All chatter on the bench ceased as each one of thewaiting men and women on the bench watched Dan pull his asp baton free andbegin beating on the drunken man. The booking clerk, Phillips, screamed andthrashed, but the man didn't let go. With a scream, Phillips tore his arm awayfrom the drunken man, but he was missing a good sized chunk of forearm. Danmoved his considerable girth around the desk and crushed the drunken man's legwith the baton. He fell to the ground, but still reached out for the clerk.
Just then there was another scream; this time, it wasfrom the bench.
The black man next to Zeke leaned forward, obscuringZeke's view, but the screaming and shouting intensified as one by one the menchained up on the wall saw what was happening. For a brief second, everyonealigned properly and Zeke saw a woman chomping on another man's throat at thefar end of the bench. Blood sprayed the wall behind him, soaking into the grayconcrete, as the woman gnawed on his flesh. She was as far away as she couldpossibly be, but Zeke immediately felt his instincts take over.
He stood up, and spun around. As awkward as it was, hewas still able to put quite a bit of force into his first kick. The force ofthe kick jarred his chained up wrist and made the brass bar he was handcuffedto vibrate violently. Without looking at the other men on the bench, he yelled,"Help me!"
The black man to his right understood immediately, and hebegan to kick frantically at the brass rail as well. It was bolted into thickconcrete walls. The chances of it breaking free of the wall were slim to none,but if enough of them worked on it, maybe they could all get out.
Zeke's wrist was numb. He took a deep breath and lookedaround the room for anything that might help. That's when he noticed that thedesk clerk and the booking clerk were both lying on the ground, bite woundscovered their body, and the drunken man was still there, severely damaged, butfeeding steadily, almost at a leisurely pace.
At the end of the bench, another round of screaming wentup as the man who had long since died from his massive neck wound had sat upand was currently trying to get at the man that was cuffed next to him. Thewould-be victim was kicking as hard as he could, but the dead man clearly hadno fear of his feeble and awkward kicks. Zeke imagined himself dead, chained tothe railing for the rest of eternity with a bunch of other dead folks.
The thought allowed him to find energy reserves that hehadn't felt in years, not since basic training a lifetime ago. His mindwandered as he beat on the bar with the heel of his boot; the screaming of themen next to him was different, but all too familiar as well. He could hear thedesperation in their screams, the exhaustion. These were the times that menwere made of.
****
The sun beat down upon him. Drool dripped from his mouth.He was too tired to even keep his mouth closed. He was sucking wind through athroat that was raw, and his lungs burned with exertion. He was sure he was abeautiful sight.
Each shovelful of sand seemed to weigh a thousand poundsnow. The blisters on his hands were pink where the layers of skin had beenrubbed off. He could hear the grunts of the men next to him, all lined up in arow, and making the same pointless hole that he was. This is what happened whena man lost his sidearm on the beach during an exercise. Hopelessly lost in thesand, the drill sergeant decided that maybe it had gotten buried in all of thecommotion.
He could hear his fellow soldiers grunting, panting, andretching all around him. In one case, he could hear crying. However, he was sodeep in his hole that he couldn't actually see anyone. At this point, everyshovelful of sand that was lifted over his head fell into a pile, and half ofit drifted back into his hole. Sweat stung his eyes, and he thought aboutstopping to wipe his face with his arms, but he had already heard one recruitget dressed down for a "lack of proper shoveling form" when he hadstopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.
His mind wandered, lost in the rhythm and the pain. Nerveendings fired his mind into oblivion, and when he could no longer see sunlightin the hole that he had dug due to the angle of the sun, the drill sergeantappeared at the edge of the hole and smiled down at him. "You lostsomething, sweetheart." The drill sergeant tossed his sidearm into thepit, and Zeke's head hung low. The drill sergeant disappeared from theprecipice, but he could hear him as he walked away, shouting to the rest of therecruits.
"Fill 'em in, dirtbags. It looks like Rogers finallyfound his weapon. How it got so deep is a mystery for the ages, right up therewith Easter Island and The Bermuda Triangle."
For a second, Zeke thought about just staying in the pithe had dug. It was only a five second hesitation, but it felt like an eternity.Then, after tossing the shovel up top, he climbed out of the pit using hisblistered hands and noodle-like arms. He could feel the stares of the other menas he emerged from his hole. He never misplaced his sidearm again... and he hadnever been as exhausted as he was that day.
****
Until today. The bar's bolts rattled in the concrete, butthere were fewer people kicking now. He had stopped briefly, to survey thesituation behind him. Cops were trying to subdue the drunken man, the deskofficer, and the booking officer. They had no trouble beating up on the drunkenman, but trying to wrangle their own men seemed to be something of a task.Three of the seven people on the bench
