Borderlands 5 (18 page)

The warden smiled; was he enjoying Jakob’s discomfort? “One of my guards informs me you had a rough night last. Is that true?”

“A nightmare, sir. Nothing more.”

The warden leaned back drumming his stubby fingers on the arms of his chair. “Perhaps an omen for you.” He smiled again. “Do you believe in an afterlife?”

“Do you mean God?”

“There is no God,” snapped the warden. “A truly benevolent deity would never have stirred the ovarian cauldron that eventually gushed me out.” He frowned. “I mean, do you think there’s another place your soul travels to when your body dies?”

“I don’t know.”

The warden smiled. “Your file says you took pleasure dismembering children. That you … availed yourself of their virgin orifices. And then you hacked them into little pieces. It says that you even dined on their body parts.”

Jakob said nothing.

“You’re a beast, Prisoner 392. I am also a beast. But we are different. You are a beast of mind and spirit. But I am merely a beast of the flesh. Horrible to gaze upon, but most would agree I am not a monster.”

“Sir?”

“The true monsters in our world are not born of the seed of man and egg of woman. They are spawned in the forge of a diseased mind.” He fixed Jakob with another gaze. “Do you believe this is hell, Prisoner 392?”

“You said as much, sir.”

“But do you believe it?”

Jakob looked up at the warden and for the first time saw the gleam in his eyes. The skin around his mouth stretched taut against his brown teeth. He was enjoying this.

“I think it is, sir. Yes.”

The warden nodded. “Do yourself a favor, 392. Don’t try to escape from my house. We have had several attempts over the years. None of them lived to get past the guards.”

“I’m not trying to escape, sir.”

The warden looked at Jakob hard. “Good. Good.” He nodded at the chief. “Perhaps this one is not like the others after all.”

“One way to tell, sir,” answered the chief.

The warden smiled once more. “Indeed.” Both men backed out of the cell and the heavy iron door slammed shut—another toll of the bell.

Jakob stood absolutely still for a long time afterward.

T
he slit called out to him. It demanded his presence. And Jakob complied.

He peered through the opening and found his target—locked his eyes on 53’s back and again studied the man.

He absorbed as much as he could. Would it be enough? Would it enable him to escape? He’d lied to the warden, of course. But had he fooled him? Jakob shuddered, recalling the puffy distorted face that had seemed to know every thought that passed through Jakob’s head.

Did 53 just wave at me?

Jakob snapped his attention back to the little man. Was there a gleam in 53’s eyes? Did he know Jakob was studying him? Surely he couldn’t realize Jakob’s purpose.

Could he?

He had to escape. To stay here meant death. But Jakob doubted that it would end there. Perhaps the warden really was the caretaker of hell. And if Jakob died here, might his soul not also be in mortal danger?

No, he had to go ahead with his plan.

And so, as he stooped at the slit in the door, he began matching his own inhalations and exhalations to those of 53. He watched as 53 walked slower now. Jakob allowed his own mind to expand, to fuse across the distance with that of 53. A mental link of sorts.

If only …

Jakob focused his thoughts. He saw the command he wanted 53 to carry out. He formed the words in his head.

He exhaled and sent them out into the mental ether.

But 53 merely continued walking as if nothing in the world mattered more.

Jakob tried ten times more before slumping away from the door. Exhausted.

S
omething was missing.

A key ingredient that would enable him to make the connection and force 53 to do his bidding. But what?

He studied 53 again. But this time, his attention was drawn to a steady undulating creak that came from somewhere on his right.

The warden rolled into view, his rickety wheelchair the source of the sound. His misshapen figure reminded Jakob of the flightless marine birds he’d read about explorers discovering in the Southern Hemisphere. The warden’s stubby arms seemed as useless as the faulty wings evolution had gifted those birds with.

But surely they were not as ugly to gaze upon. Why was the warden in the yard?

Jakob watched in amazement as the warden directed his chair toward 53. And then stopped. Jakob could see the warden’s mouth move.

What is he saying?

Prisoner 53 responded. Jakob watched him smile and nod his head. Smile?

Who smiled here?

What cause for mirth or gaiety could there ever be in such a horrendous place as this?

The warden wheeled himself away, the creak-creak-creak that echoed across the yard a hellish metronome marking an eternity yet to be served.

Jakob stared at 53. Studying.

Had he chosen correctly? 53 was the guinea pig, after all. Jakob felt no real compunction about trying to force his will on him. After all, he’d forced plenty more physical things on his victims in the past.

His mouth swam in saliva as the vivid memories surged back into his head.

Soon, he thought. Soon, he must get free.

T
he sun shone even brighter the next day and Jakob sweltered in the confines of his tiny cell. A shimmering haze boiled up out of the ground in front of Jakob’s cell door. The air inside his cell felt sticky; it was almost too painful to breathe.

His mind and body couldn’t take much more.

Back at the slit, he saw 53 shuffling around the yard. Without a care in the world, Jakob thought.

53 stopped and looked at Jakob again. His mouth moved.

What had he said?

A clap of thunder broke over the prison and Jakob saw the dark clouds coming from the east.

From the sea the sweet ocean that would be Jakob’s path to salvation. A whistle sounded in the yard. Prisoners filed past Jakob’s door, hurrying to get inside before the rain fell.

Then 53 drew close. Closer.

And Jakob heard him. “I can help you.”

