Muncie thought quickly. He would need to send a message to the rest of the men by punishing Guyton. The word would spread quickly and nobody else would dare to step out of line again. Frankly, Muncie was beside himself that someone had the courage to go against his orders at all.
He clubbed Guyton in the stomach with the butt-end of the baton. Guyton collapsed to the floor, sliding down the wall as he went. He raised his hands in self-defense and attempted to whisper through the airless lungs.
Muncie leaned down. “What’s that? You want me to crack open that coconut? I can do that for you, Jolly-Mon.”
“Gorgon.”
Muncie’s veins tightened. Did the Warden put Guyton up to this? His desire to learn more contained his urge to complete the beating.
“Speak up, Ganja Queen. Did you say Gorgon?”
Guyton clasped his chest and nodded profusely. He rocked on the floor as he fought to regain any capacity to breathe.
Muncie looked over his shoulder. The two guards shrugged at him. Muncie wanted to kill all three of them. And the fucking old nigger. He barked at the guards to drag Melvin to the hole. His patience was tested as he waited for the men to get beyond the point where they could overhear him.
Muncie crouched down to bring his eyes level with Guyton. He read the fear in the man’s pupils.
“What did the Warden tell you to do? And when?” He refrained from pouring more questions upon the guard.
Guyton sat up, clutching his stomach. “He...wants...the prisoners...”
“The fuck does that mean?”
Guyton continued. “A-Pod. Prisoners to be given shots...against the virus.”
Muncie rubbed his temple with the night stick. Wasting needles on inmates? Something doesn’t add up. Why the fuck would Gorgon inject the prisoners...? Inject them. He is going to give them the virus. Why?
“After the prisoners get their shots, then what? He’s going to let them roam the halls freely?”
Guyton breathed heavily as his wind returned. “No. Wants them put back in A-Pod.”
He is up to something. Giving the prisoners the virus is fine because it is less mouths to feed. But it makes the inside much more dangerous. More zombies in here could lead to problems.
“What else did he say? And think carefully. If I suspect you are shitting me, I will kill you, right here. Right now.”
Guyton shook his head and hands in unison. “Nuh-nothing else. Just give them shots and bring them back. He wants it to be a secret though.”
Muncie reflected on the possibilities. The Warden was making moves without bringing him into the fold. It could only mean one thing. Gorgon no longer trusted him. He would have to play along to use this knowledge to his advantage. Confronting Warden Gorgon too early would tip his hand.
“Sorry, Reefer Madness. I had no idea the Warden asked you to leave your post.” Muncie patted Guyton’s shoulder before helping him to his feet. “Do what the Warden asks of you. And I will keep the secret. No worries.”
Muncie leaned closer to Guyton. “Just make sure you keep it to yourself that we talked here. I don’t want the Warden to get nervous that his plan is leaked. I want him to succeed in keeping us alive during this shitstorm. Cool?”
Guyton nodded without a word. Muncie motioned his head for Guyton to continue past. He didn’t turn to watch Guyton hurry away. Instead, he listened to the sound of scared footfalls while he seethed over the new intelligence.
“Game on, Warden.” Muncie snickered and slapped his thigh with the baton. “Game is fucking on.”
Muncie whistled an old tune from the band Journey. The title of the song was Don’t Stop Believin’.
Chapter 15
Dixie stared at the line of inmates filling the room. Dr. Shipley snapped his fingers to bring her back to the moment.
“Come on. I want this done with before I change my mind.” He rolled his own eyes for admitting his displeasure. A phantom from his past reminded him he was only supposed to complain up the chain of command. Never down the chain.
Dixie prepared another needle. She stole a glance at him. “So why are we doing this then? We can always use saline and then tell the Warden it didn’t work.”
Dr. Shipley sighed. “You really think that would work? He wouldn’t believe it for a second. Besides, it’s them or us. I’m not giving up my life for anyone’s. Not yet.” Too much information, he chided himself.
