The Zombie Room Page 7

  The kitchen staff, contracted from outside the prison system, weren’t trained to deal with physical altercations. All three huddled within the main office. Lawrence, the head cook, was stammering into a radio held between shaking hands. Decker rounded the bank of ovens to see most of the inmates gathered along the far wall beside the industrial-sized dishwashers.

  Jim stood in the doorway to the raw meat section with a gleeful look on his face, two cleavers gripped loosely in his left hand. Les stalked in the veg room, brandishing another cleaver so tightly that his knuckles showed up as white as ivory. Mangle was trying to talk him into dropping it and Tazeem, with a long red slit down his right forearm that splashed blood like rose petals onto the cream-tiled floor, orbited the large aluminium shredder in clockwise revolutions.

  No prison guards were on the scene yet, and judging from the intent on Les’s face they would arrive too late. Decker backed against the ovens and began to edge nearer, attempting to stay out of Les’s line of sight. If he could make it unseen to the raw meat room, he’d be within half a dozen steps of Les.

  ‘Leave it, Decker, this is none of your business,’ Jim said in a voice loud enough to carry as Decker moved past him.

  He glared at Jim, who now adopted a smug grin, and then looked back at Les who had turned 45 degrees to keep both Tazeem and Decker within his field of vision.

  ‘Fuck off, Decker, don’t make this Paki one of your pet projects.’

  Decker kept edging closer and said nothing. He knew he would either have to watch Tazeem get cut open, or he’d need to rush Les, who was now very aware of his presence.

  Something scuffed against one of the benches behind him and Decker spun halfway around as Jim made to grab him by the neck. Decker gripped Jim at the wrist and elbow joint, dropped to one knee and threw his assailant over his shoulder. A satisfying snap from the forearm and resulting scream of pain told him Jim would be no more trouble, but Les had made the most of the distraction and was almost on top of Tazeem. Decker got to his feet and rushed towards them just as Mangle seized a tray of chopped lettuce and threw it in Les’s face. Les momentarily lost composure and flailed wildly with the large steel blade.

  Decker jumped him from behind. Wrapping his right forearm around Les’s throat he flexed his bicep tight against the carotid artery and gripped Les’s wrist in his left hand. Tazeem swung forward with a chopping board, knocking the cleaver out of Les’s hand, and then backed into the corner beside Mangle. Spittle frothed at Les’s mouth as he swore vengeance on Decker through clenched teeth.

  ‘Easy, big fella, you’re almost out,’ Decker said, clinging tightly to him.

  Les sank to his knees. Then his hands, which had been clawing at Decker’s forearm, fell limp by his sides.

  ‘Decker, get the fuck off him and back up against the wall,’ a guard yelled, arriving just as he was no longer required.

  Decker relaxed his grip and Les slumped forward face first onto the blood-splashed floor. Decker held up both palms and slowly backed away as two more guards arrived and ran to the fallen men. Another moved cautiously behind to cuff Decker.

  ‘Well, look who it is,’ Mangle said, glancing up from his chicken biryani.

  ‘Alright boys, you miss me?’ Decker said, putting his tray down at his usual seat at the table with Mangle and Tazeem.

  ‘Always, man. So what happened?’ Tazeem asked, looking concerned. His hand instinctively moved to touch the bandage covering his lacerated forearm.

  ‘I went before the Governor yesterday and gave my statement. He’d already had all the reports in from the kitchen staff and you lot, and Les and Jim’s twisted version of events. I’d been in solitary for two days so I had no way of corroborating with anyone, and what I said must have tied in or I’d be on a bus out by now. I take it there’s been no sign of those dickheads?’

  ‘Nah. You think they’re already gone, then?’ Tazeem asked.

  ‘Definitely. How’s your arm anyway?’ Decker asked, gesturing with his fork after spearing a piece of chicken.

  ‘Eighteen stitches, but I’ll live. It would have been a whole lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in,’ Tazeem said, briefly making eye contact with Decker before looking back down at his plate.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, all in the past now,’ Decker said dismissively, and scooped up a forkful of rice and curry.

