Dillon noticed his hands have a permanent stain to them. A permanent smell of death, he doesn’t like to have them close to his face. However, he has scavenged the best set of clothes and is wearing three pair of socks so that he can bring some back for belle, and two shirts so he can bring one back to Crosby. It took time, a better part of the morning to find a shirt that didn’t have blood on it. Crosby was a chief at stacking bodies now. He was the only one left from the original group, and he had worked out a system to where when they brought out the bodies they would position themselves in a way where the guard tower couldn’t see them steal what they needed to off of the corpses.
Once everything was loaded up Dillon was the one who got to take the red cart to be burial grounds. Dillon even had an extra restraint on him he thought might come in handy, and he had even taken the time to scratch a poor looking map onto a piece of cloth he kept in his shoe. This morning was particularly hot and muggy. He took a second to stand up and breathe in, smelling the dried blood in the air. He felt his back ache and his knees hurt. The extra clothes made him sweat, and he always had a problem with getting water here. His best chance was on the way back from delivering the bodies he knew a short cut that lead behind a guard hut. In the back of the hut was often close to empty water kegs, but those drops were more than enough to keep him going. Every trip he managed a mouthful or so. Dillon lifted the last body on to his cart with a fresh recruit, when they sat it down he let out a big breath “finally”... “I’ll be back” Dillon grasped the cart and gave it a tug leaning in to it with all his weight. God hey we’re so hard to get moving. He pulled it to the edge of the gate and took a second to wipe the sweat forming on his row.
There was no breeze today, it was stifling hot, like breathing in fumes from an oven. Dillon was panting almost, exhausted from his work. Only his mind kept him going, the rest of the workers from his original group had ended up fallen out and become some of the ones he escorted to the grave. A tragedy he thought, so many die here every day. How could he survive much longer? He must get out. *buzz* the gate slowly opened and he began to press his weight forward tugging on the cart to get it through the gate as soon as it opened for him. He looked down at the sidewalk as he was almost tilted at a full fourty-five degree angle keeping the cart moving. He watches sweat drip from his face on to the scorching ground below, his eyes burning from the salt and air. When he heard the gate close behind him he turned his head to look back at the cart and make sure he didn’t lose one.
Dillon was able to ignore the bodies confronted faced and blood stained, bruised bodies. They were often broken limbs or some removed with what looked like dull hacksaws. Some had slices on their faces or throats, wrists, probably suicide he ruled. Often times their faces were in a horrifying fashion. The likes of which would bring chills to even the most experienced and enthusiastic horror movie or literate fan. Dillon marched on with his cart, on a well ridden and familiar path. He passed a few buildings he had catalogued in his mind already. His map was growing, he just needed to expand it and understand just exactly where they were and how the whole place operated. It was hard for a prisoner to escape any prison because they don’t know how the whole system works, how he guards come in and out, exploits they might know about, and it took them years to understand how an inmate might escape. For him, on the other side, it would normally take an extremely long time.
He would have to harass the guards for information somehow, if it were a normal prison it would be easier. Here he had no Chance of obtaining information from the guards. He had to make a map and make assumptions, the best plan he could make with as much information as he could gather. Dillon kept tugging the cart along his pathway. Some guards walked by with a few inmates here and there, they rarely asked him what he was doing to pestered him. Dillon assumed the guard in the tower called and let the man at the grave pit CHECK IF THERE IS GRAVE PIT OR WHAT HAPPENS TO BODIES AT THE PIT
Know he was arriving. It took him about 18 minutes to make the walk, and he seemed to make the trip longer and longer each day. He was becoming exhausted and worn down, he felt something inside of him was off, like he was getting the flu or getting weak. It was hard to tell if it was the lack of food or sleep or something else. Dillon approached the gate that lead him out of the working area, the guard opened the gate and he walked in pulling the cart slowly.
Dillon begins his usual task of taking the bodies off of the cart one at a time for the guard. Dillon liked the idea of calling him a “Gate Keeper”. For some reason, whenever he could he would try to assign that title to someone. He reckoned it went back to one of a few fond memories he had as a child. He played a game on an ancient thing, back when games still belonged to individual consoles. There was a game called Spawn where one of the characters was this big green zombie looking individual, and he was crazy powerful. He had some sort of rocket he could shoot from his arm and just destroy everything. He thought back to how cool that guy was, and ever since childhood was fond of the name Gatekeeper.
