After Midnight (19 page)

“Huh?”

“What’s going on?”

He looked at me for a long time. “Bad shit, Benny.”

“What
kinda bad shit?”

“
Bad
shit.”

June 6, 2013- Haggerty came around with breakfast two hours late, and hinted around that he had to make it himself.

He passed by an hour later in his street clothes, a jersey and a pair of jeans. He ignored the questions thrown at him.

A half hour later after that, Tina (who couldn’t be more out of place) hurried by with a piece of paper crumbled in her meaty right hand. She came back with J.T. and announced that Governor McDonnell was pardoning all non-violent offenders and convicts with less than three years left to serve. Jimmy’s gone, but he promised he’d come back and get us out if things got real bad.

With almost everyone gone, the block is about as deserted as a country road at midnight.
At dinner, Tina’s cart held five trays: Me, Billy, Quincy, and two others down the block. None could be Cory Knight, I saw him go out the door earlier.

It’s e
erie being here with only four other people. Empty. Dead. Even at night there was a…a feeling of life. Now it’s as void as the basement of a deserted house in the woods. The only sounds are the industrial air systems whirring on and off and the occasional cough or stir, which startles me every time. I was reading earlier and almost had a heart attack when the door to the pod clanged open. Tina, dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a lumberjack cut off, strode purposely by. I guess she's going home to stay, like Haggerty.

June 7, 2013- Breakfast came about three hours late today. The guys were getting rowdy when J.T. came down the line with the trays. He looked like shit, dark bags hanging under his pink, sleepless eyes. He handed out the cold cereal and hard toast as quick as he could. Some of the others hurled abuse at him, others asked him desperate questions, but he ignored them all. When he came by my cell, I took the tray with a muttered thanks.

As the door to the block closed with an ominous, echoing finality, I looked at the slop in the metal bowl before me and wondered if this is the end.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I ate my cereal. When I was done, I laid back on my bunk and gazed at the cracked concrete ceiling, trying my best to focus on anything other than zombies and Armageddon.

Dinner didn’t come until almost ten. J.T. was acting strange.

June 8, 2013- I could have added this yesterday, but I was too depressed. J.T. killed himself after he brought dinner. Or at least I assume he killed himself. No one knows for sure. But about ten minutes after he went back to the control room, a single gunshot startled all of us from our meals.

Quincy’s head jerked up, his brow furrowed. “What the fuck?”

Billy hopped off his cot, went to his door, and strained to look up the hall.

Quincy sat aside his tray and tried to have a look for himself. I sat where I was, already knowing I wouldn’t see anything.

We were speechless, I think. Nobody said a word.

No one came to investigate the shot. It was loud as hell. Must have come from something like a .357; they had to have heard it elsewhere. Maybe J.T. was the last.

No. No. There was another. An hour after he died I saw someone else. My window overlooks the main
entrance, and I was gazing out it, thinking and silently praying, when a car came up the little service road and stopped, the red taillights glowing in the rain. Someone got out, opened the gate by hand, and drove off.

June 9, 2013- I crawled out of bed around noon with a throbbing headache and a nauseous stomach. I felt like a guy coming down off a monster drunk. I didn’t fall asleep until dawn, and spent most of the morning starting awake from horrible, half-remembered dreams. In one of them J.T. was a zombie, even though the bullet had splattered most of his brain across the control panel. The spookiest thing about that one is that he wasn’t a mindless thing, he was…like a person. He came down doing the morning headcount with an evil grin on his face, the top of his head a black and red mess and his white uniform shirt drenched in blood.

“Good morning, kike.”

“Morning, J.T.,” I replied. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at him, but I could still see him through my lids.

In another, I was out of my cell and alone, wandering through dark,
echoy halls and desperately looking for someone else. I heard things scratching and clawing and sniggering in the gloom behind me, but that’s all. I tried to run, but it was like my feet weighed a thousand pounds each. I finally found a door and burst into daylight…and the arms of about a dozen zombies.

The sun was hot on my flesh when I woke. Billy was up and quietly doing sit-ups in his cell.

“Mornin', kike,” Billy said, and I was instantly reminded of J.T.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, sitting up and rubbing painful grains from my eyes.

Most of the afternoon was quiet. I watched the roadway like a hawk, but no one came or went. The gate was still open.

Around three or so I heard voices, guys from another block shouting
themselves hoarse for someone to come and let them out. One of them must have worked loose a bit of his cot rigging, for the screams were accompanied by a monotonous clanging. One of them had a set of pipes AC/DC would envy. I could actually make out a few words: “HELP ME! OPEN...FUCKING DOOR!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Billy screamed back, but I don’t think they heard him.

Sometime before five a phone in the control booth started ringing. It went on and on and on and on.

When night fell, the floodlights along the fence didn’t come on. S.
Shawshank is an old place. They aren’t automatic.

"Well, we’re officially fucked,” Billy said.

"Someone's around," I sighed without conviction. “They gotta be. Jimmy’ll be back for us.”

"No,
" Quincy spat. "They left us for dead."

"You got that right," Billy concurred, beginning to pace like a caged animal. "See, that's what happens in a capitalistic society. The fat fucks weren't
getting’ paid so they said fuck it and took off."

"They probably wanted to be with their families," I feebly countered, "the way things are."

"Bullshit. If they were really that goddamn worried they'd bring their families here. We got tons of food, guns, a fence, medical supplies. This is the perfect fortress. But, newsflash, kike: shit ain't that bad. They just left because they weren't getting’ paid."

"You go, white boy!" someone down the block shouted.

"If things aren't that bad why the hell are they pardoning convicts?”

