Desolate The Complete Trilogy

2



After the pep talk from Sergeant Cottrell, the convicts endured the typical procedures of any prison welcoming ceremony. They stripped off their clothes and showered in cold water. They were poked and prodded by a doctor, their body cavities were searched, and their arms and asses were pumped full of inoculates. They were issued denim shirts, pants, a pair of leather work shoes, gloves, and a thin hooded parka.

On the way out the door they each received a wool blanket and were told which barracks to go to. Howard and the other convicts he came with were split up and he found himself outside alone. The guard simply pointed to the building and told him to find an empty bunk.

Howard slowly walked across the empty yard and glanced up at the closest tower. He could make out the shape of the guard on duty, no doubt watching him. He didn’t expect to suddenly be alone like this and his imagination and anxiety ran wild. What kind of scene would he be walking into?

He felt so weak and scared. Not exactly a man built for prison life, Howard barely tilted the scales at a hundred and sixty pounds and was just shy of five foot eight. He was not physically gifted in any way, had never been a fight in his whole life, and hated confrontations.

He had been in solitary lock-up in Miami for a few days before shipping out. On the way to the bus bound for the docks, a trustee pulled him aside. “Get ready white boy. Them big niggas at the farm gonna screw yo scrawny white ass real good.” At the time, he thought the trustee was just having fun with him but now he wondered. Was prison rape common or just something they liked to play up in movies? He’d never spent any time in general population before getting shipped out so he’d spent little time with other prisoners.

Howard reached the door and stood there for a moment. If it wasn’t so damn cold he probably would have stalled for a little while longer. He took a deep breath and stepped through the door. The first thing that hit him was the smell. It was sweat and dirt, piss and bad breath, dirty clothes and dirty beds, all rolled up together in a brick wall of funk. But it was warm. Not kick off your shoes and read the paper warm, but at least it was slightly better than outside.

For a few moments he couldn’t see anything after stepping out of the glaring sunshine. As his eyes adjusted, he made out rows of bunks and men among them. Some were lying down, others were sitting alone or in a group. A bunch of them were lounging around the single stove in the middle of the floor. Since there were no windows or electric lights, a few skylights made of translucent plastic let in what little light there was.

He stood there and didn’t make eye contact with anyone as he felt dozens of eyes boring into him. Nobody spoke, they just stared indifferently. The only sound was the wind hitting the side of the building.

Hey, dumbass. Don’t just stand there. Do something! Find an empty bunk like the guard said.

Howard stepped forward on wobbly legs, desperately trying to look cool, tough, and relaxed. He realized he’d been clutching his blanket close to his chest like a teddy bear so he loosened his grip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Oh yeah, I’m a real bad ass. They’re going to kill me.

At last, he found an empty bunk and sat down. The man across from him got up and darted over. “Wot the gypsy nell ya think yer doin’ China? That uncle ned ain’t yours ta be sittin’ on.”

“Um, I..”

“Wot’s the matter, dummy? Don’t ya understand the dolly dimple English?”

Howard cleared his throat. “The guard outside said I should find an empty bunk.”

Another man rose from his bed and came over. “Don’t mind him, mate.” He sat down and put his arm around Howard. “He’s forgotten the proper way to meet and greet the new gents. Say, that’s a nice blanket you’ve got there. Mind if I take a gander?”

A large black man crossed the aisle and joined the party. “Man, I know you ain’t just said that. You know damn well I got first crack at the new fish this time ‘round.” He snatched Howard’s blanket off the bed. “You won’t be needing this, man. New fish don’t need no new blankets. You still all toasty warm from the boat ride down, ain’t that right?”

Howard opened his mouth to object but only a pathetic gasp escaped his dry mouth.

“That’s right, motherf*cker. This here is my blanket.”

The black man went back to his bunk leaving Howard sitting there with a stupid look on his face. The two British guys left him alone now that the prized blanket was gone.

Howard’s eyes started to burn and water and he thought for a terrifying moment he might cry. Wouldn’t that be just great? Everybody just saw him get his blanket stolen without any kind of resistance at all and now he was about to sob like a thirty-year-old baby. He was dead.

Not knowing what else to do, he stretched out on the bunk and stared off into nothingness. The excitement of the new arrival passed and the men around him started back up their conversations, card games, and whatever else they did to pass the time.

Howard turned his head and saw a guy a few beds down staring at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. He had long, greasy looking hair, a scruffy beard, and bright blue eyes.

