Lights Out (18 page)

Marquez took a deep breath and let it out in a low whistle. He felt his heart pound hard and fast against his chest, his knuckles burn as his fingers flexed around the bars of his cell. The thick scent of Dunlap’s rot and filth set his stomach churning again. Or maybe that was only his own sense of terror doing the job. He wanted one of his antacids, but he refused to leave the bars.

The screaming surged, and Marquez looked around for a reason why. As if in answer, two more figures came dashing out of the darkness, moving like rabid animals.

Omar’s breath caught in his chest. He felt suddenly dizzy, and only his clenched fists kept him from falling away from the bars.

“Chale?”

The word came out a whisper, so soft he wasn’t ever sure he had spoken it, but the monster turned to look at him just the same. The features were pale and monstrous, and a red smear already decorated his mouth, but it was Chale.

Marquez leaned toward the bars, trying to catch his breath. Chale’s eyes held him, and even Rocha’s hand on his arm couldn’t drag him from the boy’s hungry stare.

“Chale?” he repeated.

As if in answer, the vampire let out a shriek, a long note like keys scraping over metal. The other monster that had appeared was hunched over Hall’s body, mouth pressed to the wound in the banger’s side. When Chale finally turned away, it was to join this monster, to tear into Hall’s flesh and drain what was left inside.

“That’s not Chale,” Rocha said. “Chale’s dead, boss.”

“That’s him. You know just like I do.”

“Chale was killed. Saying anything else is fuckin’ loco.”

He whirled on Rocha, gripping the back of the man’s neck in one hand and thrusting his face toward the bars.

“Look at that! Look at what’s going on down there, and you tell me that isn’t loco!”

“I don’t want to look at it!”

The world disappeared as Marquez felt his temper grab hold with a white hot grip. He pulled Rocha away from the bars and slammed him forward, smashing his face against the iron. Rocha cried out as his face bounced off the metal, the skin splitting open. When Marquez let go, Rocha staggered backward, holding both hands to his bleeding face.

Marquez growled as he stalked his lieutenant. Rocha held out a hand, the skin slick with blood, but he punched past it, his knuckles slamming into the man’s face. Something in the back of his mind told him he was being irrational, that instead of beating Rocha, he needed to watch what was happening in the unit. He ignored the voice, kicked it aside like an unwanted child, and instead hit the man with a trio of punches. Rocha screamed and fell to the floor.

Marquez started kicking.

“I’m ordering you, motherfucker!” His bare feet dug into Rocha’s ribs, wrecking balls of flesh and bone. “I don’t take shit from my crew, you puta asshole!”

He kept attacking as Rocha curled up into a ball. No longer able to scream, his lieutenant wept. Sobs filled the cell, blending with the screams from the floor.

The screams.

Marquez returned to the world, dragged slowly and painfully by the sounds of terror and death. His limbs felt heavy, useless. Sweat rolled off of him, mixing with hot tears he didn’t remember shedding. Something was happening, something other than Rocha’s bleeding and crying. He had to see it, had to watch. It was important. Somehow he knew that.

“You’ll be okay,” he muttered. Rocha screeched a reply, but he ignored it. Turning away from the bleeding man, flexing his sore knuckles, he returned to the bars of his cell, making himself watch.

***

Ribisi stood in silence, watching as a thing that looked a lot like his boy Aldo reeled away from the gangbanger’s body and bellowed with what could only be rage. The thing looked around greedily, and when he saw the splattered drops of blood Hall had trailed behind him, he dove on them, licking them from the concrete floor in long strokes. Dunlap did the same. The third--one he knew had served under Marquez--joined them a moment later.

And then they seemed to decide the drops weren’t enough. They were still hungry, and the spilled blood wasn’t going to satisfy them. They eyed each other, crouching in the middle of the floor. The unit quieted around them, as if the inmates thought they might be able to hear the beasts’ thoughts if they listened closely enough.

Anton watched them, waiting. He felt cold sweat drip into his eyes, and he wiped it away. Sensing what these fucking bastards were about to do, he decided it was important that he watch. In the back of his mind, he knew the other leaders would be doing the same, each looking out for the interests of their tribe. Observing. Learning. That’s what made them leaders.

