originalsam_backup | Trace, Chapters 19, 20, & 21 (Reply)

NINETEEN

Colin was startled, that evening, to see Joseph bringing him dinner, carrying a tray through the secure doors into the ward. Joseph went first to the guard on infirmary duty and bent to speak in his ear; the guard nodded and left, and Joseph set the tray down on the little plastic shelf that swung out over Colin's lap from one side of the bed.

"Thanks for keeping me in," Colin said, poking at the meal with his fork, not meeting Joseph's eyes. The food was standard fare for hospital inmates: bland, high on protein, and – this being Railburg – nearly inedible. There was mold on the bread.

"Don't thank me," Joseph said. "Lise was persuasive. I'm still not comfortable leaving you here tonight. You been eating?"

"Yeah," Colin said, picking around the raw portion of the small hamburger steak on the tray. "Kinda." He glanced up at Joseph, who seemed not to see the condition of the food. He wondered if any of the guards did.

"So you think some of the infirmary staff are involved?" Joseph asked, crossing his arms. The baton at his hip swung a little with the movement.

"Maybe," Colin hedged, and Joseph seemed to buy it, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he sighed. He looked tired; swing shift must be taking its toll.

"I should pull you now," he muttered.

"Do and I'll blow cover," Colin threatened. It was his last card to play, and he hadn't wanted to, but he needed this one last night.

"No, you won't," Joseph replied evenly. "You wouldn't sabotage a case."

"Try me," Colin challenged. It still hurt to talk.

Joseph leaned in a little. "You're lying, Colin. You wouldn't kill a case out of petulance."

Colin gave him a sullen look. "You got your warrant, right?" he rasped.

"Yeah. Everything goes down like it should, you'll be out tomorrow anyway. Is it really that important that you stay here?"

Colin nodded.

"Why?" Joseph asked.

"You wouldn't understand."

Any other time, any other place, Joseph would have challenged that -- he'd have said Then make me understand or Explain it. Here, he seemed to know better. He settled down in the chair Lise had used earlier in the day and stretched out, crossing his ankles, regarding Colin.

"You don't like it here," Colin observed, picking through the vegetables for some that weren't wilted. Joseph shook his head.

"I hate this uniform," he said. "I miss wearing a belt that hasn't got a can of mace attached. This place gives me the creeps. And..." he trailed off, frowning.

Colin raised an eyebrow.

"Things feel different here," Joseph muttered, looking discontented. He wouldn't meet Colin's eyes. "I can't -- I don't know how to say it. I barely know how to identify it. It feels wrong. I feel wrong."

Colin smiled a little. "If it helps, you fit right in. Hey, you're pretty good with that baton. Experience, or are you just a natural?"

Joseph's eyes unfocused a little. "I wasn't even thinking about it, to be honest. He had a blade, you were there...it's pretty vicious, huh? Packs a punch when it hits."

"Twenty-one inches of tempered steel will do that," Colin agreed.

"I have to get out," Joseph said, eyes almost trancelike. "You too. You're different here. It's eerie. Your eyes are lighter."

Colin raised his eyebrows. He supposed if he could see the shade when Joseph couldn't, Joseph might see something in his own eyes that he wasn't aware of.

"When you went in the first time," Joseph was saying, lost in some memory, "I flagged your file. I wanted to make sure you survived your sentence."

"I'm touched," Colin said, coughing.

"Don't be. You were my case, I follow my cases. I just thought you weren't the kind of guy who'd do very well in prison," Joseph answered. Colin gave him a dry look. "And then...nothing. First time you show up in the infirmary is a year in for some shop injury."

Colin laughed, mostly silent, just a little crackle in his throat. "Yeah, back when they still let me work in the machine shop. Ripped a chunk out of my arm on a fan belt."

"You make yourself useful," Joseph said. "You duck trouble. And you have Satan's own luck."

"Or I never reported anything else," Colin said, and Joseph frowned. Colin smiled, making light. "Don't worry, I can look out for myself."

"Most of the time," Joseph said. Colin was struck with a memory, something Joseph was recalling, not even his own: the way he'd seen Colin, fresh from prison, trapped in grief over Grace. Raw, sneaking, headstrong, glad to be out but not used to freedom yet, trying to trick people into protecting him or prove he was higher in the food chain than they were. It was shameful, seeing these things through Joseph's eyes.

When he'd called Joseph from Hoboken, because he was out of money and Grace had died and he didn't know what to do, Joseph should have hung up on his ass. Instead Joseph and Lise had ignored his games, shoved him into line when he stepped out, and tried to show him how to be a human being. And here he was, lying to Joseph, angling to murder Galano, fighting with the Aryans.

They had to leave soon. Joseph was right. Starting over again from that place, the place he'd been then, didn't bear thinking about.

"Why are you here?" Colin asked suddenly. Joseph had sent the other guard away and seemed perfectly comfortable where he was, which wasn't natural. This wasn't the way prisoners were treated. "Bringing me food, I mean."

