Eric Flint - Time spike

They had done something wrong. Whatever it was. Something the rest of the population could avoid doing and thus be spared. If you didn't understand what could get you killed, at least you knew what wouldn't.

Being "cooperative" with the new regime. Suck ass. Destroy the will of the ones you wanted to control. Grind them into the ground. Break their spirit. But Luff screwed up. He was too much of a bookkeeper, not enough of a psychologist. He went too far, too fast. The killings were too methodical, too transparent. The guards hadn't been gone much more than a week and already the prison population had been cut by almost two hundred. The promise ofdo as you're told and you'll be okay wasn't believed any longer by too many people. It wasn't just the public executions. In some ways, the timber details had been worse.

Even men being deliberately worked to death shouldn't die in a few days. The goons didn't feed them badly; they didn't feed most of them at all-and then shot dead anyone who slacked off from the heavy labor of cutting trees and turning them into firewood. Given that most of the men picked for the timber details had serious medical problems to begin with, it wasn't surprising that they started dropping like flies almost immediately. Two men had died on the first day from heart attacks. They'd both been in their late fifties. By the time the rebellion erupted, James didn't think many of the prisoners outside of the two or three hundred who were tight with Luff thought they would survive another week, the way things were going. And through it all, as cold-blooded and calculated as Luff, Boomer had held them steady.

"Just be good boys. Do your job wit' the bodies. Stupid fucks are leaving you alone, mostly, so you can do the things we done talked about. Time ain't right yet, but it will be soon enough." The night before, the Boom had even told James and Boyne that he thought it was about to blow. "Just take a little spark now, that's all. Just one spark." He'd been right, too. But he'd never said anything about being the spark himself. James sighed. That hadn't been planned, he knew that much for sure. Somewhere inside Boomer, somewhere inside that giant with no education beyond the sixth grade but a mind as sharp as any, something was broken. Probably broken long ago, when he was a kid. The same thing that had landed him in prison over thirty years earlier. When something did set off the Boom, he just went nuts. Plain berserk. James didn't know exactly what had set off that crazy streak this morning, and he'd never know. But he thought it was probably the guillotine. Today was the first time that had showed up. Luff must have decided hanging was too slow, too inefficient, so he'd had some of his men design and build a crude version of the device. That would be just like the bastard. He had a crazy streak buried inside a lot wider than the Boom's, even if it didn't manifest itself as spectacularly. The moment Boomer had seen the thing, his eyes had never left it. He'd stood there, stiff as a rock, while one man after another was dragged up and had his head chopped off. He'd lost it at the eighth man. "Fuck you, Luff!" he'd bellowed-and a Boomer bellow could be heard all over the yard. "We men, you motherfucker! We ain't sardines!" And he'd charged the stand. Armed with absolutely nothing but his fury and three hundred pounds of meat and muscle. He'd gotten almost all the way there, too, before the bullets finally brought him down. And the rebellion erupted. Boyne appeared at his side. "Boss, I found something. But you better take a look just yourself." He was speaking in a whisper. Why? Puzzled, James pushed away from the wall and followed the short, stocky man into a far corner of the basement, mostly hidden by some sort of old retaining wall. The wall created something in the way of a big cubbyhole in that area. The lighting was very dim. "There," Boyne said, pointing. Cook peered into the darkness, not seeing anything at first except two odd reflections.

Then, suddenly, he realized he was looking at a pair of eyes staring back at him. "What the…" He stepped closer until he could see clearly. On the floor was a small, dirty makeshift mattress. Not a mattress, really. Just some kind of folded-over… Something.

Probably an old blanket a maintenance man had had down here when he took a nap. On it, covered with nothing more than old newspapers and spread open old magazines, was the young black C.O. he had seen in the infirmary just a few days before Luff had taken over. He knew she had been knifed and was in bad shape. She was staring at him, saying nothing. James was sure she was petrified. She must have been hiding here for more than a week, ever since Luff took over the prison. She'd managed to get water from the tank, the same way they had. He could see a big tin can next to her, with the shine of water coming from it.

But she probably hadn't much if anything to eat. Worst of all, he could only imagine what she must have been thinking all these days.

One woman-young and pretty, too-trapped inside a prison with more than two thousand convicts on the loose. The only surprising thing was that she wasn't just gibbering. What was her name? He had to think hard; those days seemed so long ago. Then he had it. "Ms. Brown," he whispered. "Elaine Brown, if I remember right. We're not here to hurt you. We didn't come here looking for you in the first place. We're just trying to do what you're doing. Stay alive. Nothing more." He waited. She just stared at him. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Ms. Brown? Please. I'm an experienced emergency medical technician. I need a response." Abruptly, she nodded. Once. Okay, she hadn't gone nuts. That was something. "Now I need to ask you some questions.

First, where are the other guards?" She stared at him. Belatedly, James realized the question might seem like an interrogator's, hunting the guards. He waved his hand. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that. I just asked because-" "Gone. I'm the last one." Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. Cook didn't know if he should believe her. If there were others, she probably wouldn't say so. She would want to protect them, and maybe save herself by giving them a chance at surprising the escaped prisoners. The woman shook her head. "I'm not telling you where they went, so don't bother asking." Unlike the first two sentences she'd spoken, her voice almost quavering, that came flat and hard and final. Boyne chuckled. "Girl's got guts, for sure." James smiled. That, she did. He squatted next to her, reached out and laid gentle fingers on her forehead. Wanting to touch her more than check her temperature. Just to make sure she was real, maybe. He didn't know what to do, but whatever he did, he wanted to make sure it wasn't something he'd regret for the rest of his life. Touching her seemed to steady him, somehow. That was instinct, probably. She flinched from his fingers, but relaxed when she realized he wasn't doing more than touching her brow. Her temperature seemed fine. He tried to figure out what to do. Not even that, yet. Just figure out the right way to talk to her. This wasn't a gangbanger, or a tough street whore playing the percentages. She was just a young woman, badly hurt and scared, wanting to do the right thing and not knowing what that was. "Lady, the shit jumped off less than an hour back. Luff and his thugs are killing men left and right. You must have heard all the gunfire even way down here." She nodded. He took his fingers away from her brow. "We're just trying to escape. That's why I asked about the other guards. After we get out of this prison, if we want to stay alive, we have to find Captain Blacklock and his people. We have a common enemy, in the here and now, and I figure what's past is past.

That makes us allies." Elaine Brown chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes moistened a little but her voice remained steady. "Prove it, then.