Mistaken Identity Chapter I B
Didn't I say this was a ridiculously long chapter? Well I'll say it again. Chapter One is a veeeerry long chapter.
Chapter I B
The Distraction
Continued from Chapter I A
See Prologue for Disclaimer and Spoiler information.
Rodney Campbell grunted and threw his shoulder into pushing the heavy cart along the stacks. There were several hundred books in the prison’s library and it felt like every single one of them were stacked in the cart. It wouldn’t be so damn heavy if the other man on Library detail got off his ass and did something. The Library work detail was the single best and easiest detail you could pull. It had taken Rodney ten years to land the job. The lazy, spoiled, pretty boy sitting at the table had been given the detail on a silver platter six and a half years ago. Six and a half years and Rodney had literally never seen him do anything. It had to be nice to have a rich daddy.
“Hey, Ro-Ro.”
He blew a snort of air out of his nose, he hated that name. It wasn’t a big enough annoyance, though, to start an argument. Scottie Shelton was another pain in the ass. The man was perpetually “working on his appeal” so he got to spend plenty of time in the library. Scottie and Dudley-Do-Nothing often spent the entire shift running their mouths.
He looked up from the chest high shelf he’d been working on, “Yeah?”
Scottie leaned against one of the concrete pillars, “I’m bored. Do you have anything good? No faggy magicians or gay paintings or ass-spelunking cowboys, just something good to read, ya know. “
Rodney just looked at him.
“Fine, I’ll just look myself.” He shouldered by Rodney, and started to rifle through the cart. The guard at the door watched, but did nothing. No one would believe him if he said anything. A couple of pampered white boys picking on the two-hundred and eight-five pound black ex-d-line tackle? It sounded ridiculous even to him and he was living it.
He sighed, “What are you looking for?” He’d been in the library for enough years to find any book at any given time in his sleep.
Scottie finally pulled up an old, dog-eared hardback, Edible Plants of the Mojave Desert, “This’ll work.”
That was funny, Rodney thought as he shelved the next couple of books in the Ts, he had never figured Scottie as an outdoorsmen. Unless you counted the occasional softball game in the yard, which Rodney didn’t. The man was pasty, balding and was, generally, a waste of space. Still, any man who liked to read couldn’t be all bad.
“If you like that,” He rambled off almost automatically, “I think I have a couple of desert hunting and trapping guides over on the shelf.”
“I’ve never really been into hunting, Ro Ro, well, except,” He flipped through the book’ pages, “do you have a copy of The Most Dangerous Game?”
Rodney frowned, why did that sound familiar? “I don’t thin-“
His voice went hoarse and then completely out, right in the middle of a syllable. Scott’s movement was almost a blur and the crude hand-made knife was just sharp enough to be effective. Rodney looked down at his stomach. It was such a little piece of white plastic, he couldn’t believe it hurt so much. He also realized that the knife had been hidden inside of the book. How had he missed that? The knife had been hidden inside one of his books. God, what kind of nightmare was this? It was such a little cut though, surely it wouldn’t be too bad. Blood spurted out of his gut and coated his clothes, fingers, hands and forearms. Rodney looked over towards the desk, and hoped to see help coming. The Guard was gone and while the desk was occupied, Scott’s best buddy was kicked back. His feet were propped up on the counter and he was casually reading a magazine.
Scott pulled his shiv up, tearing through clothe, skin and flesh, until it came out completely. The sudden gush of extra blood made Rodney crumple to his knees.
He realized, in a rush of nausea and horror, that he had been gutted.
Scott stood over him, knife in hand. “It’s nothing personal, Ro Ro, it’s just the Boss’s orders.”
He moved again, arm flying fast and sure, and Rodney’s glasses flew off his face and hit the bottom of the bookshelf with a crack. The make-shift knife obliterated his left eye and stuck in the socket like a nail in a tire. Blood and fluid poured down Rodney’s face like tears. He blinked his good eye, trying to bring the world back into focus. He wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened or who was screaming.