Surprise clogged Jakob’s mind. He couldn’t find his own voice.

53’s cut him off before he could try.

“The rainy season is coming. When it storms, I’ll be here at nightfall. And together we will leave this place.”

Then he vanished inside. Jakob rocked back.

Stunned.

But strangely … hopeful.

Had it worked? Had Jakob’s plan to somehow control 53’s mind succeeded? Or had 53 simply been waiting for the right time to get out of here?  Perhaps 53’s plan required something he didn’t have.

A friend. Jakob smiled.

Let the rains come.

H
e dreaded the night. Despite the light from the overhead oil lamps, a heavy darkness enveloped his mind. He floated through their faces. He tasted their coppery blood. He swam through a sea of intestines, livers, and kidneys, all slick and run together like melted ice cream.

H
e vomited and ejaculated almost simultaneously; he woke covered in his own filth and semen.

“392!”

He looked up, knowing he had undigested bits of dinner stuck to his face. The guard frowned and directed a water hose down on him. “Wash yourself. And be quick about it.”

Jakob scrubbed himself clean. The water vanished. The vomit, feces, and spurted seed disappeared as well.

But when he closed his eyes, the darkness returned. And with it, the demons.

A
nother cracked scalding day dawned outside Jakob’s cell. This heat!

Jakob wanted to claw his way through the iron door. He wanted to tunnel down into the depths of the cool, dark earth. He wanted to hide under his bed. If he could just get away from this damned heat!

But he could go nowhere.

The stagnant water in the clay pitcher tasted like dirt. Grit swam in his mouth with each gulp.

He paced in his cell. Two steps.

Turn.

Two steps. Turn.

It was too hot to stand. Jakob squatted in his cell, thinking a layer of cooler air might be close to the ground.

Maybe lower.

He lay on the floor. It was still hot.

And he could go no further.

Jakob went back to the door. He wanted to shout. He wanted to call out to 53, “Hey! When will the storms come? When can we escape? Friend?”

But 53 only glanced his way once.

The smile he gave Jakob didn’t make the heat or his tiny cell any easier to endure.

J
akob spent the rest of the day peering through the slit at the lifeless brown exercise yard. He stared at the hard-packed earth, longing to feel it beneath his feet. He listened to the birds chirping beyond the walls, safe in their trees. And he watched the sun’s rays fade as evening came on.

He tried to sleep. But closing his eyes for even a minute brought the demons. They shrieked louder. They bullied. Poked. Prodded. Slapped. Smacked.

Are you crying?

Oh, you poor little boy.

You poor little baby.

Jakob screamed. Just go away!

He shot up.

Had he screamed?  Or only imagined it? He looked up.

Waiting.

But the guards never came over. He leaned back.

I must get out of here!

S
ometime later, after exhaustion had finally dragged Jakob down into the depths of a dreamless purgatory, the rains fell.

Soft at first, the showers soon turned to sheets. Lightning flashed.

Thunder cracked. And Jakob woke. Was it time?

Was this the moment? Would it be tonight?

He swung his legs over the side of his cement bed and crept to his door. He huddled against the iron, longing to feel the cool rain touch his skin. He could taste the moisture staining the humid air. He could inhale its clean scent.

But still, he couldn’t touch it.

And he didn’t dare risk sticking his hand through the slit. The burs would have sliced his hand open.

Then he heard it. A slight sound out of harmony with the rest of nature’s discordant symphony.

53?

Is that you?

A set of eyes appeared at the slit.

A whisper tickled Jakob’s ear. “392. It’s time.”

Jakob heard the key slide into the lock, fit the tumblers, and then turn. A dull thunk and the door swung open.

53 stood there. “Be quick!”

Jakob looked up at the top of his cell one last time. The guards weren’t around.

Now!

He followed 53 into the downpour. The cold rain stung his skin as it washed the sweat off his body and out of a thousands little nicks and cuts that Jakob hadn’t even had time to catalog.

They ducked beside a wall. 53 put his mouth close to Jakob’s ear. “Follow me. There’s a section of the wall that we can break through.”

Break through? But the walls were made of cement. Surely 53 couldn’t be serious.

But the little man sped them along the exercise yard toward a place Jakob hadn’t been able to see from his hot box. And as they approached, Jakob spotted little flecks of concrete on the muddy ground. Was the wall crumbling?

53 pointed at the wall and then looked overhead. Lightning flashed.

And then as the thunder boomed, 53 kicked the wall. Chunks of cement broke off.

But 53 wasn’t a strong man. His legs hadn’t been conditioned by squatting in front of the slit all day long.

Jakob pushed him away and waited. Flash.

Boom. Crumble.

A two-foot section of concrete fell out of the wall. Jakob grinned. Then he let all the anger well up within him. The heat. The cell. The warden. The demons. All of it.

Flash.

Boom. Jakob’s kick exploded into the wall. The final piece of wall crumbled. A hole three feet in diameter beckoned.

Go.

53 slid through the gap. Jakob took a final look at the prison yard, thankful that the hurricane-like wind and rain had kept the guards inside, and then sank into the mud and clawed his way through the squishy goo.

He emerged on the other side of the wall.

53 looked at him, his mouth a runny mess of rain, spit, and smile.

He wiped his glasses. “We’re free!”

Jakob nodded. “How did you get the key to my cell?”