The third body, quite heavy this one. Dillon groaned as he hooked his arm up underneath the leg and torso to give a good lift. His back cracked and ached as he did so, legs quivering and strength waning. Dillon managed to exert himself enough to get the body off of the cart and onto the ground. He stood back up and wiped the sweat off his forehead, leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees he truly felt the exhaustion sink in. He was tired and hazy, his brain felt hot.
He needed rest and he knew it should be immediate. A single exhale felt like the soul escaped his body and he just might pass out to never wake up. Dillon was conscious of the world around him, of the scope of his tiny life on this planet. He was aware of his insignificance in the grand scheme of things on a universal or even planetary scale. His sensation of time slowed down, every millisecond he thought for minutes, the single breath lasting a lifetime in his eyes. Without warning his vision escaped him. Black.
He snapped back in to reality. His feet were dragging on the ground, two people had him by each arm. He moved his head. He had a bag over his head, he could only barely see some light peeking through but not enough to see anything. Distortion, where was he? He was already lost and couldn’t keep track of direction. He tried to stand up to avoid being dragged, it was pointless. He was dragged further still, shoes making an awful scraping sound on the gravel beneath him.
His breath gone. He was being lifted up painfully into the bed of a truck? Dillon felt the cold hard steel beneath him. He heard someone jump up on the steel platform with him. He smelled the gasoline burning from the engine, voices but inaudible words.
The person next to him grabbed him by the arm and lifted him up. Dillon assisted, hoping not to incur any more beatings. He stepped clumsily on the platform he was on, surely it was a truck bed. He felt something his shoe, also metal. The person grabbed his right leg by the thigh and lifted it, moving it further towards the metal thing his foot just hit. Up and over, Dillon felt his foot land on the other side of the metal thing. He knew what this was. He was being moved into a box. Surely as he guessed it, the person assisted Dillon over the side of the metal box and forced him down inside of it.
BANG. *Lock noises* Dillon was inside of a metal box, and he felt the truck he was on begin to move. He reminded himself to breathe. Slow, deep breaths in. Deep breathe out. Dillon counted the breaths as reps. when he got to ten he reset himself, one… Two... He tried to think. Why would I be inside of a box? I haven’t done anything outside of the norm. Is the WGO still fucking with me? Am I being escorted out of prison? Maybe my friend came through and realized I was in prison. Maybe the WGO would let be back to London. No... Probably not that. That was the best case scenario.
Worst case scenario? Dillon really wasn’t really sure. He didn’t needed escorted anywhere to be murdered, death was commonplace here. He felt the truck turn, the box had no room for him yet he felt his weight shift. Dillon tried to think about where he was. He had never seen trucks travel the gravel roads and concrete walkways he was used to. Maybe he was on the body truck, heading off to an unknown location to work?
NOTE IS THERE A BODY TRUCK? SERIOUSLY HOW DO THEY TAKE THE BODIES AWAY OR Is IT JUST A GRAVE?
The bumpy ride was tough on his body. Every bump made him jar and knock his head into the metal box. He gritted his teeth as the impacts began to take their toll. The truck heaved and tossed like a sailboat crossing heavy tides. Each wave taking strain out on Dillon’s skull and knees. He attempted to move his head down between his knees but the box was so tight. His shoulder was about ear level and most of his body was falling asleep by now. The width of the box was such that it caused his chest to compress in tightly and it was becoming laborious for him to breathe. Dillon calmed himself with his talented mind, and decided to use this opportunity to relax into a sleep. He fell asleep to the rhythm and tide of the rocking and shaking from the truck.
Whether minutes or hours, he was awoken to the sudden stopping of the truck. He opened his eyes and tried to take a deep breath in but to no avail. He blinked his eyes a couple times and remained calm, against all odds. He heard doors open and shut. Next he could tell someone had just hopped up on to the bed of the truck by the sudden thud of boots behind him. The steps meandered towards him one thud at a time. He heard the tumblers in the lock clicking as it was undone. The instant release of pressure from his body being compact was a short relief for him. As soon as the lock was undone there was a hand on his bicep standing him up. Although he had only been in the box for a few actual minutes, it felt like hours. Dillon was lifted up and rushed off of the truck. He tried to make himself as aware of his surroundings as possible. Focusing on smells, voices, seconds passing. He was inside of a building now. He could hear the echo of their feet which meant they were likely in a hallway. They turned, another door opening.
