The Morgan Files by Leo J. Maloney

Author:Leo J. Maloney [Maloney, Leo J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lyrical Press
Published: 2020-04-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Morgan woke to the bark of a guard yelling at him in Russian. His immediate reflex was to punch the man’s lights out, but he was still too tired. So instead he lay disoriented until the guard, impatient, wrested the bent bowl from Morgan’s hands and tossed it down the sleeping quarters. It tumbled, clattering, toward the door.

The message was clear enough.

Morgan stood, shaky from the interrupted sleep but also renewed, if only a little. How long had he been out? The sun was still in the sky, still low, but that meant little out here. The sun was always low. And the wind, even in summer, carried a chill.

He picked up his bowl and went outside into the yard. Men were filing in from the double gates that led outside the camp. The whole procession was hairless like him, although none so recently shaved, so that stubble was already growing in on their scalps and faces. They were shuffling, exhausted from a day of forced labor at the mine. All were skinny, their overalls and coats hanging loosely from their bodies. Their faces were pale, with deep dark bags under their eyes.

These men were broken. Morgan recognized the signs.

Guards oversaw the whole process, carrying their Kalashnikovs, holding dogs on leashes. Even the guards, though young, were stooped, with gloomy, lifeless eyes. Morgan didn’t know if it was from the dreariness of the place—no women, no entertainment, nothing to do but drink in cramped rooms, if they were allowed that much—or the violence they committed against the prisoners. Something about torturing and brutality made men into miserable monsters. He’d seen it often enough.

He wondered whether this was a punishment assignment.

Morgan scanned the group. All were in the same clothes and had the same (lack of) hair, so all he had to go by were faces, and even these looked similar, with sunken eyes and pale skin. It proved just about impossible to pick out an individual from the crowd.

Food was distributed out of a single window by prisoners on meal duty. Morgan wondered if they had spent the day in the kitchen or come back early from work. In any case, it would be a prime position in the camp, the work light and pleasant in comparison to the mines. There was a little more color on their cheeks, too. Morgan guessed that they sneaked food as they cooked.

Morgan clutched his bowl. His stomach growled. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

The men lined up at the window and Morgan took his place at the end. There was a scuffle to see who would get closer to the front, but at a shout from a guard, under fear of violence, the men took their places, those behind resigned to their position.

As he stood in line, Morgan noticed a group of three prisoners glowering at him, and he felt like the only unattached girl at a singles bar. The men exchanged words and turned away.

He didn’t like it. Any kind of attention in this place was unwanted.

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