Lights Out (23 page)

Diggs leapt off of his bunk and wrapped his fingers around the bars of his cell. Pulling himself close to the door, adrenaline roaring through his system, he screamed.

“Guard! We got somethin’ goin’ on up here!”

***

Darren stood near Unit B’s guard station, behind the desk and the console that controlled the cellblock’s lights and locks. He kept his hands in his pockets, where they shook as if he was freezing. His forehead grew sick with sweat, but he didn’t bother to wipe away the perspiration. The last thing he wanted was for anybody to notice how frightened he was. Instead, he turned to Morrow. His friend was nervous, too. Darren could tell by the way Ray’s eyes darted from place to place, unable to linger on any single spot for more than an instant.

When Diggs’ cry rang through the block, they both craned their necks toward the man’s cell. Darren felt the knot of anxiety in his belly give a hard twist, and his breath almost disappeared. Ray gave his shoulder a pat, but it didn’t help. He watched as a guard trotted toward the cell and wrenched the door open.

The guard let out an exaggerated puff of air as Tree and Diggs shoved him aside. Inmates began to yell as the two cons bolted down the walkway to the stairs.

Diggs hit the ground floor and sprinted toward the guard station, moving like a locomotive. Morrow had already punched the alarm, and its claxon screech filled the entire unit. Darren pressed his hands against his ears, but the sound remained a hot blade piercing his skull. He watched as Diggs vaulted over the guard station desk and gave Morrow a smile. The guard smirked in reply and presented his chin. The gangbanger hit it with a glancing blow, but Morrow still went down like he’d been creamed by a dump truck. Darren backed off as Diggs looked over the console for a moment. The banger raised an eyebrow at Darren and then started flipping buttons.

And all the cell doors flew open.

The noise was deafening, a tidal wave of yells and curses and warcries. Men in prison grays streamed into the room, dragging their mattresses, bedclothes, and toiletries behind them. Things flew into the air. Mattresses fell from the upper floors. The inmates wrestled each other, shoved, spat. Guards screamed, doing their best to act as though the riot had taken them by surprise. Some ran into the growing crowd, drawing their batons. Inmates pushed them to the ground before they had a chance to swing. The punches the prisoners threw looked real enough. Darren hoped only a few had thrown their fists with any real force. He could explain that to the guards as simple excitement. Anything more would be pushing it.

Marquez sauntered over, his smile as big as Diggs’ had been. “Afternoon, Father,” he said. “We having fun or what?”

Darren shrank away, making it look good. Above him, Diggs was on top of the desk, yanking the wires out of the Unit’s lone camera. “We cool,” the banger reported, and then Morrow was back on his feet, punching buttons on the console. Throughout the cellblock, barred doors slid shut. Locked.

Morrow gave Darren another nod. “That’s it. We’re shut in.”

“Good.”

Albright saw Ribisi come down the stairs, taking his time. Sweeny approached from across the floor. Throughout the Unit, men acted like bloodthirsty animals. Darren watched a group of them pile their mattresses into a mound. Still more dragged every solid object they could toward the Unit’s entrance, where they formed a high, dangerous looking barricade. Toothpaste, mouthwash, toilet paper, and homemade liquor rained down from above. It was the first riot Darren had ever seen, and even though it had been his idea, his creation, it still scared the hell out of him. “I don’t ever want to see one of these for real,” he whispered.

“Give it time,” Diggs told him through his grin. “We just gettin’ started an’ shit.”

“Calm down, Diggs.” Ribisi, his poker face still pristine. “Don’t go scaring the man. We’re going to need a priest on our side, remember?”

“Yo, I’m just fuckin’ around.”

“Well can it, nigger,” Sweeny spat. “Don’t need your monkey ass screwing this up.”

“You wanna--”

“Cool it,” Marquez warned. The glare he gave Sweeny silenced the Aryan without protest. The look inspired the same reaction in Diggs. “This sure as shit ain’t the time or place.”

“Thanks,” Darren told him. The Mexican gave him a small bow in response.

