Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/alerted! I truly appreciate all of you! Enjoy Chapter 3!
Gesturing over the dusty model of the prison cells, the warden pointed to a middle slot. "The convicts control Cell Block Two, here." Joe and Candy studied the small version of the building. "Along with your brother and two of my guards." The warden was about to explain a feasible plan of action, but at a loss of thought, he shortly nodded to the guard also standing next to Joe. "Go ahead, Officer Calhoun."
Officer Calhoun angled the model so he could have a better perspective. "The convicts have been able to take over the main area, the kitchen, and the offshoot room," he explained. Now here in the main area is the only door that can get free. There's a sliding iron lock on this door, and we were able to keep it locked. There's no way they can get out," Calhoun strongly asserted, but his next sentence was stated with an opposite tone. "No way we can get in."
"Take me to this main door, Warden." Joe decreed. "I want to see exactly what we're dealing with."
The warden recoiled at Joe's request. "I.. uhh… I'm sure Officer Calhoun will be happy to escort you," the warden uttered in a shrinking voice.
Calhoun signaled for Joe to exit the warden's office and follow him outside. After walking down a narrow hallway that could not fit two grown across, Calhoun pointed to a large iron door with a square peephole that was barred vertically and horizontally. "That's the door there," he regretfully said. "Three inches thick."
A eye suddenly appeared in the space, looking over Joe and Officer Calhoun. Just as quickly as it appeared, the eye disappeared. Joe was about to call out to get the inmates' attention, but Calhoun held his baton across Joe's chest, silently instructing him to be quiet. "They know we're here." He turned back to the peephole.
"Hey, Cooper!" Roscoe called out from the other room while watching the door that stood between the riot and the rest of the prison. "There's someone out here!"
"Keep it quiet," Cooper ordered all of the inmates. Snatching the demands out from under Adam, who had just signed the letterand was rereading Griff's rhetoric, Cooper walked over to the thick door with a six inch square for communication. Angling himself across the hole, Cooper called out. "Who's out there?"
"Calhoun!" the officer called, sitting on the floor below the space. "What do you want?"
"Officer Calhoun," Cooper said without emotion. "I got some mail for you. Our demands." He callously dropped the piece of paper through the hole so it landed on the other side. "Deliver them to the governor," he ordered.
"That might take a while," Calhoun answered, scanning the demands. "He was in Virginia City and he's on his way here."
Cooper raised an eyebrow. "He better hurry," the convict advised.
"We don't do anything until we find out that the hostages are alive," Joe asserted, slowly rising. Back in the main area, Adam twirled his head around at the sound of his younger brother's voice.
"They're alive," Cooper confirmed.
Unsatisfied with that curt reply, Joe peered through the hole to talk with Cooper. "Don't tell us, show us," he ordered with authority.
In a moment, Adam's forehead, covered in dust and sweat, appeared in the hole. "Joe!" he cried, eyes widening.
"Adam, are you alright?" Joe asked with concerned.
"Yes, yes, I'm alright," Adam quickly answered. "Everybody's alright. Just, be smart. Do what you have to do."
"I will, Adam," the younger Cartwright vowed. "I promise."
Taking a moment to memorize Joe, Adam nodded as a thickness in his throat developed. "I know you will." Before Adam had the chance to say anything, he was forced away from the door. Roscoe returned to his guard post, grunting at Adam to return to the main area. Running a hand through his short, black hair, Adam took his place back in the main area. As he trudged through the doorway, Adam saw Griff was leaning on the frame, staring intently at Adam. The older man paused, at a loss for a prediction of Griff's response. Seconds passed and neither of the men made a move, so Adam continued to walk and sat back down in his wobbly chair.
Turning around and bending down to look at Adam eye to eye, Griff asked, "You thirsty?" The question was void of any purpose or emotion.
Instinctively suspicious of Griff's unforeseen initiative, Adam answered truthfully. "Yeah," he sighed, not directly facing Griff. "Yeah, I am." Expecting a sarcastic remark, Adam bowed his head to pinch the bridge of his nose as the day's events sank into his body. When Adam opened his eyes, he was stunned to find Griff at his side, proffering a ladle of water.
