"Crazies" (an open role play)

[GrayOldFart]

"Crazies"

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Seeking Thread ^^^ OOC Thread​

Nine days ago:

Warden Davis flipped through the cable news channels, only to find variations of the same scene playing out across the city and state. Mobs of people were running wild through the city streets, attacking pedestrians, bicyclists, cafe patrons, even folks sitting in their cars. As if the anarchy of it all wasn't enough, the lunatics that the Press was calling The Crazies were biting people, too ... taking away flesh and fingers and ears in blood covered mouths! It was madness!

"The Governor has declared a state of emergency," a news anchor was reporting on one station. Davis switched stations. From a television helicopter, he could see a line of troops being overwhelmed by the Crazies on the edge of a tear gas cloud. A news anchor was saying, "The National Guard has been activated in the capital and four other cities where the attacks have--"

"State officials are not commenting, Janice, nor are agents at the local FBI office," a reporter on yet another channel was saying. He flinched at the sound of a gun shot, and the camera swung to show the pandemonium on the street. Off screen, he continued, "An anonymous source within the CDC says --"

A scream of agony caused the camera to spin back to the reporter in time to see him being taken down by Crazies. A moment later the camera was jostled and fell to the pavement as the camera operator, too, was attacked. Davis almost retched as the now sideways camera view showed a Crazy chewing the reporter's fingers to the bone.

Davis spun in place as he heard more mayhem ... this time not on the television, but in the hotel's hallway ... just feet away...



Six days ago:

"He doesn't look good," the Corrections Supervisor was saying. "He ... he has it, right?"

The Prison Doctor continued his work -- checking vitals and adjusting equipment -- as he responded, "Likely. When he collapsed in his office, his Aide noticed blood on his shirt sleeve."

The Doctor pulled the sheet cover back to reveal a large bandage wrapped around Davis's forearm. "Security at the Annual Corrections Convention said the hotel the warden was staying at was overrun by ... what are they calling them...?"

"The crazies," the Supervisor answered. "And he was attacked?"

"Bit. And by the time the guards got him down to me, he was badly infected." The Doctor moved to a drapery and pulled it back with a swift motion. Beyond it, six more patients were occupying stretchers; near them were two male inmates and in another portion of the infirmary beyond a security screen, were four female inmates. "Did the warden have contact with any of these inmates in the past two days?"

The Supervisor strode past the men, then stopped at the screen to look in at the women. He shook his head, recognizing one of the female inmates that his boss liked to spend personal time with. "As you said, Doc ... likely."


Three days ago:

The shot gun blasts were nearing the locked gate. A Supervisor -- now in full riot gear -- stood behind four of his COs, similarly dressed and down on one knee with shotguns leveled at a passageway just beyond a barred gate. "Get ready! Open the gate only on my command!"

Several COs -- also in riot gear -- rushed around the distant corner in the cell block; some ran for the Gate Twelve at full speed while others slowed to turn and shoot at the inmates chasing them down.

"Open Twelve!" one of the fleeing COs hollered in panic. "Open the gate ... open Twelve".

"Belay that order!" the Supervisor ordered. "Leave it shut!"

"Sir...?" the CO at the gate controlled questioned with surprise. "They need to get through!"

"They're infected!" the Supervisor called out, seeing blood splatters on the COs uniforms and suspecting the worse. He backed away from the approaching madness. "They're all infected. Fall back to Eleven, now! Fall back, fall back!"

The Supervisor stepped aside as, one by one, the COs on his side of the gate pulled back and rushed past him. On the other side of the gate, the pleading COs fell into a hand to hand melee with the Crazies, but were quickly overpowered.

The Supervisor couldn't watch anymore and turned to follow his men to Gate Eleven ... only to find that someone had opened the gate and now the same scene was being played out there...



Yesterday:

William Taylor stood at the security control panel testing locks and cameras throughout the prison. Mostly, though, he was simply looking for anyone in uniform who was still alive ... still alive, and not mad, that was. He wasn't having much luck; while he could find a dozen or more COs or other prison Staff members milling about, it seemed they were all Crazies now and he was the only one left on the job. He tapped some more buttons and cursed softly. There were several cameras not working in one of the isolated cell blocks, and of course the isolation cells had no individual cameras at all. There were still a good portion of the prison that was not visible to him, and he needed to see it all to know exactly what he was up against.

He returned to watching the Crazies. It was all simply too fantastic to be true, like one of those zombie movies brought to real life. He'd never been much of a horror movie buff, but he had seen "I am Legend", simply because he liked Will Smith. And he'd become a big fan of "The Walking Dead" until the season when the story moved to a state prison and Bill found himself critiquing the logistics of the prison's details so much that he could no longer enjoy the plot.

The Crazies, to Bill, seemed like the love child of the bad guys from each of those two theatrical productions. They were fast moving and energetic like the creatures in "I am Legend", but they were also a bit simple-minded and definitely hungry for human flesh like the zombies in "The Walking Dead".

Yesterday, he's had the great misfortune to watch one of his co-workers get hunted down by the Crazies. The man had apparently been hiding in Tower Five since the Crazies overran the lock down barricades. He tried to make a run over open ground to climb a fence, but the Crazies had circled him, corralling him like jackals closing in on a big water buffalo. With his shotgun, then side arm, he took one down, then another, then another. But the Crazies just filled in the gaps, tightening the circle; they never tried to flee or avoid being shot, which told Bill that they didn't understand the concept of a firearm. But neither did they back away. Eventually, when he'd spent his last round, they rushed him ... and it seconds the thrashing was over.

Bill had learned an important lesson from the incident: with the Crazies on the grounds, there was no escape.



Today:

(OOC -- If you are reading this for a second time, you will notice a change in where the Visitors are being housed and the buildings/rooms that are secure. What is below is now true; forget anything you read the first time, and if this is your first reading, then we're all good.)


A woman who had been helping Bill with the trapped Visitors gathered everyone in the Commons of the Trustee Building. He tried to calm them, fending off their questions, asking them to wait until all were assembled.

He used the couple of minutes it took for all to assemble to consider his -- their -- situation. Renovation on the Trustees Housing Building -- commonly, the THB -- had begun just two weeks before the mayhem had begun, so when the Crazies began tearing the place apart and it was obvious that no one was leaving, Bill sent the 35 visitors -- women and children mostly but men, too -- from the Visitor's Center to the THB to find a place to sleep here.

Of the six buildings to which inmates had regular access, the Visitors Center and the THB were the only ones Bill was sure were secure. For better or worse, this was there new home for the indefinite future. The good news was that they now had access to sleeping quarters, a kitchen, a Recreation Room, a small library, a dry goods room partially filled with food, and more. The bad news was that to get between the two buildings and access all of this, the Visitors had to use an exterior walkway; oh sure, it was securely protected by fully enclosed fences, but the presence of the Crazies on the outside of it -- growling and hissing and practically licking their chops -- was so disturbing that Bill was hesitant to let any but the heartiest souls travel between the two.

"I have some good news, and I have some bad news," he began, standing atop a table so he could look down at all the faces. "The good news is that we are secure here. There is no way for any of the Crazies-- sorry..."

He knew that the Crazies likely included some of the men and women these folk were here to visit. He continued, "There's no way for anyone to get in here from the cell blocks or the yard. We are safe. I promise you that."

"What's the bad news?" a voice called out.

Bill hesitated, drawing a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. "No one is coming to help us. We're on our own ... possibly for a ... for a long, long while."

There was a round of murmurs and sobs and soft cries, then someone asked, "So what the hell do we do now?"

Bill had been asking himself that question for many, many hours. What DO we do now? He was, essentially, In Charge; he was the most senior CO left -- possibly the only CO left -- and none of the surviving Staff members were in his chain of command, and therefore superior to him. So, what he said went! And that, of course, made him nervous, for Bill had always dreamed of being a leader of some thing -- a scout troop, a basketball team, the universe -- but he'd never had the opportunity to be one. Now, he had that chance ... and he was very uncomfortable with that reality.

"I think we need to take stock of our resources," he started, trying to sound authoritarian. "We have access to the kitchen ... a food storage room..." He hesitated for a moment, remembering that that room had been under renovation as well as had only been half stocked. He wasn't sure how much food was in there, but it certainly wouldn't support three dozen people for long. "We have the cells to sleep in and access to the linen room."

Again he hesitated, recalling that the laundry itself had been overrun. There were several rooms or buildings that the Crazies has control of and of which Bill knew the Survivors would want. The Crazies had the other more fully stocked dry goods rooms, as well as the freezer rooms; the food there would at least quadruple the available food if they could get to it. The infirmary was a must, of course; there was a flu, maybe a cold, going through the visitors, and who knew how many of these people might be diabetic or have heart conditions. Access to the hospital was a must.

