Lockdown

  Cursing, I tried the next board up, but it was equally stubborn. Taking another look in the direction the guard had walked, I steeled myself and swung my pick at the wall. The sharp edge struck the bottom set of bolts, sending a shower of sparks flying out into the room. Under normal circumstances, the noise would have been deafening, but it was easily lost against the backdrop of a hundred pickaxes hammering against stone.

  I lifted the pick a second time and swung with every ounce of strength, gouging a hole in the rock where the bolt was secured. Wedging my tool back into the gap between the board and the floor, I pushed down again. This time, the bolt held on with a little less conviction, then gave up and pinged out across the room, leaving one end of the plank flapping against the wall. I pulled hard, creating a gap that looked big enough for me to crawl through.

  Ramming my pick into the nearest tool rack and slinging my helmet across the floor, I got down on my hands and knees and pushed my face into the hole. A blast of cool air slapped me, giving me strength, and I squeezed my left shoulder through the gap, ignoring the sting of sharp rock slicing into my skin.

  It was as I was pushing my other shoulder through that I heard the sound of footsteps, each louder than the last. I froze, peering through the gap to the entrance of Room One and knowing that the blacksuit was returning. I had seconds, at most. Push in, or pull out. I should have listened to my instincts, wrenched myself out of the hole, and run back to work.

  But I didn’t.

  I forced my body forward, gritting my teeth with the pain. The steps were getting louder, crunching against loose pieces of stone on the floor. My sleeve caught on the plank, hooking me in place, and I desperately tried to wrench it free.

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. No time.

  With a rip my sleeve came free and I tumbled forward. I pulled my feet in with the speed of a rabbit disappearing into a burrow, the board snapping back against the wall just as the black shadow swept across the room.

  The steps halted, and despite the endless hammering from the rooms next door it felt like I’d been plunged into a pool of silence. As gently as I could, I rolled onto my back then stood up, staring through the gaps in the makeshift door to see the black-suit standing in the center of the equipment room. His head was cocked as if he was listening out for something, but he wasn’t looking in my direction.

  We remained like that for what seemed like an eternity, mirror images of each other’s stillness. Finally, the guard straightened himself and paced toward the entrance to Room Three, eventually disappearing from sight. I breathed out as slowly and quietly as I could, then turned to see if this was truly my road to salvation.

  It was then I realized my mistake. The tunnel that led into Room Two was darker than Furnace at night. I had absolutely no way of seeing where I was going.

  I stood like an idiot for a couple of minutes, wondering what I’d expected—lights along the walls and a red carpet? I cursed silently again, wishing I still had my helmet with its lamp, then began edging my way forward. The lights from the equipment room sliced through the wooden planks to form faint stripes on the uneven floor, but the glow was powerless against the black heart of Furnace and by the time I’d taken a few steps I was smothered by cold, dead night.

  I took comfort in the fact that there had been no cry of alarm from the blacksuit in the chamber next door, no blast of the siren. With tiny steps I pushed onward, running my hand along the wall for guidance. Every now and again I’d trip, but I managed to stay upright.

  Eventually the wall arced away to my left, and from the slight change in echo I knew I’d entered the cavern. There was still no light, but the air here was definitely fresher, cooler. I felt certain that it wasn’t my imagination. There was something down here, some chink in Furnace’s armor. I just had to get back in with a light and I’d know for sure whether that chink was our way out.

  That was when I heard it. It started so quietly that I barely even noticed it, then it began to grow in volume—a low hum, like a cell phone vibrating in somebody’s coat pocket. I felt my skin break out in goose bumps. I wasn’t alone. There was something in here with me.

  The sound shifted in pitch, fading then reasserting itself. I couldn’t work out what it was but it chilled me to the bone. I thought about the thirty kids who’d died in here when the cave collapsed—thirty angry spirits charging back and forth across the deserted cavern for all time looking for somebody to take their anger out on. Maybe the hum was their collective screams, so loud and furious that it breached their ghostly plane and entered ours.

