Stone Cold Fear | Book 1 | Powerless

by Fawkes, K. M.

  Two muscular men dressed in guards’ uniforms came out of the prison, the first a brown-skinned guy and the guy behind him Scandinavian-looking with white-blond hair.

  The first guard strode up to Pete and said, “Name’s Dean. I’ve been instructed to take you and the prisoner to medical. Warden Andersen will meet us inside.”

  “I’m captain of this unit,” Sadler said from the side, shoving his way forward.

  Dean winced, then said, speaking somewhere into the space between Sadler and Pete, “Sven here will show the rest of your men to a place where they can wash up and rest. We’ve got food set out.”

  Before Sadler could commit them to further foolishness, Pete said, “Maybe you weren’t informed, but we’re on a tight schedule. Small window before we have to catch a military transport at ANC.”

  “We hadn’t been told,” Dean said, shrugging in a way Pete recognized too easily. The right hand never seems to know what the left hand is doing, he realized.

  He wondered if Yu had been onto something about this jail, after all.

  “There is still a protocol in place for accepting custody of a prisoner into Mueller,” Dean continued. “And in this case, the warden wants every i dotted and every t crossed. Your men might as well eat while we go through it, and then you can get going.”

  “You heard him,” Pete said to his men. “Follow Sven to the good things waiting for you.”

  “Hooah,” Ryan muttered. “And then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “You might as well go with the others, Lieutenant Marshall,” Sadler said. “I can handle things from here.”

  “Not for love or money, Captain,” Pete said. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this in front of civilians, his men, and most especially not in front of Clyde, who was avidly observing their exchange, but he’d had enough. “I’m going to see this mission through. If you want to go with Sven, go. If you want to come with me and Dean to medical, you can do that, too.”

  Sadler turned so red he looked like he might pop an aneurism. His mouth moved as his brain worked through the things he must have wanted to say, but in the end, all that passed from his lips was “Then let’s get going.”

  Clyde winked at Pete, and Pete wanted to punch him, though he didn’t do it. This time. Then he, Clyde, and Sadler, accompanied by the smell of industrial-strength cleaning products and fresh paint, followed Dean into the prison, where the floors shone and the requisite gray walls didn’t have a mark on them.

  “Did you just renovate?” Sadler asked.

  “Half-assed facelift for Clyde’s execution,” Dean said. “Can’t have the mucky-mucks getting a load of what this place is really like.”

  “‘Really like’?” Pete cut in, remembering Yu’s feelings again.

  Dean opened a door into a different hallway, where one guard was overseeing at least ten prisoners who were busy scraping the ancient, peeling paint from the walls. “It’s a work in progress.”

  “The ratio seems risky,” Pete observed. “Shouldn’t there be more guards?”

  Dean tapped his neck and Pete noticed that the prisoners were wearing black plastic collars.

  “The geniuses at the top don’t like to pay too many salaries,” Dean said. “A place like this, the guards are at the top of the union pay scale.”

  Pete knew, without doubt, that the use of electric collars had been banned by the UN. Which meant this prison was in direct violation of international law—all to save a few bucks on salaries, if Dean was to be believed.

  Would the international community care if someone informed them of this infraction? The men incarcerated here weren’t shoplifters or car thieves. They were murders, rapists, terrorists, and anarchists. But still, shock collars?

  One of the prisoners, a man with cold eyes and a tattoo that identified him as belonging to one of the most violent gangs in the country, looked away from his work to peruse their group.

  “Dogs do not look in their masters’ eyes, inmate.” Dean’s tone was conversational, so much so that for a moment Pete thought the comment had been addressed at them.

  He realized his mistake when the prisoner aimed his eyes at the floor and, with his shoulders hunched up to his ears, kept them firmly pointed in that direction.

  Tension hung in the air like spiderwebs, invisible but sticky. Clyde, still gagged, inhaled deeply through his nose, like the stuff was the very essence of life for him, and Pete thought it probably was. He picked up his pace, hoping Dean would take the hint. Who knew how many of Clyde’s followers were already guests of Mueller Max?