The library that he knew so well was out of focus. The strait spines of the perfectly organized and alphabetized books around him began to merge into a blurry mass of shifting color. He half crawled, half rolled until his fever-hot and sticky with blood cheek touched the cool concrete wall. He collapsed against the wall and tried to call out for help. He could barely whisper. Blood was filling up his hands and dripping down to the floor despite his best efforts to hold it in his gut. His face hurt, his eye was gone and the entire room was spinning.
Death, Rodney decided, was a bad-ass trip. It felt like a potent mix of acid and absinthe. The pain, nausea and disorientation spun in his head like a red and black cyclone and rolled through his body like a bittersweet fog. Tears leaked out of his good eye and he was afraid. He didn’t want to die alone. He didn’t deserve that, no one deserved that.
He took his right hand off his stomach, not that it mattered, and reached up the wall. He knew the library better then any other man in Ely. He knew every inch of space and every book that was contained in it. He also knew exactly where the fire alarm was. His fingers, slick with blood, found the lever easily. His last act was to pull it down with all of his remaining strength. He didn’t hear the shrill tone of the alarm. Instead he heard his own last breathe echo in his head. A mere minute later the sprinkler system came on, and showered the room and the entire prison with luke-warm water. The books in the library were ruined, but the man who had cared for them did nothing to protect them. The water sprayed down on Rodney Campbell’s body, but the lifer was far beyond such small inconveniences as that.
Tyler Goodsong and Dustin Johnson had spent the morning patrolling the halls and had supervised breakfast. They rotated to the yard’s watchtower at ten and were already more then ready for lunch.
Both men scanned for trouble, eyes constantly moving.
“So Jenna wants us to go to some couple’s retreat with her church next weekend.”
Dustin actually turned to look at his co-worker and best friend, “You’re kidding.”
“No,” Tyler grumbled, “she’s already packed-for both of us.”
Dustin let out a curse, “But I got us tickets on the fifty-yard line! We’ll practically be able to hear Sanford screaming at Omar Clayton! It’s the BYU Game, man. The Rebels are going to stomp those Mormons into the turf.”
It was September and the college season was still young, but Dustin and Tyler were already looking forward to rooting for the Rebels at a bowl game.
Tyler shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Dustin was a great guy, his best friend, but he had become a little clingy since his marriage had hit the skids. Tyler’s marriage was less then a year old and Jenna was quickly growing tired of sharing him with his friend. “I know, but it’s important to her, you know. Besides she’s still pretty pissed about what happened last month.” He didn’t have to clarify exactly what event he was talking to, Dustin knew he’d been way out of line.
“Ouch, okay so that was sort of my bad.”
Puking all over their new deck and in the pristine pool had definitely been Dustin’s bad. The fact that he’d done so in front of Jenna’s parents, sister, and pastor hadn’t helped matters at all.
“So yeah, I think I’m going to go to this retreat thing. Maybe it’ll get me back into her good graces in time for play-offs.”
Whatever it was that Dustin was about to say never made t out of his lips. The alarms starting going off. Their reaction was fast and automatic, Tyler grabbed the tear gas cartridges and launcher from their racks on the tower wall and Dustin grabbed the walkie-talkie off of his heavy leather belt.
“This is Tower Two, what’s going on? We don’t have anything in the yard.” The only answer was static.
“What the hell is going on, is it another damn system check?” Tyler picked up the hardline phone and quickly slammed it down again, “I don’t even have a dial tone.”
Then bellow them, all hell broke loose. As soon as the alarm blared, men started attacking each other. It was like a bad action movie, all elbow jabs, dirty shots and guttural screams.
“Son of a bitch!”
Then there was the echoing blast of an automatic rifle. Tyler and Dustin looked at each other in disbelief. The guards in Tower 1 were firing their weapons, their live weapons, down into the yard. It was going to, literally, be a bloodbath. Dustin froze in place for a moment. Beside him Tyler fired one of the gas canisters down into the crowd.
“Dude.”
Tyler loaded another canister, “Not now.”
“Ty, look.” Dustin tugged him around and Tyler followed his pointed finger.
“Holy shit!”