When Howard met his gaze he made no attempt to look away or pretend he wasn’t staring. Howard quickly turned over and thought of what the trustee told him about his scrawny white ass.

A bell outside started ringing causing everyone to stand up and head for the door. Nobody said anything to Howard, so he got up and followed the others outside.

Howard followed the trail of inmates across the yard and into the mess hall. It was a gloomy building pretty much the same as the barracks, except it was a little bigger and had picnic tables in lieu of bunks. Howard waited in line to receive an aluminum tray containing a hunk of fatty meat, a hard biscuit, some beans, and a cup of watered down and tepid coffee.

He took his tray and looked around the room, feeling like a kid in high school. He surveyed the tables which were clearly divided into groups sticking to their own kind - blacks, Hispanics, white power skinhead types. He didn’t see the scared-first-day group. Somebody bumped into him from behind and he took a few steps, scanning the faces, trying to recognize one of the guys he’d arrived with. He finally found a table with only two men and sat down at the far end. They glanced at him and continued their conversation.

Okay, not so bad. Just like in high school. Steer clear of the jocks and don’t do anything stupid in front of the girls. One of the guys at the table leaned over a ripped a loud fart. Well, a little like high school, anyway. He poked at his meat trying to figure out which species it actually came from. Rat, horse, or shoe would have to be a pretty good guess.

“Looks pretty shitty now, but in a week you’ll have that whole tray inhaled before you sit down.”

Howard looked up and realized it was the longhaired guy from the barracks talking to him.

“Ah, yeah I guess so.”

“Not much for words are you, boy?” He sat down, slamming his tray on the table. “I was watching when Rover took your blanket. You gotta learn to stand up for yourself, man.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Howard. “I guess I wasn’t really expecting that to happen.”

“Well, consider that a lesson. Try to be ready for anything.” He held out his hand. “Name is Carl O’Donell.”

“Howard Bell.”

“Looky here, Howie. I been here only about a month now, so you ain’t much greener than me. The way I see it, we should kinda team up, look out for each other. What you say to that, boy?”

“I guess that sounds okay.” Howard wasn’t so green not to be suspicious of this guy. He’d seen enough prison movies where a con will be nice to a new guy only to make him his bitch.

“Damn right it’s okay. New guys like you and me gotta stick together. This place ain’t no picnic, that’s for damn sure.” He shoved piece of meat in his mouth.

“If the niggers or spics don’t get you the goddamn queers will. And don’t get me started on the Brits. Trash, every one of ‘em. Talking with that cockney slang and shit. Pip pip. Cheerio. F*cking faggots, every one.”

Howard sipped at his coffee. Great. His only friend was a racist psychopath. Things were really starting out great. Only about fifty years to go.

“You’re lucky y’all got here on our day off or they’d send you out to work right away.”

“Work?”

Carl looked up, surprised. “Yeah, work. You think we just lay round all day, Howie?”

“What kind of work is it?”

“Bullshit is what kind. They got us digging in a goddamn mine right in the side of that ridge out back.”

“What sort of mine?”

“Platinum. Can you believe that? Ain’t nothing but snow and bird shit on this rock but underneath we’re sitting on a fortune.”

Howard bit into the mystery meat and quickly took a gulp of coffee to help swallow the grisly hunk. “I never heard anything about mining going on down here. I thought we were supposed to be trying to live off the land building some kind of prison utopia.”

“Well you thought wrong, son. The way I heard it is a while back some of the cons got to digging in the ridge for some heating project or what not. All the lava and shit underground from the old volcano made them think maybe they could tap into a geyser or whatever.

“Turns out what they did tap into was a nice little platinum vein instead. Warden went ape shit and got some mining expert in here to set up shop and that’s all we’ve been doing since. Only he’s too cheap to get us some real equipment. We’re in that tunnel all day busting our asses with picks and shovels. Old school shit.”

“Sounds like a blast,” said Howard.

“Oh yeah, it’s a blast all right. Bullshit is what it is.”

Howard managed to get most of his meal down while Carl continued on about his views of queers and niggers and some lady back home named Della. It was almost dark when he and his fellow roommates got back to the barracks. With no electric lights inside, the inmates went to bed as soon as the sunlight was gone.

Howard curled up the best he could to try and stay warm since Rover had relieved him of his blanket. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. As usual, his thoughts turned to The Day. If Howard Bell could have one wish, it would be to somehow go back in time to The Day and talk some sense into the lunatic that caused all this mess.