  Tazeem saw Mohammed watching from a few rows over, then shaking his head and returning to a conversation at his table.

  When there was a knock at Tazeem’s door later that night he thought it would be Mangle returning the shower gel he’d borrowed earlier, but was surprised to see Mohammed waiting in the corridor.

  ‘Salaam alaikum Tazeem, kya haal hai?’ Mohammed said in Urdu with mock formality and a wide grin: ‘Good evening Tazeem, how are you?’

  ‘Mohammed, what’s up?’

  ‘Just come by to say hello, man. Why does something have to be up?’ Mohammed said, switching to English.

  ‘You’re right, it doesn’t. OK, come in,’ he said, and held the door while Mohammed entered.

  Tazeem sat on the bed and muted the volume on the small TV set. Mohammed settled onto the solitary plastic chair. Tazeem knew there would be a reason for the visit, and waited for Mohammed to get to the point.

  ‘So how are you, Tazeem? You’re out pretty soon now, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m doing OK, man, only a few weeks to go now.’

  ‘How is your arm healing?’ Mohammed asked. ‘It looked a pretty bad wound.’

  ‘It’s getting better,’ Tazeem said and ran his left palm along the length of his bandaged right forearm. ‘There’ll be a scar there once it’s healed but that’s not so bad.’

  ‘I saw you at lunch today, with the two white boys. You didn’t look so happy. Has what happened made you realise your mistake in hanging out with their kind?’

  ‘No, Mohammed,’ Tazeem said, making sure to keep his voice level.

  He knew if he brought up Mohammed’s part in stirring up the trouble in the literacy class then he’d have him here arguing his point for half of the night. ‘That was just the action of one man. Decker and Mangle are still my friends.’

  ‘I had a visit today,’ Mohammed said, waving away Tazeem’s words, ‘from my cousins who live up in Garden Heights.’ Tazeem waited through Mohammed’s pregnant pause.

  ‘They asked me to tell you that Sadiq says, hi, and of course your cousin Ermina.’

  ‘Right. I haven’t heard from him since I’ve been in jail. Is he doing OK?’ Tazeem asked, doing his best to ignore the smirk Mohammed wore at the mention of Ermina’s name.

  ‘He’s doing very well for himself, very well. My cousins have been working with him a lot over the last year. Once I am released I expect to be spending more of my time up there, so no doubt we’ll run into each other.’

  ‘What’s he got going on?’

  ‘The usual sort of things, but he’s working with some diligent people and they’re expanding all the time. You could do a lot worse than to hook up with him once you get out.’

  ‘So I’ve been told. I guess I’ll wait and see what my options are.’

  The following day they had a break between two and three in the afternoon while there was a staff meeting about kitchen security. It was a warm June day, so Tazeem, Mangle and Decker sat on the grass outside of the dining hall, waiting for the kitchens to reopen.

  ‘How long have you been inside for, Decker. About ten years?’ Tazeem asked, and took the last bite of his apple.

  ‘More than, yeah,’ Decker nodded solemnly.

  ‘What you gonna do when you get out?’ Tazeem asked, and tossed his apple core towards the trees for the squirrels.

  ‘I have no idea. If the parole board were asking I could trot out a host of stuff based around the qualifications I’ve got while I’ve been inside. But the truth is I just don’t know.’

  ‘What about you, Mangle? Three years behind bars and now only a month till freedom again. You gonn
a go back into the bathroom supplies trade?’ Tazeem asked, turning to him.

  ‘Yeah, I enjoyed it, got to travel about a bit and the pay was OK,’ he said, leaning back against the wall, which was warmed by the afternoon sun. ‘You ever hear from the guys you were involved with before you got locked up, Deck?’

  ‘I did eventually, after I’d been in for a few years. Maybe guilty conscience or something once they realised I wasn’t gonna roll over on them. I’m gonna keep well clear if they let me back out, though. Getting involved with them will only ever land me back in here again. I’ve seen enough of the type come and go over the years, but they’re always back inside again before long.’

