Alexander Smith - Lockdown

"But some of those tunnels must go somewhere. I mean, underground passageways, that sort of thing."

"Well, you're welcome to try," replied Donovan with more than a hint of sarcasm. "I don't think you'd be the first and I doubt you'll be the last. But believe me when I say that the hole isn't the worst thing you'll find behind these walls. Hey, maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe they'll take you tonight and you'll see for yourself."

"Take me?" asked Zee. "Take me where?"

But Donovan wasn't listening. Zee turned to me but I just shrugged. He slumped back on the bench, obviously annoyed.

"So, your old cellmate, Adam. Was he your friend?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Friend?" Donovan replied, as if trying to remember the word. "You don't have friends in here, you'll soon come to understand that. You get attached to someone, then you'll just lose them. They'll get shanked or they'll jump or they'll be taken one night. When they reach eighteen they get sent up to level fifteen and you'll lose them then, too. Not that many survive to eighteen."

He paused when a shout echoed across the room, starting again when it died away. "Don't make friends, don't make connections. They'll see it, and it will get you both killed. Don't make the mistake of bringing your heart down here with you, there is no place for it in Furnace."

The shout rang out again, angrier this time. Donovan seemed to freeze, his hackles raised, and I felt my heartbeat quicken. There was a growing tension in the room. You could almost see it-like a black shadow seeping over the tables and compressing the air. It was emanating from a bench on the opposite side of the trough room where two inmates were on their feet and nose to nose.

"Let's go," Donovan hissed, getting up. Other people were doing the same, eyeing the confrontation warily as they made for the exit.

"What's going on?" Zee asked.

"Trouble," was his reply. "And we don't want to be anywhere near it."

As if on cue there was another sound and a metallic crash. I looked back to see one of the boys reeling backward, a red gash in his head where something had struck him. His attacker was preparing for another blow, the tray raised above his head, the sharp edge directed forward like an ax.

"Can't we do something?" I asked. But we'd reached the tunnel and Donovan was already walking inside.

"Feel free," he shouted over his shoulder. I stood and watched for a moment longer, but as the makeshift blade descended I was pushed forward by the crowd, and the moment was lost behind the bloodred wall.

FOR THE NEXT few minutes chaos reigned in Furnace. We emerged into the yard just as one long blast rang out from the siren. The sound seemed to activate the machine guns lined up along the walls. They spun out toward the crowd of panicking inmates, their slick, smooth movements reminding me of some crazy, homicidal robot on the rampage.

The deafening wail of the siren had the effect of a fuel injection on everybody in the giant room. It was like somebody had hit the fast-forward button, making the inmates move at a ridiculous speed. Most were running for the stairs, their fear palpable as they pushed each other out of the way. Even Donovan was jogging across the yard, his usual calm expression twisted into a mask of apprehension. He shouted something, but it was lost in the noise of the stampede and the unending scream of the siren.

The terror was contagious, flooding my mind and making my head swim. I felt something crash into me from behind and I sprawled out over the hard ground, a sharp pain running up my arm from a twisted wrist. Ahead of me lay an engine of legs, each a piston that trampled anything in its path. I struggled to get up, but something struck my arm out from under me. I wrapped my hands around my head and curled into a ball as the kicks rained in from every side-just wishing for it to be over, to wake up from this sick nightmare.

After what seemed like an eternity I felt somebody grab my wrist, hard, and haul me up. I resisted for a second but the force was insistent, and I relented. Opening my eyes, I saw Donovan above me, his expression furious. Digging his fingers into my flesh, he pulled me along with the tide, shoving other kids out of the way until we reached the stairs. I followed without thinking, my brain too exhausted to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other-and it wasn't very successful at that either.

Like the aftermath of a tsunami, the flood had died to a trickle by the time we reached the sixth level, buoying us into our cell only seconds before the siren cut out. The absence of sound was almost as disturbing as the noise itself. The prison had been plunged into a gulf of silence broken only by the occasional sob. But it didn't last. With a noise a little like the one a roller coaster makes as it's being pulled up a slope the cell doors began to slide shut, a thousand gates sealing with a boom that made the very stone tremble.

Donovan had slumped onto my bed and was wiping beads of sweat off his brow. I didn't even have the energy to make it to the bunks, and just slid down the cold metal bars until my knees hit the floor. For a moment neither of us did anything but pant. My whole body was aching, my stomach felt like it was unpeeling itself, like I was coming apart. I offered silent prayers of thanks that I hadn't eaten dinner.

Below, on the ground floor, I could see the vault door opening and a dark shadow sweep across the yard toward the trough room. There must have been twelve or thirteen blacksuits down there, armed with guns.

"Dogs?" asked Donovan in a whisper. Then, when I didn't answer: "The dogs, are they out there?"

I watched the vault door swing shut, but nothing else had come out. I shook my head, not quite able to speak. Donovan muttered a thank-you to someone, or something, and I heard him collapse back onto the bed.

"Is anyone out of their cell?" he went on.

I scanned the circumference of the prison and saw dozens of faces peering out through the bars at the events unfolding below. But everybody seemed to be locked up pretty tight. I shook my head again, then twisted around on my knees and found a more comfortable position leaning against the wall.

"Jesus," Donovan said eventually, directing his words at the bunk above him. "Talk about an induction. You've been here a couple of hours and you've seen a skirmish and a lockdown. You should consider yourself lucky."

"Lockdown?" I asked, not feeling in the least bit lucky.

"That siren, that long one, it translates as 'get the hell back in your cell in the next minute or your ass is grass,' " he explained, finally turning to look at me. "Lockdown is one of the worst things that can happen here. This one isn't too bad, it's just the guards. That skirmish in the trough room must have triggered it. Sometimes fights do, sometimes they don't.

"The worst lockdowns come for no reason. One minute you're playing cards in the yard and the next you're all running for your lives, trampling each other so you don't get torn to pieces when…" He paused, his voice catching in his throat. I didn't want to press him, something about his expression made me hold my tongue. Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted to know any more.

I clambered up off the floor and walked to the bunk, sitting down at the foot of the bed and putting my head in my hands. He swung himself around so we were sitting side by side.

"Look," I said sheepishly. "I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for coming back for me. I would have been pummeled out there."

He looked at me and nodded, but his eyes were cold.

"Don't mention it. But don't expect it again. I told you, there are no friendships here, no loyalties. I helped you because you're new, and because when there's two people in a cell then there's only a fifty percent chance they'll take you. You'd better wise up, Alex, I'm not your guardian angel."