"I'm supposed to make sure you don't pick your way out of your restraints with the fork," Joseph told him, a grin crossing his narrow face. Colin snorted. "You finished?"

Colin shoved the tray back a little. Most of the food was still there, but none of what remained was edible. "Sure."

"Okay. Be ready to go tomorrow. I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I can."

Colin watched Joseph walk away with the tray. The other guard came back in and Colin lowered his eyes quickly -- but not so quickly he didn't see the figure slinking in behind him.

He glanced up, then raised his head and stared openly. One of the Darkman's riders was standing in the room, in a parody of the guard's posture, chest puffed out, hands clasped behind his back. Colin's breathing sped up, but the rider didn't seem to notice him. Perhaps he wasn't here for him. Or at least, not yet.

"Fuck are you staring at?" the guard demanded, glancing at the rider standing next to him, obviously unaware of the its presence. "Jesus, you guys are like cats."

"Sir," Colin mumbled, lowering his head again. When he looked up, using only his eyes and very briefly, the rider was gone.

***

The infirmary, like the cells, locked down in the evening and the lights went out automatically at ten. Apparently nobody thought Colin, alone, was worth stationing a guard for overnight.

He had a bed check at eleven. About twenty minutes later, he could hear footsteps. Shadows moved in the other room, behind the tempered glass, and then Laney stepped through the glass, grinning. He held up his finger, slunk along to the door, tested it with the back of his hand like he thought it might be hot -- there was no handle on this side, no way to open the door without an electric buzz from a command button in the locked admissions office -- and then pushed it open. Gutierrez walked in, staying close to the walls as he approached Colin's bed.

"Hey, man, you look like shit," he said, when Colin pushed himself up and gripped Gutierrez's hand tightly.

"Thanks," Colin answered. He gave Laney a nod of greeting. "You're picking up tricks fast."

"Mojo comes when you need it," Laney said with a shrug.

"You've been talking with Noel, too."

Laney just kept grinning. "Any sign of Galano yet?" When Colin shook his head, he continued. "Sure you're up for this? Gutierrez is right, you look half dead."

"I got pasty skin," Colin murmured. Laney chuckled. "It looks worse than it is," he added. He'd been consciously letting go of his throat since dinner, willing the rawness to fade -- willing the fever to drop, and his body to heal itself. "Listen, though, there's a problem."

"Isn't there always?" Gutierrez asked.

"I promised my guard I wouldn't touch Galano," he said. Laney sucked in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head in disapproval. "I can't put a hand on him."

"Make us do all the hard work, I see how it is," Gutierrez teased. He pulled up a chair like he was just settling in for a visit instead of an unauthorized break-in.

"Hey, we got some kind of fucking plan?" Laney asked.

It looked like this had been gnawing at him. It had gnawed at Colin too: it felt as though they were about to perform a complicated, dangerous task with no plan whatsoever. It wouldn't be the first time in his life he'd winged it -- he'd spent most of his youth doing that -- but usually winging it didn't carry death as a consequence of failure.

"I got a few ideas," Gutierrez said. "And I got this."

He pulled up his sleeve and showed them the inside of his forearm, newly tattooed in stark black ink, the skin red and angry. It was a fairly common prison tattoo: a large clock, with a dangling pendulum that almost looked real enough to move, numbers around the face but no hour hand or minute hand. It meant Gutierrez was a lifer, doing time.

"That's pretty permanent for a one-time party," Colin observed. "Noel do that?"

"Would I go to someone else?" Gutierrez asked. "He said it's got mojo. Never say no to more power. Besides, it's a big party," he added, rolling his sleeve back down.

"You think Galano can get out of Seg?" Laney asked.

"As long as he knows I'm here," Colin said.

"Does he?" Gutierrez tilted his head.

"Yeah. He told me last night," Colin answered, and scrubbed his face with his hands. "So, no plan? No divine wisdom from God?"

"God thinks I'm a fucking idiot," Gutierrez replied. Colin laughed. "You boys too."

"Ain't no God anyway," Laney muttered. "We save ourselves."

"Fine by me," Colin said. He glanced around. "You bring some playing cards or something?"

"Yeah. Now we wait," Gutierrez answered, sitting back. Laney tossed Colin a pack of cards. "Let Galano make the first move."

"Can't steal first base," Colin murmured. He looked at Laney. "You seen any riders today?"

Laney glanced back at the doorway. "Yeah. They all up in the prison now. Soldiers, too. Nobody else sees 'em though, or at least nobody talks about 'em. They ain't done nothing yet. Waiting, maybe. Noel says good luck," he added.

"He'd only get in the way," Gutierrez said, before any of them could voice the thought in their minds: Noel should be there, he was one of them. Noel probably wanted to be there. Colin stayed silent, shuffling the cards.

"You ever exorcise a whole prison before?" he asked Gutierrez, as he dealt a hand in the dim light drifting in from outside, from the hallway and through the windows.

"Never done an exorcism at all before," Gutierrez replied. "Hell, man, I was an atheist when I was sent inside."

