This Machine Kills (33 page)

   Without looking, he could feel the glare of Jacob burning into his back.

   “But if I was in your shoes, I’d want some answers about why they thought they could get away with what they’ve done here. Like I say, the choice is yours. I’d like to give you more time to think about it but we’ve got none to spare. We’re taking the City back and we’re doing it now. Anyone who wants to join us needs to be outside the front gates in the next thirty minutes. As for the rest of you… good luck.”

   The crowd grew quiet as they digested Taylor’s words. Small groups huddled together as they thrashed out between them which course of action they should take. The noise levels slowly grew as people argued with their friends and partners. Some of the women were openly crying and either hitting their loved ones or trying to drag them back to the safety of their cells. It gave him no pleasure to know he would be responsible for many of their deaths.

   Stepping down from the platform, he turned to face Jacob, “How did I do?”

   “You did well.”

   As the hood was hiding the other man’s face it was impossible to judge his reaction, but as far as Taylor could tell, he sounded sincere.

   “What now?” he asked, “Do we go outside and wait, see if anybody turns up?”

   “Not yet,” Jacob replied, “we’ve still got one more thing to do.”

Chapter 26

   The white floor tiles were cold beneath Taylor’s feet. The shower block was not an ideal place to warm up, but at least it was a space where he could be on his own and gather his thoughts. He got up onto the balls of his feet and circled to the left and right, then moved forwards and back, all the while making sure to keep his head moving. He was testing to see how his ribs felt, and at that moment they were just about holding up.

   He shook his arms out and threw a one-two combination at the air. Not too bad, he thought. Taylor threw another couple of straight punches then finished with a left hook. As soon as he threw the shot, he felt the pain rip through his ribs. It felt like someone had just stuck a screwdriver between them. Still bouncing on the balls of his feet, he tried to throw a low leg kick at an imaginary opponent. This time, the pain made him grunt out loud. He had no idea how he was going to survive the onslaught.

   Worse than the pain, Taylor was also suffering from another feeling in his stomach that he hadn’t experienced for many years. He could feel his guts turning over the way they had when his parents took him to the funfair and he’d sneaked on the roller coaster when his father wasn’t looking. It was the same empty feeling he had as the truck carrying him slowly approached the brow of the metal hill, just before descending into the first of the ride’s many drops. For the first time in years, he was scared. Running into one of the toilet cubicles, Taylor got on his knees and threw up.

   With the inhabitants of the centre left to mull over their choices, Jacob had Richardson lead a small team of men to another part of the prison. When Taylor questioned him on where they were going, Jacob stayed ominously silent. ‘You’ll see,’ was all he would say. Whatever they were about to do hadn’t been a part of the original plan and as a result he didn’t like it.

   Richardson led them from the manufacturing sector out of an exit at the rear of the building. When the door opened, sunlight beamed in making everyone shield their faces with their hands. They were now in one of the few places in the prison that wasn’t under a roof. When their eyes finally adjusted, Taylor was able to see a grey domed building in what had once been the prison’s exercise yard. Although of a reasonable size it was much smaller than the area they had just come from.

   Taylor turned to Jacob, “What is this place?”

   “It’s the maximum security prison where the category A prisoners are kept,” Jacob said without missing a beat, “it’s where they make the prison matches.”

   “So?” Taylor growled, “What’s it got to do with us?”

   “We need them,” Jacob answered matter-of-factly, “if we’re going to get into the City.”

   Taylor could feel himself getting angry, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

   “Because I knew you’d say no. You can take the boy out of SecForce but you can’t take SecForce out of the boy.”

   “Fuck you,” Taylor spat, “and don’t
ever
call me a boy.”

   Jacob shrugged casually, “It was just a turn of phrase.”

   Taylor pointed at the innocuous looking building in front of him, “The men in there are not like those other poor bastards. They’re thieves, rapists and murderers. I should know; I helped put enough of them in there. They can rot as far as I’m concerned.”

   Richardson watched with glee as the two men argued. Taylor caught his smug grin from the corner of his eye.

   “And you can shut the fuck up too, otherwise you’ll be sharing a cell with the biggest one of them I can find. I’m sure they’d just love a piece of your ass.”

   Richardson’s face quickly dropped.

   “You call them thieves and murderers,” Jacob said, the distraction giving him time to prepare his words. He had carefully omitted some of the other accusations Taylor had levelled at them,

   “But who exactly have they murdered? SecForce troopers, the people who’ve oppressed them. These men are political prisoners and they should have the same right to help us as everyone else.”

   Taylor laughed, “Political prisoners my ass. Most of those motherfuckers are in there for screwing their own people over, not SecForce or ClearSkies. The only people they care about is themselves.”

   “Just like you did, you mean?” Jacob asked.

   Before Taylor could answer, he removed his hood, making Richardson gasp,

   “We need them,” he said, “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think we did. Give them the chance to do something right for once. If they don’t, I swear to God, I’ll kill them myself.”

   The place looked smaller in real life than it did on television. There were three levels, each with about fifty cells on them. The large circular pit in the centre of the building completely dominated the place.  Bloodstains that had resisted repeated attempts to be removed, stained the concrete floor of the pit creating unnerving patterns.

   The inmates greeted their uninvited guests with such a raw display of ferocity, that with the exception of Richardson, who was no stranger to such outbursts, the men were temporarily lost for words. Ignoring the noise, the warden directed the group to the main control room. From there, multiple screens displayed the images projected from the CCTV cameras in each of the cells. Every five seconds or so, the picture on the screens flickered to that of a different, but identically grim space.