The roar swelled, almost overpowering the alarms. One by one, the guards converged on the station, only a few of them appearing relaxed. Most balled their hands into fists or shook with the power of their excitement and fear. Darren wondered where their batons might be, but he figured that out a second later. “This everybody?” he asked.

Morrow shook his head. “Give it a second. I opened us up to Units A and C. We got a lot of guys coming in.”

“We have room?”

“We’ll find out.”

He saw a few fistfights break out, and he was amazed when other inmates pulled the combatants apart. Maybe it was working. Maybe it would be okay.

Something like hope flickered within him.

The tide of men slowed to a trickle. There were no doubt others who hadn’t made it, were either taking their time or had decided to celebrate their few hours of freedom by not giving a damn. Darren decided it didn’t matter. He had to do this now. Marquez confirmed it by patting him on the shoulder.

“Go ahead, Father.”

He froze. What was he going to say? How was he going to pull this off? Would they even listen to him? What if they refused to stop, just kept going and turned this in to an honest to God riot? It would all be his fault. And when night fell and the vampires returned, who knew how many men would be slaughtered? Maybe the inmates could stop those monsters, but not without heavy casualties. He couldn’t live with that. No way.

How was he going to talk to these men?

“Father Albright,” Ribisi said. His eyes were kind, but showed the slightest trace of impatience. He motioned toward the desk. “I believe the floor is yours.”

Darren swallowed hard, shared a final glance with Morrow. His friend reached for a switch, flipped it. The alarm stopped, and the inmates fell silent almost immediately.

They looked to him.

“Here we go,” he whispered to himself. His voice sounded strange, almost alien. He climbed on top of the desk and looked out at the sea of convicts and guards, now rising to their feet, who looked back at him. More peered down at him from the balconies. On the third floor, he saw Maggot’s mouse-like eyes peeking out from behind a larger inmate. The room was still except for the wisps of paper and other debris that floated out of the sky like a rain of ashes.

He took a breath, then spoke. “Some of you may not know me. My name is Father Darren Albright. Together, we’re going to put a stop to this.”

The Unit erupted into applause. Hands clapped and feet stomped and men roared their approval. The sound was joyful, confident, and terrifying. Darren thought it would never end, that his words had sparked a fresh round of chaos, but the inmates slowly quieted. It wasn’t until he glanced behind him and saw the faction leaders motioning for silence that he understood why.

“It’s just past noon,” he told the men. “The sun goes down at seven, so whatever we’re going to do, it has to been done by then. Once the sun sets, those things will be back. We all know that.”

The men nodded, inmates and guards alike. He looked at their faces, and he saw the determination there, the anger and the fear and the sheer desire to survive. They remembered what they’d seen the night before, and they weren’t about to let it happen to them. They’d made their decision, and it was survival.

“All right,” he told them. “Let’s get organized.”

PART THREE

One

Timms slumped behind his desk, rubbing his temples and hoping against hope the clusterfuck that was his career might sort itself out, when the screech of the alarm jolted him out of his trance. His jaw dropped open and his breath caught in his throat. When he managed to say something, it was a terrified, “No, no, no!” How many times did he have to hear this goddamn thing go off in one week? Both fists crashed down on his desk as he wondered how many bodies had been found this time. He stood, rolled his head to the left and to the right in an attempt to ease the growing tension at the base of his skull, and checked his suit, smoothing out as many of the wrinkles as he could manage. Something close to satisfied, he left his office.

Shelly looked up at him with terrified eyes.

“What is it this time?” he asked. “Did somebody lose their lunch money?”

Her jaw worked soundlessly. She placed her hands flat on top of her desk, and he saw they were shaking.

“Jesus, Shelly. What’s going on?”

He heard her swallow, an impossibly loud sound underneath the constant scream of the siren, and he knew before she spoke that it was something awful.

“I got word from the unit managers before we lost communication,” she said. “It’s a riot.”

A weight seemed to drop out of his guts and bounce off the floor. A wave of cold moved through him, and he thought he might pass out if he didn’t sit down soon. He couldn’t do that, though. No time. He had to do...something. But what?