He smelled a strong cologne from the person joining them now. There was at least two people, possibly three taking him to wherever he was going. Sitting down. He was forced down into a chair. The bag was taken off his head.
Dillon instinctively shook his head cracking his neck and trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling he had over him. He was seated in a wooden chair in a cold, damp, moist room. Dillon smelled water and a strong mildew. The room was relatively small. Big enough for the table that was about a foot in front of him. On the other side of the table sat one large man with black hair, spiked up in the front. His hair was short, and he had a chinstrap black beard with wide jaws. His head was massive, his arms and body was massive. This seated giant was probably 6”9 290 pounds. He was in a white t shirt, and military style cargo shorts. The man next to him was Hispanic, short and stocky. Very neat hairline and well-manicured face. He too was dressed in military garb. They had their arms crossed and were staring into Dillon’s eyes. No-one was speaking. Behind Dillon was the person who sat him down, and out of his peripherals he could see another man, presumably one of the escorts.
The large man sitting down waved them away and they left the room closing a beaten wooden door. Dillon turned his head back to look at the two men before him. This was an interrogation style room, though he didn’t quite know what he could expect from these two he himself was quite familiar with the interrogation process. He used to conduct them himself. He had done far worse himself, and he was prepared for whatever might come his way. The iron mind knows no limits, they would not break Dillon. It might be the other way around. Death would be the only escape for the frustration the interrogators might have against him, because his will was indomitable. He had been in boxes before, for days. He had been beaten before, shot, stabbed, burned and bruised.
For some reason in his mind nothing compared to how his mother treated him as a child. When he was going through tough times he always said to himself “My mom yelled at me worse than that.” Or “She beat me worse than that.” And somehow this simple phrase kept him going. He focused on the moment at hand, the two men staring at him intently. They sat there, staring at each other. The large man shifted his arms slightly, giving him a deep and solid look. There was no good way to describe the look, an intense cold stare. Dillon’s was equally matched though, no scowl. But a cold blank emotionless stare. The large man spoke, moving forward and placing his gigantic elbows on the table and interlaced his hands together. “What is your name?” Dillon took a measured pause “Evan Kyrus” the large mans nodded his head slowly. “Why are you here?” Dillon had to think about this one... It was a tricky question to answer without knowing exactly what was released in the official reports. “Breaking in to a WGO news location and stealing information.” The Mexican man raised his head slightly “But why are you here?” he put emphasis on the “here” Dillon noticed. “I am here, because I got caught.”
The Mexican replied again “Out of 4600 prisoners. How many have a crime ranked that of yours?” Dillon tilted his head “I wouldn’t know.” The conversation continued in a harsh sort of tone “Do you know the list of charges against you?” Dillon shook his head “Not in its entirety” the big man spoke, each word booming out like a hammer on a cold anvil. “One hundred and thirty nine felony charges.” Dillon raised his eyebrows “Impressive.” The Mexican stared at him. “With every right, we could have you killed right now and send an email to the WGO about your misfortune.” Dillon didn’t flinch. Words boomed out of the giant again “You don’t care.” Dillon sighed “We spend our whole lives focusing on death that we forget to live.” The Mexican looked at him a moment “Have you seen any of the guards helping prisoners escape?” He was taken aback by this. What a strange question. Were they testing him? “I have only seen murder and beatings since I arrived.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The large man continued on this “Have you heard any inmates talking about escaping?” Dillon almost laughed at this, maybe they were worried about the guard that was being nice to Belle. Maybe there were guards who helped inmates after all. What a valuable piece of knowledge to have. There was no way he would expose his plan for escaping. Though if they searched him he had a map in his shoe, extra clothes on, and an extra restraint on him. All of which would probably have him murdered on the spot. Dillon spoke up “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The large man boomed “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you’re the type to talk.”