Dixie was about to complain some more when Samantha approached. Dr. Shipley raised his eyebrows at Dixie to mind her tongue now that Samantha had joined them. The three of them worked silently to fill the syringes and gather the supplies.
“Step right up, folks. Right this way.” He awkwardly imitated a circus barker. His intention was to mask his anxiety and put the inmates at ease. Instead, it showed his nervousness. Dr. Shipley understood the last thing you wanted to do around prisoners was show any sign of weakness. Hardened criminals absorbed the scent of opportunity like wolves. And they would exploit it for their own gain. It was their nature.
The line slowly inched up to their table. Each prisoner would roll up the sleeve of their orange jumper with disdain. Several made lewd comments about offering their own flesh-type of injection to return the favor. The nurses ignored the comments and performed as routinely as possible. Dr. Shipley would remind offending prisoners to be respectful. Of course, his reminders would be ignored or laughed at.
The guards from A-Pod kept the steady line moving. Ten prisoners at a time would be funneled into the room. Ten would be lined up in the hallway. The rest of the inmates awaited their turn back in the pod. The movements were carefully orchestrated so only a few prisoners were outside the pod at a time. The process repeated itself several times. Nearing the end of the line, Dr. Shipley counted the remaining men. A pit in his stomach stirred at the prospect of continuing the administration upon the guards.
Two guards stood at the back of the line. They would be the first to be given the serum, before marching the last prisoners back to A-Pod. Dr. Shipley tried to imagine the lives the men had led up to this point. One man was short and muscular. His head was shaved bald and he had a clump of hair on his chin. The somewhat taller guard was African-American. He smiled wide as he whispered to his counterpart. Probably celebrating his relief at being given a potential antidote against infection. Not realizing he was being led to slaughter. Dr. Shipley felt sorry for his involvement in the young man’s death.
Dixie punctured the last prisoner. She dropped the needle into the plastic bin. He watched her massage her knuckles. Dixie’s hand had cramped up from working the needles for the last hour.
“Why don’t you take a break? I’ll finish up here.” He winked at Dixie. She hesitated, her eyes fighting against crying. She quietly nodded and took her leave. Dr. Shipley watched her cross the room to the offices. He asked Samantha to check on the cultures.
The two guards stepped up to the table. They both hurried to get their uniform sleeves up. The taller guard smiled some more.
“Any chance this shit will make my dick grow too?”
The shorter guard laughed. “Yeah, doc. You know how unendowed the brothers are. If it makes his dick grow, I’ll take two shots.”
They both laughed at each other’s jokes. Dr. Shipley smirked at their mirth. He jabbed the needle into the taller one’s arm and pushed the plunger down. A swab of rubbing alcohol finished the application. The shorter guard stepped up.
“I changed my mind. I don’t need a bigger dick. Gimme some medicine to make my hair grow back.”
The men laughed while Dr. Shipley did his job. He forced a smile. “I don’t think the shots will give either of you what you hoped for. But it will drastically alter your chances for survival.” The words were reassuring to the men even though he knew the truth behind the statement. It will drastically end your chances for survival, his mind filled in the blanks.
>
As the guards thanked him, they promised to send the next couple of guards his way.
Dr. Shipley removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Weariness had become unavoidable. The cat naps did little to revive his energy levels. He had been running on fumes and he knew the ladies were exhausted too.
The guilt of his actions wormed through his brain. Never in his life would he have imagined he would have reached this point in his career. His life. Memories of his mother’s pride as she boasted to all the neighbors. “My son is a doctor.” “He’s going to cure the world of its ills.” “He loves to help people. Always has and always will.” The echoes of his mother’s words filled his ears. If only you could see me now, Ma. Dr. Shipley squeezed his eyes closed to block out the thought of her watching over him right now from Heaven. Consternation and disapproval written across her face, with her foot tapping the clouds in disgust.
Two more men entered the Infirmary and approached the table. Dr. Shipley placed the glasses back on his nose and pushed them up against his brow.