“Where?” he managed to ask.

“Units A, B, and C. They all went up at once.”

“Jesus Christ. Hostages?”

“I don’t know. How am I supposed to know that?” Terror and frustration ground together in the lines that crossed her face.

Timms shook his head. “Sorry. Nevermind.” He clenched his hands into fists, relaxed them. Several seconds tick by, and his mind caught up to the thoughts that had been racing ahead of it.

“Okay, get me surveillance and the head of the SORT team. Have security find out who’s not in harm’s way and get them out of there. Tell them I want to know in five minutes how big a problem we’re dealing with.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dammit! And get Governor Graham on the phone. She’ll want to know about this.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not like we can keep her from finding out.”

“Right. I’ll get right to it.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to enter his office again, when Shelly’s voice stopped him.

“Warden?”

“Yeah?” He realized she had tears in her eyes.

“Are we going to be okay?”

He hesitated a second too long before saying, “We’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”

She shook her head. “I can’t stay here. I’m sorry. You can fire me if you have to, but I’m not staying. I can’t.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling pain stab at his temples and neck. She was right. It was stupid for her to stay here, and it was fucking moronic for him to ask it of her.

“Okay. Get security here first, then we’ll pull back. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Yes.”

“Get to it.”

“Warden?”

“Yeah?”

She gave him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

“Just get to work, okay? We’re wasting time.”

She nodded and scooped up her phone.

Ron slammed his office door shut behind him. Imagining he could see his career standing in the corner, he curled his fingers into the form of a gun and shot it dead.

“Control, Ron,” he told himself. “Get control, goddammit.” He stomped across the office and poured himself a cup of coffee, guzzled it down and poured another. One mug at a time, sucked down the whole pot. Then he stared at the glass container. A low growl began in his throat and then erupted into a roar as he whirled and launched the pot at the bookcase. It exploded into a hundred glittering fragments, peppering the carpet, and in the same instant the alarm went silent.

He half expected it to start up again, half expected to hear some familiar voice--Ribisi or Marquez--taunting him through the intercom. Nothing came, however, and somehow the silence was more terrifying than the alarm.

Timms peered out his window. The parking lot appeared the same as always. A lone cardinal hopped up and down on a car’s roof before taking flight. Everything looked so normal, and for a second he wondered if maybe it was, if there was any way it could have all been a false alarm.

Shelly opened the door, shattering the illusion.

“Security’s on its way. They say the disturbance is confined to the units. They’re emptying out the medical and support staff. Do you want them here?”

Ron shook his head. “Tell them to get out to the parking lot, but for God’s sake, make sure they have an escort.”

“Right.” She disappeared again.

Grumbling, he sat down behind his desk and waited.

Two

“What are we looking at, Ray?”

Darren stood beside Morrow and leaned over the desk. The faction leaders stood opposite them in a semi-circle as the six of them examined a map of the prison’s interior. Morrow had pulled it from the guard station, and now he ran his fingers over it. Elsewhere, inmates prowled the unit, tossing toilet paper and magazines they weren’t supposed to own on the pile of debris that dominated the unit’s floor. The guards sat close by, watching.

“Okay,” Morrow said, indicating their location on the map. “We’ve got free reign of Unit B, which we’re in right now, and A and C, which are adjacent to us. That’s a pretty good chunk of space.”

“Yeah,” Diggs said. “We own this bitch.”

Ribisi shook his head. “We don’t own shit. We’re already on borrowed time.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

“It’s simple,” Marquez said. “Timms is gonna want control back, and with everything else that’s been going on, he might not wait around to talk it all out. He’s gonna want to prove he’s got cajones.”

“We got the numbers.”

“And they’ll have the guns. And the tear gas. Shit, they feel like it, they can have the State Pigs bring in helicopters and all sorts of heavy duty shit. We got this place right up until they decide they want it back. Or until the sun goes down.”

“So we need to move fast,” Darren agreed. “We don’t have a clue where these things are coming from, and we need to find them.”