Dead Wrangler by Justin Coke Read Free Book Online Page A

into each cart and then left. It took them the whole day to cart off all the corpses. After they left the cell doors opened, and all the inmates jumped out, hoping for another hot meal. They were not disappointed. But with the commissary cart were stacks of cleaning supplies. Paper towels. Six packs of Comet. Mops in buckets of steaming water.
    "Eat fast," Anderson said over the intercom. "That mop water won't last long. Get this place spic and span and then we'll let you out. For a while at least."
    They wolfed the food again. Some did it because they were hungry. James did it because he wanted to get mopping. He wanted out of this place more than anything now. Prison had found its way to reassert its true nature, and it was by putting him at the mercy of people who may or may not be people in the morning. They scrubbed the hell out of the place. They piled all the linen near the door and went over everything. They slept on bare mattresses. James was pretty sure they could pass the white glove test. The desire to clean went beyond following orders, something these men hated. Nor was it because of their normal hygienic standards, which were poor. They were channeling their own sense of disgust through that Comet, they were purging their souls with hot water and soap. They were cleaning themselves more than they were scrubbing the blood stains off the wall.
    Sgt. Andrews finally deigned to visit their Cell Block in person after two ex-guards carted off the linen. Two hulking men stood at her shoulders. They didn't carry guns; just some mean looking nightsticks. Skull cracking sticks. Sgt. Andrews went over the entire block, inspecting each cell. As she went James started to think she was getting annoyed. Annoyed because she couldn't find anything to complain about. He was hiding a smile when she, a little red faced, turned to face the inmates.
    "You are some industrious little shits, aren't you?" she said. Only James guffawed. "One last step before we let you out of quarantine. All of you strip naked." She started to pull on latex gloves. One by one each cell door opened. They were probed and prodded. They never said what they were looking for, but James thought it was obvious. Bites. They were looking for bites. They didn't find any. The ones who had been bitten had either turned in the night, or hung themselves in despair, then turned. One zombie's neck was almost two feet long by the time they had gotten in his cell to finish him off. His feet were finally touching the floor. How he had made such a secure knot out of sheets James would never know. The dead man had been an Eagle Scout. He had talked about that all the time; it seemed like he felt that fact was enough to redeem him from molesting kids. The man did know how to tie a knot, James gave him that.
    Once the search was done they went back in their cell, door closed, to wait. James was second to last. While he was getting searched he caught Demarco's eye. Demarco had gotten his hammer back last night. He looked like he was getting ready to use it. James shook his head and shrugged his shoulders to the airlock. Inside he was worried. Demarco was about a hair short of criminally insane. He gave the rest of the criminals a bad name because he truly didn't give a shit. Most of the guys in here were just fuckups and losers. They sold drugs or held up gas stations because they couldn't keep a job delivering pizzas. They weren't particularly violent and had little talent for it. They were more dangerous to themselves than anyone else. Demarco was what people thought of when they thought of criminals. He'd have been right at home as a character on Oz. He had no concern for the consequences of his actions. The idea that if he attacked them, he'd just get his ass beat and then locked in that cell until he died of starvation just didn't register. He wanted revenge for being forced to do manual labor, and he was going to take it the first chance he got, and fuck the consequences.