"I saw one, once," Laney said. Both men looked at him. "Boring as shit, man. This fat priest just kept sayin' In the name of God I cast you out. They ain't even supposed to do exorcisms. Church says so."

"When was this?" Colin asked, curious. Laney shrugged.

"Dunno. When I was a kid. We were stayin' with cousins who got religion, they thought one of their boys had a demon in him."

"What happened?" Gutierrez asked.

"Priest said he couldn't do nothing for him. Darkman got him," Laney said. "Couple weeks later. He's a rider now."

"No shit," Colin said, impressed.

"Hardly praise for the priest," Gutierrez remarked. "But we can try. If it gets rid of Galano, I'm for it."

"You think he's possessing this whole place?" Laney asked, craning his neck to look up and around at the tile ceiling, the yellowing walls, the barred windows.

"Unless you have a better idea," Colin said. Laney shook his head. "Okay then," Colin continued, and handed the cards to Gutierrez to deal. "He comes to us."

TWENTY

Joseph had managed to get his hands on a master key to the offices -- Colin was right, they weren't hard to come by -- and was alone in the day captain's office when the power went out. He'd left the lights off on purpose, but he could see the crack of light under the door die. Half a second later he heard the sharp whirr of the captain's computer powering down.

He'd watched one of the guards go into the office earlier and come back out again, probably (hopefully) consulting the ledger they weren't even sure existed yet. It was the same routine they'd followed since he joined the swing shift, so he casually ignored it. He'd waited hours, in fact, until everyone was on bed check or patrolling the walls, before he doubled back to the break room and let himself inside. He had a warrant in his pocket, should anyone catch him, but he didn't want to blow things this early.

When the power died he was in the middle of breaking into the desk, lockpicks raking away at the pins in the drawer lock. Always a useful skill, lockpicking, even as a cop -- maybe especially as a cop -- but he was out of practice and it was taking more time than he'd like.

Outside, in the wider darkness, he could hear voices as guards found their way back into the break room, flashlight beams throwing brief shimmers of light through the crack under the door. Joseph waited, unmoving, for the emergency generator to kick in. Most of the cell door locks weren't electronic, so no worries there; those that were had failsafes that auto-bolted when the power died. Still, a prison was a micro-community, and a power outage was not only a major inconvenience but a safety hazard for everyone. The air circulation would die, and the prisoners in Seg and in the interior cells of each wing would notice.

Nothing happened. No blink of light under the door, no sign that the generators even existed.

Which meant he was faced with a decision: sneak out of the office and join the guard squads that were supposed to muster in the yard in emergencies like this, or keep working. The idea of sneaking back in a second time didn't appeal, and it was true he was a lot less likely to get caught in a blackout, though he might get his ass busted for not joining the muster in the yard.

He turned back to the lock and worked frantically at it as the shouts outside increased. Stupid fiddly little thing. Small simple locks were sometimes harder than big complex ones, and he wasn't exactly a pro at this.

There was a click that sounded overly loud in the dark room. Joseph sighed in relief. He tugged the drawer open, rifled blindly but cautiously through the office supplies it contained, found nothing big enough, and pulled it out completely. He took out his flashlight, holding it inside the hollow where the drawer had been, and shone it down into the second drawer. There was a file folder, a book on prison management, a half-empty flask bottle of scotch --

There, under a pile of large manila envelopes. A plain cheap accounting book, no title or name on the outside. He opened it with the very tips of his fingers.

Jackpot.

Inside were scrawled columns of accounts, debits and credits, names, times, divided overages, payments in cash to suppliers. On the inside cover there was a list of the shell companies the prison was making deposits to. They couldn't have done better if they'd gift-wrapped it for him. He clenched his flashlight between his teeth, shining it at the page, and pulled his phone out of his breast pocket, snapping images of the lists, page after page. It was enough to get arrest warrants and when they came back for the ledger later they could dust for prints.

He carefully replaced the ledger and the drawer, fiddled with the lock long enough to secure it again, and slipped out of the day captain's office to find the break room empty. The prisoners were shouting, some screaming, most of them just making noise because they could, because it was something to do and the power outage was an exciting unplanned event in their regimented lives.

There was no way for them to riot, locked in their cells, and no particular reason the guards should feel unsafe with the doors bolted, but who needed a reason for irrational fear? He moved through the dark hallways, avoiding the cellblock doors when he could, hurrying along exterior hallways in the direction of the muster yard. The monitor cameras were out, there were no corridor lights, and some of the interior blocks must be plunged into deep darkness. Without any electricity, infirmary patients would --

Colin.

He skidded to a stop. Colin was in the infirmary. The power was out. The cell doors were shut but the block doors were only failsafe-bolted, and could be picked with a little ingenuity. That was true too of the block doors to the Seg cells, where Galano had been put.

Joseph had heard murmurs about Galano -- about how he had it in for Colin, but also about how he couldn't be caught, how Joseph was the only guard who'd ever managed to touch him. He'd thought the latter were just hyperbole and metaphor. In the dark, knowing what he now knew about Railburg, Joseph wondered if maybe they were true.

