A Haunt of Jackals Read online

  A Haunt

  of Jackals

  G.R. Carter

  Copyright © 2017 G.R. Carter

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:

  978-1546972211

  ISBN-10:

  1546972218

  DEDICATION

  To those who long to live free. To the few willing to work for that life.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To H.A. for editing, to K.C. for listening, to R.C. for reading, to T.C. for loving, to J.C. for forgiving.

  Other Books by G.R. Carter

  The Pullback

  Shield of the Okaw

  Red Hawk Rising

  Against the Storm

  An Early Fall

  The Dead of Winter

  Also Available

  Dawn of Darkness

  Fortress Farm Trilogy

  For more information on the science behind the fiction visitwww.FortressFarm.com

  Chapter 1

  Western Illinois Correctional Center

  Mt. Sterling, Illinois

  “Keep walking, ladies. Don't want your steak to get cold.”

  Catcalls and swears met the guard's orders. Steak was the furthest thing from the ration bars they'd get to eat today. One by one, prisoners moved from their cells towards the cafeteria. Each was spaced a few feet apart, carefully watched over by guards in full body armor.

  “Man, you Eels tell that same joke every day, but all we ever get is a rat bar. When are we gonna get some real food?” one of the prisoners shouted.

  “That’s above my pay grade,” Morton answered. “All I know is you gotta keep moving.”

  “Or what, man? You gonna hit me with your little stick?”

  Red Morton, Sergeant of the Guards at the Western Illinois Correctional Center, gave a toothy grin. “One discharge from this baby,” he held up the two-foot-long baton in his hand, “and you'll be on the floor sucking your thumb, Washington.” Most in line nodded nervous agreement. They'd witnessed what the sudden surge of power could do to the bodies of otherwise daring and powerful men.

  More catcalls and innuendo flooded the hallway, many of it from the female inmates intermixed with the males. Morton cringed a little as the women whooped it up. He was old-school enough to still get uncomfortable hearing women out-swear the men. It was a terrible experiment of social engineering to mix the sexes in a lockup. It took him months to resist the urge to protect the females…and it also made it harder to find creative insults to get the inmates’ attention.

  “Come on, come on,” Morton shouted with a laugh. “Pregnant women and Washington to the head of the line.”

  The inmate named Washington sneered and stuck out his tongue. Morton pointed the baton like he was going to put it on the man's tongue and smiled again.

  “Some day we gonna catch ya without that suit on, Sarge,” Washington taunted. “Just me and you, we gonna go mano a mano, you get me?”

  The interaction was the same every day, the dialogue little changed. Two decades of guarding prisoners from themselves and from each other made the days blur one into another. Activity was everywhere, though no one was in a hurry. Nearly two thousand inmates moved leisurely from their two person cells, then to the cafeteria, then to the yard. A few made their way to the library for education classes, but always they made a circle of motion—every day the same routine and then back to their cells. Most strutted in their light gray jumpsuits, carefully watched every step of the way.

  Morton had worked in this facility since it was owned by the state of Illinois, working his way up through the ranks until he became second-in-command of the guard force. It wasn't quite the same honor it had once been; the number of guards had been greatly reduced since the state sold all of the prisons to a private firm when they'd run out of cash and interest.

  The thought of Jordan Inc., the company that signed his paycheck (back when you actually received paychecks instead of emailed bank receipts), made him glance at the circle emblem on the wall. Those symbols were all over the prison, differing in appearance only by the words inside the circle. The one nearest him said “Peace.” Others “Harmony,” “Unity”—the most prevalent was “Continuity.”

  He grimaced at the thought of Continuity. The entire facility was immersed in the philosophy. New Age mumbo-jumbo in his mind, more like a religion than a management style. But to his employers it was the key to keeping the prison running smoothly—and profitably.

  As long as they kept pouring money into the place, he'd hold his nose and do what they asked. The smooth, prefabricated concrete walls of the newly remodeled Western Illinois Correctional Center still smelled like fresh paint. And so far, they'd taken care of his union members with pay and benefits.

  Guards at Jordan Incorporated’s newest showcase prison—the company called it “guest rehabilitation”—were outnumbered twenty to one, since payroll was the primary enemy of the bottom line. The firm made up for the lack of manpower with technology. A guard’s primary weapon—the company called that a “control device”—was an electrified baton like the one Morton held in his hand. It was matched to the guard's individual bio-signal and strapped tightly to their wrist.

  If a new fish decided to ignore the warnings of more experienced inmates and challenge a guard, they’d learn quickly why Jordan Inc.’s staff were nicknamed Eels. If the baton didn’t stop them, electrical current three times stronger flowed through the outside skin of the body armor, enough to stop a full-grown man’s heart if he held on long enough. Soiling yourself and a trip to the infirmary left an impression on any inmate who tried to take on an Eel. The company called them tactical suits, and Eels never interacted with prisoners without being suited up and fully charged.

  Morton nodded at a few of the prisoners as they came by. He didn't like them, certainly didn't respect them, but there were a few he could tolerate more than others: the ones who wanted to do their time and never see the inside again. Others weren't just dumb criminals, they'd committed heinous crimes just so they could get back into prison, a place some had spent most of their lives and felt most comfortable in.