"Most importantly, though," he said, stepping down off the table and wandering through the group. This was his look accessible to the people gesture that he'd been practicing in his mind. These people didn't know him, and he didn't know them. He'd spent less than half an hour total with them since the lock down, and now he felt bad about that. "We need to get to know one another. We need to know who is who, what each of us does for a living, what each of us can offer the others ... offer the group. Do we have a doctor...? A nurse...? Does anyone know how to use a weapon...? Any former military, police ... hunters?"

He wanted to ask Gang Bangers...? Mass murderers...? Psychotics? The situation they were in might be best served by people who were almost as dangerous and crazy as the Crazies themselves, Bill knew. Prison visitors often had arrest records as long as the inmates they were visiting. Bill knew that with his luck, there wasn't a single legal charge or gun toting mama amongst them.

He mounted another table at the opposite side of the Commons, scanning his gaze about the crowd. He gestured to the woman who'd been helping him a great deal and said, "I'm going to give you the Visitors Log. The copy machine is still working, I think. I would like you to make one copy of each visitors form and give it to them. Then, I would like each of you to write down anything that you think will help us in the next few days."

Few weeks, few months, few years! Bill thought. "Do you have nursing experience, can you cook, can you handle a side arm ... a pistol." He was hesitate to start handing out weapons to prison visitors, but Bill knew that the time might come when he'd have to take that chance; they needed full control of the prison's facilities, and to have that, they needed to kill Crazies.

Which, of course, brought up another issue: the Crazies were these people's loved ones!

"Okay, so..." He looked around at the faces -- some frightened, some confused, some angry, some blank -- and finished, "Please ... don't be afraid. We are, like I said, safe here. We will get through this. We just need to work with one another ... and we will get through this."

 

[GrayOldFart]

This morning; Control Center:

"God damn ... frickin' ... piece of..."

Bill turned the switch again, held it while he listened to the solenoid hum and then slam shut, then looked to the monitoring panel. The light that was supposed to be dark was still lit red, indicating that the gate was open, or at least unlocked. He grumbled, "God damn 1960's technology!"

Bill had been in the Control Center almost continuously for five days, afraid to go anywhere else; the only parts of the penitentiary that he could be certain were secure were the Administration buildings and the cell block where the Visitors were being housed. He'd been trying for hours to verify that some of the closed gates were actually secure, but he just couldn't trust the indicators. Why the hell were we spending money on making a frickin' cell block more comfortable for the damn inmates ... when we can't even be sure the frickin' doors are locked!

He activated the switch again, waited, then shrieked Yesssss! when the light turned off. Finally, Bill had locked down the entire prison...

...or so he thought.



Meanwhile, in the Cell Block:

Bill had noticed in the Control Center monitors that the Crazies fell into two distinct categories: Crazy Crazies, and Calm Crazies. The first seemed to rush around endlessly, like children on a playground pumped up on chocolate bars and caffeine energy drinks. The second -- once they realized there was no more food to eat, which meant no more people to eat, simply sat patiently in front of the locked gates behind which their dinner -- again, people -- was secured and waited.

Bill had taken an interest in one of the Calm Crazies earlier. It had lowered into a crouched position, with its hand on the floor before him; it looked like a frog ready to spring out across a pond to catch a bug in flight. Bill checked the Cell Log, wondering just whom the Crazy had its eyes upon. Dave Sherman ... oh yea, good luck there, Froggy.

Dave Sherman, aka "The Predator", was one of the scariest inmates Bill had ever had the misfortune to escort through the penitentiary. He was big and bad with a chip on his shoulder; Bill hadn't read Sherman's entire file, but he knew it had something to do with his father being killed by gang bangers, some of whom Sherman had killed in revenge. Bill didn't typically work the cell block with the death row inmates, of which Sherman was one, so he had only been near the man once. "The Predator" had been polite and behaved and had followed Bill's orders to the letter. And yet Bill had been shivering the entire time, knowing that even with his wrists and ankles chained to the waist belt, the man was still more dangerous than most of the other inmates in the prison.

He had taken one last look at the Crazy before Sherman's cell before departing to go talk to the Visitor's about their situation. As he'd departed, he wondered, In a fight between those two, who'd win...? I'd put my money on the Crazy ... calm now or not. Sherman might be one scary dude, but the Crazies are nothing more than mindless animals ... and that scares me even more.

As he left the Control Center, Bill had failed to notice another light flickering slightly, then energizing fully. It was the indicator for Sherman's solitary confinement cell ... and it was indicating that the inmate's cell was now unlocked.

The Calm Crazy heard the click of the door lock of Sherman's cell. It didn't know exactly what that sound meant; that portion of its brain simply didn't work as it had when it was Human. But it knew that it meant something, and like that frog that Bill Taylor had thought it was, it leaped from its position ten feet in front of Sherman's cell and landed hard against the door, grasping the bars in the window and screeching! It shook at the bars, which did nothing whatsoever to them ... but ... the movement caused the door to begin opening slowly ...



Later, before his meeting with the Group in the Commons:

Bill glanced around Dry Stores Room #4 with despair. There were far more empty shelves than he'd suspected. Food inventory wasn't his area of expertise; he was a Corrections Officer, not a frickin' line cook. All he knew was that once a week, a big truck pulled through the gates, dropped off boxes and bottles and canvas sacks full of food, and then everyone ate.

Now, it was fore front in his conscious. With no help from the outside -- with no resupply -- what they had was what they had. Making matters worse, the months of renovation on the wing now occupied by the Visitors and remaining staff had forced the temporary storing of much of the prison's dry goods in a storage room in one of the cell blocks currently overrun by Crazies.

Bill turned to the man in cuffs behind him. He looked him over for a moment, then stepped forward and began unshackling him. "Miles... I've never had any problems with you. You've never shown any violent tendencies ... you're here on white collar crimes ... hell, you saved me four thousand dollars last year with the finessing of my Federal Tax Return ... and I appreciate that."

The cuffs clicked loose, and Bill tossed them onto a stainless steel cart that typically was piled high with can's of gravy but now was empty. He backed up and -- to illustrate the faith he was putting in the convict -- turned his back again ... hoping he wouldn't get a big metal ladle over the back of his head.

"This is all the food we have access to." Bill explained. "I'm a bachelor. I eat TV dinners every night and cold cereal in the morning. I don't know how far this stuff will go, and I don't know if you know anything about food rationing, but I know you're good with numbers. I need to know. How long can we eat on this before we begin to go hungry?"

 

[sodalitas]

"Miles... I've never had any problems with you. You've never shown any violent tendencies ... you're here on white collar crimes ... hell, you saved me four thousand dollars last year with the finessing of my Federal Tax Return ... and I appreciate that."

Miles felt the handcuffs release him and turned around to face the CO, confused. What did it mean that he was out of his cell, and unrestrained? With only one CO between him and the door? Of course, it would only take one CO to handle him, even if he could bring himself to try something. The thought of ever really attempting an escape was ludicrous to Miles, though. At heart he was a rules follower, and he had been caught fair and square.

"This is all the food we have access to." Bill explained. "I'm a bachelor. I eat TV dinners every night and cold cereal in the morning. I don't know how far this stuff will go, and I don't know if you know anything about food rationing, but I know you're good with numbers. I need to know. How long can we eat on this before we begin to go hungry?"

Miles looked around the storage room, doing some mental calculations - the puzzle he was given outweighing the confusion he was feeling at his current situation.

"Well I'm not a nutrionist, but I'll assume that we have all we need here to maintain ourselves, the only question being how long it will last. Assuming each person requires the same caloric intake a day, which is obviously wrong but I think will serve for now, and that nothing here will expire before we use it..."

Over the last couple of years, Miles had worked in almost every capacity that a prisoner can work at - and had learned a great deal about the workings of the prison. He knew, for example, that dry storage rooms 3 and 4 were supposed to hold a month's worth of food for the entire prison between them, meaning that this storage room should hold enough food to feed 1000 people for two weeks, or 14000 days of food. It looked to be about a quarter full, meaning that he was probably looking at about 3500 days of food.

"Looks like we have enough food to feed 100 people for 35 days, or 35 people for 100 days, give or take. This is very rough, mind you, but that should give you an idea."

Miles decided that the only way to keep himself unrestrained was to be useful. "You know, Bill..." he gambled on speaking to the CO as an equal, "if I had some more information on the current situation, and if I had some more time to review what we have, I can see what we can do about rationing. I can set up a system to help us make the most of it. Do we have anything else to work with? Food from the commissary? Stashes in the officer's lockers? Vending machines in the visitor center?"