The Mexican looked at his partner and back to Dillon “We can do unspeakable things to you, and no one would care. If you know, you’d better talk.” Dillon remained focused, the threat wasn’t taken seriously by him. He felt like this man was just bluffing or talking out of his ass. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” The big man stood up and put his fists on the table, staring at Dillon. “I know extra food is making it into the barracks. People talk. If you find out a dirty guard. I can guarantee you a transfer to a different prison.” The Mexican spoke “if you tell anyone we talked today, you’ll be the next dead body on those carts you haul around.” Dillon nodded “How could I tell you if I discovered who was dirty?” The big man spoke “You tell any guard Marco requested to speak with you.” The Mexican waved in the guards outside the room. “If I find out you know anything about the extra food, its over. Kyrus. I’ll be watching you.”
They placed the bag on his head and escorted him out just as fast as he came in. Before he knew it he was back in the box, very uncomfortably and stiffly making his way back to his own little civilization of prisoners.
Dillon was dropped off exactly where he was picked up, right by the gate. The sun was going down now, and he recognized this as quitting time. His red cart was no longer in view, and the walk was clearing out. He knew he had to go meet with his platoon at the chow hall. Dillon drudged among the concrete path thinking of the interrogation over and over in his head. “Is the worry of extra food from belle sneaking food out? But how could anyone know...”... “Do they know there is a dirty guard and they just need proof, and is the deal about a transfer real? I could just expose the guard being nice to belle and escape from here just as I came in... No... I couldn’t leave her behind. Fuck me. “
Dillon continued his mindless thoughts until he reached to chow hall, his platoon nowhere in sight Dillon knew how this worked from the military. He had to sneak into line like he knew where he belonged and walk like he meant business. Without hesitation Dillon walked past several prison guards and their platoon forming up outside the chow hall, getting ready for them to be marches back to survive yet another night of hell. Dillon needed to talk to belle and tell her to be careful about the guard that likes her and maybe she should halt food sneaking. Although if it really truly is about the food. I know I don’t share, but that Christian... I might have to watch him more. If others found out, it could spread like wild fire. Especially amongst those who hate him for what he has done. Picking up his pitiful tray and sitting down was routine now. He could finish the tray before even needing to sit down. He had stopped drinking the water here though, it seemed contaminated. He thought some reason, the toilet water was better tasting.
Dillon scarfed down the grey colored grits by tilting the tray and sucking it down. He heard some people arguing off to his right and he saw two young black men trying to steal some old white guy’s tray of food. The old guy wasn’t giving it up though. Each of the young inmates were on either side of him trying to grab it and the old man had his hands clenched over it saying “You get the fuck off me n-“ he was interrupted by one of them began throwing punches at him and the other one tried to take the tray. The old man hunkered down and took the beating still clenching on to his tray. A crowd quickly formed around the trio watching and some yelling “knock it off we’ll all be fucked!” And other various things trying to change their mind. Meanwhile Dillon kept eating and walking toward the tray return window so he could get out of there.
He watched the old man had apparently had enough. He jolted up and stood up, grabbing the dread locks of the black guy swinging on him, and smashing his tray into his face with the other hand shouting “you want it that bad you punk?” Repeatedly. The other inmate tried punching the old man but he dropped the tray and let go of his first target, to punch the inmate in the face knocking him out. The old man was fierce, with fire in his eyes he turned back to the one still standing and kicked him in the shin, which brought him down in agony.
The old man began choking him out and he was still shouting “You want it now punk?” The old man had crazy eyes and a beat red face. Spit was flying out of his mouth and his movements were erratic. Dillon was finished now and turned to push his tray into the window and he just caught out of the corner of his eye the guards knew. They were set the entry and exit door blocking the route off. Dillon didn’t want to alert the crowd of onlookers and he didn’t want to experience what these guards were about to do. Through the big chow hall windows he could see about ten guards outside at the respective doors blocking them off. The inmates outside were all sitting down on the conference facing the chow hall. Dillon.