  That led to another thought: Could they have gotten themselves in there on purpose? Some of Clyde’s followers were probably crazy enough to get themselves incarcerated just to be near him.

  It was a relief when the door closed behind them and they were alone again. Was this what had what triggered Yu’s sense that things were “hinky,” or were there other things going on as well?

  Pete hadn’t given much thought to the abuse of prisoners, and planned to mind his own business in Mueller. But he didn’t want these things in his head. Hell, he didn’t even want to have to see these things and then immediately try to forget them. When he got out of there and made it home, he was going to have a good long re-think about his life. He was only thirty-two. There was still plenty of time to change course.

  They got on an elevator that looked like it belonged in a fancy high-rise.

  “This must have cost a pretty penny,” Sadler commented. “What a waste.”

  Dean stood facing forward, expression so dead neutral he looked more like one of those new house robots than a human being.

  Hinky.

  The doors slid open with a whisper, releasing them onto a level where brass wall sconces lit the hallway and cushioned carpet muted their footfalls. A man with thick salt-and-pepper hair exited through a heavy wooden door ahead of them.

  “Greetings, gentlemen. I’m Warden Robert Andersen.”

  Sadler and Pete introduced themselves and shook hands with the man, who was taller than Pete, but also fatter. Sadler made a point of taking in their surroundings and then whistled.

  Andersen laughed, an old boy among friends. “As the man in charge, I have quite a bit of say about how the budget is spent. My office is that way, but medical is to the right. We’ll get Clyde all checked out and then stick him in a cell where he belongs.”

  “Hooah,” Pete muttered.

  “What was that?” Andersen said.

  “Nothing. Just clearing my throat.”

  Sadler gave him a look, Clyde smirked, and Pete reminded himself again that he wasn’t the sort of man who beat another—especially one who was chained.

  “In case you haven’t heard,” he said, “we’re almost out of time. We have to drive back to Anchorage and catch a flight.”

  Andersen didn’t say anything; he merely opened another heavy wooden door, twin to the one he’d come through, and walked into a pristine medical space. It was like stepping through the magical portal from one of the books Pete had read as a kid. He’d gone from the surreal fancy-hotel-maximum-security-prison to science fiction with the turn of a knob.

  The whole place was white and antiseptic, as pure as the driven snow—only far creepier.

  Pete had never been this nice of a facility before—not when he’d had his physical to join the National Guard, nor when he’d visited Riggs after the accident that had cost him his physical capabilities. Between lack of funding and post-disaster overcrowding, most hospitals didn’t look this good anymore.

  Other than the shining stainless steel implements, and the black-faced control panels of the machines, the only color in the room came from the nurse, a woman about Pete’s age who was dressed in light blue scrubs. It was a color that suited her. She also had a trim figure, chestnut hair, rich brown eyes, and nice skin.

  Why the hell was such an attractive woman working at a place like Mueller? It didn’t make sense.

  Then again, was there any ru
le about an attractive woman working wherever she wanted to? Why the hell did that discount her from this sort of job? He pulled his brain back to a less sexist place… and only then did he notice Sadler eyeing the woman like she was a piece of hard candy.

  Pete wanted to slap him. Clearly, the stims were taking a toll on his mental state.

  The nurse finished typing something into a computer, seemed to stiffen, or settle herself in a small way, and came toward them. “Is this our guest of honor?” she asked.

  “It is,” Andersen said. “Gentlemen, this is Marie Simons. She’s brand new to Mueller. Our last nurse had an… accident.”

  Marie tensed, and Andersen gave her a penetrating look. She didn’t open her mouth to respond.

  “I don’t know if she’ll last, but she’ll have a good story to tell about the day she met David Clyde face-to-face,” Andersen finished, smirking.

  One look at Marie’s expression—which looked like she wanted to break Andersen’s nose for him—and Pete added Andersen to his list of Jackasses of the Week.

  “You ready to check the new guest in?” Andersen asked, his voice somehow jaunty.