 

[DeathsKnight]

Dave Sherman

He had listened to all of the screaming and shouting outside his cell, when the food stopped, he knew that something went very wrong. So far he had survived off the tap water, he had drunk worse and he had been from worse. Hell he had even survived worse, when he led crack teams of the Rangers, Police, Army and Navy on a nation wide hunt. If it wasn't for the kid he would still be out there, but in here he just had so much more targets and that pleased him. Maximum security indeed. Like that would really stop him if he tried to get out, no matter how much they polish this old place, it was still escapable. He knew about one of the inmates who had taken up a sort of guard position outside of his cell, it was a child rapist, one who had been in solitary lockup just like him, he must have gotten out during one of those cycle malfunctions. He knew that sometimes the doors would make that nice clicking sound which spelled freedom, yet they always seemed to lock instead of unlock.

He was sitting on his cot, arms resting on his knees, staring at the wall where he had taken the time to draw firing range targets, when another click came from the door, followed by a loud thump and insane screaming as the bloody eyed inmate tried to get at him, the door slowly started to slide open and a smile came to Dave's mouth.

"Oorah,"

The inmate realized that the door was opening and pushed towards the crack, grabbing hold and pushing it open, he walked straight into the palm thrust to the face, as he staggered backwards, the hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the door. Dave grabbed the bars with his free hand and slammed the door into the inmate with all his might, ribs, skull, collarbone and spine cracked under the impact.

"This is for Sarah...Joey...Lucy...Jane...Alice...Lucile...Cooper...Abby...Ada..."

With each name Dave slammed the door with shuddering force into the already still form,

"And for...Zandrea."

The last slam almost split the corpse in half, Dave shoved open the door and looked down at the bloody mess. He spat on the corpse and stepped out of his cell, a gurgling scream came from his left, an African-American woman came at him, fingers stained with blood, her cover-alls bloody as was her face and hair. He turned to face her, calm and relaxed, then in a flash his hand shot out, grabbing her by the throat, picking her up and slamming her into the wall, the plaster cracking with the impact.

A yell from his right and a CO almost torn to shreds came limping towards him, dragging a leg. Shifting his grip, Dave grabbed one of the female's legs, lifted her up and brought her down as hard as he could, lifting his knee. With a satisfying crack her spine met his knee, the impact actually bursting her chest cavity outwards, ribs poking against the skin under her clothing. He tossed her casually aside, pulled back his left fist and with perfect timing connected with a haymaker, the CO's head snapping to the side, Dave using his momentum to grab hold of the CO's head and twisting it even further, breaking the Atlas bone in the sudden wrench. He shook out his shoulders and smiled, now that felt good, he gave the dead woman a kick,

"That was for torching that school bitch."

Looking down at the CO he was actually pleased to find ammunition, a 9mm Glock and a tonfa on the inert body, slipping the belt off and adjusting it to fit him, he slung it on, checking the pistol and the ammo. From his last information they were twelve on death row, that made them nine now, question remained if the other eight were all insane or not. Cautiously he started to move down the hallway towards the center which housed the Control Post.

 

[silvastormcloud]

Leli - that morning

It had been three years since I had seen my father.

We hadn’t run out on each other, nah that was my mother’s style. Dad and I were actually really close. The reason I hadn’t seen my father was because the cops had taken him away. I still remember his face as the cop placed his hand on my father’s head to lower him into the car. He was angry with himself, like he had let me down or something.

I was never angry with him. Well not until he refused to see me during the trial and even then I knew him to well to be surprised. The mechanics at his shop all nodded their heads sagely when I told them about it. A fatherly prerogative or some shit they said. But that prerogative had kept us apart while he enjoyed his tax payer funded holiday.

But today Dad was up for parole.

It’s a pity that today was the day I decided to visit the prison.

I was standing in a group of people crowded into the common area of the visitors centre. We were listening to a prison official give us an update on the situation. To be honest I wasn’t even listening. It’s hard to take much in when your world has turned on its head. I was just standing with the crowd trying to stay upright as we heard about the crazed people running riot through the prison complex. I had seen people lose the plot on drugs, one time I even watched some cops taser a naked guy six times before they finally stopped him. But this... this was different. If you believed the information we were receiving then the people out there were murderous, insane cannibals. I thought monsters were made up. Even worse, my father was out there with these monsters. Possibly even a monster himself.

"What's the bad news?" The guy next to me called out.

He was a middle aged man, perspiration marks darkening the blue cotton of his shirt. His odour reminded me of the clubs my band usually played in, but of course this situation was different. Rather than sweat beaded bodies shaking the floor with their dancing, His sweat was caused by too many people in too small a space and the fact that we were terrified.

The man next to me went to raise his arm into the air but I gave him the look. The one eyebrow raised, head tilted slightly to the side look.
“What?” He asked.


“Until you have a shower or find some deodorant, do us a favour and keep your arms down.”

He looked stunned by my comment, not that I cared. Bill the cop was talking again. Although I don’t think he was a cop, possibly just some over-pompous prison guard. But in my experience give someone a badge and most of them are cops, the rest are arsehole cops.

My train of thought was broken as the cop started working his way through the crowd. I only caught a portion of his sentence.

"We need to get to know one another...”

I watched as the crowd turned to each other. A murmur of many quiet voices talking at once rose around the room. Several people turned towards me. Their faces clearly showing that they were in need of comfort from other people.

“Don’t even think about it.” I said and turned away.

I didn’t want comfort and I certainly wasn’t about to offer any.

I noticed an empty bench along the back wall and made way over to it. All that I really wanted was a bottle of scotch and a packet of cigarettes. It would have been nice to not have to think for awhile but since my bag was locked with my Ducati in the parking lot I didn’t have that option.

I don’t know how long my head was bowed in my hands. But eventually I heard footsteps approaching and I looked up to notice a woman with a clipboard. I remembered her as Bill’s assistant when we were herded in here. She looked as haggard as I felt so I just answered her questions. No smart lip for a change.

“My name is Leliana but please it’s just Leli.”

“I’m here to see my dad.”

“I’m a singer and causal motorbike mechanic.”

But one question took me by surprise. I looked around the room, for the first time actually studying the people in there with me.

“Yeah I can shoot. I have a Glock 19 pistol at home. But you wouldn’t really give us weapons would you?” I asked with a smile.

Maybe there was a chance for escape after all.

 

[GrayOldFart]

Dry Stores Room #4
This morning:


"Looks like we have enough food to feed 100 people for 35 days, or 35 people for 100 days, give or take. This is very rough, mind you, but that should give you an idea."

"Thank you, Miles," Bill told Miles as his eyes searched the shelves for perishables. "We should probably focus on using the stuff that will stale or rot first, I guess."

He turned back to the accountant-turned-embezzler, smiled appreciatively, and patted him on the shoulder as he passed by toward the door. He stopped in the hall to wait for Miles to join him, then locked the door.

"I know you were on the Trustees list, Miles ... second in line for a nice, cushy room before they shut this building down for renovation." Bill led Miles slowly down the walkway that ran the length of the THB. A small child ran past, laughing hysterically, chased by an older child, who was herself chased by yet another older child. It was odd to see these children so oblivious to what was going on out there in the world, while just a few feet away some of their parents were sitting quietly in Trustee cells, horrified and in shock. "I know this wasn't the way you wanted to get your room, but ... congrats anyway."

Bill tried to smile, to ensure the man understood that he was trying to be light hearted. He stopped and reached out to Miles, and when the man turned to him, he removed the key to the storage room from the big key chain and placed it in his palm. "I trust you, Miles. I trusted you before this ... this madness ... and I trust you more today. That storage room ... it is now your responsibility."

A woman cried out from the entrance of the THB, drawing Bill's attention -- and the side arm from his hip. He ran toward the activity before Miles could respond, but when he got there, he only found that a Crazy beyond the walkway fence between the buildings had startled the woman.



Later, after the meeting with the Visitors:

After he'd given Miles the key to the storage room and explained to the others that they were likely going to be there for quite a while, Bill headed for Central Control again. It was a rather circuitous path he had to take, now that so much of the grounds was overrun by Crazies. From the Trustees Housing Building in the prison's northeast corner, he had to take fence-enclosed pathway to the Visitor's Center in the northern central part of the grounds. There, he used a secured access to the tunnel system that ran under the prison, and walked the tunnel to Building 3, on the south edge. Once there, he ascended into the Central Control room, which was in that building's Security Station at the hub between the cell blocks radiating outward.

When he'd first hired on at State Pen', Bill hadn't understood why they would put the heart of the penitentiary's security system smack dab in the middle of the prison's most violent offenders. But soon he understood; it was the most secure building on the grounds because of these offenders, and therefore the best place to operate security from.

Using the tunnels following the craziness made Bill nervous, despite the bright lighting and multitude of security gates. Being underground and alone like that seemed like any of a number of scenes from bad horror flicks, and in his mind he could hear some shivering teenager in the theater screaming out Don't go in there!

