Lockdown 1 by Alexander Gordon Smith

Author:Alexander Gordon Smith
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-11-29T01:58:57+00:00

THE BLOOD WATCH

THEY CAME WITHOUT WARNING. They came without mercy.

One minute I was asleep, embraced by blissful dreams of Sunday afternoon picnics, the next I was shunted back into Furnace by a siren that wouldn’t end—a continuous blast that wove itself around its own echo until the prison quaked and my ears stung. At first I thought it was the wake-up cal , but it was stil pitch-black and I knew from my internal clock that it was the dead of night.

As soon as I made that calculation I knew it was final y happening. They were coming. I shot up in bed, my heart beating so hard I was convinced it was trying to pound its way free from my chest. A wave of murmured wails and panicked cries circled the prison, ending with Donovan, who seemed to choke back a sob.

“Please, God, not tonight,” I heard him whisper above the klaxon. “And not me. Not me. Please, God.”

The darkness pressed against me like a coffin lining, and my light-starved eyes played tricks. Strange figures pul ed themselves from the black cloth, always in the corner of my vision, stretching out for me with decaying fingers and hol ow eyes. I expected to feel bony hands grab my arm any second, a cold embrace dragging me into the pit. I struck the air helplessly, and each time the phantoms dissolved only to form again, their pursuit relentless.

The wail of the siren cut out, and at the same time a thousand red lights embedded in the prison wal s burst into life. I was plunged into a thick, choking silence, like someone had thrown me into a pool of blood. I saw the world in shades of red and black, and quickly found myself praying for night again. At least you can hide in the dark.

From the yard below came a hiss, then a bone-shattering boom as the vault door was unlocked. It swung open to reveal a procession of hunched forms who marched slowly from the gloom like they were heading a funeral procession. From my cel I couldn’t make out who they were, the red light turning them into vague phantoms who drifted out into the yard. From the sound of wheezing, however, I could guess. I craned my neck to get a better view, but as soon as I moved I heard Donovan cry out.

“Just keep your head down, you idiot,” he hissed. “Don’t draw attention to the cel .”

You could have heard a pin drop. Every single prisoner in Furnace had clamped his mouth shut, not even daring to take a breath for fear of alerting the twisted figures below. My own breaths sounded like hurricanes, my heartbeat like a drum punching out a rhythm that could probably be heard on the surface. Some perverse element of my brain started silently singing along to the twin beat— take me, take me, take me—and I had to bite my lip hard in order to make it shut up.

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