  I took a step back and the noise changed again, growing louder. It toyed with my hearing, playing tricks on my tortured imagination. I couldn’t tell whether it was far away or close. If distant, the noise could have been a roar. But it also could have been a whisper in my ear from something right next to me. No, not a whisper—a growl.

  I suddenly panicked. The noise grew louder, a guttural snarl that could only have come from one creature. It was a dog, one of the warden’s monstrosities. He’d obviously put one in here to devour anyone stupid enough to try to escape.

  Blind and terrified, I swung around and ran. But I’d lost track of where I was, and with a crunch I slammed into the rock wall. Something hot dripped into my mouth, choking me, and I spat out my own blood, gripping the rough stone for support.

  The growling was getting closer, and I saw the darkness begin to take shape, morphing into a nightmare creature that bounded toward me. I felt so sick that I thought my stomach was going to flip inside out, and I held up my hand to ward off the monster. But as soon as I did, the illusion vanished back into the night.

  I blinked hard, my throat slick with blood and bile. The wall had to lead back to the equipment room so, doing my best to ignore the persistent growl, I fumbled my way along it, expecting to feel daggerlike teeth sinking into my shoulder at any minute. But nothing came for me. Each time I looked back and thought I saw the beast in the blackness, it vanished with a blink of the eye, a hallucination brought on by fear and fatigue.

  I rounded the corner of the corridor and found myself staring at the boarded door, light squeezing through the cracks like golden fingers trying to embrace me. I took one last look into the cave, then crawled through the bottom board, staggering back into the equipment room.

  Too late I realized I should have checked the room first. I heard feet pounding on rock and swiveled around in time to see a massive black shape swoop toward me. The blacksuit had just emerged from Room Three, and like a speeding train he rammed into me, wrapping his hamlike fist around my throat and lifting me off the floor.

  “Better have a good explanation for this, Sawyer,” he hissed. I saw the mole, knew it was the same giant who always seemed to terrorize me. His fingers were like iron, squeezing my windpipe and refusing to let me draw a breath, let alone reply. I felt my vision cloud as I stared into the twin silver portals of the freak’s eyes. In them I caught a glimpse of my own reflection—the bottom half of my face smeared with the blood that still gushed from my nose, my eyes the very essence of terror. Seeing what I’d been reduced to was infinitely more terrifying than the man who held me.

  “Been fighting?” the blacksuit went on, and despite the pain I felt a massive wave of relief. He hadn’t seen me climb out from the tunnel. I did my best to nod, and with a glint of shark teeth he threw me to the floor. I landed on my back, winded.

  “Back to work,” Moleface said, pointing the gun at me. “If I see you out here again during hard labor, then I’m going to splatter you all over the walls.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. Somehow I managed to pull myself to my feet, lifting my pick from the rack again and my helmet from the floor. I barely had the strength to stagger back through to Room Three, but beneath my crimson mask I was smiling.

  A REVELATION

  THE REST OF THE MORNING felt like a dream. The adrenaline had robbed my body of any sensation, leaving me completely numb, and I seemed to float back into the chipping r
oom. As soon as Donovan saw me, he dropped his pick and ran over, taking my arm and helping me to the far wall. After checking to see that the blacksuit hadn’t followed me in, he lowered me down onto the rock, using his sleeve to wipe the blood from my face. I just lay there, helpless as a baby, looking at him but not really seeing him.

  “Christ,” he said eventually, speaking over the pounding of picks. “I won’t say I told you so. What happened? Guards? Dogs?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but instead of words I suddenly found myself spewing my breakfast all over Donovan. He reeled, disgusted, but his expression quickly snapped back to one of concern.

  “You all right?” he asked. “For God’s sake, don’t get sick. They’ll take you.”