  “Truth be told, I’ve been ready for a couple of hours.” She looked at the cut on Pete’s cheek. “I’m guessing you guys were delayed on the road.”

  Clyde began his choking act again, and Marie moved to help him, but Pete reached out to stop her.

  “Don’t bother. He’s faking. If I were you, I’d leave him gagged as much as possible.”

  “I’d like to be able to ask him questions,” she said.

  “Make them yes and no,” Pete suggested.

  Marie scanned his face, then gestured with her head to the only hospital bed in the room. “Get him seated over there.”

  Clyde’s eyes were bubbling with humor when Pete took his arm and led him toward the bed. Andersen strode ahead, and as soon as his back was to them, Marie gave Pete another intense look.

  This time, Pete didn’t know what to make of it. Though he got the gist, and whatever it held, it wasn’t good. Hinky.

  Suddenly, he was thirsty. Really thirsty. It was a side effect of the stims, but telling himself that didn’t wet his mouth or diminish the throbbing in his head. He looked around to see if there was easy access to water, but nothing jumped out at him. Suck it up, Marshall. You can drink later.

  Andersen perched on an elevated stool while Dean pushed Clyde onto the bed and set about removing his hand and leg cuffs. Clyde rotated his wrists and adjusted his feet, seeming like he was cooperating with the process, but the moment he was free, Dean unholstered his sidearm and pointed it in Clyde’s direction.

  Marie tentatively looped a band around Clyde’s neck, and the screen next to the hospital bed came to life.

  “Mr. Clyde has perfect blood pressure,” she said. “Impressive, considering.”

  Pete wished she wouldn’t feed Clyde’s ego, but how could she know?

  “He’s a total psychopath, Ms. Simons,” Sadler said.

  Shut up, idiot. For a split second, Pete worried he’d spoken the words aloud.

  Marie performed other tests, explaining them along the way. She was nearly babbling, really, and her hands were none too steady. It was becoming more and more obvious to Pete that she was nervous as hell—which returned him to the question of why she was working here. And this time it wasn’t about her looks at all. Why would a woman choose to work in a place like this? Nurses were in high demand. She could get a job anywhere. The situation was obviously making her nervous.

  He was also fighting the urge to look at his watch every couple of seconds. He didn’t know if she was taking longer than she had to, but this sure felt like it was taking years when weeks should have done.

  Marie asked Clyde to strip down to his underwear, which he did, and she completed his physical examination, poking here, prodding there, and checking his reflexes, or at least trying to. All told, she seemed rather inept.

  Clyde was staring at her intently enough that Pete wanted to cuff him upside the head. He’d have thought that being made to stand around in his boxer shorts among fully clothed people would have taken Clyde down a peg or two, but no such luck. Though there was nothing remarkable about his physique, based on his expression, he thought himself to be an outstanding specimen.

  “Jesus,” Sadler said. “This guy.”

  “Don’t you worry, Captain,” Andersen said. “We’ll make sure he gets a more realistic idea of his own capabilities.”

  This time, when Marie looked at Andersen, her face was full of venom. Only for a second, but Pete had seen it. At least he thought he’d seen it. It might have just been his stim-addled mind playing tricks on him—which was why the sooner this whole thing was over, the better.

  “Last thing I have to do is take blood from the prisoner,” Marie announced. She moved to a drawer and withdrew a syringe. Her hands, which had merely been unsteady before, were now visibly shaking. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I haven’t done this thousands of times.”

  Pete wondered who she was trying to convince.

  Clyde winked at her, which seemed to take her aback more than necessary. She had to stab him multiple times to get the needle into the vein. Sadler went quite green, while Andersen and Dean wore matching looks on their faces, ones that said they were enjoying the show.

  Get me out of here, Pete thought. It’s like I woke up in a horror movie. Next thing I know, everyone will unzip their skin and it’ll turn out they were lizard people all along.

  Marie pronounced Clyde fit for incarceration, which struck Pete as ironic considering he was scheduled to die at the hands of the state in only a few months’ time. How healthy did you really have to be for that sort of thing? Wasn’t it… well, he didn’t know, but maybe more convenient if the guy was already sick, or something?