He turned sharply and broke into a run, back down the hall, following the fastest route to the infirmary, heedless of the jeers and complaints of the prisoners every time he passed a block door. If Galano got out, Colin would be next to defenseless. If he had to, he'd take Colin out now, haul him free under the cover of darkness, and damn the release paperwork.

As he barreled down the corridor towards the infirmary doors, someone began to scream.

TWENTY ONE

The remaining ambient light that illuminated the infirmary – low-wattage fluorescents from the hallway, floodlights through the windows -- winked out around midnight. When it did, Colin struggled up further in the bed. He couldn't leave it -- the orderly's bindings were in place -- but there should be no reason he'd have to. He'd promised Joseph not to touch Galano, and there was no point in chasing if Galano ran. Colin was bait, not warrior. Gutierrez and Laney were there, and Laney was flush with newfound power; they'd just have to do it without Colin. The point was that it got done.

"How's your mojo?" he asked Gutierrez, as their eyes adjusted to the dark. They'd at least been able to see each other and the cards, before; now, with the office and hallway lights off, it was pitch black. There should have been light through the windows, but the prison floodlights were out. The sky was overcast, no moon, no stars. Colin imagined he could feel his pupils dilating.

"Not this good," Gutierrez answered in the darkness, and there was the sound of a chair scraping backwards.

"Got a light?" Laney asked humorlessly.

"Don't look at me," Colin said. Gutierrez laughed.

"It's fine," Gutierrez said. "Hey, don't suppose you could call your amante, huh?"

Colin closed his eyes. There was a hum of power rising, most of it normally obscured by the electric lights and machines, now a soundless whine in the stillness. It was hard to push through the thick, cloying air to find Joseph, but he managed; Joseph was crouched behind a desk in the Captain's office, his emotions spiking high on triumph and concern. Must've found something, then.

"With the power out they'll be squadding in the yard," Colin said. "They'll get guards here eventually. Not soon enough, though. And no guarantee it'll be him."

"Just us, then," Gutierrez said. Laney had wandered over to one of the barred windows and was looking down impassively.

"See anything, Laney?" Colin called.

"Darkman riders," Laney answered. "Lots of 'em. Guards are mustering out, riders are there too."

"You see any soldiers?" Colin asked. Laney shook his head. "None at all?"

"They're with the prisoners," Laney answered.

"Can they keep them safe?" Gutierrez asked, surprising Colin. Laney looked back over his shoulder.

"No," he said.

"This is nice," said a third voice, and Colin widened his eyes, for all the good it would do him. Galano's voice, the nasal twang in it unmistakable. "Very literary. Big showdown," he added.

Colin heard the snap of fingers. The unlit ceiling lamp above them exploded in sparks that fell to the floor and kept burning yellow long after they should have winked out. Galano stood in their shattered-glass glow, arms crossed, hair hanging in lank strings over his forehead. He looked irritatingly smug. "Hiya, Colin."

"Galano," Colin growled. Gutierrez was already moving, subtly, putting himself between Colin and Galano, trying to block off Laney as well. Galano turned to look at him and waved a hand; the little shards of light flared bright. Gutierrez froze.

"You were afraid of power back when you put me here," Galano said, looking back at Colin. "Don't know why I thought you'd be any different in prison, snitch."

"Least he don't poison the food," Laney said. Galano turned slowly to face him. He'd acquired a pair of guard's boots from somewhere, and the glass ground loudly beneath them when he took a step.

"You, I don't know," he said.

"Don't care," Laney replied. Galano cocked his head at Gutierrez.

"You're a pair of strange bodyguards," he said. "You're -- "

"Leonel Gutierrez."

"The saint who talks to God," Galano observed.

"No saints in prison," Laney murmured.

"That's a nice scam if you can pull it off. I applaud your initiative, Colin," Galano said.

"It's not mine," Colin replied. "And it's not a scam. Why'd you come, Galano? You bring me flowers?"

"I know you're gunning for me. Which is okay, I'm gunning for you, too. Now we could be civilized about this; we ain't in the same block. No reason to go messing each other up."

"Except you poison the food," Gutierrez said.

"You keep out of this."

"It's our food too."

Galano glared at him; Gutierrez stood his ground.

"It's true, though," Colin said.

"Fuck you, Byrne," Galano snarled.

Colin sighed, bluffing boredom even as he was studying Galano's defensiveness. He didn't think the man could control the power he had, didn't think Galano could stop if he wanted to. Galano could put the power to use -- but only because it was that or surrender to it completely, and Colin suspected surrender to that kind of power would tear him apart. Galano wasn't afraid of much, but he was still probably afraid of dying.

But his lack of control made for a good taunt. "Galano, why do this?" Colin asked. "What's the point?"

"You know why," Galano said. The room was already cast in shadows but now they were moving, bodies forming in the darkness, riders for the Darkman beginning to coalesce. Galano tipped his head at them. "New Mexico's gonna look like a fucking picnic compared to what I got planned."