But the tunnels were secure, he knew, as was the Control Center. He ascended into the room and began a perusal of the monitors, looking for anything new -- and he found it.

Bill stared into the monitor showing the walkway down the middle of Cell Block 3C, then spun and ran across to the far side of the Control Center to look out through the security window. Standing there, ten feet away and just beyond the steel gate, was Dave "The Predator" Sherman ... staring back at Bill ... with a gun strapped to his hip.

The blood ran from Bill's face and his stomach turned over, causing him to grimace noticeably. You would have thought that his worse nightmares had already come true with the world falling to the Crazies; but seeing The Predator standing there, out of his cell, no restraints, with a firearm scared the living shit out Bill Taylor.

Another thought came to him suddenly, and he looked beyond the hero-turned-vigilante. The Crazy that had been sitting outside Dave's cell was lying in the walkway, half in and half out of the man's doorway ... obviously dead. And another Crazy, that had been wandering up and down the walkway earlier as if searching for a victim was ... the word was mangled, as was another one that Bill couldn't honestly even remember being in the cell block.

Bill looked back to Dave and knew, of course, that the man had killed the Crazies, likely with his bare hands and not the gun on his side. Knowing what he knew about Dave -- which wasn't as much as he now wished -- Bill was also pretty sure that The Predator had killed these animals with great ease.

The question now was, of course, Does he want to kill me, too?

The two men had only encountered one another one time -- Max Security wasn't Bill's area -- and they'd gotten along just fine, aided of course by the full shackle set that had been securing Dave at the time and the additional COs just beyond the security barriers who would have come in and kicked Dave's ass if he'd laid a hand on the new guy. So the question running through Bill's mind was, How will he treat you now, buddy boy? He'd loose, pissed, hungry, and armed.

And that was when it struck him. Bill turned and snatched up the cordless microphone and returned to the window to look out at Dave. He began to speak, then cleared his throat and started again ... only to find out that the mike wasn't on. He energized it, and asked with a nervous tone, "I don't suppose you're hungry ... Mister Sherman?"

Mister Sherman? he thought to himself. Well ... no sense in being impolite.

 

[DeathsKnight]

Dave Sherman

He had reached the Command Centre and found it empty, only for a guard to pop up, the man looked first confused, then helplessly scared. Dave knew that he had that effect, the hoodlums he had killed proved that fact. He tilted his head slightly, then a nervous voice came over the PA system. He gave a grim smile,

"I can do with a biscuit, but any nutrients which is not human flesh would suit me just fine mister Taylor."

Let the guard worry about how he knew his name and surname after their brief encounter. All he was really worried about was to get this unwanted attackers out of the way.

"Say, could you perhaps rustle up a list or something to tell me how many of these crazy ass killers is in here? I killed the child rapist and the arsonist. According to my count a few more rapists and killers should be around."

 

[GrayOldFart]

"I can do with a biscuit," the inmate responded to his nervous question. "But any nutrients which is not human flesh would suit me just fine, Mister Taylor."

Mister Taylor...? Bill thought. If he hadn't been quivering with a bit of ... no, a massive amount of concern for his safety, he might have simply taken Dave's politeness as just that, politeness returned for politeness. But all Bill could think was, Should I be concerned that The Predator remembers my name...? We only met that once. To make matters worse, Bill couldn't remember giving the convict his name that first meeting oh so many months ago. The COs didn't wear name tags, of course; anonymity amongst the killers, rapists, and other psychos was a treasured aspect of the job some times.

"Say, could you perhaps rustle up a list or something to tell me how many of these crazy ass killers is in here?" Dave continued. "I killed the child rapist and the arsonist. According to my count, a few more rapists and killers should be around."

Bill's first thought was to ask, Were they Crazies ... or ... did you just kill them to kill them? Bill didn't know all there was to know about Dave The Predator Sherman, but he did know that the man had been convicted for vigilante killings.

He hesitated for a moment before responding to the man's dual questions together. "We have some food in the THB kitchen ... and ... I'll see what I can do about that list."

He clicked off the mike in his hand and the intercom, too, not wanting to hear anything more from Dave until he had a moment to consider his situation. He nodded politely to the inmate, then moved to the control panel and checked the indicators for the gates and doors. How the hell did The Predator get out of his cell? What did I miss?

It only took a moment to find the problem; he reached to the antiquated security panel and tapped the deenergized light that was indicating that Dave's cell door had been locked. He tapped it, and the light promptly energized. Fuck!

He drew a deep breath, released it, then slammed his fist down upon the security panel; another light, representing a gate to the Supermax cell block illuminated. Bill tapped a button, cycling the cameras looking down Cell Block 3D's central walkway and gritted his teeth when he remembered that three of them hadn't worked for the past week. For all he knew, the Maximum Security cell block was full of Crazies ... or extremely violent convicts ... or both.

He closed the offending gate, securing the cell block, glanced back at Dave again -- just to be sure the man was still securely locked in his block -- then made his way back to the THB...



Bill had taken his time gathering a meal for Dave; he wasn't really in a hurry to face the man again. He couldn't honestly decide who he was more afraid of; Crazies who were operating out of unthinking, animal hunger, or a totally sane, calculating human.

Bill checked on the others in the THB and Visitors Center before returning to B3. He didn't tell anyone what he was doing. He wasn't sure why he didn't; wasn't it proper to let someone know when you were heading toward potential danger, enabling them to come to your rescue if you needed it? But maybe that was why he'd kept quiet; did he really want the others coming to his aid if he ran into trouble?

He entered the Control Center, cautiously looking to find Dave still in the Cell Block. He checked the monitors and gate indicators again, found all secure, and moved to the glass again to talk to Dave on the mike. He glanced to the weapon on the man's hip, smiled nervously, and held up the Rubbermaid container full of cold left overs.

"Make you a deal, Dave," he said, deciding to go with The Predator's given name in an attempt to begin a more personal relationship with the man who could snap Bill in two if he wished to do so. "If you will put that--" He pointed a finger toward Dave's hip. "--a table or two away ... I'll bring this in."

Bill was nice and safe from Dave, the Crazies, and any other inmates who might be loose as long as he was here in the Control Center, behind the bullet proof, shock proof, explosion proof Plexiglas. But, once he went through the gate to his left and moved to the second gate, the one Dave was standing behind ...

Dave shooting him while still beyond the gate would, of course, be fruitless; he would be trapped in there until he starved to death. But that wasn't Bill's fear. If Dave pulled that 9mm and said Let me out, Bill could refuse. But ... he didn't think he could; he'd probably pee his pants first, then let the killer out, just hoping that the man wouldn't end his life. So ... why take a chance, right?

 

[GrayOldFart]

Reed "Scotty" Scottsdale knew from the moment he saw the girl that he wanted to know her ... know her well! Of course, the Visitors Center of a State Penitentiary wasn't exactly the place to pick up on women, or at least that would be what his mother would tell him the moment he started her direction.

So, he'd ignored his desires. And then, of course, came the lock down and after that the ... the what...? One of the other kids had simply called it The Crazy, as if word crazy was a noun. But the people on the television -- news reporters and the people they were interviewing -- were calling the ... the animals out in the streets attacking people Crazies ... so, it stuck.

Even with the lot of them stuck in the prison for days, Scotty still hadn't been able to get up the nerve to talk to her. The stress, the fear, the panic, the shock; it all seemed a bit too much to be approaching a woman at least a few years older than him and dropping some line on her. Not that Scotty would know what a line was anyway; his first words to the last girl he'd introduced himself to were "Hi ... hi ... hi..." Yes, the same word, again and again; it seemed to be all he could get out of his mouth as she in turn had said "Hi ... I'm Suzy ... you said that already."

You're a freak, he told himself, standing almost at the very end of the Trustees Housing Building, looking to the far end of the hallway at the young woman he knew would just chuckle and tell him, "Come back when you're grown up ... or ... don't then either."

Then, he found his opening ... or so he hoped.

“Yeah I can shoot," the brunette told the woman interviewing the Visitors. "I have a Glock 19 pistol at home."

His heart practically skipped a beat at hearing her say that. It still took him an hour to get up the nerve, but once he had, he strode confidently down the hallway and stopped directly before her, saying, "I have a Glock 19, too. Or, at least ... my dad did. But he taught me to shoot, before..."

He almost told her, "Before the cops took it as evidence and put him in here", but he caught himself. It wasn't like it was a secret that he was probably here visiting someone who was a convict. But ... he didn't know her, and he didn't really want to talk about his father's criminal record...

Particularly now that the Old Man might be dead ... or worse ... a Crazy.

