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Zombie Lockup Series (Book 2): Caged 2 Page 3
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Page 3
“How is it going, Doctor?”
Dr. Shipley tried to look happy his superior had wandered into his space. But Gorgon could see right through the forced smile and phony demeanor.
Dr. Shipley removed his glasses and worked furiously to polish the lenses. Warden Gorgon felt the delay tactic behind Dr. Shipley’s movements. He decided to play along even as his temper urged him to lash out at the man for wasting his time. Time was something neither of them had. And yet, it was all they had somehow.
“Uh, well, let’s see. The, um, lipids appear to support my hypothesis...”
“Which is?” The Warden prompted a quicker reveal.
“The hypothesis that the steroids, indeed, slows the process of decay, and even reverses it to a degree.”
“Reverses it?” The Warden perked up when he thought there might be hope after all.
“Reverses probably isn’t the correct word. Um, strengthens the musculature and healing properties of the host.” Dr. Shipley shrugged apologetically and looked around the lab nervously.
“So, what we know is that the drugs will keep folks, shall we say, “animated” and potentially heal their wounds and give them strength?”
“More or less.” Dr. Shipley nodded and adjusted his glasses upon his nose. His hands appeared to shake and the Warden wondered if he was nervous or just over-caffeinated.
“Excellent. And how about the conditioning experiments. What sort of data do we have thus far?” Gorgon approached the clipboard full of notes lying on the counter.
Dr. Shipley stepped in front of the Warden to block his attempt at reading the chart. Warden Gorgon forced Dr. Shipley aside with a powerful forearm, reaching for the clipboard. He browsed the information, feeling Dr. Shipley’s tension drift toward him in waves.
He wasn’t pleased with what he found on the chart. Warden Gorgon slapped the clipboard into Dr. Shipley’s chest. “Explain.”
Dr. Shipley held onto the clipboard as if it were a life-preserver thrown to a drowning man. He circled away from the Warden as he chose his words carefully.
“The experiments aren’t working.”
“I can fucking read that, doctor. I want a goddamned explanation.” The words were out before he could tuck them away. Gorgon was frustrated with his loss of control but so much was at stake and he had been racking his brain for days on this problem. He preferred to be portraying a controlled demeanor. Guess the cat is out of the bag, he lamented.
“Well, uh, sir, the zombies are not responding to the conditioning.”
“At all?”
“At all.”
The admission sounded so final. Warden Gorgon bit down on his anger and rubbed his hands together. There had to be a way around this.
“You tried operant conditioning?”
“We tried every form of behavioral modification that has been documented since the beginning of time. None of it...works.” Dr. Shipley looked like he was about to cry. His eyes reddened and his lower lip trembled.
“Get it together, doctor. This is no time for tears. What else can we do? Have you thought of everything? Maybe you missed something. Go back through the...”
“I’ve been through all the literature a half-dozen times, sir. I thought the same thing. Maybe I missed something because, I don’t know, I’m fucking tired and unrested and out of my fucking mind with stress.”
The Warden slapped Dr. Shipley across the face. The strike knocked his glasses to the floor and a large handprint impression formed along Dr. Shipley’s cheek. Warden Gorgon felt bad for hitting the doctor but the man was becoming hysterical. He needed to keep him focused before he lost him. Once Dr. Shipley became useless, Gorgon would have nothing but violence left to his devices.
He stepped closer to Dr. Shipley and whispered. “There must be something else. Something we haven’t thought of. Something new. Never tried before.” His eyes searched the watered pupils of Dr. Shipley. “Think.”
The command bounced Dr. Shipley back into motion. He jumped and then retrieved his glasses from the floor. The Warden watched him gather his wits and try to renew his efforts. He made a mental note to do something nice soon for Dr. Shipley. He had been rough on the man in recent times but it was all for their survival.
“Actually, there is something we are still working on but the results have been inconclusive so far.”
“Something you didn’t journal in your notes?” The Warden became angry to learn not everything had been disclosed to him.
