It was a cold day, and not the usual Minnesota cold. It was like a small sting when walking outside. The bitter cold hit hard like continuous stretch of grief riding down your spine and curling around your body like a python’s egregious coil. The snow piled up to knee height, and each guard was gracious to the next on duty, who would curse their superior. The grounds were kept on constant guard, beckoned by heavy spotlights and the outer wall. The indoors were just as cold, but bitterer. Evil men flooded the walls, whether taken out and labored, or brought inside to feed and sleep. The guards were coated in thick cotton and leather bounds, but the cold resonated from the men, and if not the men, then the outside.
On one day, a blizzard began to develop. The outer wall guards were given extra blankets, and the door guards were dismissed due to the danger.The spotlights were deactivated, just so there was less power used. The heater, only activated when the temperature drops just too much, was operating. Most of the prisoners didn’t feel much of a change, but no one was freezing to death.
“What’s the temperature?”
“What was that?”
“The temperature. What is it?”
Two guards stood against the generator. It was closest to the furnace while still visible to the main area of the prison.
“I wanna know if it's getting colder in here or not. So tell me.”
The guard looked at the monitor for a moment, “It says here that it’s 24 degrees.”
“Dammit,” the guard muttered, “I knew that damn thing wasn’t helping. I can barely move my hands.” The guard’s arms were tightly curled against his pits.
“Well, it’s better than -26 isn’t it?”
“Maybe. If I were dead, though, I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“Don’t think like that,” the guard reassured, “You get bad luck.”
“Ha, I think bad luck would be the least of my worries right now.”
“Cause we’re here, or-”
“No, do you know Lennon? The guy who used to work over in decommissioning?”
The guard thought for a moment, but he didn’t appear to remember him, “I’m not sure. Is he really short,” he put his arm out to his shoulder height, “Like really short?”
The guard shook his head, “No, he’s no taller than me, but that’s not him. Anyway, he’s looking over uh… that guy.”
He appeared puzzled, “Who?”
“The guy, you know, the one we keep in the vault. Does he have a number?”
“In the vault? Oh, that sucks… maybe. I mean - He doesn’t have to talk to him, does he?”
“Well, no. See, if you’re in there, you have to make sure he isn’t slamming on the walls or that his shock collar is working properly.”
“That doesn’t sound too hard.”
“But it’s scary. Have you what that guy has done before?”
The guard thought for a moment, “Only some of it. I know he’ a bad guy, but what makes him so… bad, like vault-bad?”
“Well, the vault is a maximum security cell that only the most hardened, brutal, evil, and dangerous captured criminals are placed. The guy in there is guilty of I think… over 360 murders I think.”
“Good God,” the guard said.
“Yeah, he’s really f***ed up. The cell is cylindrical, and two foot long walls of granite and 6 inches of lead on the outside. There are four tiny holes that act as the window. No light, and food is brought it only when he is sleeping. Like, they go all the way with this guy. Ever since death sentences were axed, we gotta go the extra mile on these guys.”
“Well it’s only one guy.”
“Yeah, and he’s too dangerous to keep around the other guards, so we put him in there. Doing that wasn’t easy. He tore the throat out of one of the guards, and he’s fast too. You don’t f*** with this guy. It took five tasers just to faze him. Thirteen guards tackled him down, and Leopold, who knew the guard who was killed, he almost killed him himself. You ask me, he should’ve.
“Why didn’t he?”
:”I don’t know, but it may be because - okay, let’s say I was killed, would you be mad?”
“Yeah, I - I’m sure I would.”
“Well, that’s reassuring. Anyway, if I was killed, you’d be pissed off. You want that guy to die, but you suddenly remember that it isn’t the right thing to do. We’re in a madhouse with a bunch of evil assholes. If we kill that guy, we’re now gonna be locked up with the evil assholes. We’d be f***ed.”
“So instead of it just being the right thing, It becomes selfish.”
“Well, I guess. Look, I may want this guy dead, but even I know that revenge means nothing.”
“Have you ever killed a man, George?”
George thought for a moment, “No, why?”
“I almost did.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I shot a man before.”
“But it didn’t kill him.”
“No, it hit his diaphragm, but he didn’t die. He was at the hospital for a long time after that. I felt really bad about it, but the doctors told me he would be okay.”
“Well, I guess it’s good that you care that much. Who was it?”
“It was Tomley.”
“Tomley,” George abruptly spoke, “Tomley’s the guard that the guy killed. Murphy, why are you shooting guards!?”
“It was during the riot last summer. I panicked.” Murphy stayed silent for a moment. George put his arm around him, hoping he’d be at least comforted, “You wanna go see Lennon?”
“Lennon?”
“Yeah, Lennon. We’re almost on break anyway.”
“Okay, Okay,” Murphy walked out, “We can see Lennon, but I don’t wanna see the guy.”