  ‘Do you think your chances are good at the next parole hearing?’

  ‘I hope so. Done everything I was supposed to do, kept out of trouble – well, apart from that the other day, but the Governor said he’ll vouch for my innocence after reading all the reports. I don’t think there’s anything else gonna be achieved by keeping me in.’

  ‘A reformed character,’ Tazeem laughed.

  Decker grinned and chewed on a long stalk of grass. ‘They all say that when it’s parole time, obviously, and I know a lot of them never will be, no matter what you do to them or however long you keep them locked up, but I really think I am. Remorse comes from inside you, but you have to go looking for it. It can’t be programmed or beaten or forced into you,’ he said wistfully, and then laughed.

  ‘That sounds like another line you picked up from old Alf,’ Tazeem said.

  ‘My first ever cell mate, yeah. He’d leave these nuggets of wisdom lying around like breadcrumbs for the birds. He’d say something really off the cuff, just throw it out there like it was nothing. But then at night when I was trying to sleep the same line would go round and round in my head. At first I thought I was going nuts being locked up all the time, but then I’d catch him every once in a while just give me this knowing look, and I’d realise he knew exactly what he was doing.’

  ‘Maybe you reminded him of himself when he was younger.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s probably what it was. Learn by other people’s mistakes, he’d always say. Wisdom over experience.’

  ‘You gonna see him when you get back out?’ Mangle asked.

  ‘Wish I could, man. He died a few years ago – cancer.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that, Decker,’ Mangle said, and meant it.

  ‘I never really knew what grief was until he passed. I lost my grandparents when I was younger and I kind of went through the motions, I suppose, like I’d seen other people do when confronted with death. But I never really felt it in here,’ he said, tapping a fist against his chest. ‘Anyway, what about you then, Taz? Must be just over two years you’ve been off the streets for now, so what you gonna do when you get out?’

  ‘Mohammed has been trying to get me involved with a guy I’ve known since I was a kid. But I reckon it would only end in tears. I’ve got an idea I’ve been thinking on, though.’

  ‘Not exactly a reformed character yourself then, Taz?’ Mangle laughed.

  ‘You do what you gotta do to survive,’ Tazeem said with a wink.

  6

  Tatiana and Natalia were bundled into the back of a grey van alongside four other girls. Although the prospect of going to Garden Heights had provided a moment’s respite in her anxiety, Tatiana was no longer so sure it was a good thing after looking into the faces of the other girls. Trepidation hung on them like wet cloth. Natalia saw it as well, but did her best to force a reassuring smile. Two benches had been fastened to the floor on either side of the van, which looked more accustomed to transporting goods than people. Natalia sat facing Tatiana to make it easier for them to communicate. She reached over and took Tatiana’s hand as the engine coughed into life and the van began to judder as it idled.

  ‘We will be travelling for some time,’ said the well-spoken man who had purchased their contracts, closing the passenger door after climbing in up front. A layer of wire mesh separated him and the unhealthily pale driver from the girls in the back. ‘There will be two rest stops on the way for you to use the toilet facilities. There will be no interruptions to our journey other than that. Do not address myself or the driver unless we speak to you first. Is that understood?’

  A mumbled affirmation seemed to be enough for the man and he turned to face forward. The van pulled out of a rear parking lot to the church and set off down a deserted street.

  After a while, Tatiana gave up trying to watch the other girls for any sign of conversation. An earlier scattering of platitudes had abated and her fellow passengers turned their focus inward, their eyes dropped to the floor. Even Natalia, who had been so upbeat about the voyage, had sunk within herself and made little attempt to talk.

  Tatiana watched their progress along the featureless highway, and tried to guess where they were. She had never travelled so far from what she had known as home, but felt no excitement at the expanse of an unfamiliar horizon. A few times she saw the man who’d bought them talking into a cell phone, but had no way of knowing what was said. He occasionally turned back to look at them, but his expression betrayed no indication of his intent.

