THE GUARDS CAME OUT FIRST, three of them all in black suits and all holding shotguns in their massive fists. They strolled from the steam-filled corridor beyond like they were going for a walk in the park, their silver eyes full of cold humor. They made me nervous, no doubt about it, but that wasn't what filled me with terror.
Behind them came two more figures that looked horribly familiar-their stunted bodies covered by leather overcoats, their shriveled, pasty faces concealed by ancient gas masks that wheezed noisily. They were almost lost in the shadows of their guards as they twitched and shook their way out, but their black eyes-which looked as lifeless as the lumps of coal in a snowman's face-never left us. I recalled the first time I'd met one of these monstrosities, the way it had picked Toby to die without the slightest trace of emotion. I felt anger well up inside me, but I was powerless to do anything about it.
Besides, it wasn't even these freaks who made the scene ahead so horrific. It was the man who walked out after them. At first glance he seemed like an ordinary guy in his forties-pretty tall, very lean, dark hair, and a clean gray suit. But the more I studied him the more I realized there was something very wrong with the way he looked. His face was too angular, the skin pulled tight against the bone beneath like he was a skeleton dressed in someone else's flesh-flesh that looked more like leather when it caught the light.
The weird thing was that I tried looking him in the eye but I simply couldn't do it. My gaze just bounced off, like there was some kind of force field around his face. I know that sounds stupid, but I can't think of any other way to describe it; whenever I looked him right in the eye, I found myself staring at something else instead-his chin, his suit, the wall. I mean, what the hell was that all about?
The cherries on the sick cake that lay before me-the sight that really struck fear into my heart-were the two creatures who trotted out after their master. If the devil had dogs, it would be these. They were huge, bigger than Irish wolfhounds, their heads easily level with my shoulders. The creatures glistened in the red light of the prison, and it took me a while to work out why. When I realized, I almost threw up my guts again.
They didn't have any skin. Their slick bodies were made up of muscles and tendons that bulged in plain view, throbbing gently with the beating of their hearts. As they moved you could see their insides working, the muscles stretching then contracting, finally tensing when the group came to a halt. Their faces too were entirely devoid of fur, two silver eyes embedded into their flesh and glaring at our group like we were dinner.
I took an involuntary step back but stopped dead when the dogs started growling.
"It doesn't take long to learn obedience in this place," came a voice so gravelly and deep that for a second I thought it was being broadcast directly into my skull. But the man with the dogs was moving his mouth, so I assumed the words came from him.
"And obedience is the difference between life, death, and the other varieties of existence on offer here in Furnace." The man stepped forward, his dogs trotting by his heels. "Obey my rules and you'll do just fine. Disobey them and you'll soon learn that here your nightmares exist on the same plane as you, they stalk the same corridors and haunt your cells. It's only me that stands between you and insanity.
"Anyway, where are my manners? My name is Warden Cross, and I run this institution. I know who you are, and I know your crimes. But here everybody is guilty, so we do not judge you by the paths you took, only by the way you choose to live in this prison."
He stopped a short distance before us and I could swear the temperature dropped several degrees. I don't know why but I started to think of him as a black hole, like he sucked all the life and warmth and goodness from whatever was nearby. The closer he got the more it felt as though something was being wrenched out of my body. I squirmed in discomfort, beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
"You've already broken the first and most important rule of Furnace," the warden went on. "But since you didn't know it, I guess we'll excuse you this once. When the siren sounds, you must be either in your cell or in the yellow circle in the yard. Anyone breaks that rule then I can't guarantee their safety." He gestured at the guns on the wall. "It's a precautionary measure, you understand." I didn't, but I kept mum.
"If you hear one long blast on the siren, then you must get to your cells. That means lockdown, and that's when things really turn nasty if you're left outside." This time he nodded at his dogs, which began to drool messily on the stone floor.
"There are, of course, other codes of conduct, and you will all have plenty of time to become acquainted with them. But let's get you settled in. I mean, we're not monsters." His face erupted into a crooked smile. "Well, not all of us."
One of the men in black handed the warden a sheet of paper, and he studied it for a moment.
"Zee Hatcher," he read. "Prisoner number 2013832. Your cell is D24, fourth level. Cellmate Carlton Jones." There was a shuffling from the crowd of inmates, and a small, redheaded boy stepped to the edge of the yellow circle. He nodded nervously in the direction of the warden, then motioned for Zee to approach him. I watched him go, feeling like I'd been robbed of my best friend even though we'd only just met.
"Montgomery Earl," the warden continued, looking at the doughy kid. "Prisoner number 2013833. Cell number E15, fifth level. Cellmate Kevin Arnold."
"Hell no," came a voice from the crowd. It was the ugly kid dressed like a pirate. I felt my heart sink for poor Montgomery. I knew exactly what life would be like for him paired with that thug. The warden glared at Kevin and the boy stopped his protests, muttering something to the other Skulls who stood nearby.
"Better get moving," the warden said. Montgomery trotted off toward the yellow circle but I couldn't watch to see what happened.
"Alex Sawyer. Prisoner number 2013834. Cell number F11, sixth level. Cellmate Carl Donovan."
I looked over at the crowd but nobody came forward.
"I said Carl Donovan," the warden hissed, his leathery face creasing in displeasure. Gradually a tall, well-built kid a little older than me stepped forward, pushing past the people in front of him and staring at me like I was something his cat had coughed up. I ran a hand through my hair, then walked slowly across the uneven stone. The warden was dishing out a cell to Jimmy, but I wasn't really listening.
"Hey," I said meekly when I reached the boy who I'd be living with for God only knew how long. He looked down his nose at me and just snorted, then turned and started walking back through the crowd. Behind me I heard the warden shout out across the courtyard.
"Beneath heaven is hell, boys, and beneath hell is Furnace. I hope you enjoy your stay."
SETTLING IN
THE KID CALLED CARL led me across to the back of the courtyard, never once turning to see if I was following. He bounded up a set of stairs and I ran to keep up with him-tripping on more than one step in my desperation not to be left behind. At one point I heard the siren again and completely missed my footing, scraping my shin on the sharp metal and crying out in pain. I looked back out over the yard to see the massive vault door swing open and the macabre group vanish into the wall-all except for the men in black suits who stalked the floor with their shotguns.
Carl leaped up five more flights of stairs without so much as panting. By the time I'd caught up with him I was breathing like a broken vacuum cleaner and sweating like a sumo wrestler in a sauna. He was standing outside our cell looking impatient, and I apologized as I walked past him through the door.
I don't really know what I'd been expecting. I knew it wouldn't be the Hilton, or even a Travelodge, but when I'd thought about my cell I'd pictured something the same size as my old room, with a bed and a wardrobe and maybe even a plant or something. As it was, I had to stop short as soon as I entered the tiny room or else I'd have banged my nose on the far wall.