“We just started it and the notes are...up here.” A shaky finger pointed at his own head. “Dixie and Samantha are looking for rodents we can use to keep testing.” Dr. Shipley continued.
“Rodents?”
Dr. Shipley nodded profusely. “Yes, sir. We wanted to test the behavior of the creatures using flesh, rather than inanimate objects or commands. We found there was a possibility of behavior control with the use of...meat.”
“How much of a possibility?” Gorgon felt excitement wriggle through his body.
“It is not enough to tell yet. But it might be a slim possibility.”
Warden Gorgon smiled wide. He clapped Dr. Shipley’s shoulder. “Between slim and none, I’ll take slim every day, doctor.” He took a deep breath and thought about ways to lead the army with meat. The one problem would be fighting undead. His army of zombies might not pursue another horde of zombies if they detect them as the opposite of fresh meat.
“Carry on, Dr. Shipley. You should have told me the good news from the beginning.” Warden Gorgon left the doctor awestruck as he made his way back to his office.
The narrow, cold hallways didn’t feel as claustrophobic to the Warden this time around. There might be hope. And he would hang his hat on it until it was confirmed as a failure.
As the Warden walked, he whistled softly. The sounds reverberated off the cement walls, casting an eerie tune which fell on his deaf ears. His mind was already hard at work on the next step in building his army.
Chapter 7
Darkness enveloped Jack as he struggled to open his eyes.
He lifted his hand to his head, feeling around to make sure it was still intact. It certainly didn’t feel like it was all in one piece. Jack moaned at the pounding inside his skull. He was afraid his swollen brain would burst through the thin shell of bone and splash against the walls in squiggly slap. If there are any walls in this place, Jack thought. The black atmosphere of the hole caused him to question if he were in a room or floating around in space.
The overwhelming reek of shit cleared up any notions of space travel.
Jack could felt his cheek protruding beyond the tip of his nose. Gingerly, he touched the wound from Muncie’s knee, wincing immediately upon contact.
Muncie.
Jack’s hatred swelled and for a brief moment, it overshadowed the pain he felt from the beating.
Fucking Muncie.
Jack recalled the fight. At least the parts he was conscious for. He regretted shooting his mouth off at Muncie instead of better preparing for the confrontation. He knew better than to yap before a fight. The one who talked the most before a brawl was usually the loser. Call it karma. Call it unwritten rules of the universe. Jack knew better. And yet he succumbed to his emotions.
He tried to roll over onto his stomach but the nausea slowed his progress. Jack wondered if it was the concussion or the noxious fumes of human waste which caused his stomach to stir. Probably both, he thought.
Jack worried about Melvin and Swede. Could Muncie have continued the beatings beyond Jack? Was he so heartless that he would make the rest of the inmates pay for Jack’s disrespect? What were his pod mates going through right now? Did Jack fuck up all his chances of remaining top dog?
“Fuck.”
The sound of his croaked words echoed upon the black walls. Jack knew from prior visits, the hole was a very small space. If he hadn’t seen it before with his own eyes, he would understand the tiny dimensions now based on the quick return of the sound.
/> Jack pissed himself.
He needed to get to the toilet to relieve himself but his throbbing head and upset stomach wouldn’t allow him the ability to make his way across the room. So he just let it go. The warmth of his urine felt good against the coldness surrounding him. By the time he got out of the hole, his pants would be dry anyway. Besides, everyone who came back to the pod after a trip to hole smelled like shit. So when in Rome, Jack figured.
Muncie was going to pay for this. Another mark on his record, stored safely in Jack’s mind. This battle was far from over. Jack would prepare himself next time to start stronger and end it quickly. For a fat slob, Muncie was extremely strong. And he had good endurance. Most fights end within a minute or two because the combatants blow their load expending all their adrenaline. The body caves to the surge since the system was designed to give humans an opportunity to escape danger. It was never designed for prolonged rage. Regardless, Jack would see it through next time.
