“Only Berkshire and Exeter so far. And they’re both in a mess and requesting support from us. Berkshire’s RGC is buried under ten feet of rubble.”
“What problems, sir?” asked the colonel.
Chairs scraped as other occupants started to leave, slowly filing past on their way back to their places of work.
The PO leant forward and spoke quietly. “Easier to say what problems they don’t have. Exeter has no military, and the Regional Government Centre has been overrun. Their food supplies have been ransacked, and the officials are no longer in control. A member of the public has taken command and has forced the Assistant PO to contact us for help. The PO was killed during the takeover.”
“Anything from Pindar or the Permanent Joint Headquarters at Northwood?”
“Nothing, Captain, nothing.” The PO pushed back his chair. “I need to get on.”
He turned towards Colonel Bannister, who also stood up. “I need a report on the warehouse security and the hospital as soon as possible.”
“I’ll get Captain Redfern on it immediately.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. Good day to you all.”
The PO exited the canteen, leaving the three soldiers alone, apart from Alison and two of her staff cleaning up behind the long stainless steel counter at the rear of the canteen.
“Take a patrol out to the hospital, Alan. Then check in on the encampment as well while you’re out.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Take a sizeable force with you. We can’t afford to lose any more men.”
“We could take a couple of constables, sir,” suggested Sergeant Saunders.
“Good idea. I’ll speak to the superintendent. They can meet you up top. Right, let’s get on with it, shall we?”
CHAPTER 4
Tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap, tap. [O] Tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap. [N] Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap. [W] Tap… tap. [A] Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap, tap. [Y]
Stan Keelan tapped back a response on the cold water pipe that was connected to all the sinks in the Close Supervision Centre (CSC) of F-Wing, HMP Wakefield. It was a single tap, followed by three more: the letter ‘K’ confirming he had received the message. He moved from the area of the sink and toilet and quietly approached the steel door of his stark, cage-like cell. The only natural light was from a small slit-like window, high up on the back wall. The light bulb in the cell suddenly flickered into life, and he could hear the doors of the other CSC cells being slowly unlocked and opened. He stood in front of the hatch as it clanked open. The sallow face of a prison officer stared back at him.
“Step back, Keelan,” ordered Kennedy, a Senior Prison Officer.
“Certainly, Mr Kennedy.”
Keelan took three steps back. Once the officer was satisfied the door was clear, he shut the viewing hatch and unlocked the door. Pulling the heavy steel door out and open, he stepped inside and found himself stood face to face with Keelan’s large shaved head. Keelan wasted no time. Wrapping his huge arm and muscled bicep around the back of the head of the sickly, underweight guard, he pulled him into the cell. At the same time, the home-made shiv, a sharpened piece of metal with fabric wrapped around the one end to form a handle, was thrust deep into the man’s stomach. He pulled the prison officer’s head tight into his chest, muffling the man’s screams as he withdrew the blade and slammed it into his abdomen again and again. The officer found one last vestige of strength and reared his head back, spluttering his last breath, spraying blood over the smiling face of the giant who held him in his clutches. His attempts to break Keelan’s grip were futile as the blade dug deep for the last time.
Keelan allowed the lifeless body to drop to the floor. The officer’s eyes, deep in his gaunt face, stared back. Keelan wiped the blade on the leg of his grey prison trousers and peered through the doorway, seeing two other guards lying on the floor of the CSC, without doubt dead like their senior officer. He took one last look at his cell and stepped out. He walked past the pool table in the centre and headed for the gated entrance where another prisoner was unlocking the barred gate from the other side.
Keelan was shocked by what he saw. Although he had always kept his head closely shaven, as did many on the wing, the prisoner on the other side of the bars looked very different. His skull was hairless apart from a few tufts hanging lank across his forehead. His grey-looking skin hung in loose folds on his face, red and brown blotches adorning his head and stick-like arms.
“Christ, Isaac, what the hell’s happened to you?”
Isaac forced a smile, a black space where two of his teeth were missing. “You should see some of the others. I’m one of the lucky ones.”
“Shit. Let me through.”
Isaac stood aside as Keelan walked through the now open steel gate.
“Hey, Doug. Are we on?”
“Hey, bro.” Douglas Salt, a tall twenty-four-year-old, shambled across to his fellow CSC cellmate, swinging an iron bar in his right hand.
“We in control?”
The young man took off his silver-framed spectacles and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Completely. But you gotta see the main wing.”
“Yeah, I’ve just seen Isaac.”
“He’s one of the lucky ones. Some have got their skin dropping off. Makes us feel sick.”
“They’ve kept that quiet.”
“Now we know why we’ve had limited access to the rest of the wing.”
“We need to get moving before the authorities get their act together and we have the filth on us.”
“There’s only about twenty guards here, and half of them are in the prison hospital. Looking at the CCTV, I can’t see any sign of the police responding. I doubt the guards had time to sound any alarm. The takeover was pretty smooth.”
“Keelan buddy, it’s time we got out of here,” suggested Withers who had just joined them.
“Yes. Round the boys up. Just our lot. I don’t want any of the other fuckers tagging along. Me and Doug will meet you at the end of the wing.”
They parted. Keelan and Salt made their way down the centre of F-Wing. Either side, the cell doors were wide open, and they could see prisoners lying on their beds. Coming too close to one of the cells, Keelan’s senses were assailed by the odour of sour vomit, urine and faeces making him gag. The faces that stared back from their beds were in as poor a state as Isaac. Above, on the upper level, the odd prisoner peered over the balcony, one of them calling down asking what was happening. Salt and Keelan ignored them, remaining focused.
They made their way to the reception area where two more guards were sitting in the corner of the control room, handcuffed and under supervision. They too, along with the prisoners supervising them, looked unwell. In fact, it appeared as if the high-risk prisoners from the CSC were the only ones that had come through the events of the last three weeks with any semblance of health, their isolation working to their advantage for once. They had seen the build-up to the war on the TV, and couldn’t miss the sound or reverberation of the explosions that had rocked the prison.
Salt shuffled through some papers on one of the desks, then a lunch bag, pilfering two cans of Coke, one of which he tossed in the direction of Keelan. Half a dozen prisoners made a noisy entrance into the control room, wanting to exit the prison before the authorities arrived.
“You lot can fuck off. We’re busy,” Keelan called back over his shoulder.
The heavyset ringleader of the group, a chair leg swinging in his right hand, stepped forward and placed his left hand on Keelan’s shoulder. Keelan, his back to the group who had just entered, swung round to his left, and his huge right fist connected with the prisoner who had the audacity to lay a hand on him. The crunch of gristle was clearly audible as the man’s nose collapsed under the force of the blow. Blood and snot sprayed the area. The convict staggered back, arms cartwheeling as he tried to maintain his balance, failing, and crashing into the men he had arrived with. Three additional prisoners came in behind the intruders and quickly laid into them with home-made clubs, chair legs and a broken pool cue. The Intruders, severely battered, withdrew, dragging their bleeding bodies to safety back inside one of the wings.