“Who wants to go first?” The doctor feigned enthusiasm as the men argued over who deserved to be at the front of the line. Was rank more important? Or tenure? It didn’t matter to Dr. Shipley. There was plenty to go around. And in the end, the guards would get their injections. Certified death sentences.
Dr. Shipley continued supplying the serum until all of the prisoners and guards assigned to A-Pod had been served. The line ended and he watched as two men forced the undead creatures from his Infirmary. The snapping jaws and shrills growls sent shivers down his spine. He tried to hide the horrific expressions on the faces as the creatures were introduced into the pod. The realization that they were being thrown to the wolves, when moments earlier they had been given another chance at living. The worst images revolved around the guards. They would help lead the zombies into the pod, only to have the door closed behind them. Leaving them inside, caged, like animals. Amongst the animals. And the monsters.
He dabbed a tear from the corner of his eye. Dr. Shipley knew the best way to forget the past was to focus on the future. Now was the time to continue his work on figuring out how to truly outlast the disease. More importantly, he wanted to outlast the scourge which he felt coming.
Chapter 16
Bo led the ceremony to remember their fallen friend. The women of D-Pod formed concentric circles around the lunch table. The sound of sniffles and sobbing drowned out Bo’s prayers.
She had assured the inmates they would work together on a solution. They wouldn’t rot in the pod or allow the Warden to sacrifice any others for his sick games. Bo hoped her words were digested but she could tell by the listlessness and hollow eyes. The women were beaten already. Their minds caved to an eventual outcome which still remained unknown.
Bo was brought up in a strict Chinese family where one was to never stop striving forward. Sure, the gods could impede one’s progress and lay obstacles in front of you. But the will to fight on was strong.
She had gathered Claudia’s dirty laundry. Bo stuffed the clothes with bedding and pillows, providing a form they could reflect on. A body, of sorts, so closure could be attained through grieving and saying final goodbyes.
Tracee thought her idea was a “tad morose.” Bo did it anyway. She knew the women had to complete the process so they could move toward action. Bo wasn’t so sure anymore as her eyes scanned the downturned faces and empty expressions.
Shanika was the big, tough girl. Always ready to brawl and setting boundaries on her territory. Bo noticed how Shanika took Claudia’s death the hardest. The big woman screamed out in anger and frustration every so often. Each time, it made Bo jump out of her slippers.
Maria rocked Luna, who buried her face in Maria’s breast. Luna was the weakest link. Had been since the day she arrived. It didn’t bother Bo that Luna required so much handholding. What irked Bo was Maria’s penchant for coddling Luna. She didn’t know if it was a Latino culture thing or if Maria’s motherly instincts were just unassailable.
Bo finished her prayers. She nodded gently at the faux corpse, and bowed before the table. Stepping backwards, Bo accidentally bumped into Diandre. Before losing her balance, Diandre grabbed Bo’s arms to keep her from tumbling to the floor. A damp tissue grazed Bo’s skin. She hoped it was tears which dampened the paper, and not something which had run from Diandre’s nose.
The crowd of inmates silently dispersed. One by one, prisoners touched the faux corpse and made signs of the cross or kissed their fingers and pointed at the heavens. Bo took the symbolic gestures as indications her idea had done some level of good for the pod mates.
Bo took Tracee’s hand. She led her friend to the bunk room. Tracee jumped up into the top bunk. Bo stood along the door frame with her arms folded. The silence filled the space between them as they both worked out their feelings. Bo heard some chatter approaching. She allowed the ladies to shuffle into the small room. Luna ducked into the lower bunk beneath Tracee. Before Maria could take her spot nearby, Diandre plopped down on the bed. She waved Maria away with the back of her hand. Maria appeared relieved at having a moment of space. She climbed onto the top bunk on the other side of the room. Maria lay prone, placing a forearm over her eyes as if she were going to take a nap.
Shanika stood along the back wall. She rubbed at her runny nose with the back of her sleeve. She forced a smile at Bo and then stared at the floor.