  A pale-skinned man with a shaved head glared at Morton as he walked past. Morton met the hateful gaze and didn't let go. Finally, the tattooed face wrinkled in an evil smile and he continued on.

  “That one loves you, Sarge,” one of the newer guards named Herscher said.

  Morton nodded to the man standing beside him. “Bobby Kaplan. One of the few locals who wound up in this joint.”

  “You mean the Kaplans who make egg deliveries here every day? I just helped them unload yesterday morning.”

  “The same ones. I never expected they’d let one of theirs rot in a place like this.” Morton watched carefully as two inmates got a little too close to each other. He stepped forward and shook his head. The two acknowledged his unspoken command, hands up and backing away.

  “Then why's he here?” Herscher asked him.

  “Because even they don't want that one back. Too damaged, too twisted.”

  “That the reason for the tattooed face?”

  Morton nodded again, still focused on the inmate who'd come too close to the next. His eyes told him nothing was wrong, but sometimes experience argued with appearance.

  Finally satisfied it was a false alarm, he answered his subordinate. “It’s a sign of acceptance for who you really are inside. Once tattooed spider webs are on your face, you've kind of announced to society that you're done with it.”

  Chapter 2

  Ridgeview Hunting Lodge

  Rural Brown County, Illinois

  “Good huntin’, mate!” Darwin King shouted as he slapped his guide on the bag. “Biggest buck ever seen, there, and no doubt!”

  “You Aussies kn
ow how to shoot,” Sy Bradshaw said in amazement. “I couldn’t have made that distance myself.”

  “Ah, you’re too kind,” King said with a dismissive wave and a smile.

  “I’m serious, Mr. King. I’ve been working out here as a guide nearly all my life. Been huntin’ since I was a boy. I never seen a shot like that!” Bradshaw told him.

  Two men and a young boy in hunters’ orange camouflage joined them out of the dense woods. Together they all made their way to where a freshly killed ten-point buck lay. “That’s just Darwin showing off again,” the older of the two men said to the guide. “He pulled off a similar shot when we were on safari in South Africa a couple of years back.”

  The younger of the two agreed. “And he always bags the most birds when we hunt his ranch. Like the guy’s got a sixth sense about it.”

  King was still chuckling. “Don’t believe everything you hear from Chicagoans, Sy. You oughta know that, right? Even if the Casey family is the best of the lot of ‘em.”

  “You better say that, Darwin,” Benjamin Casey, Sr. said with mock arrogance. “Since my company sends you a hundred million a year in purchase orders.”

  “Too right!” Darwin said. “I oughta do a better job of letting you get the big game.”

  “But you’re too stinking competitive, aren’t you, Darwin?” the younger Casey said.

  “JR, you’re as wise as your ol’ man. Casey Industries will be in good hands…if the old man ever retires, that is! And that young’n of yours has got the wit, too,” Darwin said, pointing to nine year old Trey, trying with all his might to keep up with the men. Sy Bradshaw’s nephew Max, just slightly younger than Trey, was there beside him too, quietly taking in the sights and the conversation.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You need to have your own kids someday so our families can keep doing business together,” JR said.

  King shook his head. “Naw, mate. No time for that. I got a business to run. Besides, customers are all the family I need.”

  The whole group worked together to field dress the buck, then toted it to Sy’s ancient four-wheel drive truck a mile away. Exhausted from all the walking, Max and Ben crawled into the back of the truck bed, holding tight to a light bar per the instruction of Sy. The older foursome rode in the cab, laughing and swapping stories.

  Dusk was falling as the truck pulled into the long drive leading up to their lodge. Immediately, Sy knew something was wrong.

  “Wonder why the lights are all out,” he said, more to himself than the rest.

  “Don’t worry, Sy,” Casey Sr. told him. “Remember the same thing happened a couple years back? The power lines around here are getting run-down. In fact, I think you told me it’s because all of us Chicagoans are taking the infrastructure money.”

  Sy blushed a little. He nodded and said, “Yeah, which is exactly why I installed a brand-new generator as a backup. Can’t have you important city folk out here without a place to charge your laptops! Bad for business.” Irritated, he hit the steering wheel with his fist. “Man, what a bummer. It’s all computerized, ‘sposed to know the exact moment the power goes out. Starts itself on interruption, battery backup on that, too. We shouldn’t have to do a thing to get it started.”

  They pulled up to the front door. Sy left the truck running so the headlights would shine inside the Great Room of the lodge. Lodge staff and guests milled about on the wraparound front porch, waiting for Sy to return.

  “I’ve tried everything, boss man,” Sy’s groundskeeper yelled at him as he bounded down the front steps of the covered porch. Sy jumped out of the truck and walked right him, heading for the small shed sitting a few yards away from the main building.

  King and the Caseys were close behind him. They didn’t know what to do, but they were men of action not comfortable with feeling helpless. After a few moments, Bradshaw emerged, troubled and apologetic. “I don’t get it. There’s a panel on the side with a manual override…well it’s a whole ‘nother computer system separate from the one that starts everything automatically. I just don’t get it…it’s even got the solar panel battery to back it up. The whole system’s supposed to be foolproof.”

