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

problems, assaults on law enforcement, and a generally shitty attitude towards authority figures.
    “No, he just wanted to change the channel,” Michael replied. “There are seventy-five other guys in this pod that aren’t watching the TV, so I did. He wasn’t causing me any problems. Did you need something, Mr. Young?”
    Bill Young chuckled. “Ya’ll ain’t allowed to talk shit to the convicts any more, are you?”
    “I choose my battles carefully, Bill Young. I got no issue with you or Offender Stanley. Don’t start none, won’t be none. Get my drift?”
    “Whatever, bacon. I’m not starting any shit, just looking out for my fellow white brother,” Bill Young said. His voice dripped with sarcasm.
    Bacon. That’s original, you skinhead fuck. That’s what he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. Michael knew that he would be called names during his time at Black Mountain, and as far as that one went, it was tame. Pig, bacon, po-po, and the ubiquitous “HACK” (Huge Assholes Carrying Keys) were commonplace. He cleared his throat and stood up.
    “I appreciate that, Offender Young, but I have to make my rounds now. If you don’t need anything from me, I will be on my way.”
    He tipped an invisible hat to Michael. “Have a good day, Officer Caine.”
    Bill Young walked over to a table full of his Aryan brethren and took a seat. He waited until Officer Caine was out of direct sight, doing his rounds. He leaned forward on the table, speaking to the men seated there.
    “So, what’s the deal?”
    One of Bill Young’s cohorts slid him a piece of paper. Bill looked at it for a moment and smiled, revealing a smile that any hockey player would envy.
    “Almost time to down the duck, boys. Almost time.”
     
    * * *
     
    Michael came to a realization a few hours into his shift. Night shift inside a prison is boring as hell. Make rounds, write down activities, occasionally reprimand inmates, repeat ad nauseum. The job became easy once you knew the routines of the inmates. Who went where and at what time, that kind of thing. The day-to-day workings of the prison reminded him of his military days. Life was structured, punctually driven. Be at a certain place at a certain time for a certain duration. Not difficult, but tedious. Unfortunately, those imprisoned inside the walls had nothing to do but notice differences in their daily routines.
    During his rounds, Offender Stanley approached Michael again. Michael didn’t have anything to say to the inmate, but Stanley obviously had something on his mind. As Michael passed his open cell, Stanley sauntered to the door.
    Stanley stared at his fingernails, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. “Ya’ll think we don’t notice. Ya’ll think that whatever is goin’ on out there ain’t gonna affect us ‘cause we locked up. They shoulda taught ya’ll better than that, Officer Caine.”
    Michael paused for a moment in front of Stanley’s cell. He had to stay on his toes. Just like the TV earlier, every conversation with an inmate served a purpose, even if he didn’t know what it was. Michael turned to face Stanley’s cell.
    “I think you’ve been watching too much TV, Stanley.”
    Stanley grinned slightly. “Ya’ll think we haven’t noticed the same people workin’. I mean, I’ve seen it shorthanded around here, but damn. Ya’ll workin’ the same dudes to death.”
    It was true. Much like Lindsey’s call ins at Bluefield Regional, the prison was in the middle of a rash of no-shows and call-ins. Michael knew it had to be because of the virus. More unfounded panic infecting metaphorically long before it could physically. Panic spread much faster than any sickness ever could.
    “That’s why there’s so many new guys like me around here, Stanley. Got nothing to do with the outside world and what may or may not be going on.” There ya go, Michael. Lie to ‘em a little bit more and see if they don’t see right through that, too.
    Stanley looked at