Dark Days

he hadn’t touched her. However, that morning, when he took the girl and the nun to their medical exams, he’d let his hand graze the girl’s breasts. He was very drunk and not fully aware of what he was doing. He’d done that with the African girls but they were so cowed they’d let him get away with it. But this girl exploded and slapped his face.

Basilio knew from experience that alcohol and anger didn’t mix; it was a lethal cocktail he’d never conquered. Before he knew it, a red veil formed over his eyes, and his temples started to throb. No woman laid a hand on him, especially in front of his men. He slammed his fist into the bitch’s temple and she collapsed on the ground like a rag doll. He raised his baton over his head to teach that bitch a lesson. Suddenly the fucking nun stepped in the middle and, incredibly, she slapped him too.

Then he lost it.

Basilio beat his head against the wall, thinking how stupid he’d been. When he finally came to his senses, the nun was lying unconscious on the floor, blood streaming from her cracked skull.

He didn’t know if he’d killed her. To make the fucking situation worse, it took place on the last day of quarantine, just hours before they were to be released. At that very moment, Commander Pons was heading to the Galicia to process their papers and bring them on land. The nun was in the infirmary, more dead than alive. The other guards had scattered, looking for a place to hide until the storm passed.

In forty minutes, Basilio Irisarri was going to be in deep shit unless he came up with something—fast.

14

Day after day for a month, as I lay on my bunk, I stared up at the shape on the ceiling made by peeling paint. Sighing, I stroked the beard I’d had for weeks; it reminded me how much time had passed. At first they gave me a razor and shaving cream, but, after the day I fought to keep Lucullus, they’d taken away everything sharp or pointed. I must’ve looked like a homeless guy or nut job in those ridiculous green hospital pajamas.

My big furry cat sprang off the ground and made an elegant landing—right on my crotch. Wincing, I grabbed Lucullus around his fat belly and set him on the bunk next to me. He purred as I scratched behind his ears.

In the beginning, I yelled my head off, demanding to speak to the person in charge. I threatened, begged, pleaded—all in vain. When my voice gave out, I collapsed against the wall of my six-foot-square cell. There were no windows and not much furniture, just some bunk beds, a small bench bolted to the wall, a sink (but no running water), and a toilet that was missing its lid. The walls were thick steel plates welded to the floor and ceiling. A vent in the middle of the ceiling looked like it had been added later. I had the feeling there were rooms like it on all sides, above and below me. They’d transformed the Galicia’s huge cargo bay into a hive of cells to accommodate all the refugees.

I recalled a documentary I saw about that ship. The Galicia’s hold could be completely flooded with seawater through a huge gate located in the stern. Landing craft had been housed there. I shuddered when I realized that what I’d thought was an air vent on the ceiling was for letting water into the cell if necessary.

Whoever had designed that quarantine facility had planned for everything, including a riot. With a flick of a switch, whoever was in charge could drown everyone in that hold. Fast, easy—and discreet. That thought dissuaded me from raising any more hell. From the silence, I guessed that the vessel was practically empty. My friends and I were probably the Galicia’s only guests.

A tray of food was passed through a slot in the door three times a day. The food was tasteless but varied. There was a lot of rice, beans, freeze-dried food and, to my surprise, fresh vegetables, such as lettuce, carrots, and potatoes. It’d been nearly a year since I’d had fresh vegetables. If it weren’t for the vitamin C we took at Meixoeiro Hospital, we’d have become anemic or developed scurvy. I can’t describe the joy I felt when I saw a fresh tomato on the tray. That little tomato tasted better than any banquet I’d ever eaten. I’d closed my eyes and let its juice run down my throat.

I fantasized that none of this was happening and that when I opened my eyes I’d be at home stretched out on the couch with Lucullus, watching a game on TV. Sadly, of course, when I opened my eyes, all I saw was the fucking chipped ceiling.

Once a day, three doctors entered my cell and drew blood. They took my temperature, pulse, and blood pressure to verify I wasn’t becoming an Undead. In the beginning, they were escorted by a couple of armed soldiers who stood guard in the hall (they didn’t all fit in my tiny cell), but my submissive attitude soon gained their confidence and they conducted their checkup unescorted. Until two weeks ago.

That morning, three medical personnel wearing red ID armbands entered my cell. Before they started, one of them said they had to take my cat for “a clinical trial.” Something in the guy’s tone of voice threw up a red flag. After years of practicing law, I could tell when someone was lying. And this guy was a lousy liar.

My subconscious made the decision before I realized what I was doing. When Dr. Liar bent down to pick up Lucullus, who lay curled up at my feet, I pushed his neck down and slammed my knee against his nose.

Dr. Liar screamed in pain. Bright blood streamed from his broken nose and coated the inside of his Plexiglas mask. As he writhed on the floor, I jumped on the other two guys who just stood there, paralyzed with surprise.

I grabbed the tall guy’s arm and yanked him toward me. Dr. Tall tripped over Dr. Liar, writhing on the floor, and crashed into the sink. As Dr. Liar struggled to his feet, I kicked him in the back and sent him flying into Dr. Tall. His left arm had gotten wedged between the toilet and the sink, so when Dr. Liar collided with him, his shoulder bent at an unnatural angle with a crunch that sounded like a compound fracture.

I turned to the third doctor, but he’d run into the corridor and sounded the alarm. Then it dawned on me what I’d done. I stood, frozen, in the middle of the cell. Groaning in pain, Liar and Tall stumbled out of the cell, leaning on each other. Someone closed the door and turned off the light. I was in complete darkness.

Trembling, I grabbed Lucullus and curled up in my bunk, staring at the door. I muttered to myself, Now you’re really fucked. Any minute, someone’s going to open that door and then I’ll be screwed. You might’ve signed your death warrant, you stupid ass. At least they didn’t see me beg, I thought, trying to cheer myself up. Pride is a ridiculous thing, but when you’re in desperate straits and it’s all you have left, it becomes your most valuable asset.

I crouched in the corner of my cell, tense as a lute string, expecting three or four goons to storm in at any moment and give me a much-deserved, world-class beating or a bullet in the head.

But nothing happened. Not for the next hour. Or the next day. Nothing.

The only change was that the medical exams stopped. Someone still shoved food through the slot every day. I’m sure they were studying me through the peephole in the door, but for two weeks, nobody came into my cell or talked to me. Being locked up in that tiny room, alone, drove me crazy. I’d read stories about prisoners who lost their minds serving life sentences in tiny cells in American maximum-security prisons. I wondered if that’d happen to me, too.

I was lost in those thoughts one morning, scratching the stubble on my chin, when suddenly I heard footsteps in the corridor and voices I couldn’t identify. The footsteps stopped abruptly at my door. Then keys jingled loudly as someone turned the lock. I jumped out of bed, shoving Lucullus behind my back. They’ve finally come for me. I tensed every muscle in my body, ready for whatever came next.

A female figure with her hands on her hips was outlined by the half-light coming through the door. I squinted, trying to adjust to the light. When the figure took a step into my cell, I could see her perfectly. For a moment, we just looked at each other in silence. Then the woman spoke.

“I’m Commander Alicia Pons, head of the medical corps.” Her voice was firm but gentle at the same time. “Your quarantine has ended, but not without some problems.” I heard amused sarcasm in her voice that quickly became serious again. “You’re not the only member of this group who’s been involved in an incident. Anyway, let me say that you all passed. I officially welcome you to the Tenerife Secure Zone.”

We stepped out into the corridor. After a month locked up in that cubicle, my first steps were a little shaky. With Lucullus in one arm, I braced myself against the wall with the other to get my balance. Only one guard