Alexander Smith - Lockdown

He smiled, and for a moment I felt myself sucked back into the pits of his eyes. It was like the world around me was unpeeling, dropping away, leaving blackness and madness in its place. I wrenched my head down, my stomach churning the same way it does on a roller coaster.

"For the moment I'll forget about yesterday's other incident," the warden went on, sitting back so that his face was once again shrouded in shadow. "But pay heed. Any more infractions, any more fights, and the perpetrator will go to the hole for a week." This time there were actual shouts of distress from inside the crowd of inmates. "And a week down there is as good as the electric chair. I hope I make myself clear."

The screen fizzed again, then the static gave way to the rotating list of names for work duty. But nobody was paying attention. Something was building up from the center of the crowd, a wave of tension that threatened to break at any minute. It was cut short by another warning shot from the same guard, who stepped menacingly toward the unhappy inmates and aimed his smoking weapon at the nearest prisoner.

"You heard the boss," he growled. "Shut up and get to work. If you ask me, you all got off lightly."

Somehow the prisoners managed to batten down their tempers, and one by one they drifted off toward their stations. I was dismayed to see that Donovan and I were chippers again. My body didn't feel up to lifting a pretzel, let alone a pickax, and the thought of being in a room full of people who hated me, all armed with mining equipment, didn't really make me feel any better. There wasn't even going to be any breakfast. I felt like my stomach had been surgically removed, leaving a gaping hole in my torso, and the thought of a day without food or water-even the gunk they served up here-was frightening.

We set off across the yard, but it was a good few seconds before either of us opened our mouths.

"Don't worry," said Donovan, speaking loudly over the shouts and insults that were being fired at me. "Not the first time the canteen's been shut down for a day and it won't be the last. We're used to it. Got sealed off for three days when the Skulls took on the Leopards. That was a full-blown riot though."

What little measure of relief I felt was quickly snatched away when a kid I had never seen before ran up to me and shouted, "Nice going, moron." I found myself pulling closer to Donovan as if his mere presence would somehow protect me, although I hadn't forgotten the way he had walked off yesterday when I had been getting pounded. I sensed someone else running toward me and I flinched, but I recognized Zee's accent and straightened myself, trying to pretend that I'd just tripped on the stone.

"Hostile crowd," he said. "Why do I feel like today's my last day on earth?"

"You'll be fine, for now," said Donovan as Zee fell into line with us. "Nobody will start a skirmish knowing it'll get them a week in the hole. Never been a survivor after that long. The record is four days, and he was a hollow man afterward."

There was a distinct rumbling of stomachs but I couldn't tell whether it came from Donovan, Zee, or my own gut, which was still churning. It probably emanated from all three of us, a chorus of protest at a day without sustenance.

We marched in silence through the hole in the wall, past a blacksuit whose silver eyes promised a world of pain if we stepped out of line. It was only my second day, but I felt like an old hand at chipping, donning my visor with a world-weary sigh, flicking on my helmet lamp, and hefting the pick onto my shoulder to avoid piercing anybody's foot. My muscles complained at the effort, but it was only a halfhearted gripe. They knew what had to be done.

Zee had been put with us today, and he stuck close by, following my lead and selecting his own tools. The blacksuit split us into teams, and once again we marched into the third room. Donovan and I staked out the same spot at the far end of the half-finished cavern, and I filled Zee in on the job description.

"Pound and clear, that's it. Oh, and watch your head!"

The steady percussion of metal and rock began again in earnest. At times the noise sounded exactly like what it was-a load of kids smashing a rock wall. But occasionally a rhythm would start up, some mysterious force of coincidence turning the relentless plinks into a staccato tune. It would only last for a few seconds before once again fading out of sync, but it always brought a smile to my face.

It was only after ten minutes or so of painful chipping that I felt like I was being watched. I put the sensation down to the fact that people were still scowling at me, but it was so powerful it felt like something boring into the back of my neck. I swung around and scanned the inmates before me. Most were hidden behind visors and a layer of red dust, but there was one familiar face that turned away as soon as I saw it. It was Montgomery.

I laid my pick down on the ground and walked over, weaving my way carefully around the wooden posts holding up the ceiling. He tried to back away, then stopped, then turned, then lifted his pick as though to start work, then let it drop. Finally, he slumped his shoulders and acknowledged me with a nod. Behind the shine on his visor I made out bruised cheeks and a swollen lip, but his expression was as hard as ever.

"How are you?" I asked softly. He fixed me with a glare that caught me by surprise, like I'd been the one beating him up.

"I guess you want me to thank you," he spat. I raised my eyebrows and opened my mouth, but I had absolutely no idea how to respond. "I didn't ask you to help me. I'm not some charity case. What? You want a big reward for rescuing helpless little Monty? Well, you're not getting one." Flecks of foam dotted the plastic screen in front of him. "Now we're not even allowed any food. A whole day. It's your fault."

He lifted his pick and waved it at me. It reminded me of an old man shaking his cane at a group of kids. I held up my hands in surrender, my eyebrows refusing to return to their normal position.

"Jeez," was all I could manage. I felt the familiar burn of anger flare up inside my chest, but I swallowed hard and it faded. Monty's face was creased in hostile determination, but I could tell that it was fear making him react this way. I hoped it was, anyway, otherwise he was an ungrateful little wretch.

I opened my mouth to try to reason with him, then thought better of it, turning my back on him and returning to my pick.

"He didn't look like he was bursting with gratitude," said Zee, pulling up his visor and wiping a gloved hand across his brow. The move left a trail of wet dust on his forehead that looked like blood in the half-light of the room. "Did he even say thanks?"

I shook my head and Zee scowled over at Monty.

"That's so out of order. We could have died yesterday saving his fat ass. We should have just left him."

"Told you so," said Donovan between swings. I ignored him, but they were both right. It had been a stupid thing to do. I'm no hero, no action star. I'm a villain, not a saint. I should have abandoned Monty to lick up after the Skulls, then we'd never have got on the warden's bad side and we'd all have had breakfast. I took one last look at him-standing by himself, still holding his pick up like a weapon and staring at the floor-then started pummeling the wall again. I'm a little ashamed to say that this time, when I saw faces in the rock, I imagined they were his.

NOBODY IN FURNACE KNEW exactly how long work duty went on for. Donovan claimed that it was five or six hours-from breakfast to lunch-but that second day of hard labor felt more like a full twenty-four-hour stretch.

With no fuel to keep us going, we all quickly began to falter. The oppressive air of Furnace beat down on us like dragon's breath-hot, stale, and at times stripped of oxygen so we felt like we were choking. It was the lack of water that really took its toll, drying us out like prunes and forcing us to lay our picks down every couple of minutes to avoid blacking out. I even found myself eyeing the sweat on Donovan's forehead in the hope it would quench my thirst.