  Long hours and drab scenery passed by, and light drained from the day like water from a bath. The temperature dropped and the girls instinctively huddled closer together to conserve body heat. At some point Tatiana fell asleep, and the next thing she realised was lurching awake as the girl she had leant against gave a startled jump. The back doors to the van stood open, and warm morning sunlight crept inside. The girls got to their feet and climbed out at the behest of the driver. His skin looked almost translucent in the bright daylight, with a roadmap of thin blue veins visible at his temples.

  The air, fresh and thick with salt, revealed their close proximity to the ocean even before Tatiana saw the boats. The white-haired man and a much larger man stood with their backs to them a little way off, talking to whom she guessed, from his posture and get-up, was captain of one of the boats. He wore dark grey waterproofs with zigzag orange fluorescent stripes. The other man, from his build and the quality of his suit, Tatiana supposed might be the white-haired man’s bodyguard.

  The driver of the van pushed her forwards and Tatiana stepped into line with the others. Another man in grey waterproofs appeared at the top of a gangway and beckoned them onto a boat, down a set of stairs, and instructed them to sit and wait. Six other girls already sat in what appeared to be the living quarters. There were four beds, a table and four chairs, and a small TV fixed onto a wood-panelled wall. The panelling wrapped around on three sides, with inbuilt shelving that housed books and knick-knacks, and there was a galley area to the rear of the room. Tatiana and Natalia exchanged relieved looks. If this was to be their accommodation while they travelled to their new home, then it would be a little cramped, but certainly liveable.

  Around ten minutes later the captain, who introduced himself as Jacob, and two other men came down the stairs. One of the girls, perhaps emboldened by the absence of the white-haired man, asked how they should decide who got to sleep in the beds. The two shipmates stepped forwards as if to demonstrate. One walked past the girls into the galley and the other followed, stopping only to deal a swift punch to the side of the girl’s head.

  Tatiana felt but did not hear the collective cry emitted around the room as their companion fell to the floor. She spun to face the captain to plead for his help, but he now stood holding a silver pistol in his left hand.

  Tatiana looked back to the crew who were busy with something at the back of the galley. Part of the rear wall swung inwards, revealing a large fibreglass container behind. Even the girl who had been assaulted had her full attention on what the men were doing, and some of the girls moved closer for a better look. A sealed trapdoor above indicated they must be on a trawler, and this is where the haul of fish would be dropped for storage whilst at sea.

  But the thick chain fixed around the wall, and the many sets of manacles attached to it, reve
aled that it was no longer fish that would be kept in the ship’s hold.

  *****

  Despite not having received any reply to the messages he’d left at the office, Mangle remained hopeful that he could still get back his old job. He’d served there for almost six years, and aside from a number of damaged company cars, and of course his eventual arrest, he’d had an unblemished record.

  Tracey looked up and flashed a brief but cryptic smile before quickly looking over at the boss’s closed office door.

  ‘Is Alan expecting you?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t replied to my messages so I thought I’d show him that I’m just the same old Nick by coming down in person.’

  ‘Good luck, then. You’ll probably need it. What you did was stupid, and as far as the rest of us are concerned you’ve paid for it now, but the way Alan has been talking you’d think you’d been selling drugs to schoolchildren.’

  Mangle flinched at the comment, then brushed a hand down the front of his suit and adjusted his tie.

  ‘You want me to buzz him for you?’

  ‘Please, Tracey,’ Mangle said, taking a deep breath.

  She pressed a button on the console at her desk and then crossed her fingers in a display of solidarity before speaking. ‘Mr Worther. I have Mr Garrett here in reception for you,’ she said briskly into the phone, her voice taking on the slightly pinched quality of a railway platform announcement.

  ‘Nick, yes. OK, I will.’ She carefully placed the phone back into the cradle as if it were something very delicate. ‘He’ll see you now, go right up.’ Tracey forced another smile, although her eyes betrayed an indication of what he had to expect.

  Alan Worther had been in charge at Pristine Bathroom Supplies for as long as Mangle had worked there. He was a small man, in both stature and personality, and made no pretence of being a friend to his colleagues. In his own words, he was there to lead, and as long as their wages were paid they should expect nothing more from him.