What if there wasn’t a next time, asshole?
Jack’s mind wandered back to the conversation with Gorgon. The Warden needed Jack to keep the members of C-Pod in line. But he also intimated they were expendable. Everyone would be expendable as resources dwindled and panic set in. Maybe the shit would hit the fan while he was trapped in the hole. And he would never see the light of day again. Maybe they would drag him out of the hole and toss him to the zombies they talked about on the outside. The thought scared Jack suddenly. Not so much the idea of facing the zombies. But the notion of freedom outside the walls of Warsaw Prison. For the first time, Jack realized the comforts of being protected in the drab walls and concrete blandness of the jail. He knew the horrors of prison life and had navigated them fairly successfully over the years. But out there...out there Jack was nobody. Nothing but a warm meal.
He shuddered at the thought of his future. Prisoners always dreamed about the outside, about getting back to free society. But free society might be gone now. Everything had changed. Jack had gotten comfortable with the fact that he would most likely die within the walls of Warsaw, never seeing freedom again. But he had the dream, the hope, and the possibility of making it out. But now...
Jack worked his way back up to his elbows again. His stomach churned but he swallowed down the bile which threatened to expose itself. His legs were shaky and he wobbled to his feet, stumbling toward the door. He hoped it was the door. His orientation was out of whack since he was dumped in the hole while he was out cold. It didn’t matter. He would get his strength back bit by bit. His hands felt along the cold wall as he followed his fingers around the space. His back hurt as much as his face but nowhere close to how bad his head felt.
He barked his shin upon the stainless steel toilet. The shock wave of pain shot up his leg. Jack doubled over and vomited profusely. He hoped most of it made it into the bowl but he had no idea if he was even facing it. A few minutes later, Jack’s stomach had settled down, having emptied its contents. At least the smell of the vomit was preferable to the reek of shit, Jack thought.
He dabbed his lips with the back of his hand and continued to feel his way around the room. Each step, painful as it was, enlivened him. Jack started to feel more like himself. He was used to the aches and pains of fights and beatings. He knew it was a time thing. His body would heal and feel better with time. And inside this shit box, Jack had all the time he could handle.
While he walked slowly around the room using the walls as his guide, Jack began his plan for Muncie. The next time they had an opportunity to meet, Jack would bring his best. Muncie deserved nothing but the best.
Jack giggled. The giggle tickled him so much, it stretched into laughter. And once the laughter started, Jack let it take hold of him.
Chapter 8
Melvin sat on the bunk below Jack’s and stared at Swede. He wondered what was going on inside the massive skull of the mountain-sized man. It had been several minutes since he had asked Swede a question. And he was still waiting for a response.
“Well?”
Swede glared at Melvin. He sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Whatchoo mean, you don’t know? You know anything?” Melvin lost it with Swede’s ridiculous answer. As soon as he said the words, Melvin wished he had them back. He didn’t want Swede to dish him a beating for snapping at him.
Swede swung his legs off the bunk and faced Melvin. “Exactly what the fuck I mean. I don’t fucking know how we are going to get out of this.”
“Ain’t about gettin’ outta THIS. It’s about gettin’ Jack back before Muncie eats him for a snack.” Melvin stood up and paced the room. “You his closest friend in here. And you biggest muthafucka in the joint. Can’t you smash through the damn walls like that green muthafucka comic book dude?”
Swede stood up and neared Melvin. Melvin suddenly shivered as the lower part of Swede’s pecs stared him in the face. Swede twitched his chest muscles so each side bobbed in opposite time with each other. Melvin gulped.
“Don’t fuck with me, old man. Now is not the time to fuck with me.”
“Sure, that’s right. Beat on the old nigga. You whitey muthafuckas all the same. It’s easy to push a man around when he is on the bottom. But you run when a real threat show up, don’t you?” Melvin backed up as he sassed Swede. He knew he was making all kinds of bad decisions now. But he was frustrated with the plan’s backfire. And he didn’t want to admit it to himself, but Melvin was scared shitless without Jack’s protection.
