The Virus, Lee, Damien [summer beach reads .txt] 📗

listening as the rest of the cells became occupied with spectators from the fight. The segregation block was designed to be soundproof; a psychological measure used to punish unruly inmates. Yet, time and lack of maintenance had left countless gaps in the brickwork, rendering the measure ineffective.

“You can fuck off if you think I’m going in there!”

Gus Razor’s voice boomed down the corridor. A series of tirades came from the other prisoners as one by one the guards slammed the cell doors. After a while, silence enveloped the corridor, with only the odd dissatisfied murmur coming from the cells. Frank lay back on the mattress, contemplating the night’s events. Henderson was becoming more and more reckless. It was starting to make him feel uneasy. The guard’s actions would get reported eventually, but how much damage would he have caused by then?

Frank flexed his arm, wincing as the pain shot up to his shoulder once more. The shotgun attack was a clear example of Henderson’s deteriorating mental state. Trying to throw the bout was a dangerous move, even for the arrogant guard. Frank replayed the fight in his head. The knee to the face was a crushing blow, but something the teenager should recover from.

A sudden footfall from the end of the corridor caused Frank to sit up. He listened hard as one of the cell doors was quickly unlocked. Probably Gus being released before the shit hits the fan, Frank mused. He soon realised that he was right about the cell belonging to Gus Razor, but wrong about his release.

“What?” Razor’s voice boomed down the corridor.

“Keep your voice down,” a guard said.

“What do you mean they failed? I told them to intercept that cargo nearly two weeks ago! Why am I only finding out now?”

Frank strained his ears, trying to hear the indecipherable whispers of the guard, but it was no use. If his cell was closer, he may have a chance of overhearing the conversation, but being at the end of the corridor meant he was more isolated than anybody. He leaned back on his mattress, musing at Razor’s ability to keep his criminal empire running from within the prison. He had observed the man dealing drugs, arranging protection, and now he was clearly involved in the acquisition of some kind of cargo. The number of screws on the crime boss’ payroll seemed endless.

The sound of the cell door slamming shut indicated the end of their conversation. Frank briefly wondered whether Gus was still in segregation until the loudmouthed inmate shouted after the guard.

“You’ve got two days!”

5

Amy’s hand shuddered as she held a mug of coffee. She could feel the gaze of her manager and the security guard, but she didn’t look up. It had been over an hour since she’d witnessed her colleague being eaten. Since then she had cried uncontrollably, spoken to the police, cried some more, been given a mug of coffee, and now she felt like crying again. Nothing in her life even came close to the massacre she had witnessed that morning. She looked up as a man spoke.

“Can I get you anything else?”

It was Ben, the security guard. He had a warm smile as he sat down next to her, but she could see the torment in his eyes.

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

“Amy, with everything that has gone on today, I think it best that you have the next few days off.”

She looked at her manager. “Are you sure? This place is hectic.”

“I’ve got a dozen agency nurses drafted in to help. We should be fine.”

Amy nodded in agreement.

“But stay here for as long as you want. Have your coffee, sit and rest, and when you feel well enough, you can go home.”

“Thank you,” she replied as her manager left the room. She turned her attention back to the steaming mug when Ben spoke once more.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Amy nodded, her glazed eyes staring at the cup.

“Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I drove here.”

 “Oh, right.”

She blinked, breaking her reverie, and smiled at him.

“Are you going home too?” she asked, trying to clear her mind of the gruesome images it was harbouring.

“Yeah, my shift finished an hour ago. I was leaving when you caught up with me. Lucky I didn’t sneak out early, huh?”

Amy agreed, her head filled with the sight of the demented cleaner once more.

“What was with the bag you were carrying?”

“I was supposed to be playing cricket with some lads from work. I guess that was lucky too.”

“Yeah, I guess. But won’t you be missed?”

“I should hope so. I was the one bringing all the gear.”

Amy managed a weak smile.

“I’m Ben.”

“I know; I heard you on the radio. I’m Amy.”

“I know; your manager just told me.”

“Right.”

“So, Amy, I’ve not seen you around here before. Are you new?”

“Yeah, today’s my second day.”

“I guess it doesn’t leave a good impression of the place then, huh?”

Amy shook her head, returning her gaze to the cup.

“Well, I hope the incident hasn’t scared you off. This kind of thing never happens here. I’ve… never had to stop anyone like that before.”

Ben offered a smile, rising to his feet. Amy looked up as he put on his jacket.

“So, have the police cleared you of everything? Did they not want to question you?”

“No idea. They got a call halfway through speaking to me and had to dash. They told me to stay put, but they’ve got my address. If they want to speak to me, they can.”

“I see. So what are you going to do now?”

“Well, the police took my bat, and you can’t play without one of those. It’s just not cricket.”

Amy smiled as Ben raised a hand in