"Yeah, when I get scared," Griff muttered, attempting what Adam thought was polite small talk. "My throat's like cotton."
"Thank you," Adam habitually responded. Keeping his eyes on Griff, Adam accepted the ladle and drank its contents. "Mine, too." A small smile curled around Adam's lips as he handed the ladle back to Griff.
Their conversation was cut short when Cooper made his way into the room and sat next to Adam. "I think you're beginning to see what this place does to us. Not one out of five will live long enough to serve his sentence," he informed Adam.
"Things will be changed," Adam swore. "They'll be changed."
"I believe you mean that," Cooper noted with sincerity. "Me and the lot of them like me?" he scoffed. "We deserve what we got. But just look at Griff there. He's different." Adam twisted his head with interest, indicating for Cooper to describe what he meant. "Just look, Cartwright. What do you think another four years in this place is gonna do to him?"
Surveying Griff's appearance, Adam recognized how weathered and tired Griff looked. Meeting his blue eyes, Adam was disturbed to see how young Griff actually was, especially compared to some of the other men in the prison. Unable to keep Adam's gaze, Griff dropped his gaze and sat on the floor, embarrassed that Cooper would put him on display like that.
To prove his point, Cooper asked Griff for evidence. "Hey, Griff, tell Cartwright why you're here."
"Hammered a man with a pick handle," the nineteen year old explained.
"Didja kill him?" Cooper laughed. He knew the rest of that abridged story.
"Wish I did, but I got stopped," Griff recalled, the memory as clear as Adam's confusion. "He was my step-father, and he liked to beat on people. He beat on me every day and I got tired of it. One day he came at me with pick-axe, and I was sure he was gonna kill me. I grabbed the axe and just starting swinging," he bitterly recalled.
"But that sounds like self-defense," Adam commented. "That's not a crime."
"He was my legal father," Griff shrugged. "That put the law on his side. And he put me in here." Griff pushed himself up and started slowly pacing to remind himself that he was neither chained nor locked in the Hellbox. "Do you want some more water?"
"No." Adam shook his head, still going over Griff's story in his mind. "No, thanks. You say your father asked for you to be put in here?"
"Step-father," Griff automatically corrected.
"If he had power of attorney over you," Adam paused to calculate Griff's age at the time. "That would of made you, at most-"
"Fifteen," the convict supplied. "I was fifteen when I got here."
"Hand me that dipper," Cooper mildly instructed. "I could use some water." Griff silently obliged his good friend. Intending to wet his sore throat, Cooper walked in the direction of the water barrel. Before he could reach it, however, Plank placed himself in front of Cooper.
"Look," Plank accented. "We got hostages. We got the key to the gate. We got it all!" Immune to Cooper's deadly stare, Plank continued. "And you're selling us out for the promise of grub we'll never get!"
Unaffected, Cooper looked disgustedly on the frantic man near him. "Get outta my way."
Without a second of hesitation, Plank shoved his previously-hidden shank into Cooper's stomach. Before Cooper could even hope to defend himself, Plank twisted the shank, destroying any chance for Cooper's survival. With a glint of fiendish happiness in his crazy eyes, Plank pulled the knife, now slick with blood, out of Cooper's body.
Stunned by Plank's attack, Cooper aimlessly stumbled back into the room. "Plank, you… stupid…" Unable to finish his thought, Cooper slumped to the floor. If Griff and Adam had not rushed over to Cooper, he would have hit the ground. Gingerly turning Cooper over, Griff clasped a hand over Cooper's stomach wound, trying in vain to slow the bleeding. Seeing Cooper struggle to say something, Adam angled his head towards himself and Griff. "K-kid…" Cooper said in a strained voice. "Don't forget w-why I… Did th-this."
"I know, Coop," Griff nodded. "You did good."
"See this through," Cooper begged, his eyes drooping and his breath slowing. "For me a-and you." Cooper's head slumped in Adam's hand, signaling that the inmate had died.
Filled with rage and grief for his friend, Griff jumped up to confront Plank. See the blood-covered shank in Plank's hands, Griff froze. "You next?" Plank wildly laughed at Griff. His primal desire to wrap his hands around Plank's throat gave way to Griff's survival instinct. Griff's blue eyes dizzily darted back and forth from Plank's shank to Plank's vengeful smile.