"I'm Scotty," he said, not wanting the woman he was going to someday marry and have kids with to know what his real name was. He shoved his hand out, his external confidence high while inside his heart was running a 400 meter dash. "Can I sit with you ... you know ... to talk about Glocks ... or what ever?"

He wanted to say Or whether we're gonna wait to get hitched before we have sex. Instead, he just smiled broadly and tried to control the gentle quivering of his proffered hand.

 

[GrayOldFart]

Harry Wendle descended the stairs to the underground level of Tower 1 and opened the window of the interior security door. He grimaced at the slight metallic creak of the old hinges -- and a moment later, he jumped back as the Crazy on the other side of the door slammed against the opposite side with full force, as if trying to knock the barrier open.

He lifted his side arm to the window, wanting so desperately to pump a bullet into the Crazy's skull. But he stopped, knowing that the bullet would likely splinter into several pieces against the small metal mesh covering the opening; he could end up with shrapnel in his hand, his face ... his neck.

Instead, he just cussed at the animal and closed the window cover again. He returned to the ground level of the Tower, hesitated at the double set of doors there, then ascended two more sets of stairs until he was in the Perch, looking down upon the Yard.

In every direction, he saw nothing but Crazies, some running up and down the fence lines, others simply standing in place; worse yet, a few were sitting in the neatly cut grass, eating on days old bodies of of other inmates. There were, maybe, a hundred of them, and while most of them were males wearing the unmistakable uniform of State Penitentiary inmates, there were also some female inmates and -- tragically -- some Crazies in civilian clothes -- most likely Staff -- and even some in CO uniforms.

Out of frustration and anger, he hefted the Remington Model 700 .30-06, rested it upon the pivot mount, peeked through the scope, and pulled the trigger. After the rifle jumped, he found his target through the 9 power scope again, just as the Crazy fell to its knees, tilted forward, and crashed face first into the razor wire surrounding the far, inner fence. Harry looked to the Crazy's skull and found the massive hole just below the hair line that indicated where the hollow point bullet had exited. He smiled, mumbling, "One down ... two hunnerd to go."

He returned the rifle to the stand and descended the stairs to the second level, living quarters. He made a sandwich -- it was the end of the loaf of bread -- and finished his next to last bottle of water. He cursed again, angry that the Maintenance Crews hadn't stocked the Tower per policy. Harry should have been able to comfortable live here in the Tower for 7 days, without any level of rationing.

Finishing the sandwich, he dropped into the desk chair and stared at the photograph taped to the wall. In it, he and his fellow CO, Rick Detering, stood on opposite sides of a huge marlin that Harry had caught on their last fishing trip to The Bahamas. His stomach turned over at the thought of what The Craziness had done to their world. He and Rick had rarely been separate for more than a day over the last seventeen years. They'd been co-workers, then friends, then more than friends; it had only been experimentation, and yet they still remained best friends even after he'd gone back to women and Rick found another man who was definitely a guy-liking-guy.

His eyes glazed over a bit at the memory of the friend he'd lost. Fucking crazies! Fuck-ing cra-zies! He stood quickly and headed for the stairs, pulling his side arm and unnecessarily checking to ensure there was a round in the chamber.

In the basement level, he unlocked the door that led into the tunnels connecting all of the Towers to one another, as well as to Control Center in B3 and the Administration Building. He grabbed the bolt, slid it aside, through the door open and stepped back. He raised his 9mm as he hollered, "Come and get me you stupid fuck!"

A flash of movement before him was met by all 15 rounds from his .40 caliber Glock. He didn't realize until the last round had been fired and the slide remained in the open position that he'd been screaming in anger at the Crazy whose body he was ripping apart with hollow points. When the echoing explosions and his own cry were replaced with silence, Harry quickly slammed the door shut and stepped back to lean against the wall, exhausted from the sudden expenditure of energy and rage.

It was several minutes later -- after he'd stopped sobbing on his knees -- that he holstered his weapon, stood unsteadily, looked down at the shredded Corrections Officer uniform before him and said softly, "I'm sorry, Rick. It was my fault."

 

[silvastormcloud]

Leli

The visitors centre was quiet now.

After Bill the cop had given his speech there had been a burst of optimistic activity. Talking, planning, the steel furniture had been re-arranged. I swear I even heard somebody laugh. It didn’t last long, the talking voices were quieter now, there was somebody weeping softly in the far corner. It was probably a woman but I couldn’t say for sure.

Two kids ran past. One too young to understand what was going on and the old enough to bring him back to their mother. It made me glad I was alone. In that situation looking out for number one was enough of a job.

"I have a Glock 19, too. Or, at least ... my dad did. But he taught me to shoot, before..."

I looked up at the voice and god dammit the kid was talking to me.

He looked like he had more to say but I wasn’t about to encourage him. He looked young and by the stammer as he talked I put his age at sub eighteen. His teeth had that extra white and straight look to them that I normally associated with money but his clothes made me doubt that. Either way I wasn’t looking for a friend.

"I'm Scotty," he said, shoving his hand out. "Can I sit with you ... you know ... to talk about Glocks ... or what ever?"

I looked at his hand for a second, and then sighed. I reached out and gave his hand a quick pump.

“Leli and even with the crazies out there it’s still a free world.” I said.

I leaned back on the bench, letting my back press against the cold brick wall and crossed my legs.

“You don’t happen to know a way outt’a here do you kid?” I said.

 

[DeathsKnight]

Dave Sherman

He sighed at the CO, but then again, the man did not know him. He slipped the pistol out, slipped on the safety and stepped over to a table where he knew he could reach it if necesarry, but as the previous owner showed, most of the ones who would come at him would not be operating a weapon or talking to him. He heard the faint report of a rifle, a .30-30 if he was correct.

Bill stepped out of view and Dave moved back to the gate, standing two paces away on the painted line. He knew that he didn't have to, but perhaps it would settle the guard and give them time to talk about this situation. When Bill did appear he had a sidearm on his hip along with a tonfa, stungun and mace. In one hand he carried the food and Dave's stomach smiled serenely, what made Dave raise an eyebrow was the shotgun, he did not really think that was necesarry, but then again, Bill was not very familiar with him now was he? Bill stepped up to the slot, of course he seemed nervous, hesitating before placing the food in and sliding it closed so that Dave could get to it. Dave raised his hands, palms outwards.

"Easy Bill, I just want to get something to eat, we need to talk, you can read my file, but I need to know a few things and you need to know a few things."

He stepped closer, opening the lid and pulled out a piece of meat, taking a bite, he returned the rest to the container, then slowly chewed and swallowed.

"Now you do know why I am in prison, I killed wanted offenders which kept evading justice. I killed a lot of people, bad people, like those two inmates back there..."

He showed with his thumb over his back,

"The officer? He came at me grunting and snapping like a wild dog while he should have been in the infirmary with the wounds he had. He gave me no choice. I'm here in maximum because the other inmates are not safe from me. White collar guys I am not worried about, but the other..."

He gave a grim little smile,

"I killed quite a few during a riot, that was fun. You should remember the riot and the dead bodies found afterwards. Left quite a lot of the gangs without leaders and lieutenants. I will admit it Bill, I love killing people, but I only like to kill people who is against all kind of law and order."

He motioned towards the Control Post,

"I can secure this facility, but I will need help to move between the blocks and I will have to know how many there is. You can even have all the weapons I have now and just open the gates from the room where you will be safe from me."

He smiled,

"I have a lot of energy to work off and they do not pose much of a challenge."

He frowned,

"But you also have to know, I have been hearing rifle fire from outside, only one position and one weapon, a .30-30. You may want to do a radio check to see if all of your guards are insane and if some remain...normal."

With all said and done, he picked up the container and stepped back.

 

[sodalitas]

"Thank you, Miles. We should probably focus on using the stuff that will stale or rot first, I guess."

Miles followed Bill out of the storage room and they continued down the hall as Bill continued to talk. Children ran by, and Miles felt slight discomfort at walking around with regular people for the first time in two and a half years.

"I know you were on the Trustees list, Miles ... second in line for a nice, cushy room before they shut this building down for renovation. I know this wasn't the way you wanted to get your room, but ... congrats anyway."

Bill pressed a key into Miles' hand and said, "I trust you, Miles. I trusted you before this ... this madness ... and I trust you more today. That storage room ... it is now your responsibility."

Miles started to mutter his thanks; but hearing something, Bill ran off.

He was standing in a hallway alone, unguarded, with a key to the storage room. He can go wherever he wanted - of course, there wasn't much of anywhere to go since they were locked in. Still, the size of Miles' world just increased dramatically. Not only that, he had a job. And maybe he could even talk to people. He wondered if he'd be able to get some normal clothes, or if Bill intended to keep him dressed as a convict. He planned to ask him the next time he saw him. Until then, maybe he'd avoid the visitor's center. He wasn't sure how people would react to a convict walking in, they were probably on edge anyways.