"You think they just walked
outta here?" Billy stopped and favored me with a disbelieving stare. "You think Bob would just release a bunch of criminals back into the community? You're naive. They wouldn't do that. They weren't pardoned, they were drafted.”

For a long time he stopped, seeming to brood, and then said, “As for us…we got one hope: admin sees it ain’t the end of the world and comes back. Which I doubt will happen.”

He's right. We're done. Fucked. Dead. My stomach's already growling like hell. It's been over twenty four hours since I ate, and that wasn't much. J.T. wasn't in a Martha Stuart mood. Probably just went to the kitchen and grabbed whatever.

More tomorrow.

June 10, 2013- Well, as if my depression couldn’t get any worse, I just sat down here and found out that I have only a couple of sheets left in this notebook.
God. It’s unreal. It wouldn’t surprise me if some sadistic ghost or something ripped out a whole bunch and hid them so it could get off on my misery.

God.
Fuck. I mean, I gave some paper to Quincy the other day, and even a sheet to Billy, but…

I guess I’ll just enter every other day, and try to be short and sweet. Looking back, some of my entries are long as shit.
But whatever. I have a few books, so it’s not like I don’t have anything else. In fact, I’d rather be reading than doing this. I can escape in a book, but writing…it’s like probing a nasty wound.

June 12, 2013- I woke up so hungry this morning I thought my appendix burst and I was dying. My stomach hurt worse than anything I can remember. It felt kinda like someone was inside squeezing the shit out of my guts.

That was about…sunrise. I’ve been up ever since, pacing the cell and looking out the window at the beautiful summer landscape. There’re a few zombies at the gates clawing and trying to get in. They probably came from I-81, which runs just beyond the forest and down a sloping hill. Something blew up out there yesterday. There was a bright flash over the treetops and then sooty black smoke started pouring into the sky. Maybe it was some kind of pile up, or maybe something happened in Gordonsville, a little town just across 81. Either way, dead people are at the fence.

June 14, 2013- “Look what your brother did to the door!”

For some reason I woke up with that quote on my mind. I forget what movie it comes from, some old indie horror film from the late sixties or early seventies. You know that kind I’m talking about. With the low budget and the cult followings. I can’t even remember what exactly “your brother” did to the door. It was a funny scene, though. His father was chasing him around the kitchen with a broom handle screaming, and “Your Brother,” this big Jason Voorhees type, was squealing in mortal terror.

“You damn fool, you ruined the door!”

I wish someone would ruin this fucking door. I spent most the morning looking at it, and it just stared mockingly back, challenging me to take it on. Billy’s desperately trying to get his open, sawing at one of the bars with this little shank. It’s hopeless, but I can’t blame him.

“Man, you ain’t
gettin' out,” Quincy told him.

“Fuck you,” he replied, running the blade against the bar so fast I expected sparks to start flying out. After a while he started screaming as his arm cramped, but he kept at it. He finally tired himself out and quit.

I’ve just been laying around like a comatose chicken, curled up in a fetal position and dozing, having wet dreams about food. Man, last night it was a hamburger. It had lettuce, tomato, onions, mayo, ketchup and mustard, pickles….

Every time I think about it a pang of agony ripples through my stomach. I never once thought I’d be this hungry. It feels like I’m just fucking
hollow in the middle, like there’s a big cartoonish hole where my guts should be. I wonder if my stomach’ll start eating itself? I heard that somewhere. Probably bullshit. How the hell can a stomach eat itself? Where’re the fucking teeth?

But maybe it can somehow absorb itself or something. I don’t know. Damn it.

“God help me,” I groaned at one point.

“God hates kikes,” Billy said unenthusiastically.

“Billy, why the hell do you hate Jews so much?” I asked.

“Zionist pigs,” he replied, “they rule the world.”

“No they don’t.”

“Sure as fuck do. They want to taint white flesh and let all that immoral shit out. Faggots and dykes dancing in the streets. I know.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight with him. I just shut my mouth and have been writing this ever since. It’s close to dusk, and the light streaming through the window is a warm, weak scarlet color. Everyone else is asleep. At least up here. I hear an occasional laugh from down the block. I was about to sleep, but I remembered it was dinnertime, and that a week ago I’d be getting down with something hot and tasty. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss prison food. I’d give my left nut for a piece of toast.

Later.

I have no idea what time it is. Past midnight. I was asleep, having a nightmare. In it I was out and rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat when one of the doors burst open and all kinds of zombies started shambling in. Cory Knight was there, and so were a few others. I was making a nice triple-decker sandwich, you know, like the kind Shaggy and Scooby are always pounding down. It looked better than a wet pussy. Had ham, roast beef, turkey, tomatoes, lettuce, onions, banana peppers, jalapenos, cheese, and even a little olive on a tooth-pick sticking up for when I was done. But those fucking monsters scared me and I dropped it. I fucking dropped it. I watched in horror as beautiful toppings went all over the place. I fell to my knees and was wracked with sobs of grief. I didn’t even resist as they fell on me and started to eat me. I could feel the pain, but I didn’t care.

Later.

I was in that warm, fuzzy limbo between sleep and wakefulness, my last lingering thoughts straining to burst into vivid nightmares, when an odd sound dispelled the gathering mist in my head.

Suddenly alarmed, I sat up, and in the gloom across the hall, I saw a dark form at Billy's door. He was sawing at the damned bar again. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Billy, give it up," I croaked dryly, "get some rest."

"Been sleeping all day," he grunted. He intensified his attack. "I'm
gonna get out. I'm gonna get the switch and get us outta here."