Alexander Smith - Lockdown

I tried to apologize, but my mouth was so dry I couldn't make my tongue work. One of the blacksuits ran his hands along the bars, curved inward from the weight of the dog.

"Open F11," he boomed. The cell door moved a few centimeters before the buckled bars jammed against their casings. The man grabbed hold of the door and pulled, the muscles beneath his suit straining so hard that I thought the fabric would rip. With the sound of screeching metal the solid bars relented, snapping back into place and allowing the door to slide open. The men didn't enter, they just pointed at Zee.

"You, come with us."

"Me?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Zee looked at me as if I could help. I swallowed hard then stood up, hands held out in submission.

"It's me you want," I said slowly. "I started it."

"Well, look at Mr. Noble," said the blacksuit who had bent the door. "Don't kiss ass, kid. You're in the right cell, he's not. It's a breach of lockdown rules. Now get over here, Hatcher."

Zee reluctantly stood and walked toward the cell door. The men raised their evil-looking weapons and ushered him outside.

"I'm so sorry, Zee," I said, but he was already walking off. I had a sudden flashback to Toby, lying dead on the floor of a stranger's house, his life taken because of my stupidity, my greed. I couldn't believe it was happening again.

"Close F11."

The cell door rumbled shut and I gripped the bars, trying to see what was happening. Zee was marched to the stairs, vanishing as he was led down to his fate.

"Where are they taking him?" I asked Donovan. "What are they going to do to him? It's my fault all this happened, not his."

The answer came a second later when I heard a shot sound out across the prison, echoing off the stone walls and piercing my heart. I sank down to my knees, trying to force time to reverse, trying to undo what I'd made happen.

But then the noise came again, not a shot but the crack of metal on metal.

"Open D24," came a voice, and the sound continued, the noise of a cell door opening. I rested my forehead against the cold bars, offering a prayer of thanks to anything that was listening. I heard the door close, followed a short while later by the siren as the men in black retreated.

"He's okay," I muttered. "We're okay."

But Donovan simply laughed that chilling laugh.

"No, Alex. You're dead, you just don't know it yet."

WHEN I WOKE UP the next morning I actually thought I was on fire. Every single fiber in my body was in agony. I had pains in every muscle, pains in muscles I didn't know existed, pains in muscles in places I didn't even know I had. My head was drumming some sort of ancient tribal dance, my throat felt like I'd swallowed a cheese grater, and my eyes were watering as if I was wearing contact lenses soaked in vinegar. I uttered what must have been a pretty pathetic groan, then tried to swing my useless legs out of bed.

"Kill me now," I whispered. My spine sounded like a bowl of Rice Krispies as I stood, all snaps, crackles, and pops, but after hobbling round the cell a couple of times like an old man I felt the pain start to subside. On my second round I saw Donovan leaning up in bed looking at me sympathetically.

"First time anybody does chipping they ache the morning after," he mumbled through a yawn. "But I can't imagine how you feel after chipping, fighting, and trying to escape the dogs."

"I feel like every nerve in my body is being pricked with a redhot needle," I replied, making Donovan wince. "I feel like someone has skinned me alive and is now toasting my internal organs with a blowtorch." He actually turned a little pale at that one. "I feel like I've been bathed in acid-"

"Okay, enough," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm about to eat breakfast."

We chatted while we waited for the morning siren to sound, which it did as I was using the toilet, leading to a number of "pardon you" jokes from Donovan. I didn't know why we were both in such good spirits, considering the events of the previous day. Being locked up does strange things to your state of mind, I guess. You're so relieved to have made it through each day and night that the simple act of waking up makes you euphoric-even when you do feel like you've just wrestled an elephant.

Our moods soon changed when the cells opened. We traipsed down to the yard with sour faces, each marked with a hint of fear, scanning the crowds for any sign of attack. I spotted a number of painted bandannas-lifeless black eyes daubed above lifeless gray faces-but aside from a handful of scowls aimed in my direction they seemed to ignore me. I kept my arms tensed by my sides, ready to lash out, just in case.

For some reason, things this morning were a little different from the day before. Two blacksuits stood by the elevator, beneath the massive screen, and were herding us in front of it like cattle. I almost made a mooing sound, but it was more from fear than from an attempt at humor. I managed to keep my mouth shut as we reached the courtyard and moved to the back of the group. It took a few minutes for everybody to make it down the stairs, but eventually every inmate in the prison was shuffling nervously beneath the flickering screen. It felt like we were waiting for our execution.

One of the blacksuits raised his shotgun in the air and fired a single shot. Behind the deafening report I heard the ammunition pinging off bars above my head, and hoped that everybody was on the ground floor. Anyone left upstairs could have some ugly holes in them. The yard instantly fell quiet, the prisoners clamping their mouths shut to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

"Looks like you've made quite an impression," Donovan risked whispering in my ear. I hoped this didn't have anything to do with the previous day's events, but judging by the way people were staring at me I knew it was a pretty pointless wish.

Eventually the screen exploded into static, a fizzing snowstorm that settled into a fuzzy image of a dark figure. The man was sitting in the shadows, but a single slice of light illuminated a flash of teeth and a crooked nose that I knew belonged to the warden. He sat forward and suddenly his whole face came into view. Unlike when he was standing in front of me, I was able to look into his eyes. But I wished I hadn't. They were like black pools inside his head, vortices that seemed to suck me in. It was like staring into an abyss. I thought I could see planets in those eyes, galaxies of stars. I saw madness and chaos, I saw eternity. I saw my own death.

Then I blinked, and they were just eyes. Dark, yes, but normal. I realized I was drenched with sweat. It sat on my skin like a damp towel and I shivered in its grip. The entire room was cowering before the image of the warden, who resembled a giant staring down at his prey from the vast monitor.

"Obedience is the difference between life, death, and the other varieties of existence on offer here in Furnace," the image spoke, the voice amplified through hidden speakers to a volume that made the ground vibrate. It was the same thing he had said on the day I arrived, and I don't know why but I felt like he was speaking to me personally. After everything that had happened, I guess he probably was.

"Yesterday was a disgrace. Fighting in the canteen, a flagrant breach of lockdown rules, and one of my dogs had to be relieved of its pitiful existence because of two broken legs."

I felt a sudden and surprising pang of guilt that the dog had been put down. They were monsters, but the whimper it made as it tried to stand up after the fall was still fresh in my mind.

"I know who was responsible, and so do you. But you are a colony of pests, you no longer have individual personalities. A crime committed by a few is a crime committed by you all, and therefore you are all subject to reprisal." There was an audible groan in the yard. "So today, the trough room is out of bounds. No meals, no water. If you animals want to fight over your food, then you don't deserve to eat."