Kurt
After a night in the infirmary's secure room, Kurt was sent back to his cell. River Oak's resources were limited, and usually, anyone who was injured seriously enough to stay for more than a day was shipped off to a secure wing in a regular hospital until they healed.
Kurt winced with each step forward, his ribs aching furiously. His nose and arm were still bandaged, and since prisoners weren't given painkillers once they left the infirmary—out of fear that they'd use them as currency—they still stung and throbbed. But he'd fought his way through plenty of pain before, and he was sure he'd be able to this time, too.
If one of his fellow inmates didn't kill him first, of course.
As he stepped out into the prison yard during rec time, Wilder approached him with a big smile. “Kurt, you're alive! Thank God, man. When we heard what happened to you in the showers, we feared the worst. If only you'd done the little thing Hawkeye asked of you instead of acting like some kind of hardass, we could've been there to protect you.”
Kurt rolled his eyes. Christ, even that made his face hurt. “What the fuck do you want, Wilder?”
Wilder pulled his shirt up for a second, flashing a shiv tucked into his waistband. “To give you a chance to square things with Hawkeye, dude. You've gotta know that none of this shit was personal. Hell, Hawkeye wasn't even gonna let those Sinners snuff you—he told Gable to come back after they'd cut you a little, just to teach you a lesson.”
“Four of them, one of me, and one of them had a blade. I'm curious, how many minutes did Hawkeye tell Gable to wait? What's the equation on that one? Sounds like a real exact science.”
“Hey, believe what you want, but Hawkeye still says you're too valuable an asset to waste if we can help it. We just need you to get with the program, that's all. We can't have you jumping bad in here, thinking you're too good for the likes of us. It makes us look like we can't handle our shit. But if you whack a couple of the Sinners—and I mean really fuck them up, like a total bloodbath—you'll be on Hawkeye's good side again, and you'll have our full protection.”
“Hawkeye still thinks he can send a message to the Sinners that way?” Kurt asked. “He really thinks that'll scare them off? It was a dumb plan when he first came up with it, and it's a dumb plan now. Not interested.”
Wilder sighed. “Fucking incorrigible, ain't you? Everything's got to be the hard way with you. Okay. But you should know that your girlfriend Martin won't always be there to watch your ass. We've got plenty of ways to take her out of the picture, if it comes to that. And the next time you get taken to the shower, it'll just be you and a bunch of Sinners pummeling you. Think it over. You've got until after lunch to change your mind.”
Kurt did think it over as he ate his lunch alone in the cafeteria, but no bright ideas came to him. He knew Wilder wasn't wrong—he'd gotten lucky yesterday when Sarah intervened, but Hawkeye could work lots of different angles to make sure he didn't get that lucky again.
Part of him wished he could just shrug, take the damn shiv, and end a couple of the Sinners to dig himself out of this hole, if only temporarily. He wouldn't exactly be taking an innocent life—there was a reason they were called the “Nation of Sinners,” after all. Most of them were in here for violent crimes of one kind or another.
But that was part of what bothered him. He was in River Oak for a violent crime too. Did that make him a fair target if someone else needed to get in good with their gang? Sure, maybe the Sinner he picked would be doing time for cold-blooded murders. But what if it was just some jerk like him, who stomped someone who needed to be stomped and found himself in this place?
For that matter, what if the target he chose wasn't in here for anything violent? What if he was just some low-level drug dealer from the projects who was trying to feed his family and got put away for his trouble? The Dogs had sold plenty of drugs in their time. It wasn't a capital offense.
Or what if it was some unlucky loser like Kareem, who was only in here because he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
So if he made the decision to execute these guys, could he live with it? Probably not. And if he could, he'd probably still be caught, tried, convicted, and maybe even sentenced to lethal injection.
And if none of that happened, he'd still be Hawkeye's errand boy. And he'd be goddamned if he'd take orders from Nazis, no matter what the consequences to him personally.