"Ain't your plan," Laney said suddenly, and Galano turned to him again.

"Shut your mouth -- "

"Ain't your plan," Laney repeated, like the whole thing was dawning on him. He was watching the riders moving in the shadows. "Darkman, he made you do this. Ain't your plan. Darkman told you what to do. Darkman gave you the mojo, said he'd let you out if you did this. What, he get tired of eating kiddies?"

"Shut up!" Galano insisted.

"Guess you're just a tool after all," Colin said.

Galano took a step closer to the bed. "And why do you care, Suicide? We all know why you're after me. It isn't the poisoned food or the hit the Italians put on me. They're next when I'm through with you, by the way," he added. His eyes swept Gutierrez and Laney. "You boys know the real reason Suicide here wants me dead, don't you?"

Laney, who'd spent a lot less time being lied to in prison than Gutierrez, glanced at the older man. Gutierrez's hands curled slowly.

"Doesn't matter," Gutierrez said.

"Oh, I think it does," Galano replied. "Did you tell them about Grace, Colin?" he asked. Colin's mouth was too dry to answer, but Galano continued before he could have anyway. "Grace was his woman on the outside."

"I know that," Gutierrez said patiently.

"This is some bullshit, we -- " Laney started, but Galano snapped his fingers and one of the little glass shards zipped through the air, slicing a narrow gash along Laney's arm. "Ow, motherfucker."

"Grace," Galano repeated loudly, "was his woman on the outside. Pretty thing, too pretty to wait for her boyfriend. We ran together for a while, but you know how it is." He laughed. "We fell out over business. I think he tells people she overdosed, doesn't he? Truth is, I picked her up and when I didn't need her anymore, I dropped her." His grin widened. "Off a bridge. And you can't prove it," he sing-songed.

"Suicide?" Gutierrez prompted, without looking away from Galano. "This true? That why you're here?"

"Yeah," Colin said, unashamed.

"He killed Grace?" Gutierrez continued. "And you...?"

"Lied," Colin admitted. "Tipped off the police so they'd send me here. Took a while to figure out it was you, or I'd have paid a call sooner," he added to Galano.

"And now I want you," Galano said to Colin, "to get out of bed and face me like a man and we'll see if you're capable of killing, too."

Galano, whatever else he might be, hadn't been an inmate for more than a few months, not that much longer than Laney. He hadn't learned the thing that kept you alive in prison, hadn't had to yet. It only came with time, but it was learn or die: no taunt, no insult to pride, no assault to the body could be met with anger, not if it came from someone stronger or more powerful. It was easy enough for Colin to look on Galano in this light; he'd learned humility in prison, or at least he'd learned to fake it. And he couldn't kill Galano himself. He'd promised Joseph. He kept his anger under control.

"You killed his woman?" Laney asked Galano.

Galano, looking smug, nodded. "It was just business. Shame, she was a great fuck."

"He's lying," Colin said evenly. "He's lying now, they never fucked. She left me but they never fucked."

Laney glanced briefly at Gutierrez. "But he killed her."

"Yeah," Gutierrez said. "One more reason to take care of this problem now."

Galano looked surprised at this. Gutierrez showed his teeth.

"You don't get gangs, do you?" he asked. "You mess with one of us, you screw with all of us."

Colin felt a jolt of something, some sharp strong emotion, and identified it as Joseph.

"Gutierrez?" he said.

"Yes, mijo?" Gutierrez answered.

"Mi amante viene de prisa."

Joseph is coming.

"You want a fight, bring it on," Galano said. He uncrossed his arms and raised his left hand. The little glowing shards of glass lifted up off the floor. The light shifted over Galano's face as they rose, throwing his scar into sharp relief, shadowing his eyes. Colin reached for the heavy bottle of disinfectant on the table next to his bed.

Before he could throw it, before Galano could make another move, Gutierrez charged forward, darting around one of the little glowing shards, and shoved bodily into Galano. The impact clearly startled him; it pushed him back into some of the glass and tumbled both of them to the ground. Galano screamed in pain.

Gutierrez pinned him with his knees across Galano's shoulders and Laney dove in, holding down his wrists, knees skidding in the glass while Colin watched helplessly from the bed. The shadows came forward, the Darkman's riders with their hands on their batons --

"In the name of God I cast you out," Gutierrez cried. The riders stopped, tilting their heads, curious looks on their washed-out faces. "In the name of God I cast you out!"

"Exorcism?" Galano laughed breathlessly, but he screamed again when Gutierrez ground him down into the glass shards, and the riders began to back away. "Seriously, you think I'm possessed?"

"No," Gutierrez said. Colin struggled against the restraints, trying to see clearly what was going on. "You are the evil. In the name of God, I cast you out -- "

Galano's third scream was cut off by a new voice: Joseph, bellowing Colin's name as he burst into the infirmary. The door flew off its hinges. The noise distracted Laney for just long enough; Galano jerked his wrists out of Laney's grasp and bucked, flipping Gutierrez off his shoulders with a manic twist. He rolled through the glass to his feet while Laney was still trying to get upright. Gutierrez gasped for breath, the wind knocked out of him.