“Is that his name, The Guy?” George followed, “I know he has a name. Maybe we could ask.”
Murphy’s face twisted, “You wanna ask him!? He would likely rip you apart than take any questions.”
“Well, I meant Lennon,” George said over the rattling of jail cells, “See if he knows. No, I wouldn't ask him unless I really wanted to know something, just because I’m nosy - I’ll admit. I like knowing about things. I know it ain’t my business, but I can’t help it sometimes.”
The sounds of prisoners in the facility grew rougher by the minute. Cell doors clattered, men screaming in either pain or anger, stomping, smashing; It was overwhelming, and George couldn’t properly hear Murphy’s response.
“I COULD HEAR THAT!” George screamed as loud as possible to Murphy, next to him.
“I SAID THAT LENNON SHOULDN’T BE THE ONLY MAN WATCHING THE GUY! IF HIS CELL WENT WRONG, HE’D BE DOOMED.”
Multitudes of guards began lining against the cell doors, trying to contain the prisoners, but it was relentlessly loud and the air was ripe with intimidation and hyperactivity. George and Murphy moved fast through the facility, so as to stay out of the way. They moved quickly past more guards, some armed with tethered firearms, to get through maximum security, and then to the Vault. The sounds of the riot were toned down, but perpetuated a constant thumping and violent sound through the prison walls. Lennon was seated in a chair not far from the large cylindrical cell. He stood up as George and Murphy entered.
“Is something going on out there?” Lennon asked.
“No, they’re just being rowdy again,” George said, “It happens every other week. Honestly though, I thought you had the scariest job here.”
“Not usually,” Lennon said, “I mean it can a bit… on edge, but no. He’s usually pretty quiet in there.”
“But out there, good god,” said Murphy, “That was something. That feeling when we’re out there, standing with so many people who want our scalps. I don’t like this.”
George placed his hand on Murphy, “You’re always saying that, Murphy. You gotta remember, prisoners are rowdy. They don’t wanna be here right now. They’re gonna be a bit sappy every now and then. As long as they aren’t actually getting out and rioting than we’re fine.”
A muffled BOOM BOOM BOOM rang through the walls. All three were immediately silent. An alarm sounded. The three stood still awestruck as the sounds of anarchy and tremors of the prisoners grew louder by the minute.
“George…” Murphy mumbled as he backed away.
“Lennon,” George asked, “Is there a back exit?”
“Yes,” he choked, “But we aren’t getting there from here. It’s by the medical ward. And even then, no one is getting past the wall. The alarm would’ve barricaded all of the prisoners here.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Murphy qualmed.
“Hey, we’re not in danger yet, are we?” George said, as he locked the gate leading to the Vault, “That should at least keep us safe until they suppress the riot. I hope.”
“You hope?” Lennon asked.
“Hey, I’m just trying to show at least some positivity here.” He sat down in the chair, “00I’m not afraid to say I’m scared. Murphy is, I bet on that.”
Murphy kept to himself, “Yeah…”
Lennon looked off at the prison phone, and picked it up. He dialed a few numbers and they waited. “I’m just hoping that there’s someone on the other end,” He said to the two. After a few seconds, someone answered.
“Hello? Is anyone there,” A voice came from the other line.
“Yes, hello,” Lennon answered, “Is this the warden’s office?”
“Yes it is, but it’s hard to hear you. What is your status?”
“Me, and two other guards are in the Vault room. We haven’t seen any rioters, but are aware of the threat they pose. What do we do, sir.”
“You’re in a good spot, but don’t let that guy out of his cell. The prisoners have guns. I repeat, there are prisoners with firearms. They’re moving slow because we believe that they’re brawling over the firearms. It gives us time, but we’ve lost two men so far, and we have several wounded. Stay where you are. We need to contact medical.”
“Yes sir,” Lennon said, as the man hung up on him. He slowly placed the phone back on the dial. The three were silent for what felt like hours. Eventually, there was a shuffling sound. It seemed strangely distant from the rioting, as it came from another side. The noise came from the Vault, and the small shuffling sound made Murphy flinch at the sound of it. It sounded like someone getting up very fast, but they didn’t know what the other sounds were. It was a scuffle, followed by trickling noises and then breathing. The breaths were distinct, and almost moaned through the men’s ears like a tremor.
“What is that sound?” They heard from the cell. Murphy cowered back against the gate. Lennon was unfazed however, “This doesn’t concern you. Don’t worry about it.”
“I said, What is that sound?” His voice echoed again.
“It isn’t your business, so back off,” Lennon almost yelled.
SLAM!
The Vault door smashed forward slightly, scaring the three back even further. Murphy pressed his face against the gate, “What was that?!” He yelled.
“Lennon,” George asked, “How was he able to do that?”
