AMERICA FIRST CH 3

A cynical local Lonetree architect whose firm was not awarded the contract to design Lonetree Central High once commented at a local watering hole that he would describe the style of the building that resulted as “neo-penal.”

Many students, though not concerned much with design, felt that the overall educational philosophy of the school could be portrayed in much the same manner. And, it was an all too well documented phenomena that many former Central High scholars made a rapid transition to a true penitentiary.

Humboldt Federal Prison, in neighboring Clark County, was such a place and not a few Lonetree alumni resided there.

Leroy, “Bubba” to everyone, scanned the sky beyond the razor wire. His perch in the state of the art guard tower provided a good view. He hoped he would be heading home in his classic 55 Chevy pickup before the approaching storm made itself known. He spoke into his two-way radio.

“Anything going on, Russ?”

“Nope, it’s so quiet, it’s almost scary. How’s things look from up there?”

“Clouds rolling in like they have been for the last thirty minutes. Weather radio does not have much to say…seems like they would…this looks like it’s got some substance to it. Hope it skirts us.”

“Don’t worry, Bubba. This place is brand spankin’ new…’edge of the art’ as they say.”

“Yeah, sounds kinda like the Titanic, don’t it?”

“That ain’t all that funny, Bubba.”

“This thing looks bad, lots of ground strikes. I think it’s comin’ this way whether the weather channel knows about it or not.”

“Bubba, there is seventeen gas generators in the basement of this place in case we have any lightning problems.”

“I know, Russ, but they ain’t never tried them in a for real emergency. And look where this pink elephant is built. It’s on top of the only place in Clark that passes for a hill and surrounded by sand pines. I don’t think them architect boys in Pennsylvania knew anything about Florida weather.”

“Well, you got that right, but we’ll do okay. Only two hours ’til next shift.”

“I expect that you’re right. Guess I’m turning into an old lady in my advancing years.”

“There ya go. I’ll see you in the parking lot.”

*****

Andre White, a twenty-five year old black man, looked out of his cell. A few years ago, though small in stature, Andre had been a big man on campus at Lonetree Central.

It was the pure truth that Andre had basketball skills. He was quick as a nervous bunny and though he was only five foot eight, he could dunk with ease. During warm-ups at the last game of the regular season, Coach Heron indulged Andre and let him wear his little self-made Superman cape while he soared and slammed. Andre loved it and so did the crowd.

Andre even got a scholarship to a nearby junior college, but a fondness for demon weed and other controlled substances was his downfall. His b-ball career was short, and his time on the outside was almost as brief.

Andre called out to his prison pal, Michael Williams, in a nearby cell. “Michael, are you there, man? I don’t like the sound of this one damn bit. This could be bad, I’m telling you.”

“Where else would I be, asshole? Be cool, man. Being bad could be good. Let just wait and see what is goin’ to be.”

“What are you talkin’ about, man? All that lightning comin’ down on us, and we are sittin’ in a field of lightning rods.”

“You got it way wrong, Andre. We safe in here. Nothin’ goin’ to get us inside this building.”

“You telling’ me straight, Michael, or are you just trying to calm me down?”

“No man. It’s true. Let’s just stay cool and watch and wait.”

*****

A magnificent flash of white blinded Bubba, and a sound louder than any belched from the biggest speaker at the grandest rock concert filled the complex.

Bubba rolled on the floor of guard tower that was now missing all its roof and glass. He shouted into the radio. “Russ, Russ, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I read you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Russell, I’m okay, but the tower is gone. I’m luck to be alive. How ‘bout you?”

“Yeah, for now, but everything is goin’ haywire. I’m afraid to stay here.”

“Don’t stay there! See if you can get to me. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the tower. Do you have a gun?”

“No, just my stunner and my stick.”

“Get out of there, man! Right now! I got my rifle.”

The emergency lights flickered and went out. Russell used his flashlight to pierce them storm. He ran toward the tower. Seeing his friend provided some comfort.

“Shit, Bubba, what have we gotten ourselves into?”

“Nothin’ good son, nothing’ good. We could be lookin’ at a world of hurt.”

“What is the status of the inmates?”

“I have no idea. All the surveillance cameras are out.”

“Yeah, seems like the generators were online for about ten seconds, then nothing.”

“Let’s see if we can get to the admin building.”

*****

Andre crouched on the floor, unable to get under his bunk. A metallic sound signaled that cell doors had unlocked.

Michael pushed his door and went to Andre’s cell and coaxed him out. Out of the cell, Andre moved more confidently. The two joined about twenty others who charged the area guard station. The charge was unnecessary. Earlier arriving cons had already beaten a female guard to death and demolished any equipment that looked like it might have a whimper of life left. Michael and Andre found an exit into the storm that had calmed none at all.

Michael led Andre through a series of passageways between the buildings. They came to a twelve foot high chain link fence topped with razor wire.

“No way, man.” Andre said.

“Follow me, asshole.”

Michael stepped to an almost invisible gate in the fence. Its electric lock was smoking. Andre opened it with ease. The pair ran toward the woods three hundred yards ahead. They struggled through two miles of palmetto, scrub oak, and dense undergrowth. Their orange prison jumpsuits and slippers were shredded by the jagged foliage.”