Galano turned to face the new threat; Joseph's baton was already in his hand, almost two feet of wicked steel alloy, cocked at an angle from his body. The riders in the shadows were giving him a wide berth.

"Hands up, all of you," Joseph barked. Behind Galano, Gutierrez was struggling to his feet; Laney had his hands out at his sides, but not nearly as submissive as he was pretending.

A smug grin crossed Galano's face as he raised his hands. The glowing glass shards orbiting around him lifted in sync with his palms --

"Down!" Colin yelled, as Galano twisted just enough to send the broken glass hurtling through the air towards Joseph. Laney grunted as one passed right through his chest; Gutierrez dodged another, trying to stand.

Joseph didn't duck. He didn't move at all. A dozen pinpricks of light should have shredded him to nothing, but they blinked out and fell whenever they got too close. Joseph himself seemed dimmer somehow, his yellow hair greyed out against the light -- protected by the shadow. Galano stared, stunned; Gutierrez saw his chance and lunged, but this time his arms passed right through Galano's throat. Colin made a frustrated, aggressive noise and tried to roll out of the bed again, but it held him fast.

Outside, in the yard, someone screamed. The scream was echoed by other voices, around them, beneath them, above them. Male voices, bellowing in anger, in fear.

"The riot," Colin breathed softly, to himself.

Galano and Joseph were circling each other now, the room dimmed almost to darkness, only a few shards of glass still lit. Laney was clutching his chest, trying to stay upright; Gutierrez was watching Galano, crouching, waiting for his chance, but somehow Galano always seemed to be on the far side of Joseph when an opportunity arose.

"Mijo, I don't think exorcism is going to work," Gutierrez called, without taking his eyes off Galano. "If you wanted to come up with a plan now would be a really good time."

"The riot's starting," Colin called back. He saw Galano bare his teeth, heard him growl in impotent rage as Joseph kept blocking him. "Joseph, be careful -- "

Joseph swung and managed a hit on Galano's upper arm; the other man swore and danced backwards, cradling it against his chest. Joseph growled viciously. Outside, there was the sound of banging doors, of running feet, more screams.

Colin leaned out over the bed, reaching, straining. He could almost touch one of the madly vibrating shards of glass --

"Give up now, Galano," Joseph insisted, as if this was an ordinary out-of-bounds prisoner recapture. Colin was so close to the glass, but it slipped through his fingers, leaving them bloody.

"Your boys came after me first," Galano snarled back. "This is between me and them."

"That's not what it looked like when you had a knife on Colin," Joseph said, and swung again. The baton passed through part of Galano's chest and then lodged there. There was no blood, and it didn't look like there was any pain -- Colin watched, horrified, as Galano jerked his body back and took Joseph with him, still holding the baton. Joseph wouldn't let go. Instead he telescoped it in, shoving it so that the blunt ends of the segments slammed into Galano's body.

Galano staggered, right into Gutierrez, who caught him in a bear hug and twisted, trying to haul him away from Joseph. Colin struggled harder and finally one of the shards danced into his fingers; he brought it down in a slash, cutting his own thigh open. Blood dripped down but he felt himself pull free of the invisible restraints. He threw his body sideways, tumbling to the floor.

Through the linoleum, through the struts and beams that made up the prison, he could feel a rumbling, low and intense, growing by the minute. Hundreds of voices, growling and shouting, raised in uproar. There were flashes of light outside. Railburg was rioting.

In the infirmary, though, there were more pressing matters; Gutierrez was struggling with Galano, and Laney was on his other side, eyes red and unblinking, arm around Galano's shoulder in a wrestling hold, bleeding chest pressed up against his side. In the shadows there was more movement, too: some of Guye's soldiers had joined the fight and were holding back the riders, if only just. Joseph kept trying to get a hand on Galano, but his fists passed straight through every time. His shadow was dancing along the floor, snagging on broken glass on the ground, flickering in and out; Colin saw it as he ran forward, broken glass crunching under his feet.

He could feel distant pain and slickness underfoot, but there was no time to be delicate; when he reached Joseph he bent in a swift effortless motion and passed his hand through Joseph's second shadow. The blood on his fingers caught it and tugged it free.

Colin yelled "Gutierrez!" and shoved Joseph's shadow into one open, grasping hand while Laney struggled with Galano.

Joseph stiffened. His whole body jerked when the shadow separated; Gutierrez grasped it and pulled it up to Galano's face. Laney caught the other side, tugging it tight across his head as if they could suffocate him with it.

Colin became aware of the pain in his hand and thigh, of the bleeding cuts on his feet. There was a ringing silence in the room, a sudden stillness. Joseph grabbed the baton again and yanked up, hard; it jerked through Galano's ribcage with a crunch. Galano screamed against the shadow on his face as Gutierrez and Laney pulled it tight against his mouth. His body went limp. Gutierrez and Galano went backwards together, Laney staggering to one side.

When Galano hit the ground, he shattered.

