Alexander Smith - Lockdown

"The pirates?" I asked. Donovan made a noise from his nose that I thought might have been a laugh.

"Yeah, the pirates. Otherwise known as the Skulls. They were one of the groups responsible for the Slaughter. They're not the only gang here but they're easily the worst. They all carry shanks." He noticed my confusion. "Homemade knives. They make them out of anything and everything they can find. Rock, cutlery, even bone. Not afraid to use them either."

We had crossed the courtyard and arrived at a large crack in the rock that led into a tunnel. Like everything else it blended into the red walls perfectly, which was why I hadn't spotted it before. There were two more wall-mounted machine guns here, one pointing right at us and one directed through the opening. Ignoring them, Donovan strode forward.

"Give the gangs a wide berth if you want to stay in one piece," he went on as we made our way through the tunnel. "Around here the guards don't give a crap if we kill each other, and those kids don't have anything to lose. It's not like their sentence can get any longer if they kill anyone else, if you follow me."

I did, although I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing.

"So is that who comes at night? The gangs?"

This time Donovan laughed out loud, the sound echoing off the walls and making me jump. He simply shook his head and walked on, leading me out into another chamber of bare rock. This one was full of tables and benches, most of which were currently empty. At the far end of the room was a deserted canteen, not unlike the one at school. The ceiling here was much lower, bearing down on me as we walked toward the nearest table. The fleshy walls made me feel like I was in the stomach of some giant monster-a place to get digested, not to eat.

"Welcome to the trough room," he said. "This is where you get your three tasty, nutritious meals of the day. Steak, salmon, venison, champagne truffles. The works!"

"Seriously?" I asked, a flicker of hope igniting inside me like a drug.

"Sure, I guess. Trouble is you can never be too sure what you're getting because it's blended up with about a ton of sawdust and served as a paste. I like to think that what we're eating used to be real food."

The flicker died, along with my appetite. We took seats opposite one another as the prisoners slowly made their way into the canteen, where the food was served. A few minutes later two short bursts of the siren sounded and the crowd inside the canteen started to swell.

"How did you know what time it was?" I asked as a door behind the canteen opened and a sweaty inmate emerged struggling to hold a vast container.

"Like I said, you just get a knack for it," Donovan replied. He got to his feet and started walking toward the canteen. I made to follow, but he waved for me to sit back down again, shouting over his shoulder, "Allow me."

I watched him go. The inmates were all hovering around the canteen but there was no queue-not that I really expected one in a place like this. It was more like vultures picking at a corpse. The strong ones got priority, barging past everyone else to be served first. I don't know whether it was a relief or a shock to see Donovan plow his way to the front, the smaller kids backing away from him and hovering on the outside of the throng. But even he stood to one side to let the Skulls through, never taking his eyes off them as they snatched their food and walked away.

I was distracted from the spectacle by a gentle hand on my shoulder and swung my head around to see Zee. He sat down on the bench beside me and leaned in close, his face twisted in panic.

"This place is like a death camp," he whispered. "What with the gangs and the guns and those scary guards-"

"The blacksuits," I said.

Zee shuddered. "I've even got bloodstains on the floor of my cell, for Christ's sake." I thought about the marks on my wall but didn't say anything. "What's your guy like? Carl?"

"Donovan," I answered, watching him cross the floor with two trays of food. "Nice. I was lucky, I think. What about you?"

"Yeah okay. Quiet kid. Wouldn't say boo to a goose, as my gran used to say."

"I don't blame him," I answered. "I once got chased around a park by a goose. I could swear it was trying to break my arm. They're evil."

We were both giggling when Donovan arrived back, and he looked at us as if we were crazy.

"It usually takes a few weeks for people to crack up in here," he said as he sat down, sliding my tray across the table. "Don't tell me you two have lost it already."

"Donovan, this is Zee." They nodded at each other, although both remained wary.

"Another new fish," said Donovan, shoveling his food into his mouth. "I'd get it while it's hot if I were you. Not that this crap is hot."

I looked at the mound of gray mush in front of me and instantly thought about the mess I'd made on the prison bus. They looked alike, and the smell wasn't too dissimilar either. It felt like my stomach was tying itself in knots, and I pushed the tray toward Zee.

"Help yourself," I said. But he had turned green at the sight of the food and looked like he was on the verge of chundering as well. Donovan's eyes were twinkling with affectionate humor.

"A few more days and this will seem like heavenly macaroni and cheese," he said, pulling the tray toward him. "It's surprising what you can get used to when you're starving."

DESPITE THE FOOD, I began to feel a bit more relaxed during trough time. With a little imagination I could almost pretend that I was back at school, chatting with friends over hot lunches (which admittedly hadn't been much prettier than this anyway) and just enjoying time away from lessons. Instead of talking about teachers, soccer, and girls, though, we discussed life inside Furnace. But even that seemed distant, like we were chatting about a film we'd seen on television or some new computer game.

"So there really is no way out?" Zee asked when Donovan had finished eating. The older boy had scoffed two helpings of muck and was eyeing the canteen hopefully on the chance there was any left. "I mean, no tunnels, no secret exits?"

"First off, you better watch what you say and who you say it to," he answered, giving up on thirds and returning his attention to the table. "To the warden, talking about escaping is the same as escaping. And I can't even bring myself to tell you what happened to the last guy who actually made a break for it.

"Second, yeah, this place is full of tunnels but they all only go in one direction: down. This prison is wedged in a massive gorge, and as far as I know there are tunnels in the rock that go much deeper than this. They use some of them for storage, and some for the warden's offices, and I know from personal experience that the hole is down there."

"The hole?" Zee and I both asked together.

"Solitary. I was down there for three days after I got into a fight with some gang wranglers-not the Skulls, the Leopards. They're not really around anymore. Anyway, it's just a hole in the ground right at the bottom of the prison, and they lock you in it with no light or food and only a pipe for a toilet. The only water you get is the condensation on the walls." His face had paled from the memory.

"After a day you think you're going crazy. After two days you think you're in hell. After three days you lose a little piece of yourself that you don't get back. I never heard of anyone being in there more than four days and surviving. That place drives your soul right out of your body. It's the screams you hear when you're down there, like demons. They don't ever shut up."

He shook his head, seeming to come out of a trance.

"I'll die before I go back in there."

I didn't know what to say, so I kept my mouth closed. But Zee didn't seem as fazed by the threat of solitary confinement.