He entered his new room and sat on the bed. His mind was reeling, so he decided to concentrate on the task he'd been assigned in order to calm him down. Inventory. Organization. Planning. These were things he was intimately familiar with. They were comforting. Now, if only he had a laptop with a spreadsheet program, he could do some serious analysis.

Instead, he wandered back to the storage room, scavenging a clipboard on the way. Unlocking the door, he walked into his new domain and got to work.

 

[GrayOldFart]

“You don’t happen to know a way outt’a here do you kid?”

Scotty laughed quick and hard, then -- seeing people turn his way -- forced himself to silence. He leaned a bit closer to Leli and whispered, "If there was a way out of here, trust me ... my dad wouldn't be here at all."

He laughed again, this time controlling his volume. A thought came to him, causing him to smile broadly. He stood up quickly with a bright expression in his face. "I wanna show you something?"

He stared backing away from the older woman, giving her a c'mon gesture. "You won't be sorry. Trust me."

He turned before she answered or even made a move to follow. Scotty was hoping desperately that Leli would follow him. If she didn't, he would be disappointed. But to stand there among all of those people and be disappointed -- something he probably wouldn't be able to hide -- wasn't something he wanted to face.

Seventy feet later, Scotty was standing inside the room at the northeast end of the Trustee Housing Building. Unlike the rest of the rooms in the THB, this one looked almost as though it was still occupied by the inmate it had belonged to before the building was shut down for renovation. When Scotty had asked the CO running the show, Mister Bill, about the room, he was told that the trustee had been just days away from release, and the Warden had allowed him to stay in his room until he returned to the outside world.

And it was a room, as opposed to a cell. Like the others, this space had a regular looking door, solid wood as opposed to steel bars or grill. It was spacious, 6 feet wide and 8 feet deep; Scotty's father's cell was larger -- his was two feet wider -- but he shared it with another inmate, while the Trustee's room had only one bed in it.

Looking around, Scotty thought the room looked more like his cousin's college dorm room than his father's State Penitentiary cell. There were photos, posters, shelves full of books, and a desk covered with anything and everything mathematics related.

But what interested him the most, was the window. Or, more specifically, what interested him the most was the view from the window. He moved to the real glass portal and looked out. He was looking to the west. To the left was the prison laundry, and to the left was a basketball court. Neither of these interested Scotty; in fact, it wasnt anything that was out there that interested him.

It was what wasn't out there that was of such interest. Within the Trustee Yard fencing ... there were no Crazies. This...! This might be Leli's escape route. And Scotty was tickled pink to be the one to show it to her.

(OOC -- Just in case you want to see it, this is the prison photograph. The THB is the rectangular building in the upper right.)

 

[silvastormcloud]

Leli

"I wanna show you something?"

The kid reminded me of a puppy I had once upon a time. He had way too much energy for his body size and would literally shake with excitement at the slightest provocation. I just stared at him, wondering what I could say to get him to leave me alone.

He started backing away. That was a good thing. But then he gestured for me to follow him. "You won't be sorry. Trust me." He said.

I had a feeling I was going to regret following him but I climbed to my feet anyway.

I mean I wasn’t doing anything else at the time and the people in the common room kept looking at me. They kept looking at each other, their eyes begging for someone to speak up and say “it’s ok, It’s a joke. You’ve been punk’d by Ashton Kutcher.”

I left the common room and sighed in relief as the atmosphere quickly turned from crowded to silent. The hallway was empty, the walls a bare, mid-renovation white. My thin ballet slippers made a quiet shush as I walked the tiled floors. Then I saw the Kid going into a room, a bedroom.

I knew I was going to regret following him. If he so much as started some lousy pickup line when I walked in I was ready to deck him. Lucky for the both of us he was just standing by the window when I entered. My fist unclenched as I crossed to him and looked out at the empty yard.

“You sure know your way around here Kid.” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder.

The grounds looked empty, but there were so many corners and shadows not to mention a couple of fences I would have to scale.

I flipped the catch on the window. It was unlocked. The fresh air felt soothing as a breeze wafted its slow way into the room.

“You lock the window after me.” I said, looking into Scotty’s eyes. “You got that. I can’t endanger the rest of the group.”

Somewhere outside we heard the snap of a gunshot. I shuddered. What the fuck was I doing...

 

[gyncdypeToogy]

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[GrayOldFart]

“You sure know your way around here Kid.”

"I've been coming here a while," Scotty answered Leli. He said it before he realized the implication: My dad's been here a while. "Never been in here, course ... in the Trustee's building ... but as soon as Bill ... that's the Corrections Officer, case you didn't know ... Bill Taylor ... as soon as he brought us over here, I ... well, I sort of checked out all the rooms real quick like, and this was the only one that looked cool."

He felt Leli's hand set upon his shoulder, and a quick chill ran up his spine. He turned and looked at her, wanting to meet her eyes -- to see if the interest that he was feeling was there in hers, too -- but her gaze was out the window toward the seemingly empty grounds.

“You lock the window after me,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “You got that. I can’t endanger the rest of the group.”

Scotty was about to melt, looking into those sparkling, green orbs -- and then suddenly, he actually heard the words that had slipped from between those beautiful, pink lips. He reached up and grasped the window, pulling it back toward the frame. He was about to argue the insanity of what she was suggesting when the boom of a distant shot raced across the Yard.

His heart jumped as he looked outside, expecting a sudden army of Crazies with rifles to rush the open portal. He felt stupid at the thought -- Bill had told him that the Crazies didn't seem able to operate mechanical things, like door handles, locks, or, thank god, guns -- but his mind returned quickly to Leli's thought.

"You can't go out there!" Are you crazy?" He grabbed her hand and, eventually got control of the window and locked it shut. He looked to her, and suddenly felt stupid. It had been his idea. Well, not going out there! But, showing this to her ... well ... that could have seemed like ... Oh crap!

Scotty suddenly felt like a kid again, as his gaze dropped to the floor. He cleared his thought, telling himself Be a man, you dick! He looked into her eyes, started to speak, felt a blush fill his face, then -- far beyond his actual courage -- said, "I mean ... I'll go out there with you. But ... we need guns. And ... I think I know how to get them."

 

[GrayOldFart]

She poked her head into Dry Goods Room #4, then swung the camera inside and pressed the shutter. The man inside flinched and looked up to her, and she smiled quickly and stepped fully into view.

She couldn't help but notice his eyes drop to her body. It didn't surprise her, nor did it offend her. Miles was an inmate; Annie assumed that that meant he didn't see many women, particularly in what she was wearing. The Associate Warden who had been tasked to be her liaison between her boss and the inmates she'd be photographing hadn't appreciated her showing up dressed as she had. He'd suggested that perhaps she should have toned it down a bit, to which she'd responded with total seriousness, "I did."

"I'm Annie," she said, lowering the camera, but keeping the lens pointed at the man, always ready for that once-in-a-lifetime Pulitzer photograph. "Bill told me that you might be able to get me some things I need."

She was lying. She'd been just inside her cell, eavesdropping on the two men, and heard the CO give the inmate control over the group's resources. Really...? An inmate? had been her first reaction. She didn't know the man who was now their fearless leader, but she trusted that if he was handing over keys to the prison to inmates, he must know this Miles man fairly well.

"I know this is just the pantry," she said, looking about at the room full of canned tomato sauce, bagged whole potatoes, and the other wonderfully delicious entrees they'd been eating for the past 5 days. She hefted her camera again, waggling it to get his attention. "But I was wondering if you have access to any of the offices with that little key of yours. I really need to upload my memory card to my boss."

Annie had no idea, of course, that her boss was lying in a Manhattan gutter, with what remained of his body after the Crazies were done with it now being devoured by the rats and dogs. Bill had been very tight lipped about what was happening out there in the world, telling them only that they weren't expecting any help. And with their cell phones in a locked room in the Visitors Center, no one could contact the outside either. It was maddening to Annie to be out of electronic touch with the world.

She flashed Miles a wide, toothy smile, knowing that men melted at the sight of it. "Any chance...?"

 

[GrayOldFart]

(OOC -- I'm sorry that some of my posts are really long. I'm just trying to create the world we are in. They will get shorter, I promise.)

Bill watched as Dave set the handgun aside, wondering whether he should ask him to put it a bit farther out of reach than he had. He didn't, though. While Bill himself had to be worried with the thought of the convict using the weapon against him -- in an effort to be let out of the secured cell block -- Dave himself had concerns of his own, namely the Crazies that may or may not still be on The Predator's side of the security grill wall.

