Lights Out (27 page)

Darren nodded, following. Morrow chimed in, though. “Solitary’s on the second floor.”

“I’m just talking this part of the building, okay? Hospital’s near here, too. It made sense to us.”

“Fucking out with it, Gino.” Ribisi, his voice tense.

“So one of the guys finds me actually in solitary, where I was checking. He knows I’m just under you, so I’m the guy to go to. He brings me down this way.”

“Down where?” Darren asked.

“Down here, Father.”

Gino jostled the last few inmates and guards aside and presented a closet, its doorway surrounded by discarded boxes of paper and other supplies. Darren was about to look closer when the smell hit him, a clinging stench like rotten meat and garbage left out in the sun. He recoiled, his hand jumping to cover his nose and mouth. He saw Marquez and Ribisi do the same.

“The fuck, Gino?”

“Tell me about it,” the younger inmate said with a grin. “Stinks to high fuck, right? Well, we started looking around, pulling out boxes, and look what we found inside.”

Darren didn’t want to get any closer, absolutely hated the idea, but he did it anyway. He took a deep breath, filtering the foul air as best he could, and stepped forward. He moved slowly and cautiously, his eyes wide open. With each step toward the closet, he felt his pulse quicken. And then he was inside.

His eyes burned, watered, and he could swear he felt the room’s stink grab hold of his skin like claws. The walls were bare concrete, like most of Burnham, but the floor was cracked and uneven. Even more out of the ordinary was a two-foot by two-foot hole in one corner. He leaned closer, peering down at the portal, and saw what looked like a dirt tunnel leading into the darkness.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

“What is it?” Morrow asked as he appeared at his side.

“A tunnel. They dug their way in.”

“I doubt that very much, Father,” Ribisi said.

“What do you mean?”

“Who were two of the first cons to go missing?”

“Holy shit,” Morrow said. “Randy Lander and Dave Farabee.”

“You think they did this?”

Morrow gave him a look. “They called Farabee Digger Dave. He got arrested for tunneling into a bank. They must have been trying to dig their way out of Burnham.”

“Makes sense.”

“So, what then?” Gino asked, “Digger and Lander leave an open hole and a bloodsucker gets in, starts turning people?”

“Lander was found this morning, one of them,” Morrow answered. “Something else happened.”

“I think I got it,” Darren said. “They would have used demolitions when they were building Burnham, for clearing the land. One of them must have closed off a cavern or something–-there are caves all over that no one’s ever found.”

“But that was almost thirty years ago.”

“So what? We know these things aren’t normal. The one that started this could have gotten trapped, then Lander and Farabee tunnel right into the spot where it’s been waiting for thirty years, setting it loose.”

Marquez spoke from the doorway. “And it comes up to find a whole new food supply right on top of its head, which is good, because it’s one starving motherfucker.”

“So we take care of them while they’re down there,” Morrow said.

“Fuck that, amigo. I’m sure as hell not going down there.”

“We got gas?” Gino asked. “We could pour it in, burn them.”

“We don’t know how far down it goes,” Darren answered.

“Seal it up, then.”

“Fuck that,” Ribisi said. He leaned forward, spitting down into the hole. “I want these fucks. I want this to be finished, whichever way it goes. What I don’t want is to spend the rest of my life worrying that they’re going to get free again, not when they’re directly beneath me. I say we take ‘em out.”

Before he had a chance to think about it, Darren found himself nodding. “Anton’s right. We’ve come this far. Let’s go the rest of the way. We don’t have anything else to lose.” He caught Morrow’s eye, and his friend nodded.

“I always liked you, Padre,” Marquez said. “When this is done, how about I get you some tequila, maybe have a nice senorita come in to give you a blowjob?”

“Let’s just live through this, first. Come on, we have a lot to do before sundown.”

“Amen,” Ribisi said. “I want to get this place back to normal as soon as possible.”

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?”

“Gino. 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.”