“I - No. This the worst time,” He said, as the rioting sounds grew closer. Suddenly, a flood of men in orange suits came moving toward them. The three moved away from the gate.
“I hear the men. What are they doing?” The voice came from the vault again.
“It’s a riot, okay,” George panicked, “We’re trying to save our skin.”
The men in suits moved to the gate, screaming inaudibly to get them and grasping the gate trying to push it down. Murphy was having a nervous breakdown, “George, what do we do.” George, however, was speechless. He just wanted to curl into a ball and disappear.
“We just… pray, I guess,” He spoke plainly. He placed his back against the cell door, obscuring the window. Men in orange suits had almost knocked the hinges of and were readying their spiked poles and boards.
“We pray that we aren’t his first target,” George said, pulling a lever against the cell door with his eyes closed.
“GEORGE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” Lennon screamed, as the rioters watched, quieting them slightly. The four levers holding the doors open were displacing. Loud clacking sounds from the decrepit hardware holding this cell together was working properly now. The door loosened, and George stood far to the side of it. After a moment, an arm pushed the massive door, lined with granite and lead, forward. Out of it came a dirty, writhing figure, with a dirty face and clothes almost rotted and browned with filth and wetness. He wore a long stained white beard and his aged showed in his face and muscle tone. He stepped out on the freezing floor with bare feet and looked off at George. He was silent, but nodded slightly.
“GEORGE, YOU IDIOT!” Lennon screamed at him, “DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS HE IS!” Lennon raised his taser, “Stay still, or I will shoot.” Lennon was shaking, but the room was quiet. Prisoners watched on as the man did not flinch. Murphy was watching with tormented exasperation.
“No,” the man said in a deep, droning voice. He walked towards Lennon, who’s taser fire was fruitless. He grabbed him by the arm, “No one tells me what to do.”
He pulls his arm back, and takes his neck with one hand, crushing it in his grip and pulling away, causing a notably loud cracking sound. Lennon was gone, collapsing immediately. The prisoners cheered at this declaration, but they remained still. The man looked off at Murphy, who was squirming in fear. He walked to him, who panicked against the gate, but the prisoners grabbed him, propping his arms up away from his body. He was being displayed as the prisoners screamed out many different torture methods such as, “Rip His Head Off!” “Flay Him!” “Tear His Eyes Out!” Murphy was crying, and the man knelt down beside him. He stared at him as the crowd grew quieter.
“Look At Me,” He said to Murphy, who was unmoving, “LOOK AT ME!” He grabbed him by the face, and stared at his eyes. They were red and watering, “Please don’t kill me,” he mouth with a lump in his throat as he started crying again.
He let go, and grabbed him by the legs, forcefully pulling him away from the prisoners. Murphy squirmed to where George was, who sat silently against the wall, trying to be calm. The man stood at the gate, face to face with dozens of prisoners.
“I am leaving. Do not try to stop me,” He said firmly. No one spoke up. He undid the lock, and began to move forward as the prisoners started moving away to give him space. He raised his arm in the air, “They’re all yours.”
George rushed forward without thinking, and slammed the gate shut again. The prisoners hesitated, but eventually began to try ripping the gate down, but fewer so. There was a quiet air around the, but there were still many men who wanted them dead. George looked at Murphy, who had passed out. He had to think fast, as the hinges were almost ripped out. He looked at the Vault, and grabbed Murphy, dragging him into the cell, and locking him and Murphy in.
He waited. The sounds didn’t stop. The cell was small on the inside. A rugged dirty mattress on one end with a tattered rag for a sheet, and a small hole in the floor with a lid on the other. The place smelled like death, and the floor was slimy and muddy. George looked through the four little windows and saw the gate crash down with a loud cracking sound. Only a few prisoners stormed in, but none knew how to open the door. They bashed on it, hit the locks, and stuck their tools through the windows. George sat back against Murphy to guard himself. After what felt like forever, they gave up.
The prisoners walked away, with more rioting to do. George, aware of his situation, realized how cold the room was. It was freezing. His heart was racing and he was sweating, but the rock walls and metal floor hit his body with a prominent sting. The raggedy sheet was wet with a watery slime. It wouldn’t help him. George, overwhelmed by the freezing air, the tension, and the awful smell, looked at Murphy.  His body was cold. His muscles were rigid, and his vitals were very slow. He could be in a coma for all he knew. George couldn’t think of what to do, but he knew that it would be his fault if Murphy died. He didn’t deserve. He had to live.
George discarded his worker’s jacket, and placed it over Murphy. The jacket was thick, and it could keep him a little warmer if need be. However, the cold air stabbed at George’s arms and body. Every muscle in his body screamed at him, tempting him to grab the jacket, or to find something of warmth. He thought of the furnace. He thought of the fire and the comfort. The simplicity. George curled himself up against the wall. Murphy’s breathe starts becoming visible, and George sits back. He waits.