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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: Sci-Fi Short Story, Prequel to "Stay in the Light" Cade Rogan buried his humanity and uncovered his animal instincts to survive the galaxy's most ruthless prison, Baykal. When a chance at freedom comes along, will those instincts be all he needs to escape?

eBook Publisher: DLSIJ Press, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: March 2005

15 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [40 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [55 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [19 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [240 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [20 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [102 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [92 KB] , hiebook (KML) [90 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [68 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [17 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [21 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [75 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [30 KB]
Words: 6085
Reading time: 17-24 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1932014098A

Death. The smell of it, the sound of it, and the taste of it permeated every aspect of his existence. Lesser men would have shriveled in this desert of decay, but for ex-military Special Forces Ranger Cade Rogan, he had plunged deep into the well of primordial preservation. He inhaled deeply, listened intently, and licked his bottom lip as he tightened his grip around the dull end of the hand-hewn blade of shale. He crouched low inside the slim crevice, waiting as silent as a winter morn', invisible as a shadow's dream.

The steady sound of boots pounding a dull beat on the path below came closer, and the faint light of torches cast elongated shadows along the earthen walls. Rogan leaned forward and tilted his head, allowing for a better view of the group as they came into sight.

"Ah, rations day! The only damn thing in this hell-hole worth lookin' forward to," one of the men at the back of the group remarked.

An older man in front of him turned his head to speak. "That and the fine brews cooked up on Rye's still."

Another man chuckled. "You mean the gut-rot ol' Rye concocts from who the hell knows what!"

The older man, still reveling in the light conversation and not paying attention, tripped across a rock jutting up from the path. His body twisted in a grotesque dance, and his hands desperately clawed at thin air as he tumbled into the deep abyss below. His crackled cry slowly faded, and with a muffled thump, was heard no more. The other two men carefully looked over the steep side and then back at each other. "I got first dibs on his rations sack."

The other man gave a disappointed sneer. They turned, and caught up to their group. Death, down in the depths of Baykal Penal Colony, was as ordinary as taking their next breath.

Rogan watched the scene unfold below him, his expression unchanged. With panther-like stealth, he left the crevice and moved along the treacherous paths of the long abandoned mines that were now converted to a high security military prison. His free hand traced across the rough walls, taking care to identify the familiar pockmarks and jutting edges of the terrain to guide his way. On most days, he confined himself to the deep caverns and dark clefts of the massive quarry, learning every inch of the landscape, combing these spots for new food and water sources. He was a loner, and he liked it that way. Today he would make an appearance long enough to snag a bag of weekly rations.

As the walls began to vibrate, a trickling of fine pebbles cascaded down onto the paths. A low hum generating from the commons area intensified as men gathered there. The mammoth metal doors hundreds of feet above them squealed and moaned as they slid open. Cool, fresh air streamed down, and the men took a collective breath, relishing the deep inhale of unpolluted air as it filled their lungs.

A refined, electronic female voice began to give directions, "Remain clear of the landing pads near the commons area. Distribution of weekly provisions will begin in exactly five standard minutes. Please form and remain in a single file line to receive your portion. Those not in compliance will be purged immediately."

A tall, thin man smoothed his hair back, straightened his torn, stained jacket and smiled. "It sure is good to hear Ms. Angela's voice again."

A chubby, balding man turned his head towards him, his brows pinched together in a baffling frown. "It don't take much to get you goin' now does it, Bruce?"

Bruce's smile broadened. "It's as close to a woman as we're gonna get for the rest of our lives; might as well enjoy the delusion while it lasts."

The chubby man grunted a reply.

Four freight haulers quickly descended, and with a series of loud rumbles, set down ungracefully on the landing pads. Small ports opened throughout the large metal giants, only giving a glimpse of the weaponry shielded inside. At the top, human pilots worked the hauler's conveyer windows to begin handing out ration packs, all the while cautiously monitoring the large group. Those who had any ideas other than picking up their food would find themselves singed to a pile of ash from the hauler's laser guns.

Rogan stood silently just off the edge of the path entering the commons room, patiently waiting. Hurried steps raced around the corner as a young man rushed to find a place in line. Rogan recognized him as the new kid. With one quick movement, he extended a well-muscled arm to slam him back against the dirt wall into the shadows.

The young man froze in fear. The towering frame next to him was enough of a menace without knowing who he was. He found himself trapped in the shadows with the Special Forces soldier who went insane on the battlefield and killed scores of his own men, then moved on to innocent civilians. He was the only man to survive an extended stay down in the deepest part of the prison known as Baykal's bane, but to those that feared him, he had become the bane of Baykal. With eyes wide and body trembling, he waited in terrified silence for whatever tortures awaited him. He knew there was nothing he could do, especially against this man.

Rogan spoke to him in his deep, gritty voice, "Thought you'd know the drill by now, kid. Been in here for at least three standard weeks, right?"

Rogan turned his head back to the mass of men waiting in long lines. "What looks like a well organized distribution is about to turn into a killin' ground." He turned his ice-blue eyes back to the young man. "Once you got a sack in your hand, you might as well have a fuckin' bull's-eye painted on your chest."

The young man swallowed hard, fear still gripping him in an icy hold. Rogan studied his face; he had to be about twenty. Rumor had it that this young man was accused of being a military deserter turned murderer of those sent to retrieve him, thus, sentenced to certain hell. His gut clenched with one of the few emotions he was able to muster--pity. He moved his arm away from the young man's chest. "I got no beef with you; just keep in mind what I said."

The young man leaned forward to take a step, but a man with a slashed throat fell on the path in front of him, a gurgling shriek escaping his lips. In that instant, a swarm of hunger-rabid inmates closed in on the fallen man who still clutched his food rations bag. The young man stepped back into the shadows with Rogan and watched the sight in horror.

It was a free-for-all concerning the food rations. In the swirling mass of fight and confusion, stray pieces of food fell to the side, unseen. Rogan stepped forward, one hand clutching his blade and an empty sack, the other grabbing the stray food. He turned to look back at the young man still hiding in the shadows. "Ain't nothin' to it," Rogan said as he tossed him the bulging bag, a slight grin across his face. "Didn't even get a scratch."

The young man watched as the inmates continued to pounce and pound each other. He gripped the sack he held in his hands, and when he turned to thank the man who had given it to him, he found that he was alone in the shadows.