Assumed they were ordered to remain on the ground. He thought “they are going to make an example of us. We’re fucked.” Dillon analyzed the situation and determined he would go to a table furthest from the entry points and sit down with his hands on the table, laying his head on it like he was asleep. He began walking towards the table he had in mind, paying little attention to the crowd of onlookers. They had just begun to notice they were trapped as an inmate tried to leave but came back in and shouted “they’re blocking us in!” Everyone turned in a panic and looked around, flooding to the exit door trying to get out but the doors are locked. The crowd was stunned, Dillon could see their primal instinct and pact mentality taking over. They were acting like a prey of fish in the wild being damned up for murdering. Dillon focused on his breathing, remained calm and played like he was asleep on that table. Though he was watching the situation unfold from a rather decent vantage point. Dillon saw a team with weapons gather in front of the chow hall and their apparent leader stopped them in unison before he went to talk to a couple guards. Dillon used his optic to see what the weapons were. To his surprise they were non-lethal riot control weapons.
Dillon recognized two as RKOM 37MM Riot guns, they fire basically bean bag rounds that explode upon impact with chemical agent into the area. Another he recognized as a RKOM Riot Jet, basically an oxygen tank style weapon with a nozzle on one end and a control lever. The user could open the tank with the lever releasing massive amount of chemical agent into the area. Last he noticed an impact weapon that shot ball bearings out at a speed enough to break bones. This team was led by a man walking around who had a pulse handgun on his hip. Lethal, shot caseless ammunition and the holster actually kept the weapon charged. The team entered the building and began firing instantly. Dillon saw a large plume of chemical agent fall onto the crowd by the door, while simultaneously people were falling down and protecting themselves from the impact weapons. Dillon saw one man take a shot to the elbow and his arm bent in a way he didn’t think possible. Definitely broken. He remained on the table and smelled the chemical agent approaching. It burned his nose and throat, he coughed and his eyes began to water. It burned so bad, it was like glass in the eye or a welder’s burn. Dillon couldn’t remain at the table anymore.
He got up and walked with the crowd that was going out the exit. The weapons team who entered the dining hall was yelling “Get Out! Get Out!” and kept shooting people. Dillon couldn’t see but he placed his hand on the person in front of him slowly moving with the crowd exiting the building from the entrance door. The chemical agent made him cough and felt like he couldn’t breathe. He remained calm though, and let his body experience what was going on. Panicking would solve nothing. He had been exposed to multiple chemical agents during his service and they all made him into a cripple, unable to do much until getting out of the affected area or decontaminating. Dillon heard loud shots behind him and fell down on one knee as a ball bearing or bean bag round struck his lg.
He kept going, limping as he squinted trying to find the exit. People were moving so slow despite the ensuing chaos that was happening. He was gasping for air, snot dripping out of his nose and drool from his mouth. His eyes were like he had received a welder’s burn. It hurt so bad his leg began shaking. Through the first set of exit doors, much better, and he pressed on, opening his eyes and blowing snow on the floor. Open air. “Get on the ground!” the guards were yelling. Dillon hit the deck, as soon as he could. He had stumbled over some people but managed to find some open ground. Surprising to him, someone was on top of him, activated hi restraints and stood him up. Dillon opened his eyes but it was hard to see. “Evan Kyrus. Bravo 02 building.” And handed him off. Through a clouded vision he could see he was being escorted to where his platoon was sitting.
They sat him down and continued restraining and sorting offenders out. Sergeant Gonzalez began talking “Listen up. He was the last one, we’re going to get you fucking idiots back to the barracks.” Sergeant Gonzalez looked at him “You’d better hope you had nothing to do with that shit.” A pause “Everyone up!” They stood up and followed him back to the barracks. The whole walk Dillon spent opening and closing his eyes trying to get water flowing to remove the burning sensation. He could breathe fine, but every piece of exposed skin was still burning as was his eyes. He could see, it just hurt.
They finally reached their usual spot in the barracks and Belle started in on him. “Where were you? What was going on in there?” Dillon raised his hand motioning her to stop. “I’ve had a rough day. Got back from work late.” Belle snorted “That’s bullshit I managed to ask one of the other guys in your building if they had seen you and they said you’d been gone since morning.” Belle had an angry look on her face. Dillon flushed “No-one is left from my original group who did you talk to?” Belle raised her eyebrows “Okay. I heard another guard talking to Sergeant Gonzalez and they had said you were re assigned for a while but you would be back. What did they have you doing?” Dillon chuckled “Come close.” She moved in, he could smell her hair. It smelled like shampoo, different than yesterday. Had she found out how to get to a shower? How strange “I was kidnapped and interviewed. Someone knows about you brining food out. I suggest you keep it on the low.” Her eyes opened wide as she backed up to where she was sitting. She tilted her head “Is it safe to..?” Dillon shrugged “Go ahead.”