An almost inaudible crack reverberated off the walls. Bill had been hearing occasional reports of a weapon, and his jaw tightened at the sound of this one. Somewhere out there on the grounds, a CO -- he assumed, at least -- was taking pot shots at Crazies ... or inmates ... or both. Bill had watched for the shooter or his victims off an on over the pass days, but he hadn't been able to spot either. He assumed the shooter was in one of the towers, but the cameras were aimed at the yard where people would get shot at, not at the Perches where people would shoot from.

As Dave ate, he talked about his reason for being in prison and, of great interest to Bill, what he could do for the group concerning the Crazies running loose through out the prison.

"I can secure this facility," he said with confidence, continuing with his explanation of what he would need to do so: freedom of movement.

Bill fidgeted a bit, using a shift in his weight from one foot to the other to try to cover the chill that had raced up his spine. Giving free access of the prison grounds to a known serial killer -- even if he was a killer of other killers -- just seemed like a bad idea!

But considering the situation, did he have another choice? To the best of his knowledge -- with the exception of the sniper outside, who for all he knew was another, escaped convict -- Bill was the only CO left who wasn't a Crazy. With no help coming from the outside and resources inside limited, could he really be picky about who he gave a gun to...? Or gave free reign to...?

"I have a lot of energy to work off," Dave told him after offering to give up the side arm sitting just out of reach. "and they do not pose much of a challenge."

Bill studied Dave in silence for a long moment as the man continued to pick at the bread and dried fruit and other cold morsels. The silence -- with only the convicts chewing and sipping at the water bottle breaking it -- went on for three, four, maybe five minutes. Bill knew he had to say something, but every time he began to open his mouth with a suggestion or an offer or a threat or a fear, he closed it again.

"I have a proposal ... a compromise, let's call it." Bill knew he couldn't simply trust this man to be loose and armed. Oh, sure, The Predator had never killed anyone who didn't deserve it -- or, at least, no one knew of anyone he'd ever killed who didn't deserve it -- but he was still a murderer on death row.

He looked past Dave, down through the cell block. Cell Block 3D was different than the rest of the penitentiary's cell blocks. The 75 foot long, 12 foot wide walkways in the other blocks met right up to the cell doors. But in 3D, each cell had an additional 2 foot deep securing space, with a second gate, in front of it. Looking down the walkway now, Bill could see that some of the outer gates were open, thanks to the Associate Warden and CO Supervisor's failed attempts to rescue the inmates from the Crazies early in the madness.

There was no way for Bill to know how many of these cells still had inmates in them. And, if there were people inside, were they normal... or Crazies? The cell block had been open to the outside for ... minutes or hours, Bill couldn't know; so there was the possibility that many of the inmates had escaped to the Yard. There was also the possibility that many of them were still here ... locked up ... normal ... crazy ... or just pissed.

What the hell do you do with them...? Bill was torn on the future of the violent offenders who weren't Crazies. Bill hated criminals. He'd gone into Corrections because he wanted to see these people locked away every day. It was only after he'd begun working here that he realized they scared the shit out of him and he would rather have been back doing something safe, like fighting al Qaeda in Afghanistan.

He could remember a time or two just wishing he could walk from cell to cell, pumping bullets into their brains. And now ... now he had that chance! Could he do it? Or, more specifically, could he let Dave do it? It was wrong, of course; it was execution without due process. But ... this whole world was wrong now!

He stood and returned to the Control Center. He stuck a key in a locker lock, then inside it spun the combination lock on the safe. He pulled out a box, secured it all again, then returned to the grill security screen ... after looking to ensure Dave's pistol was still where it had been. He pulled the transfer drawer back to his side, tossed the box into it, and shoved it back to the cell block's side.

He watched Dave's eyes as the man looked to the full box -- 50 rounds -- of 9mm ammunition. He wondered what was going through the man's head ... but was pretty sure he knew what it was.

"I'm going to give you full disclosure on what we're facing here, Dave," Bill began, his tone grave. "I ... I don't know what all you've been hearing in here. Sometimes, the prison news can be dead on ... other times, it can just be so wrong."

He ran down what he knew about the world as it was now: the Warden's infection passing through the prison, the mayhem throughout the yard and buildings, the lack of help from the outside ... and then the limited resources that would have to support those trapped inside the Visitors Center and THB.

"I have never been a fan of criminals," he said, his tone a bit softer as he realized he was talking about the likes of Dave The Predator Sherman himself. "No offense to you, Dave ... I know what was in your heart when you were doing what you were doing. Or ... at least ... I can assume. You wanted to do the right thing. Make people pay for their injustices. You just chose a method that ... well ... you killed people."

He looked past Dave toward the cells again, with two thoughts battling for control of his brain: Fucking animals don't deserve to live, and You're executing men AND WOMEN who weren't sentenced to death.

He looked back to Dave, then said coldly, "I will leave what happens in 3D up to you, Mister Sherman."

He jerked the transfer drawer back again, tossed in the cell key, slammed it back to Dave's side, and returned to the Control Center. With the flip of a switch, he disabled all of the automated locks within the cell block; Dave now had free run within the cell block. The only thing keeping The Predator and the predators apart was the key in the transfer drawer.

"I will be back in the morning with another meal," Bill said pressing the mike button. "Do you prefer tea or coffee."

He descended the stairs into the tunnel and returned to the Visitors Center, knowing that he may or may not have subjected the remaining prisoners to execution.

Ironically ... he didn't care.

 

[DeathsKnight]

Dave Sherman

His mind ran a few calculations. 15 rounds in a magazine, three magazines, gave him a minimum of 40 dead, before forced to reload. He could handle those odds. He was amazed when the key was placed in the transfer slot as well, then a serious moral dilemma inserted itself into the picture. Would he do what he does best and rid what little bit of society there was of the sane monsters? Or will he just kill the other crazy assed monsters?

"Strong coffee, no sugar or milk."

He sucked on his teeth, hearing several doors behind him sliding cautiously open. He gave a grim little smile, picked up the box of ammo, slipped the key into the pocket of his coveralls and picked up the pistol, sliding it into it's holster. Then he walked down the corridor, two of the cells was empty. No surprise there, three of the remaining cells had inmates, while one was already crazed, clawing and screaming at Dave through the bars. He died with his brains splattered all over the door behind him, Dave smiled coldly at the other two inmates.

"Well, Well, Well. Johny D and Max Frenchie, I know about you two."

He pointed at Johny D, the big man blanched and slightly backed away,

"Why did you have to kill the wives and children as well Johny? You know that to be very, very wrong."

"But I..."

The rest got lost as a 9mm round slammed into his skull,

"To be honest Johny, I don't care."

He turned to Max and as Max started to plead, Dave heard a shuffling sound, he looked to his right and there stood four inmates, staring right at him. He grinned as they realized him to be human and came running at him, howling, screaming, slobbering. He calmly lifted the pistol and fired four shots, the four fell with their heads blown open, without missing a beat, Dave swiveled the pistol at Max and before Max realized what was going on, he fell to the ground, dead as well.

Dave ejected the clip and fed it five more rounds, slipping it back into the grip of the pistol, holstering the pistol and then he looked at the body of Max Frenchie, the man who had raped and killed six eight to ten year old girls. He turned his attention back to the entrance, so Bill unlocked the whole block and not just his section as Dave had thought at first. Oh well it saved time, pulling the tonfa from it's holder, Dave gave it a few whacks against the metal door closest to him, making sure that it could be heard over the faint screaming he heard. Seems like Bill had made sure that Dave had a busy time.


Six hours later

Dave was seated on one of the tables close to the transfer gate, the weapons and remaining ammunition in the delivery tray, he was humming classical scores to himself, keeping time with his hand. He had various blood splatters on his coverall pants, he had stripped the jacket and only had his vest on. He knew that there was nothing in the entire 3 A to D to bother him, sneak up on him or even cause trouble ever again. The remaining monsters had attacked the still normal inmates, some of them was not normal at all. He found it funny that Bill wanted to only open 3D and in fact opened everything except the outside doors.

 

[silvastormcloud]

Leli

I was amused, watching the Kid stammer about. I fleetingly wondered who he was visiting and why he was bothered so obviously by it. He wasn’t the only one with a relative in here. Everyone in the visitors centre had been at the prison to visit somebody. Unfortunately most people with a loved one in the can where none too clean themselves. I guessed the kid was the innocent exception to that rule.

“Look kid,” I started to say in my best soothing voice. I was about to tell him I didn’t care why he was visiting the prison when he grabbed my hand. The next thing I knew the window was back down and locked.

"You can't go out there!" Are you crazy?" He said.

“What the fuck did you think I was going to do kid?” I asked, my voice quiet but with an obvious tone of anger. I watched as he looked down, differing emotions skittering across his face.