   Christopher was just about to press the button that would open all the cell doors when Richardson called out to him.

   “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, looking ever so slightly flustered, “not if you want to get out of here alive.”

   Christopher shifted his glance to Jacob.

   “I think you should listen to the man,” Taylor added. He could foresee how easily things could go wrong.

   “Come away from there Christopher,” Jacob said, like he was taking to a mischievous child.

   Sensing that he had a temporary ally in Taylor, Richardson now addressed him.

   “What you have to understand is this is a very different animal from the production centre. Over there we are in charge, we know it and so do the residents. But in here, it’s the inmates who run the show. They spend all their time in their cells unless they are fighting or training for a fight. There’s nothing we can do to punish them any more than we already are. If we try anything stronger, they’ll just refuse to take part and we simply can’t have that.”

   Richardson’s face turned sour, “That bastard Warchild has got them organised like they’re part of a goddamn union.”

   Jacob quickly jumped on Richardson’s words, “So Warchild runs the show does he? In that case you better take me to him.”

   Warchild sat on his bed, seemingly uninterested by the small gathering of people who looked in on him from the other side of the bars. His massive hands rested on his knees, whilst his long brown hair covered his gaze from the crowd.

   “So let me get this right,” he finally said in his deep baritone voice. He’d made sure to keep them waiting a healthy time before replying.

   “You’re going to let us out of here if we help you get into the City.”

   He let out a long, chugging laugh, “And I thought some of the motherfuckers in here were crazy.”

   “I told you it was a waste of time,” Taylor muttered to Jacob.

   Warchild lifted his head up and brushed his hair from his face. He had a huge overhanging brow and a jaw that looked like it would hurt to hit. These however, were the only Neanderthal qualities he possessed. Behind his eyes burned a fierce intelligence that was at odds with his caveman features.

   “I know you,” Warchild said, his eyes directed at Taylor, “I came to watch you in the cage once. Must be ten years ago now… You still fighting?”

   “Now and then, just small stuff,” Taylor begrudgingly answered, he didn’t have time for this,

   “That’s a shame, you weren’t bad.”

   Taylor shrugged, “Things have changed.”

   “Tell me about it,” Warchild laughed

   “So are you going to help us or not?” Taylor snapped, “Richardson says the men will listen to you.”

   “Hey Mr Richardson,” Warchild enquired pleasantly, “how’s your neck?”

   Richardson forced a smile; “It’s fine thank you.”

   The others looked to him for an explanation.

   “I had to come and talk to Warchild last week about the attitude of some of the men,” Richardson loosened the knot in his tie, “Let’s just say I got a little too close to the bars.”

   Despite himself, Taylor could feel the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

   “If you can get the others to help us, I think it will make a massive difference,” Jacob said, “I know we can do it with you by our sides.”

   Warchild smiled, “The thing is buddy, we’re all here for a reason. Me and the others have done some pretty bad shit. Maybe it’s not such a good idea we leave this place.”

   “But don’t you want to be free?”

   “Maybe I don’t deserve to be free, maybe none of us do.”

   Jacob tried another tactic, “But if that’s how you feel, like you need to pay your dues, then help us. That will pay off any debt you owe far more than sitting in this cell.”

   Warchild sighed, “I never said I owed anyone shit. I’m just saying I’m not a nice guy, that’s all.”

   Taylor was growing irritated with the man and was just about to turn and leave when Warchild spoke again.

   “I’ll make a deal with you. I can get everyone in this prison to help you on one condition.”

   “And what’s that?” Jacob asked.

   Warchild pointed his long, thick finger at Taylor, “That he fights me. If I win, you leave us go and we do our own thing. If he wins, we’re yours.”

   Taylor had already nodded in agreement before the man had finished his words.

   “I’ll do it,” he said, looking to Jacob.

  “And by the Way,” Warchild added, a half-smile on his face, “we’re fighting prison rules.”

Chapter 27

   The door to the shower block opened allowing Christopher to stealthily slip into the room. He looked like a cat-burglar who had beaten the bank’s security systems and was now let loose in the vault. He seemed delighted at the prospect of the upcoming spectacle.

   If he had come a minute before, he would have found Taylor still hunched over the toilet, dry-retching as he tried to rid himself of the contents of his already empty stomach. He was now sitting on one of the long wooden benches where the prisoners usually sat as they waited for their turn in the cold shower.

   “What do you want?” Taylor said as he looked up from his bare feet. He had been staring at them, but not really at them (there were other things going on in his head), as he ran through the numerous ways the fight could end up going.

   For once Christopher didn’t follow up with the aggressive response he had grown to expect of him. Instead he took a furtive look down the corridor before closing the door behind him, “Guess what?”

   When Taylor didn’t answer, but chose to lower his head back to its resting position, the other man continued to speak,

   “I just found out from one of the other prisoners why Warchild is in here. It cost me a pack of smokes but it was worth it just to hear what he had to say.”

   He had now adopted the tone of a close friend; like he had been doing Taylor a big favour and this was the pay-off. When Taylor refused to look at him, Christopher started once more. He was so eager to get his words out he was almost falling over them.

   “The way I heard it, Warchild was over in River City when the Uprisings began…”

   Taylor had never been there but knew River City had been the third or fourth largest city in the country at the time, with the distinction of producing, after his own home, the second largest of the riots.