She took off the socks from around her neck and looked at him and Crosby. “Go ahead boys.” She said. They both ate their fill but Dillon paid close attention to Crosby who he noticed kept some in his hand and kept it closed. Crosby said “How was your guy’s day?” Dillon smiled “I want to say, not so bad. But then I remember how bad that chemical burned my eyes.” Belle laughed “They’re still red” Dillon replied “They still burn.” She giggled again “Well.” She motioned them to come in closer “The guard I work for let me take a shower today! He had to beat me some and throw some dirt and food back on me for show. It’s very strange this one...” Dillon light up “Perfect.” She said “That’s not all. I noticed today that in each of the floors the inmates are generally all feeling the same.”
Crosby frowned “How’s the special. I feel terrible being here also.” Belle shook her head “No I mean... Floor one are all energetic, floor two and five are deathly ill, floor three and four are in the middle. They all have the same…symptoms?” Crosby looked around unsure of her words “I’m not sure what you mean.” Dillon nodded “I need you to see if you can get any information out of your guard about why they are sick.” Belle looked stunned “You think there’s something to this?” Dillon had his thumb in his mouth, biting on the top of it. “We need to work on our escape plan. Gathering information is the name of our game. How was your day?” pointing at Crosby. “It was okay... I was out in the sun all day except I was able to drink some water this time. The powercat job is a whole lot better than being in the tunnels I’ll tell you that.” Dillon replied “I need you to learn more about your powercat. Enough to be able to break it so it goes to maintenance, but enough to where you can also fix it.” Crosby looked at him intently “You think we have a chance of escaping?” Dillon, very seriously. “Never say that word. But I believe I have something worked out. Just follow my lead and figure out your machine.”
He pointed to Belle “And you, my dear. Extort some information out of your guard, but be careful about it.” Crosby was looking at the floor rather sullenly. “I’m not sure.” He said. Dillon responded “About what?” He took a minute and seemed to be struggling with getting his words out. “I’m not feeling the Lord’s presence like I usually am. I normally have this energy around me this happiness. I’m not feeling that. I feel cold.” Dillon looked at him “I’m not one for God and such. But I can say, you look like absolute shit right now.” Crosby nodded “The man I met the other Day in the tunnels talked to me again today. He was talking about power cats. He seems to know a lot about them. He also was telling me to get out of the chow hall early. I’m glad I listened.”
Belle chimed in “Your thoughts are all over the place today Crosby. Why don’t you go find your disciples and get your evening prayer done so you can go to bed?” Crosby sleepily moved his head around, “I think you’re right. I’ll get with them now.” Dillon maintained a focused eye on him, and he saw that Crosby’s fist was still clenched with food inside of it. Dillon watched him approach the pillar where they had prayed at every night and his two followers approached. Crosby looked around to make sure no one was focused on them and Dillon clearly seen the other two look down at Crosby’s hand and take something from it, putting it in their mouth. Dillon smirked “So that’s where the information leak is from.” Belle raised an eyebrow “What do you mean?” Dillon pointed. “Crosby there, has been stashing food you give us and passing it on to his followers. I think word is getting out.” Belle appeared pained by this. “What do I do? Cut him out?” Dillon shook his head “No but let’s keep an eye on it. I will confront him.” Belle uttered a few words back “He probably thinks he’s doing the right thing.” Dillon retorted “But he’s going to get someone hurt or killed if the wrong inmates find out about you.” Belle raised her hand “Who’s going to be killed?” Dillon glanced at her with his cold stare “Anyone who fucks with you.” She smiled and placed her hand on his. “Let’s call it a day Evan.” Dillon lost his menacing gaze and replaced it with a kind soft look. “Okay darling. Come here.” She snuggled up to him like usual, and they let their thoughts wander off into nothingness as they fell asleep together.