Swede nodded. “Sorry. It ain’t nothing against you. I’m pissed off, too. And by the way, I’m not a fucking racist. I always bet on black.”
Melvin’s jaw dropped at the comment. Then he cackled at how stupid it sounded. “Bet on black.” Melvin repeated Swede’s words as he settled back down on the bunk. “He bet on black so he ain’t a racist. Classic.”
Swede laughed too. He must have realized how silly the statement came off as one didn’t have to do with the other. Swede plunked down across from Melvin. “So what now?”
Melvin scratched his forehead. He knew it would be up to him to come up with a viable plan of action. Swede wasn’t going to give him much help. And the rest of the idiots in the pod were too busy covering their own asses to give a shit about Jack. They didn’t see the bigger picture. What Jack was doing for all of them and what was happening to him, was just a fraction of the shit storm that was going to come down on all of them.
“Well, we ain’t gettin’ outta here anytime soon. So we need to try to get Jack back inside here.”
Swede furrowed his brow. Melvin read the tea leaves. Swede had no clue how to do that. Honestly, neither did he.
“What I’m sayin’ is, we gotta make sure they bring Jack back to the pod. I hope they ain’t do something nasty to him out there.”
Swede nodded. Then he looked confused again.
Melvin ran through a similar playbook in his mind. Jack drew Muncie inside by calling him out to a personal fight. Melvin was too old to call Muncie out. If he were younger and stronger he would have done it for Jack. But it wasn’t an option today. Maybe if he could find one of the others who would be willing to stand up to Muncie and, potentially, take a beating in order to get sent to the hole. Then it would appear to Warden Gorgon and Muncie they had a bigger problem on their hands than just a lone renegade in Turk. It would be a stretch, no doubt. But it was something to think about.
“How you feelin’?”
Swede screwed up his face. “Fine. What does that have to do with anything?”
Melvin shrugged. “Just thought if you was feelin’ good, you might be up to challenging Muncie...”
“No way! Are you fucking crazy?” Swede jumped up.
“Why not? Jack did it for you. He did it for all of us. Don’t you want to sacrifice for him?”
Swede paced the room. “Not like that. They’ll kill me. A guy my size? They’ll use batons and everything else they got to put me down. Fighting is one thing. But they won’t want to fight me without clubs.”
“You dead already, Swede.”
Melvin’s words hung in the air like a leaden anchor. Swede’s expression revealed his understanding. Between their prison sentences, the virus and the dwindling resources, they were all on borrowed time. None of them stood to live past a month or so, let alone a year or more.
Swede huffed and slammed his fist into the side of the mattress on the top bunk. Melvin watched the strike while his eyelids flinched against the violence.
Suddenly, shouting broke out in the common area of the pod. Swede swung his gaze out the door. Melvin strained to see beyond Swede’s hulking mass but it was no use. The man literally blocked out the sun.
Melvin scrambled to his feet and squeezed in between Swede’s massive arm and the door jamb. The inmates shouted and jumped up and down on the tables and chairs. The sound of punches connecting echoed.
“The fuck is happenin’?”
Swede glanced down at Melvin.
“8-Ball and BJ are getting it on.”
Melvin’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t the time for infighting or grudges. He should have known better than to leave that hot head from the hood unsupervised. And he never liked the kid with the mullet from the trailer park.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a brick wall. Get yo ass out there and break it up.”
Melvin shoved Swede as hard as he could to move past him. It gave him just enough room to squeeze past and he still smacked his funny bone against the door frame, sending numbness up his arm. He hurried to the circle which formed around the two men fighting. He couldn’t make his way through the crowd because all the others were intent on keeping their front row view of the match.
A few prisoners off to the left went flying through the air. Melvin glanced in the direction as soon as he caught the commotion out of the corner of his eye. Swede was tossing men aside to make his way into the circle.
Melvin smiled. It was good to have friends with muscle, he thought.