  “I’m okay,” I slurred. Puking seemed to have removed the lead ball from my stomach, and feeling gradually ebbed back into my body. I struggled to a sitting position and wiped the acidic drool from my lips. “Sorry about that.”

  “Little warning would have been nice,” he muttered. He glanced toward the door then back at me. “You better get up. That guard will rip your guts out if he catches you sitting down on the job.”

  Taking a deep breath, I heaved myself upward, using my pick as a crutch. I looked at the solid wall before me, and the thought of smashing through it for the next few hours almost made me chuck again. Donovan lifted his pick and brought it down hard, bathing us in sparks and debris. He struck a couple more times before looking at me impatiently.

  “Well?” he said. “What did you find?”

  I grinned and shrugged. “I thought you weren’t bothered.”

  “I’m not, just curious is all.”

  I started to reply, but he suddenly looked back toward the door and gently shook his head. I lifted my pick, glancing out of the corner of my eye to see Moleface standing in the doorway. I couldn’t make out his expression, but something told me his silver glare was aimed right at me. I took a halfhearted swing, and when I looked again the guard had gone.

  “I’ll tell you later, big guy,” I said, swaying unsteadily as I prepared to swing again.

  Donovan just sniffed and muttered, “If you live that long.”

  SHOWERS, FRESH UNIFORMS, march to the canteen. I could do it blindfolded now, without thinking, which was just as well since I was on autopilot for the rest of the day. I couldn’t stop going over what I’d done. It didn’t seem like it could have happened, none of it. The memories sat in my mind like the tendrils from some half-forgotten dream, fragments that couldn’t possibly have been real.

  But they were. I had done it, dashed beneath the boards and entered the forbidden room—a crime that could easily have been my last. And for what? All that effort just so I could panic and flee at the slightest noise.

  We arrived in the trough room to see that Zee was already there—positioned as far as possible from the bench occupied by the Skulls and staring mournfully at his lunch. Gary Owens was sitting at the head of his table, bandanna still perched on his shaven head. The other gang members sat around him like caged animals, not moving or talking and looking like they regretted ever joining the Skulls.

  I cast my eyes around for Kevin but he was nowhere to be seen. Knowing this place, he was probably lying in a crypt of shadows in a dark corner somewhere, already forgotten. Scanning the room further I made out the two other new kids, Toby and Ashley, sitting in a corner sharing food from a single plate, pressed against each other for comfort. Both their faces were bruised.

  Zee saw us approaching and shuffled along the bench to make room. He smiled at Donovan, but did a double take when he saw me. I’d washed off all the blood in the showers, but I was guessing my face was pretty pale.

  “Where’d you find Casper the Friendly Ghost?” Zee asked Donovan as we sat down.

  “Haunting Room Two,” he replied softly.

  “No way,” said Zee, his eyes like pickled eggs. “You didn’t?”

  “Got busted too, the fool.”

  Zee’s eyes bulged even farther from his face. I thought they were going to pop.

  “I wasn’t busted,” I explained. “But it was close.”

  “You looked like someone had shot you in the face,” Donovan said, his brow creased. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Well, I kinda had myself to blame for that,” I muttered sheepishly. “I ran into a wall when I heard the growling.”

  “Growling?” Donovan asked, but Zee held up his hands and started waving.

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said. “Start from the beginning.”

  So I did. In hushed tones I told them how I’d got through the wooden boards into the room, how I’d felt the blast of cold air, and how it had been pitch-black—a revelation that got a laugh from both boys. I told them about the hum that I thought had been a growl. Lastly, I filled them in on my near escape from Moleface.

  “You know he’d have probably shot you on the spot if he’d seen you climbing out from under those boards,” Donovan said when I stopped talking. “I’m telling you, it’s just too damn dangerous.”

  “So what was the noise? That hum?” Zee asked, ignoring the comments.

  “I have no idea,” I replied. “I couldn’t place it. I know now that it couldn’t have been a dog. I mean, I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

  “Something electrical maybe?” Zee asked. “The prison generator?”