But what about the consequences to Sarah? his mind whispered urgently. You can stand tall and be brave all you want, but you know they'll take it out on her. They want her to fall in line as much as they want you to—having another guard on their payroll would be a huge asset to them—but eventually, you know they'll find ways to punish her.
Kurt shook his head, trying to clear it. Every time his brain tried to find a way out of this predicament, the snare around it seemed to draw tighter and tighter. When they'd been together yesterday, Sarah told him they'd find a way out of this together, and he trusted her. She was smarter and braver than he'd ever imagined she could be.
Meanwhile, he'd just have to try to get through this mess one step at a time. And the first step was not to act from fear by trying to kill a couple of Sinners. That wouldn't solve his problems, no matter how much Wilder insisted that it would.
Kurt glanced at the table where the Peacekeepers were eating together, and briefly considered trying to join them. They were the only other group in River Oak who allowed people of his color to join, and there were so many of them, they might be able to protect him. Maybe they could even help him think of a way out of this shitstorm.
He chuckled to himself, returning to the food on his tray. It would never work. From the way Keith had looked at him, Kurt knew he'd sized him up as an unrepentant outlaw. Someone like Keith wouldn't be fooled by a cock-and-bull story about how Kurt had suddenly seen the light and become a do-gooder. He'd give another “stand up and be a man” sermon, no doubt, but he wouldn't stick his neck out for the likes of Kurt.
A few tables away from the Peacekeepers, the Brothers and Dogs were eating together. Most of the Aryans were leering at Kurt, and several of them whispered and laughed among themselves. Wilder drew his index finger across his throat in a “You're dead” gesture. The Dogs looked more subdued, and Bear had a look of concern on his face.
Kurt could almost hear Bear's thoughts from across the room: Do it. Just do what they say. Go along to get along. I know it sucks, but it worked for me, and it can work for you too.
Kurt hoped Bear could hear his thoughts in return: You're a coward. Fuck you.
He finished his bland meal, and the men were rounded up to head back to cell block G. As they got there, an alarm started blaring, and Gable rushed in with a dozen other COs.
“Lock down! Lock down! Get in your cells right now, and put your backs up against the walls.”
Kurt hurried into his cell, with Wilder right behind him. He waited for the barred doors to slide shut, but instead, he heard a cadre of guards going from cell to cell and searching them carefully. The rest stood in the center of the cell block, making sure the inmates stayed against the walls.
“What the fuck is this now?” Kurt asked.
“Gee, roomie, I don't know,” Wilder answered teasingly. “Maybe a couple of Sinners got sliced and diced real bad. Maybe the hacks just found the body, and now they're looking for the murder weapon.”
A horrible thought crept into Kurt's head as he looked at his own mattress. He started toward it, but one of the guards smacked her baton against the bars. “Get the fuck back against the wall, before I put your head through it.”
Wilder smirked. “Easy there, killer. You heard them. Unless you've got something to hide...?”
Gable swaggered into their cell a few minutes later. He gave Kurt a toothy smile as he lifted the lower mattress, revealing a bloody shiv.
“Well, well, look what we have,” Gable sneered. The other guards moved to grab Kurt, dragging him out.
“That isn't mine. Someone else put it there.”
Gable threw his head back and laughed. “Now that's one I've never heard before.”
“Look at me, asshole,” Kurt said, gesturing to his injured arm and ribs. “Do I look like I'm in any shape to use that thing?”
“So I guess elves just flew into your cell and planted it, huh? Save it, pal. I’ve got two dead inmates and a bloody shiv. You're headed to the hole. What shape you're in when you get there is up to you.”
So Kurt let himself get led to the lowest level of River Oak, where thick iron doors lined a narrow concrete hallway. Gable threw him into the last cell on the left, and the door slammed hard behind him—a sound like fate itself.
“Now you just stay there and behave yourself,” Gable said through the grated slit on the door, “and if you're a real good boy, I'll send some guys down later to tuck you in.”
Then he was gone, and Kurt was alone to wonder what disaster would strike next.