White crystals and translucent shards scattered over Gutierrez's legs, over Joseph's boots, bounced off Colin's bare ankles and Laney's canvas shoes. Glass and salt poured down. Gutierrez scrambled away, horror on his face. Joseph bent to help him up and Gutierrez raised a hand, thrusting the shadow straight into Joseph's chest. His hand went in up to the wrist before he pulled it back.

Joseph gasped on a long inhale and stumbled backwards a few feet before he doubled over, dry hacking coughs shaking his body. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the white spray on the floor, arms around his ribcage. All Colin could hear were Laney's harsh breaths and Joseph's choking gasps.

He shuffled forward and crouched next to Joseph. Joseph shook as Colin wrapped an arm around his chest and held tightly, murmuring apologies and soothing nonsense until the wracking coughs had passed.

One by one, the unbroken lights flickered back to life. Colin swept every corner with his eyes, just to be sure, before he turned back to Gutierrez.

"I'm sorry," he said to him, one hand absently smoothing Joseph's hair.

"You should have just told us," Gutierrez replied. "We would have helped you."

"Old habits," Colin answered, looking down. Next to him, Joseph gave one last dry, hacking cough, and tried to stand. Colin got a shoulder under his arm and helped him up.

"Well," Laney said, blood dripping down his shirt. "This is a fucking mess."

Colin was opening his mouth to reply when he heard it – the unmistakable rat-tat of gunfire outside the window. Gunfire in the yard. With it, sound from outside seemed to rush in: cries of prisoners and guards, doors slamming, glass breaking. Joseph shrugged Colin away and staggered to the window.

"They'll be here soon," Gutierrez said. "They'll come after the drugs."

"Jesus, we gotta get the fuck out of here," Laney added.

"Come look," Joseph rasped, leaning against the barred glass. Gutierrez helped Laney to the nearest bed, picking his way carefully through the glass and salt. Colin joined Joseph, staring through the cloudy glass, down into one of the exercise yards.

"Do you see them?" Colin asked softly. Joseph nodded, wordless, eyes black. Down below, the Darkman's riders were fighting in the yard -- some on horses, trampling through the melee, others on foot, fighting with shadowy batons or their bare fists. Prisoners who had broken free were fighting back, their faces terrified, swinging wildly with fists or bits of pipe or other scattered detritus they'd picked up on the way. There were no soldiers, none of Guye's angels to defend them. Flashes like lightning from beyond the next cellblock indicated that this battle was being repeated in the other yards. Some men were running for the fences, trying to climb them, pulled down and away by the demons on horseback. Shrieks echoed down the hallway on the other side of the open infirmary door.

"Where are the soldiers?" Colin demanded, turning to Laney. "Where's Guye? They're going to slaughter them out there."

Laney shook his head. "I don't know," he mumbled. Gutierrez, Colin noticed, was streaked with blood from a thousand tiny nicks, and his face had the same grey shock on it that Laney's did.

He felt Joseph brush past, behind him, and heard glass crunch under his boots – the remains of Galano – as he took off running. Colin stood for a tense second, torn between Gutierrez, sitting on a bed with Laney, and Joseph, running into danger he could neither fight nor understand.

"Go," Gutierrez told him, jerking his head at the doorway. "Go on, we'll follow."

Colin took off running, skidding occasionally on the slick linoleum, ignoring the wet blood underfoot and the way the soles of his feet burned with every step. He passed the access gate to the infirmary corridor and darted around grasping hands reaching through the bars, tried not to look at the men whose faces were pressed up against them with no way out.

When he hit the first door between the hall and the stairwell, he ran right through it; nobody noticed as he joined a rush of bodies down to the yard.

"Gettin' the fuck out of here," one of them kept chanting, like it was some kind of protection against the melee outside.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Colin mumbled under his breath. Not that he supposed his goals were any more logical – find Joseph, drag him to some kind of safety, wait out the riot – if the riot didn't destroy them all. Galano was dead, but that was no guarantee of anything.

He burst out into the yard to a world that seemed to be washed white under the harsh glare of the floodlights. The orange prison uniforms were pale yellow, the guards' black faded to grey –

And the Darkman's Riders were inky blots, shadows, slinking predators. Some wheeled their horses in circles, trampling anyone who tried to get near; others had been unmounted and were fighting on a level with the prisoners, though it wasn't exactly a fair battle. He watched one of the Riders pick up a man by the throat and fling him into a wall effortlessly, then ducked a two-by-four swung through the air by someone who had apparently lost the ability to determine friend from foe.

The prisoners were fighting for their lives – some fighting their way towards the wall, towards imagined freedom, while others charged in to attack the monsters in their midst, Rider and guard alike, pent-up aggression driving them blindly forward. Some of the guards had given up; Colin jerked aside as a handful of them tried to retreat into the prison, probably hoping to get back to the hub at the center, with its reinforced doors and defensible position.

