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* * *
“What the fuck is going on?” my cellmate, Pip, asked groggily while I leaned against the bars of our cell.
“Dunno,” I replied, my mouth pressed into a thin line. “Some kinda fuss goin’ on.”
Pip stood and came up beside me, peering out into the dark halls. Jeering and taunts were audible from a few corridors over, the heavy steps and time indicating it was guards. The telltale sound of keys and a cell being opened made me and Pip to look at one another, concern and confusion evident on our faces.
“Mama!” a small voice cried and even my hardened heart cracked. A woman’s scream carried over the mocking laughter, the child’s voice drowned out. We heard the cell slam shut as the young voice howled and cried for his mother.
“Shit,” Pip said.
A moment later the sounds of struggle came closer and I looked down the corridor to see several of the guards dragging a female inmate behind them. As they got closer, I could see tears streaking the woman’s face, though she didn’t seem to be struggling. I wondered if they threatened the boy to get her cooperation.
Sighing, I made my way back to my bed and leaned against the wall. The sounds of screams and crying echo across The Tomb. That was one of the longest nights I’ve had here at The Tomb, and even today that poor woman’s screams are in my nightmares.
The next morning the atmosphere felt different. Guards had long been a bane to the inmates even before The Split, and even the rapists among us seemed outraged the guards had stolen, raped, and killed one of our own.
Pip opted to stay in our cell when it came time for breakfast, and I didn’t blame him. The air crackled with tension. The sure knowledge, just below the surface, that something was going to give very soon.
As I made my way down the hall, I saw the young boy sitting in his cell, staring at the ground in front of him. Although I wanted to say something to him—God, he was so young—I knew there was nothing I could say or do, and I moved on. At breakfast, it was quieter than usual. The normal ruckus of the inmates subdued, and it was easy to see the guards were on edge.
About midday, a bell went off overhead indicating new arrivals. Being entertainment was nonexistent, the inmates often crowded the levels around the yard to watch the fresh fish get their introduction, much like they do now. I hadn’t seen the young boy since the morning, though I had kept an eye out for him.
About a dozen new arrivals came, this time again including a woman and her young boy, about the same age as the other. Too far to hear what was being said, I watched as one of the guards began to pull the woman away from her child. The reactions on the faces around me were evident—outrage and anger. Hollers and jeers rained down on the guards to no effect.
That is until a small boy darted out of the crowds of inmates and rushed the guard holding the new woman. With a scream, the boy sank a shiv into the guard’s calf, diving on him when he fell. Before the other guards could help, the inmates jumped in. Years of suppressed anger finally coming to a boil they rose.
By the end of the afternoon, eight guards were dead and a good two dozen inmates. The remaining few guards cleared out and locked us in here.
For three days, nothing.
No word from the outside or the guards, no food or new prisoners. They didn’t even come to take the bodies of the fallen guards away. One man, Brenan, stepped up and began to organize some of the other prisoners on the second day. We unlocked every cell, brought the bodies to the inner fence in the yard and then we waited.
It was the morning of the third day when the announcement came. The guards weren’t coming back. They requested one man come out to discuss arrangements, and Brenan was the one who stepped forward for the job.
I remember so clearly all of us sitting in the yard waiting for him to return. There were no fights among us, despite the fact we were all starving and on edge. We waited on bated breath to find out what would happen to us.
Late in the afternoon Brenan came back and confirmed it. D1219 would not have guards returning inside their walls. The guards would make regular scheduled drops for supplies and food, which we were to arrange distribution of. As long as we stayed inside, they didn’t care what went on in here.
As Brenan spoke, the reactions varied but most of the inmate population cheered. The guards had raped, beaten and killed us one by one. And now? We were taking control. One small boy though stepped forward to criticize Brenan’s negotiations.
“Those fuckers killed my mama!” Axle cried out, “They can’t get away with this!”
Brenan chuckled at the boy and I heard several murmurs around me agreeing with the boy.
“When you can take me on, boy, you can decide how we do things,” Brenan told him. Axle looked furious, his tiny fists balled up as he yelled up at Brenan, who was an imposing man. He gained a lot of respect that day.
* * *
Twenty One
Ana
“It was about ten years later the boy made good on that, challenging Brenan to a Pit Battle. Of course, he won. The other little boy had become fast friends with young Axle, those two caused all sorts of havoc in these walls when they were young.” Theo smiles a bit. “And when Axle took over, Ethan became like his number two.”
Theo stopped to cough a bit, going over to grab some water.
“What happened to the other woman?” I ask, spellbound by Theo’s account of how The Tomb became what it was. Outside we only knew it wasn’t safe for the guards which is why they closed it up. Of course, none of the true rumors got out.