Dunlap looked up first and pointed to the closest cell. It held two gangbangers, men Anton had seen slinging dope when Diggs decided to try out the drug trade every now and then. They backed away from the bars, screaming, as the trio of vampires charged them.

The creatures threw themselves at the bars, colliding with a sound like broken church bells. They hissed and snarled and spat, the sounds mixing with the homeboys’ terrified cries, and Ribisi wasn’t at all surprised when they grabbed the cell’s bars in their long, taloned hands and began to pull.

He leaned closer, trying to get a better view, watching in rapt attention. His breath came in quick bursts. This was it. He’d know soon.

The monsters yanked at the bars, screeching with the effort. The men inside screamed. Ribisi could almost smell their terror. He could sense the rest watching. Some yelled at the creatures, at the men inside. Others remained silent, but he knew every last one of them was watching, waiting. Just like him.

They didn’t have to wait long.

There was a groan of iron, low and scraping. When the two gangbangers heard it, they began to cry like children. They made no effort to grab weapons, only watched the monsters and wailed. Ribisi could hear their sobs over everything else.

The vampires wrenched at the bars, so excited they were almost desperate. The iron moaned, its pitch shifting, until the cell’s door finally flew open with a loud
clang!

The noise was awful, a chorus of terrified and agonized cries, but Ribisi couldn’t turn away from the spectacle. Every second unfolded in horrible slow motion. He saw the monsters swarm into the cell as a single entity, saw the flurry of limbs as they attacked the men inside. The men’s screams reached new heights, then faltered and hitched. Anton watched as the vampires dragged the men, still thrashing in a futile attempt at escape, out of the cell and into the unit.

The creatures ripped the men apart and drank what was left. They were savage, incensed by their kill. Claws and fangs and sinewy limbs worked like awful, hellish machines.

Ribisi had done a lot of terrible things to people in his line of work, but he’d never seen so many people slaughtered so quickly and so brutally. Never. He hadn’t known something like that was even possible.

And it got worse. As Aldo and the others finished, they tore the two bodies into smaller pieces. Hissing in a way that almost sounded gleeful, they threw these chunks of flesh into the nearby cells. They smeared them across the floor, leaving bright, crimson streaks in their wake. Some men screamed, hurled curses and promises of death. Most watched in dumb horror.

When the vampires finished, they scooped up Hall and the two guards and left. Ribisi listened to their shuffling footsteps as they walked away, quickly but without hurrying. They’d made their point. They weren’t afraid.

***

Marquez stared at the bloody floor for a long time, ignoring Rocha’s pained moans and apologies. He took in every scrap of flesh, every splintered bone. Every last smear of blood. Three men. That’s all it took to kill five--to rip open a cell door and tear apart men inside like old newspaper. And there were more out there. Omar knew that. Eight bodies missing so far. That meant there could be as many as five more, and he didn’t dare hope the bodies the monsters had left with tonight would stay dead forever.

Cold crawled over his skin, worked its way into his bones. He wanted to speak with Ribisi, with Diggs and Sweeny. They needed to decide on a course of action, a way of staying alive.

He wanted to speak with Father Albright.

None of them were safe. There was no doubt of that now. These things could get to them if they wanted, whenever they wanted. The prisoners of Burnham were in some serious shit.

Ten

“I want complete media silence. I won’t accept anything less.”

Governor Leslie Graham was a lot like her predecessor. She wanted things done her way, no excuses. When needed, she could be ruthless, and she usually acted the same way if there was no call for it. She had a photogenic smile, a wonderful family, and a glowing record a mile long. And just like her predecessor, she wanted to forget the State’s prisons existed. Just keep the men inside quiet and out of her hair. You pull that off, and everything’s just fine, might even get you a bonus at the end of the year.

Screw it up, however, and you had some real shit on your hands.

Darren mulled over these thoughts as he watched the coifed woman fume at the head of the table. She had been pulled away from her never-ending re-election campaign to mix with the unwashed masses, and he could tell by the furrows at the corners of her eyes that she wasn’t anywhere near happy about it.