  Of course, that required there to be some sort of morality in the entire situation. Which there wasn’t.

  “You know what to do,” Andersen said to Dean.

  Dean reached behind his back and withdrew a collar similar to the ones they’d seen on the other prisoners. About two inches wide, it was matte black plastic, and on the inside, there was a double row of silver beads.

  Marie, who was standing nearest to Pete, muttered, “I knew it,” under her breath.

  Judging by the lack of reaction, Pete guessed none of the others had heard her. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Stims had been known to cause auditory hallucinations.

  “Those things are illegal and inhumane,” Marie said, more loudly this time.

  “Yes, Ms. Simons, they are. Except the men here aren’t human. They’re animals and should be treated as such. And don’t pretend you didn’t know we were using them, either. I made it quite clear when I interviewed you for this job.”

  Marie looked down and her lips paled.

  “They are animals,” Sadler piped in. “But that thing looks like a determined man could pull it apart with his bare hands.”

  “There are Kevlar bands inside on either edge,” Andersen said.

  Pete agreed about the animal thing, though he couldn’t think of a single animal that had ever wreaked as much havoc as Clyde. Anyway, he was too tired to engage in a loaded discussion. Arguments about right and wrong were for clear-headed people, or drunk ones, not for tired soldiers at the end of a long day.

  Dean placed the collar around Clyde’s neck and locked it at the back with what looked like a star-shaped hex key. Afterward, Dean drew a small controller from his pocket, flicked the on button, and turned the dial. Clyde’s neck tensed and his hands started to shake, and though he struggled not to make a sound, he quickly gave in and moaned.

  “Seems to be working,” Andersen said. “It’s probably safe to remove his gag now.”

  Marie did it with far steadier hands than she’d had while drawing Clyde’s blood.

  “You’re a smart man, Mr. Clyde,” Andersen said. “Cooperate, and we won’t use the collar. Make trouble, and yo
u’ll find out exactly how high those volts go.”

  Clyde looked at Andersen speculatively, then turned to Pete. “I’ve changed my mind again. I’m going to kill him first, then you, and then Captain Sadler.”

  Dean sent a shock through the collar powerful enough to send Clyde screaming to his knees. It didn’t trouble Pete that much, which made him wonder about himself. If he were a good man, wouldn’t he have sympathy, even for a criminal?

  At least he wasn’t enjoying the show the way Andersen and Dean clearly were.

  “That’s enough!” Marie shouted.

  Dean turned the collar off then hoisted Clyde to his feet, making the action as rough as possible. Marie handed Clyde a gray prison uniform, which he began putting on without speaking another word.

  “All we have to do now is sign the documents.” Andersen left his perch on the stool and stretched his back. “I have them in my office.”

  And that should have been it—except Sadler started babbling about how much he’d like to discuss the ins and outs of prison management, blah, blah, blah. It was time for a career change, blah, blah, blah.

  Pete tuned him out and looked at his watch for the millionth time, keeping his other eye on Dean and Clyde. He was starving and thirsty and wished he’d joined the rest of the unit wherever they were, but that hadn’t really been an option. He wouldn’t have put it past Sadler to sit down to a ten-course meal if he hadn’t been there to supervise.

  If only he felt sharper. More himself. The orders to deliver Clyde to Mueller had come directly from the president, but had she known what she was doing, sending an outside crew into this prison? What would she say if she knew what was going on here? Did she suspect? Did someone in her administration suspect? Was that why they’d been sent? Should they be documenting what they were seeing?

  In the end, he decided that the only thing that mattered was that they’d achieved their mission. Clyde was secure in this facility. He hadn’t managed to escape on the way here. He wasn’t loose in the world, creating mayhem wherever he could. Andersen had gotten a lot of funding because of Clyde, and would ensure that he remained imprisoned in Mueller until the day he left inside a coffin. It would be a big fat pie in Andersen’s face if something permanent happened to Clyde while he was in his care, or if he managed to escape.