I blew out a deep breath and calmed myself down. I had never been good at being scared, normally fear turned into anger for me and I felt bad that I had lashed out at the kid. It wasn’t his fault. I looked back out the window, the grounds were still empty. I could easily imagine my bike sitting in the parking lot waiting for me. But could I leave without looking for my dad?

I heard Scotty’s voice, shy and timid again. His face was flushed, his eyes locking on mine as I looked down. "I mean ... I'll go out there with you. But ... we need guns. And ... I think I know how to get them."

“Guns,” I said, letting an inviting smile cross my lips. Now there was an interesting idea. “Sounds like you know Bill quite well, Kid.”

I sat back on the bed, the mattress was surprisingly soft and I wiggled back to lean against the wall, my denim clad legs crossing.

“I’ll tell you what. My dad is out there somewhere,” I pointed out the window. “But I don’t know where. I had only just entered the prison when we were locked down. If you can get some sort of in-mate listing from Bill and we can get some guns then I’ll let you come with me.”

 

[GrayOldFart]

“Guns,” Leli said, the topic obviously of interest to her. “Sounds like you know Bill quite well, Kid.”

Scotty nodded quickly, again indicating without thinking just how long he'd been coming to State Pen' as a visitor. It wasn't typical for visitors and COs to get close, of course, but when Scotty had first started coming here, his mother wouldn't let him see his father; he was to wait in the car or in the Visitor's Center version of a waiting room, and that was where he'd come to know Bill. His mother had never liked the CO, but he had. The two had discussed online games and interesting web sites, and later -- totally by chance -- they'd made email contact with one another and, without his mother knowing, become relatively good friends ... considering the age difference and the fact that Bill was guarding his father in jail.

“I’ll tell you what," Leli offered. "My dad is out there somewhere, but I don’t know where. I had only just entered the prison when we were locked down. If you can get some sort of in-mate listing from Bill and we can get some guns then I’ll let you come with me.”

A wide smile spread across Scotty's face. Houston, we have lift off! he could hear his NASA-nuts father saying. There was a bit of a coincidental lift off beginning to take place in Scotty's pants, as well, so he sat down in the little desk chair to conceal the sudden and uninvited change.

"I can do that!" he said quickly, not really sure whether or not he could but certain that he was going to tell her that. "Bill and I have known each other for years. We're friends!"

Scotty was stretching the truth a bit, but -- compared to most visitors and corrections workers -- he and Bill were practically brothers ... or, considering the age difference, uncle and nephew.

"Bill is the only CO left, right?" Scotty went on, more thinking out loud than stating known facts. "And he needs help. And he did have that lady with the questionnaire ask us if we knew how to use guns ... so ... he must be planning on asking us to join him ... sort of like COs ... or cops--"

His eyes widened as he sat up taller. "Or hunters!"

If he'd been thinking a bit more about his last comment, he wouldn't have said it. His mind was sunk deeply in the string of recent movies and television series where zombies or similar creatures had to be wiped out to save the shows' characters. But ... these zombies ... these crazies ... they weren't just anonymous creatures ... they had once been family and friends of people right here in the THB!

His excitement over helping Leli -- of being invited to spend time with Leli -- was too high, though, and he didn't even realize the fauz pas he's made about the Crazies being familiar to them. He stood quickly, backing for the door gesturing her sit still, don't move. "I'm going to talk to Bill right now ... see what he says. I'll be right back!"

And before she could respond he spun -- almost bouncing off the door frame -- and hurried out into and down the THB's passageway.

 

[GrayOldFart]

(OOC -- I am writing this post like any normal IC post, but I will also edit it down to the basic logistical information for an OOC post later.)


"Okay, so ... here's our situation."

Bill stood at the head of one of the long tables in the common area of the Trustees Housing Building. Before him were over a dozen men and women -- civilians and staff, even a vendor -- who had expressed an interest in helping him organize. At the far end of the THB, those adults and older teens not in their rooms sleeping -- or dealing with shock -- were keeping the younger teens and children occupied with games and a sing along.

"We have control over a very small but crucial portion of the prison," he explained, laying out a large aerial photograph and turning it toward the group. "I took this from the wall of the Command Center."

As he explained, he tapped his fingers to the map; he'd used permanent markers to indicate the prison's towers in blue and the buildings in red, as well as scribble building names and such in the bottom margin.

"We have control of the THB, obviously," he began. "And we have the Visitors Center. And we have the exterior walkway between the two."

He stood and looked between the people studying the map. Someone asked expectantly, "And...?"

"And ... what?"

"That's all?" another voice chimed in. "The Crazies are every where else?"

Bill had been conflicted about how much to tell the others about the portions of the prison that only COs and staff had been privy to prior to this. Bill had a hard time trusting others; it had been quite a stretch for him to give a key to the food reserves to Miles, but he'd known this man for quite a while already.

"The prison has underground tunnels," he said, leaning in again and tracing his fingers this way and that. "They are directly below the exterior walkways connecting the hubs of the cell block buildings ... and they connect to the towers, the Admin' building, and the Warden's residence, too. We don't have control of all of these ... at least ... I don't think. There are no cameras down there, and I wasn't about to go into them alone. So, the only one I know we have control of is right here."

He tapped his finger to the THB and traced the exterior walkway west, then south, then west again to Building 3, the maximum security cell block where The Predator was, presumably, killing Crazies. Bill couldn't know, of course, that Dave was killing every one -- Crazy and simple criminal -- in the four cell blocks to which he'd accidentally given the man access. Later, though, when he found out, he would secretly be relieved; he had no idea how he was going to deal with a prison full of hardened criminals and cannibalistic Crazies.

"And there's someone out there shooting a rifle occasionally," he added, tapping a finger to the towers near the west end of the prison. "I think there's a CO in one of these towers, but I can't see him from here or in any of the cameras."

A quick round of optimistic talk about rescuers on the outside ran around the table, but went quickly quiet when the pessimists and realists shut it down.

"The rest of the prison," Bill continued, touching his fingers to the map as he continued, "... yards, buildings, tunnels ... they have to be presumed Crazyland."

One of the women laughed. "Crazyland?"

Bill smiled, then blushed. It had seemed a bit more appropriate coming from the mouth of the child he'd heard it from than from his mouth now. "Enemy territory, maybe?"

"Crazyland works for me," someone laughed, leading to a little jovial bantering that made Bill feel good. The tension he'd hoped would lighten as time went on was still tight as a drum; the group needed relief and he didn't know how to give it to them. Then, someone did. "Can we kill these bastards and take back the prison?"

Bill -- and several of the others -- turned to see Scotty standing nearby. He held his hands out in mock pistols and popped off a few rounds. "You've been saying for days that we need to take the other portions of the prison ... the food rooms ... the hospital ... the towers. What the hell are we waiting for?"

"These people are our family!" a woman said, a short sob slipping out of her throat before she stood and walked a few paces away quickly. A moment later she turned, her tears beginning to glaze over. "These are our husbands ... our wives ... our fathers. Are we just gonna..."

A quiet moment passed before one of the men who Bill had seen comforting this particular woman went to her, taking him into her arms. Behind him, another woman said, "She's right. These ... crazies ... they used to be our friends and family. What ... how do we deal with this?"

"We kill'em all," a man said. Simultaneously from around the table, the man received nods and dirty looks. He shrugged his shoulders, then looked to the now sobbing woman and asked, "They aren't human anymore. They're ... they're animals! Do you really want your husband or father or brother or son living like that? My daughter is here. I don't want her living that way, and if I find her, and she's a crazy, I'll kill her myself."

"So, when do we get guns?"

All faces turned to the eager Scotty again. A moment of silence passed as he looked from many of the faces to Bill's own. He shrugged, as if waiting for an answer.

"This is hard," Bill said, stepping closer to the table ... closer to his people. He looked to the man advocating annihilation, then to the young man who couldn't wait to get his hands on a fire arm. "But Scott is right. We would survive in here without more food ... without the infirmary. We have sick people ... diabetics ... a couple of heart conditions. We have no choice."

"Where do we sign up?" the man at the table asked, standing. Another man, then two women stood, looking to Bill. They all made it clear that they were willing to be part of clearing out the Crazies by force. Others, who'd heard the discussion from other portions of the THB, had made their way down to the table as well.

"I have a situation I need to check on," Bill said, realizing that he was going to need Dave Sherman earlier than he'd planned. "But ... tomorrow morning. There's one yard that's secure. We'll ... we'll use it for a shooting range ... and we'll see who can do what."

The looks and comments were conflicting -- there were more wet eyes and soft sobs -- but Bill, and the others, knew that this was something that had to be done. They weren't going to survive without total control of the prison. That meant killing Crazies. It might, Bill knew, even mean killing more untouched prisoners.