Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown Read Online Free PDF

stir no shit up. I just noticed that you ain’t ever worked in this pod, so I figure I would come by and make nice with the CO. Don’t get it twisted, son. I ain’t givin’ you no shit, but this is my house – you just work here.”
    “I appreciate that, Stanley,” Michael replied, trying to keep his cool. He had to stay on his toes, though. This was another game. One of the inmates would try to distract the floor officer, while others snuck things back and forth. It was a simple bait and switch.
    “Just wondering if I can get you to put the TV on CNN. These niggas here ain’t tryin’ to watch reruns of The Walking Dead. Niggas always be dyin’ on that show.”
    Michael had to chuckle a little bit. For some reason, the black characters always seemed to be getting killed off regularly on The Walking Dead. It didn’t make much sense to him, but that was Hollywood’s decision. He’d been a big fan of all things horror since he was ten years old.
    While he wasn’t entirely comfortable with hearing the “N” word every other sentence, he understood where Offender Stanley came from. Just because a prisoner was from a certain area of the state, it did not mean that he would be locked up in that area. Most of Virginia was culturally diverse, but Western Virginia was mostly white, while Eastern Virginia was primarily black. Cultural diversity was something preached at the academy. Michael knew from the moment that he walked into the prison that he would face racism. He could tell from the looks of some of the inmates that they hated him just because he was white. No reason need be given; they threw him into the stereotype of the typical Appalachian male. Some black inmates would hate him just because he was white. White inmates, especially White Supremacist ones, would hate him if he tried in any way to help a black man.
    Michael reached into the drawer and grabbed the remote, flipping it over to CNN. From what he could tell, there was more media-induced panic filling the airwaves. While some of it might have been legitimate, the news always had a knack for exacerbating any bad situation. Civil unrest reported in some East African countries, as well as spats in Eastern Europe. The virus that he’d heard of in the last few days was making the rounds overseas. Won’t be long until that shit makes it over here, Michael thought.
    “Look at that shit. More niggers rioting? What now? Did some white cop shoot a black man?”
    The voice behind him was different this time. Michael turned around to see one of the members of the Aryan Brotherhood standing behind him. He had been taught in the academy to look for certain characteristics of the Neo-Nazi based movement. While it was difficult to spot some of them, the one standing behind him was the picture definition of one. He was a white male in his late thirties, maybe early forties sporting a shaved head. While some of the Brotherhood sported tattoos on their arms and chest, this one had a very visible pair of Nazi SS bolts on his neck. Along with the bolts were “14 Words” across the front of his neck, just below the Adam’s apple. Several more tattoos decorated his neck and head; most of them looked like prison ink.
    “Something I can do for you, sir?” Michael asked.
    “Name’s Bill Young, CO,” the man said, identifying himself. He thumbed back towards Demarco Stanley. “That nigger giving you a hard time?”
    Michael frowned at the Aryan. While he wasn’t used to being around black men, he was by no means racist. The “N” word ran all over him. While Stanley used it as a term to describe other blacks, Bill Young used it as its intended purpose, to disparage an entire race. He also knew better than to make enemies out of either one of the men, so he played it as cool as he could. Young was in Black Mountain for killing a black man in Northern Virginia. Michael didn’t know the details, but a quick trip to the computer would reveal a past riddled with drug