"No, no," Griff unsteadily responded.
Slowly backing away, Griff made his way back into the smaller room with Adam, who had already leaned Cooper's body up against the opposite wall so he looked at peace. Sensing the young man's growing sickness, Adam eased Griff into a chair before the teenager had a chance to protest. The rancher clasped a comforting hand on Griff's uninjured shoulder.
"It was so quick," Griff recalled to himself, not turning to face Adam. He idly twisted his hands in front of him, a nervous habit that Griff had developed since his imprisonment. "Cooper never even seen that knife," scoffed Griff with disbelief. "Planned this riot for months and it all ended in a second."
"It's not over yet," Adam wryly noted.
Griff briskly stood up, shaking off Adam's hand from his shoulder. "Shows how much you know, Cartwright. With Plank leading things…" Griff paused, his previous statement leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "It's over for you. And that means it's over for all of us. I know as well as you do if anything happens to the famous Adam Cartwright, every con in these walls is gonna hang."
The warden shoved a pair of shiny spectacles on his face. "Work? Food? Soap" He glanced over the rest of the prisoners' letter. Quoting Griff's careful wording, the warden incredulously read, "'Your prison is fraught with corruption, abuse, and death,'?" He tossed his glasses to the other side of his large, oak desk. "Lies!" he accused. "Accusations made by murderers. Not one word of truth."
Fed up with political indecision and indifference, Joe crumpled up the letter so he and the warden could directly see each other. "They can't be all lies," he refuted. "My brother signed these demands."
The warden froze. Unable to treat Joe like he would treat a disgruntled inmate, the warden did not know how to act.
"What they're asking for is reasonable," the guard approved. "Food, blankets, soap, mail…"
"Those men are prisoners," the warden insisted nasally. He pounded his finger to strengthen his point. "Here to be punished, not to be pampered!" Turning to Joe and Candy, the warden maintained, "They get what they need."
Knowing better, Calhoun did not back down from the warden's temper tantrum. "How long since you been out there to look, Warden?"
It had been long enough for the warden to forget the answer to Calhoun's question. "Well, uhh-"
"Answer him!" Joe screamed, his blood boiling as every second passed where Adam was still being held hostage by the dangerous prisoners.
Nervously, the warden began cleaning his glasses on his pristine, white shirt. "Well, as an administrator, m-my place, my place is right here." He thought that the busy-work would have a calming effect, but one look at Joe re-raised the warden's blood pressure.
Ignoring the warden, Calhoun chose to direct his conversation to Joe instead. "There's nothing in that letter they shouldn't have had all along."
"In that case," Candy breathed. "Give 'em what they want."
"Tell them," Joe ordered, his nostrils flaring in anger. "You tell them now. I want my brother out of there."
Outnumbered, the warden relented. "Alright," he agreed. "Alright." A thought popped in his head. "Subject to the governor's approval!"
Joe neither wavered nor stuttered. "To hell with the governor! He's not here. Adam is, and he's stuck in there, ready to be slaughtered, and none of us can even stop it!" Candy recognized how worried Joe was for his eldest brother, not that he was at all surprised. "You tell them now."
The warden could not stop his shaking head. "Y-you tell 'em, Calhoun."
"Are you afraid to do your job!?" Joe scoffed, completely confused by the warden's refusal to step outside of his office. Calhoun slipped out of the office, following the warden's orders. The guard did not want to wait for the warden to get over his fear before ending the riot.
"They want to kill me," the warden told Joe in a hushed voice. "That's what they want to do- all of them." Candy cringed at the warden's impossible claims. All of the men in jail were not arrested for murder. Only an unstable man would presume hold an outlandish opinion. "They got knives in there," the warden reported with agitation. "And they got men who can throw the knives!"
"Forget it," Calhoun interrupted, walking back into the office. The slump in his shoulders unnerved Joe and Candy. "Forget the demands. Plank's running the show now."
"Plank?" Joe questioned. "What about the one who talked to you early, Cooper?"
"Johnny Plank," Calhoun recited. "He's in here for robbery, but he's a killer."
