With our 'free association' periods happening roughly every other day, it was sure to be a slow process getting our plan together. Sometimes, it was just too cold to walk outside, or there was a blizzard blowing, and we'd all have to sit in the huge communal eating hall, with guards making sure we didn't talk to one another. We lost seven periods that way.
How did we plan? Well, the way it went was, I'd get given a couple of details to find out, from the men, and would then have to wait maybe a couple of days or longer before I could report back. It was tough keeping that small flame of hope alive, sometimes. I'm sure I don't need to remind you, the reader, that we now had just seventy days left - less, if we accidentally allowed other prisoners, or even the guards, to find out what we were hatching. There were no constraints on Cannute as far as when he might decide to terminate our 'pointless' existence. Ninety days was only an administrative guideline, is all. There was no chance of a pardon. There was no appeal process. Cause any trouble at all and he'd waste you, right there and then. Believe me, that was real pressure! Our life-clocks were ticking very loudly in our ears, and awfully fast.
Inside a of month, we'd figured out enough of our plan to be able to agree we were 'going' in one week's time. Anyone whose done anything at all risky will appreciate just how nervous you can get waiting for that last week to pass before the 'great day'. By the time we got to the night before, I was a complete wreck. My cell mate, Tusca, asked me at least a dozen times whether I was sick or something. All I could do was keep saying I was feeling a bit stir crazy, what with the bad storm that had been raging the last forty hours. As soon as I'd said that, I started wondering whether we'd be able to put our plan into action after all. If bad weather meant we were holed up in the eating hall, again, we'd have to scratch, and there'd be no way to set up another date until the next association period. That was two days away. Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all.
In time, the day dawned, the wake-up bell rang for a full minute - like it always did - and Tusca and me walked to the latrine where we emptied our waste receptacles. Today was washday we were told - it happened once a week or so - so we were given soap and joined the long queue for the shower stalls. I guess this might sound a little curious to some people - that we should be allowed to wash sometimes. I mean, what's the point of it? We were going to be dead soon. Well, the fact was, we had nothing to lose, so we protested about everything, as often and as violently as we could. Cannute could shoot us or give a little. At first, he shot. Our friends outside got to hear about the first mass killings in Kanja through a bunch of drunken guards boasting about it in a bar when they were on leave. From that point on, ' whacking' a couple of guards every now and then became pretty much routine. The ' whacking' reached a kind of stalemate, eventually, and Cannute was forced to make a few concessions because it was giving the Tor-Ganistan administrators a serious staffing problem. Very quickly, they resorted to appointing guards on a non-voluntary basis and cancelled all leave. That really upset the guards, of course - both the new ones who didn't want to be there, and the ones who'd volunteered but couldn't go on leave, anymore - so things got pretty rough, once more. Cannute didn't withdraw our washing facilities, though, for some reason. Maybe he didn't like the smell or something? As for the food, it had always been lousy.
After showering, we dried ourselves on toweling rags, dressed in our dirty clothes, and trudged off to breakfast. This was always a thick, gray-colored porridge, but today there was nothing. The large pots, which normally filled the far end of the hall with clouds of steam, were cold and empty. Upwards of fifty guards were lined around three walls as we were ushered in. This didn't seem right. I felt the short hairs on the nape of my neck stiffen. I quickly scanned the assembled prisoners, searching for Suda and Kan. They were together, but not together. Close to one another, but not talking - not even risking eye contact.
I cautiously started to move towards them, hoping no one would notice. I was about twenty yards from them when Cannute appeared behind us and made his way towards the pots. Without pre-amble, he told us we were not going to be fed today, because the transports that were bringing in fresh supplies had been sabotaged by terrorists. All would be well, tomorrow, however, because more transports were on their way. With that, he dismissed us with the news that free association today would last six hours instead of four. We knew the transports had not been destroyed, off course. Who would blow up ships carrying much needed food supplies to their starving friends and relatives? Everyone who had lived in Haracoor, our biggest city, before their arrest, knew that numbers of supply ships left daily, apparently heading for Kanja and Darmanja. Now they were on the 'inside', they also knew they didn't arrive at their posted destinations that frequently. It was a real mystery!
Once we were outside, Suda and Kan found me, and the three of us strolled around the exercise yard, taking care to keep pace with a larger group ahead of us. Suda told me we were going as soon as the morgue truck arrived. This was the part of the plan I really wasn't looking forward to, but it was the only way past the guardhouse and the heavy, double doors.
Each circuit took us by the entrance to the morgue. It was where the detainees who'd been ' terminated' were held before being taken outside the prison for disposal. As we reached the entrance, we took a quick look around and ducked inside. As we'd hoped, the morgue was empty, except for three rows of black, plastic body bags placed on the floor. Without a word, Suda walked quickly between two of the rows, like he was checking something. Suddenly, he stopped, turned, and beckoned me over. I knew what was inside that bag was going to smell bad. I just had no idea it would smell quite that bad. The skin on the limbs was patterned like marble. This one had been dead a few days.
Kan already had another bag unzipped by the time I'd dragged the body I'd removed over to him. We placed the bodies head to toe and resealed the bag. I now had an empty bag to myself. It took another ten minutes before the men had theirs. It was a close call. I was just struggling to zip my bag shut the last few inches as the disposal crew walked into the room, laughing at a joke one of them had just cracked - probably to do with their grizzly work.
Two members of the disposal crew were really close to where I lay, now. So close I could hear them grunting as they lifted the bodies onto carts and then wheeled them outside to the transport. I was scarcely breathing. I heard one guy swearing loudly as a body bag tore, depositing its contents on the floor. It was one of those we'd repacked with a second body. He let rip with a long stream of obscenities, and wound up accusing Cannute of being so tight - because he obviously had bodies packed two to a bag to save money - that his ass would likely squeak as he walked. Suddenly, my head and feet were yanked upwards, while my rear end still dragged on the floor. I felt myself being swung from side to side as they negotiated the doorway. One heave and I was lying on top of the pile. Suda had made sure we were at the far end of the room, so we'd be among the last to be thrown on the transport, because our plan required that we be able to climb out of our bags while it was in motion. We'd watched the transport arrive week after week, so we knew there was no rear door. What we didn't know is where it went after it left the prison. For all we knew, it went in completely the opposite direction to the supply depot, adding more miles to our journey. We had no compass and intended to use dead reckoning. The extra distance would seriously increase the margin for error, and, because we had no food, make our ' little adventure' a lot more dangerous... Maybe even fatal?