  Donovan shook his head.

  “Nope, there’s no way the generator would be through there. That room was carved from scratch by the inmates.”

  “Air vents?” Zee asked. “Maybe it was the sound of wind in the pipes. That might be where the draft came from too.”

  “What did I just say?” said Donovan. “There isn’t anything in there. No wires, no pipes, no vents. Nada.”

  “No, you might be right,” I said to Zee, trying to recall the sound in my head. “What if it was wind? I mean wind from the surface. Maybe the cave-in cracked open a rift in the rock. If fresh air is getting in, then we can get out.”

  “You’re a little more substantial than thin air,” Zee replied. “Besides, like I’ve said before a million times, if there was a route to the surface, then don’t you think they’d have sealed it off with something more secure than a few planks?”

  I ground my teeth together, exasperated.

  “Well, I sure as hell didn’t imagine it,” I hissed after a moment’s silence. “I heard something in that room, something big enough to make a roar or a growl or whatever. I’ll figure it out.”

  Donovan snorted and rose to go get some food. After scanning the trough room, however, he collapsed back down onto the bench.

  “Incoming,” he whispered.

  I glanced up to see that Gary and his henchmen were making their way across the room toward the exit to the yard. The inmates were scampering out of his way with a deference that they’d never shown toward Kevin. The former Skull leader had been violent, yes, but there was something different about Gary. Kevin had tortured and killed to prove something, because he knew that life was valuable, something precious to take away. But Gary lashed out and killed as if life was nothing, meaningless, like he was crushing a bug.

  “Don’t look at him,” Zee whispered, and I lowered my eyes to the table. When I raised them again, however, I found myself staring right into Gary’s face. He was standing on the other side of the table, behind Zee, eyeballing me like I’d just killed his dog.

  “I hear you’ve got a problem with the Skulls,” he said in a voice that turned my bones to water. “Picking fights you got no business picking.”

  My tongue had turned to sandpaper, my limbs to lead.

  “Well come on, then,” Gary challenged, raising his hands. His knuckles were swollen and bloody. “You think you’re so tough, then why don’t you step up and take a crack at me?”

  He pushed Zee out of the way and leaned on the table. This close I could see a line of blond hair on his top lip, like a tiny wig over his cracked and yellow teeth. I thought for a moment that I was goin
g to puke again. At least I’d humiliate him before I was shanked. I swallowed hard and stared at the table.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he spat, grabbing my chin and wrenching it up. His fingers were rough against my skin. “I’m telling you to come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Not enough,” I breathed.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, louder this time, then added “sir” for good measure.

  “Too late.” He pushed my head back so hard that I felt something pop in my neck. Then he slammed his hand on the table, sending Zee’s food and drink flying. “You’re marked. You’re mine. You’ll get your fight, little man.”

  And with that he turned and pushed through the Skulls, making his way toward the exit. I lowered my head and winced as pain cut through the tendons. Rubbing my neck, I saw Donovan and Zee staring sheepishly at the table.

  “You okay?” asked Zee, not looking up.

  “Oh yeah, that was fine,” I replied, doing my best to hold back the tears that were building up behind my eyes. “No problem.”

  I put my elbows on the table and cupped my head in my hands so that nobody would see my glassy eyes. But I couldn’t stop the floodgates from bursting. I blinked, and a tear dropped from my face to the plastic surface, winding its way gently toward the other side of the table. It wasn’t alone, merging with the trail of water that had spilled from Zee’s plastic cup. I watched the little stream meander through the piles of brown slush, flowing inexorably toward the edge.

  And then it hit me, a revelation so bright and wonderful that it was as if the lights in the room had doubled in strength. I sat bolt upright, so quickly that Zee and Donovan both flinched.

  “The noise. I know what it is.”

  They looked at me as if I’d gone mad.

  “It’s water,” I said, pointing at the mess on the table. “It’s an underground river.”

  THE RETURN