Joe shook his head, his dark curls shaking at the movement. "I know that name. Adam testified at that trial!" he gasped.
Candy rubbed his chin. "Would Cooper let Plank just take over like that?" He knew that this was the worst possible news that Calhoun could have reported.
After knowing both men for years, Calhoun was positive of his truth when he answered, "Not as long as he had a breath left."
"Then Cooper must be dead," Candy confirmed. "Plank's leading them now. If a killer's leading-"
"They got nothing to lose," Joe finished.
Calhoun stepped forward, looking down at the seated warden. "Plank's asking for you, Warden." When met with the warden vehemently shaking his head, Calhoun reported the rest of Plank's demands. "He says you got fifteen minutes. He's gonna meet you at the door with Mr. Cartwright as a shield. If you aren't there, he said he starts killing hostages." Joe's head snapped to side so his burning glare hit the warden.
Candy returned to study the model. "You say this one door is how thick?"
"Three inches," Calhoun repeated. "When it's locked, only a strong explosion could pry that open."
At first, Joe thought an explosion would be the answer to the riot, but logic soon dawned on him. "If the blast doesn't kill the hostages, the convicts will."
Inspired by Joe's thoughts, Calhoun furthered the hypothetical event. "But if they were in the Hellbox here," he pointed to the little model version of the torture chamber. "And that door was padlocked, "The blast couldn't reach 'em. Neither could the cons."
Candy was quick to contribute to the plan. "We need someone on the inside to make sure they get in there."
"Yeah," Calhoun agreed. It was the best plan he could imagine in this scenario. "And we better start soon. Six minutes left."
Joe futilely wished that time would slow itself down. "Now, wait a minute. Plank said he was using Adam as a shield. Why can't the warden use a prisoner as a shield?"
Calhoun instantly caught on to Joe's scheme. "Meaning you? Won't work. They saw and heard you earlier. You or your brother wouldn't last a minute."
"They didn't see me," Candy stated without a second thought.
"Once you're in," Joe considered in an even voice, but his inner feelings were anything but even. "You need to know when the blast is going off, so you can get in the Hellbox safely."
"How 'bout a lot of noise in Cell Block One?" suggested Calhoun. "Because that, I think I know how to manage."
Pushing aside the guilt he felt for making Candy enter the riot, Joe agreed. "Do it."
"Let's go!" Candy anxiously said.
Calhoun sighed, upset that allowing civilians into the prison was the best plan. "That might work, but not in those clothes."
Candy was not to be concerned with trifles like that. "Then get me some other clothes," he ordered.
Not meeting Candy's eyes, Calhoun shook his head. "Prison clothes ain't gonna do it. The men in there don't trust anybody of believe in anything. There is one thing I can do to give you a chance," he hesitated. "But you sure won't enjoy it."
Candy was taken aback, but he would not let himself be talked out of this. "What is it?" he bravely asked.
Bypassing the warden, Calhoun pulled a whip out of his boss's top left desk drawer. When he saw the whip, Candy fully understood what Calhoun was about to do to him. "This is Officer Hizer's favorite persuader," Calhoun explained.
Candy swallowed. Just as Joe was about to call of this plan and think of a new one, Candy began removing his vest and red shirt. "Whatever," he said, still staring at the whip. "Just get it over with. We're running out of time."
"I'm sorry," Calhoun listlessly offered, unwrapping the whip. He raised the leather weapon and flicked it across Candy's unprotected back, just as he would if an inmate misbehaved or talked back to an Officer.
"Oww, mhmmm," Candy grunted. After the first two whips, Candy could not suppress groans of pain. Blood began to trickle down his open wounds and drip onto the warden's otherwise-immaculate floor. Although Candy was receiving only a fraction of a normal whipping for a prisoner, Joe could stand his friend's pain no more.
"That's enough!" he declared. Joe grabbed Calhoun's wrist before the whip struck Candy another time. "That's enough! We're wasting time with this. Get him clothes and let's get a move on."
Dizzy and hurting, Candy steadied himself with the warden's desk. "Thanks, Joe," he mumbled, willing himself not to fall over on the desk.
"Thank you," Joe earnestly told him. "Now come on. Let's get Adam outta here."
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