Bo had to pick up the pieces. If they stood any chance of escaping Warsaw, they needed to stick together. There would be plenty of time to lick their wounds later. Now was the time to harden themselves for a fight. One which would probably claim more lives.
“We can’t allow Claudia’s death to be in vain. We have to fight back. She would have wanted that. Claudia would be saying the same thing if she were standing here right now.” Bo summoned authority in her voice.
“Well she ain’t here, is she?” Diandre pouted.
Bo sighed. “No, she’s not. But Claudia taught us how to be strong.”
“I can never be like Claudia.” Luna mumbled into the pillow.
Bo ignored Luna’s comment. She stalked across the room to get her energy flowing. “Claudia never took shit from anyone. And how do we know that?”
Blinking eyes answered Bo’s question. She huffed. “Because Claudia made sure to strike first and then ask questions. She beat all of us to the punch. She never sat back and waited for things to get out of control. Claudia acted fast, with resolve. And she had control. All the time.”
Tracee nodded. Maria spoke to the ceiling. “Yeah, she was a hard-ass.”
“So what we gonna do then? You expect us to follow a tiny Asian woman into battle? I crap bigger pieces of shit than you.” Shanika swiped her runny nose and stared at Bo.
Bo wanted to use Shanika’s anger. She knew a pissed-off Shanika was a formidable foe. She figured she should match Shanika’s aggression with similar aggression. “Goddamn right I’m small. So what. I’ll kick your ass. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will mop the floors with your fucking face. Try me.”
Shanika leaned off the wall and began to head in Bo’s direction. Diandre hopped off the bunk and placed her enormous body in between them. Bo was silently grateful for the protection. She wasn’t quite so confident about her chances against Shanika. Bo knew she would lose.
“Hold up, ya’ll. We’re on the same team. Bo is right.” Diandre eyed the others. “We can’t sit here and turn on each other. And we can’t let that honky motherfucker know he got the power over us. We’re women. But we badass motherfucking women who will be reckoned with.” Diandre’s flabby arms wiggled in the air as she shook her finger toward the door as if to tell Warden Gorgon, “No.”
Maria sat up. “Fuckin’ A right. Let’s choke those fucking cocks and tear off their balls.”
Luna mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow. Shanika panted as her adrenaline searched for outlet. She glared over and around Diandre at Bo. A moment later, Shanika nodded at
Bo. She knew it was Shanika’s way of backing down without having to apologize or admit defeat.
Tracee rolled off the top bunk. She landed on her feet and started a make-shift mosh pit in between the bunks. She ended up just bouncing off Diandre.
“I never understand you crazy white folks.” Diandre shook her head and plopped back into the bunk, narrowly missing Luna.
Bo forced herself to get in Shanika’s face. She glared up into her eyes. Shanika’s breathing hastened as she took Bo’s aggression as another threat. Bo worked quickly to diffuse the tension.
“I may be little. And I may be Asian. But I will never turn my back on you, Shanika. I will fight to the death for you.” Shanika folded her arms across her chest. “But I would’ve kicked your ass. Once I climbed up that tree trunk you call a body.”
Bo wrapped her arms around Shanika’s waist and squeezed. She felt the frustration empty through Shanika’s convulsive breakdown. Bo held Shanika in her arms until the crying ended.
Chapter 17
Jack ignored the shouting. The fibers in his arms twitched uncontrollably. His chest burned as if he belly-flopped into a pool. Jack lowered himself to the icy floor one last time.
One hundred.
He climbed to his feet, satisfied he worked out his anger through too many push-ups. Now he would have the proper state of mind to deal with all the assholes in this place, he thought.
“The natives are restless.” Swede glanced at Jack briefly and returned his attention to the central room in the pod.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Jack dabbed the sweat from his forehead with his tee shirt. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Swede blinked and stared at Jack. “How about calming their fears?”
Jack huffed. “Fuck them.”
“What’s your problem? You shutting down on us? Cause now isn’t the time to give up, Jack.”
