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

“Easy, Lee,” Henderson said, regaining his composure. “The inpatient beds might be full to bursting point with all those sick dogs, but I’ll still beat you within an inch of your life!”

“Try it!”

Frank fixed his unblinking eyes on the guard. Henderson looked away and rested his gaze on his silent companion.

“C’mon, McAllister, let’s leave these scumbags to rot.”

He made his way down the corridor, duly followed by the second guard. A few of the inmates jeered at the pair as they passed, but all Frank could do was stare after them until they were out of sight. He returned to his bunk, his conscience at war with his brain. With the teenager dead, that meant he’d murdered two people, three if he counted the hit he’d arranged through Gus Razor. Nice going, Frank.

He looked around at his small enclosure. Scrawls from previous inmates covered the white walls. He tried to estimate how many prisoners had sat where he now found himself. He knew the majority were people who showed no remorse for their crimes. In fact, most would still murder, rape, and torture if they were released. People like that should never be let out. People like him. He looked down at his hands again, only this time he could see his wife’s blood dripping from them. He could see her mutilated corpse lying face down on their marital bed. She was naked, her body glistening in sweat and blood. He felt rage burn in his stomach once more. Adrenaline coursed through his body. He clenched his teeth as he relived her murder, feeling a sense of elation wash over him as he struck her again and again. The bloodied hammer had clumps of hair and flesh stuck to the side, something which he had only noticed in hindsight.

He jumped to his feet and approached the wall, eager to expel the massacre in his mind’s eyes. He read the untidy scrawls. Most were made up of pornographic sketches and obscene words. There were some terms, however, that caught Frank’s eye; ‘Bless me O’ Lord for I have sinned’, ‘Help me God’, and ‘Forgive me’. The religious sentiments took him by surprise. During his stay at the prison, he had witnessed many inmates spouting religious drivel. But they usually performed their pleading for salvation in front of authoritative figures. Given the choice, the majority would rather worship Satan, Loki, or the seventy-two Spirits of Solomon than revere a divine god. Yet, many believed the appeal board would more likely consider a prisoner reformed if he embraced religion.

Frank traced his finger over the paintwork, checking for other religious quotes. There were more, many written in a different hand. He sat back on his bunk. He had never expected any of the prisoners to seek redemption, even in the confines of their cell. Segregation was just that; alone. If these prisoners were still pleading for forgiveness when nobody was around, perhaps they weren’t as bad as he first assumed. He sat back and stared at the ceiling, all the while mulling over the possibility of convicts repenting for their crimes. He found it hard to take in. Nobody he had met so far in the prison had shown any remorse.

“Soup’s up, ladies!” a guard yelled down the corridor.

A crescendo of unlocking doors echoed through the silent confines. Frank looked up as his door opened. Henderson entered the cell holding a plastic bowl and wearing the biggest grin Frank had seen in a long time.

“What’re you so happy about?” Frank asked as the guard stopped beside his bed.

“Some of the boys in the inpatient beds are dying.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah, looks like a bad case of food poisoning.”

“Food poisoning?”

“Okay, a very bad case of food poisoning,” Henderson said. “Let’s just hope it’s nothing to do with the meat.”

Frank eyed the bowl warily as the guard lowered it to the floor.

“Chicken soup. Cold, of course. We don’t want to waste any energy on you troublemakers do we?”

“Probably taste like shit, anyway.”

Frank lay back on his mattress and stared at the ceiling. He saw Henderson stoop down in the corner of his eye. A hocking filled the room as he spat in the bowl.

“There’s a bit of spice for you.”

Henderson winked as he left the cell, slamming the door behind him. Frank sighed and closed his eyes, listening as the guard walked away. A few seconds passed before another disturbance started. He shook his head at the commotion as his fellow inmates objected to the food.

“I’m not eating this shit!” Gus Razor bellowed.

A splattering sound accompanied indignant cursing. Another guard had experienced one of Razor’s tantrums.

“You can clean this shit up,” the guard yelled, his voice youthful and faltering.

“Do I look like a fucking housewife?”

“You’re gonna regret that!”

“C’mon boy, that soup isn’t going to clean itself. Mop and bucket, on your way!”

The laughter and ridicule of the prisoners followed the young guard as he stormed away.

The sound of dull footsteps indicated a second guard walking in the corridor. Frank listened as the footsteps grew louder.

“Hey, McAllister, how come you haven’t battered that prick Henderson yet?” one prisoner shouted. Frank heard the footsteps stop outside his cell. The door swung open, revealing the large form of McAllister.

“What d’ya want?” Frank asked as the guard entered the cell.

“Henderson’s got it in for you.”

“Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You didn’t kill the kid, Henderson did.”

Frank stared at the guard with wide eyes.

“What?”

“I’m telling you something you don’t know. Right after they took you away, he dragged the kid out to the rec yard and caved his head in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. He made me dig the grave.”

Frank fell silent for a moment, considering the information. “And why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re not