He found Joseph before long – the spreading empty space around him as Riders drew their horses away or dodged to avoid him was visible even to the battling prisoners. Joseph had his baton out again and was swinging it in measured arcs, driving back the Riders every time they came too close; other prisoners with their own weapons were backing up to him, creating a small knot of steadfasts in the middle of the yard.

But that was drawing more and more Riders, and it made it impossible for Colin to get through; he could see Joseph, see his black eyes and his gritted teeth, could hear the panting growls Joseph made when he was angry. But he couldn't reach him past the crush.

"Joseph!" he yelled, over the screams of anger and pain, the screaming horses, Jesus Christ. "Joseph!"

"Colin!"

The shout came from behind him, not a reply but a call for attention. Noel was standing in one of the doorways, hand gripping the frame as if it was the only thing keeping him from being drawn into the battle.

"Colin!" he called again, above the screams. "B Block's safe! They haven't – "

A horse trampled through the space between them, and a Rider bent low to grab a prisoner by the hair, dragging him along. His thin screams drowned Noel out. Noel, he could see, was clenching his free hand into a fist, his lanky body taut with tension.

Noel couldn't fight; he'd only feel the pain he tried to inflict on others. It was obvious he was going to try anyway, if Colin didn't get to him soon. Noel had spent his whole life fighting – rarely in a good name, but old habits died hard.

Colin had started forward when he realized silence had fallen over the yard; the lights flickered, and the horses wheeled and bellowed soundlessly. The prisoners slowly stopped fighting. Colin could see Gutierrez emerge into the yard, Laney's arm over his shoulder, but he couldn’t hear the rasping breaths both men seemed to be drawing.

It was like a pressure on his ears, the silence, so total and complete – even in Seg he'd had his own voice to distract him, his own breaths to remind him the world was still real.

The high, whining strike of iron on cement broke the silence, and every head in the yard lifted and turned. A new Rider was passing through the stone wall, then through the chain-link that divided the yard from the guard corridor. That was the only sound – the clop of the horse's hooves and the snort and whine of its breath.

Its rider was tall, thick-chested – enormous, just slightly too big to be an ordinary man. His face was pale white, and there were black, ragged holes where his eyes should be.

"Darkman," Laney's hushed whisper cut across the yard.

Colin swallowed and tried to speak, failing – his throat closed off and even the choke made no noise. He tried again, choked harder and stumbled forward; nobody noticed, all eyes on the rider.

He shut his eyes and, inside his own mind, ran to hide.

When he opened them, Colm was there, protective, suspicious, angry.

"Darkman," Colm said. Heads turned to him. "That's the Darkman. Don't let him see you."

Prisoners began to back away slowly from the horse's progress. Joseph stepped forward, baton upraised, but a handful of men grabbed his arms and pulled him back, into the safety of the mass, the hopeful protection of numbers. Like children huddled in fear.

But it wasn't Joseph or the men in the yard the Darkman was interested in – or at any rate he didn't stop for them. Colm saw where the Darkman's blind face was turned, and after a second he saw what it meant.

"No!" he yelled, trying to move forward, but he was pulled back just as Joseph had been, though he struggled harder. "No! Laney, don't let him!"

He couldn't see Laney now, couldn't see anything but the Darkman, his horse's wet flank passing them, moving easily towards where Noel stood transfixed in the doorway. There was a blacked metal knife hanging from the saddle, curved like a sickle.

Colm struggled against the hands holding him, watching as the Darkman drew his horse to a halt in front of Noel. It shook its head, dancing along the concrete for a minute before it calmed.

"Where's Guye?" Colm shouted, still struggling. He could feel men grunting with the effort of holding him, but there was still no sound but the creak of the Darkman's leather saddle, the panting of his horse. Foam flecked its muzzle. "Guye, you motherfucker -- "

The Darkman, ignoring his shouts, slid off his horse, hefting the sickle-knife in his hand as if testing the weight. Noel, back straight, eyes forward, tattoos and the scars of missing tattoos on his arms and throat, just watched as the Darkman stepped up in front of him. Colm struggled and screamed as the Darkman lifted his arm and swung it in a sharp arc –

There should have been a spurt of blood – if the legends were true, the Darkman should have bent his head and devoured Noel as he died. Instead, split-second fast, Noel's body jerked sideways and the blade passed through his throat without harming it – no blood, no slick red line in his skin. Colm stared, shocked, as the Darkman's body jerked in the opposite direction, shoulders turning, hand rising to his own throat. He stumbled, his eyeless face a mask of surprise, and nearly knocked into the horse, which shied backwards. Colin could see blood flowing down the Darkman's chest, unusually bright against the dark black glove pressed to his bleeding skin.

As the Darkman struggled to remount, Noel turned his head just slightly, enough to draw Colm's attention back to him. Black flickered behind his eyes, and he stepped backwards into the hallway of B Block, closing the door behind him.

Sound rushed back with the click of the door's lock, and Colm's legs cut out; he couldn't fall, too many hands holding him, but he dragged the mob of men sidelong for a second, the world spinning dizzily, and when he looked up Darkman and his riders were gone.

Continue to Chapters 22, 23, 24, and 25