  “No worries, mate,” King told him with a smile and a shoulder slap. “We don’t mind roughin’ it a bit, right? I’ll get the fire started if you wanna get your folks together to start the barbie.”

  Casey Sr. agreed. “You just tell us what you need, Sy. You always take good care of us. We love the excuse of not being able to answer emails!”

  “Except our wristbands, dad,” JR laughed. He pulled out a sleek watch like device from his pocket. He’d taken it off while hunting and hadn’t checked it for a while, but when he tried to activate the screen, nothing happened. “These things are supposed to have a three-day battery,” he said in disgust. “These are supposed to be a phone, a wallet, a medical monitor, but they never tell you what to do if it doesn’t turn on,” he huffed. “See, Sy, it’s not just your stuff that doesn’t work right all the time.”

  JR walked towards his brand-new BMW sport utility vehicle, intending to plug in his wristband. “At least German machinery always works,” he said confidently as he pressed his finger to a keypad on the door. Nothing happened. He tried again. When that didn’t work, he walked around to the passenger side door to repeat the procedure. Still nothing. “What the…?”

  “Daddy, what’s wrong?” young Trey called out. He was still standing in the bed of the truck, hanging on like Sy had instructed. Max Bradshaw was long gone, tagging along with his uncle as he near-sprinted from place to place, trying to get things ready for a long dark night.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, Trey. Just trying to remember how to get in this thing without the keypad.” JR stared at the window for a moment, trying to remember any kind of workaround for the electric…

  Crap, he thought. The whole thing is electric.

  Within an hour, torches were burning brightly over a long outdoor dining table. Kara Bradshaw, Sy's younger sister and the true brains behind the lodge's success, had their staff moving among the guests, trying to make the best of difficult circumstances. Finally, King insisted to the Bradshaws that everyone sit and join them. Soon the stories and beer flowed freely. Kara and Sy had taken over for their parents years before and most of the staff had been with the Bradshaw family since they started the hunting lodge twenty years prior. Several guests were regulars, coming here at least once a year for nearly that long. Though always cordial and friendly, most never got the chance to get to know one another. With no electronic distractions, and no expectations of service, though, what started as an inconvenience turned into a party.

  Solar storms rippled green and blue in the night sky, stars twinkling out from behind in a breathtaking light show. The staff was mostly used to the beautiful views, but the city folk gasped. Light pollution prevented them from appreciating the truly breathtaking phenomena of the rivers of light that filled the sky. Out here, away from the skyscrapers and twenty-four-hour neon life, the sight was magic.

  Sy came and sat next to King and the Caseys. “I’m heading into town tomorrow morning if you guys want to come along,” he said. King could see concern in the man’s face, even in the shadows of torchlight and a few beers. “Our satellite internet isn’t even working. I sent one of my guys over to the neighbors’ house a few miles away. They’re no better off. No wristbands, no internet, no power.” He pointed to the sky. “It’s strange, we always see at least a couple of airliners overhead each night. I’ve been asking the staff; they haven’t seen a single one all night.”

  “I’m with ya, mate, if you’ll have me,” King said.

  The Caseys nodded their heads in agreement. “I’ve got to get to a phone to call BMW,” JR said. “They can unlock my car remotely.”

  At the look King and Bradshaw gave JR, Casey Sr. explained. “I left my medicine in there today. I took it out of my room when I thought he was driving that fancy sport-ute of his out to the deer stand. I’m not supp
osed to go more than twelve hours without that prescription, it’s been twenty-four.”

  JR held his hand up in defense. “I offered to break the windows to get in there, but he refused. He said he’s made it a day or two without before.”

  Casey Sr. shrugged. “You said there’s no guarantee we can get in there, anyway. The whole thing is made with safety glass.”

  Sy stood up. “Well let’s go to Mt. Sterling now, Ben. Kara would kill me if I let anything happen to you. She says you're our best customer.”

  The older man waved him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m enjoying myself. Besides, nothing will be open in town by the time we get there. We’ll just go first thing.”

  “Fortunately, dad got our latest, greatest pacemaker installed. All the prescriptions do is keep his blood thin so it flows through easier. The chip inside the pacemaker is in constant contact with the hospital. Any sign of problems, it adjusts. The best thing our company ever created,” JR beamed.

  “Yes, yes,” the elder Casey rolled his eyes, “you millennials are even more enamored with tech than we were.”

  “Right, and isn’t that saying something! We’re the ones who first latched on to the phones and the web to do everything for us,” King laughed.

  JR wagged his finger at his dad. “Too much stress and too many sleepless nights. He’s way too young to have an old man’s heart. Today’s tech means you’re never away from work.”

  Kara finished making the rounds among the tables, smiling and laughing with everyone like they were best friends. She finally made her way to the Caseys’ and King's table, much to their delight. “My brother taking good care of you gentlemen?” she asked with a dimpled smile. She casually flipped back her wavy blonde hair and looked down at her brother. “I bet you're telling them this is how people should live? Without all the electronics because we don't know how to do anything without it, right?”