He’d known something bad had happened the minute he’d arrived that morning. When the guard checking you in tells you you’re needed right away for a meeting, it’s never a good sign. The fact that this one took place in the cafeteria compounded his suspicions. Ron only used the big room for meetings that included everyone, and meetings like that were never pleasant.

So they were all sitting in the cafeteria now: Darren and Warden Timms, Morrow and the unit managers. They’d even brought in the C.O. managers from the other units. There were a few officers Darren didn’t recognize, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out they were third shifters.

And then there was Governor Graham. Her small entourage backed her up like a press gang. She stood at the head of the long table now, cocking an eyebrow at Ron.

“Is that possible, Warden? You think you can manage that facet of your job for just a little while?”

Ron nodded slowly. “It’ll be tough.”

“I don’t care about tough. Nobody talks.”

“We’re on lockdown. None of the inmates can use phones or receive visitors.”

“What about the staff?”

“Technically, they can communicate with whoever they want.”

“Not anymore. I want all phones shut down. Cell phones are to be confiscated for the time being. All employees are on mandatory overtime, starting immediately.”

Darren heard several grunts of protest from the room. Morrow’s was good and loud. He couldn’t blame the guy, either. Morrow would have to break the news to the rest of the dayshift officers. The poor bastard wouldn’t get to tell his men to take it up with Ron or the Governor, either. In this instance, the buck would stop with him.

“Anybody who’s got a problem with that can work out the day and then start looking for a job,” Graham said through a sneer. “Nobody’s getting out of here but my staff and myself. Understood?”

Heads nodded. Some faces appeared resigned while others showed the anger beneath. Darren’s was neither. He didn’t care if he couldn’t go back to the rectory tonight. He would be needed here.

Finally, the Governor sat down. She glanced from face to face, collecting herself, before speaking. “So, let’s go over it again. What are we looking at?”

Darren saw Ron reach for the sheaf papers on the table in front of him, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t need to watch his friend run the figures again. Hearing him was awful enough.

“Twelve confirmed dead,” the warden said. “Three of those were guards. One was the infirmary’s on-duty nurse. Two of the infirmary’s patients are known dead. The other three are missing. Four guards are missing, as are three more inmates. That brings the total to ten missing.” His voice cracked as he finished, and Darren could tell his friend was at the end of his rope.

“Not a bad day’s work, Warden.”

“I’m sorry, Governor.”

“Is there any good news?”

“I suppose there’s one thing.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“One of the first to go missing, a Randall Lander, was found among the dead today,” Ron said. “He was in the infirmary, decapitated.”

“And how is that good news?”

“It leads us to believe another missing inmate, David Farabee, might still be on prison grounds. There was some concern they might have escaped together.”

The Governor’s eyes bulged slightly. “You thought they might have escaped?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why in hell wasn’t an APB issued?”

“We were conducting an investigation, completing a search of the prison grounds--”

“Forget it. I’m not interested.” She wrestled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and retrieved a smoke, screwed it into her lips and lit up, took a deep drag.

Darren considered the statewide ban on smoking in prisons, but decided to let it slide. He’d cheated plenty of times, himself.

Governor Graham eyed Timms through the smoke. “These two inmates, are they responsible for these murders?”

“It’s possible, but the sheer number of murders, and some of the victims killed in groups, it doesn’t add up.”

The woman slapped her hands against the table. “So, who do you have in custody?”

“Nobody.”

Darren braced himself for impact.

“You are kidding me, Warden.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Do we at least suspect the missing inmates?”

“No.”

Darren glanced up at Morrow’s voice. Ray was trying to ease the burden for their friend.

“Who are you?” the Governor asked.

“Ray Morrow, ma’am. I’m in charge of the dayshift correctional officers.”

“And you’re sure these convicted felons are innocent why?”

“Only two of the missing inmates are any serious threat, and they were both in the infirmary. They’re in no condition to do this kind of damage or take hostages. No trucks came in or went out last night, and no one could have escaped on foot.”