THE WALK
“Tower Four, radio
check.”
The scratchy
voice was barely indiscernible from the background noise. The old radios were
damn near worthless. State budget cuts meant that replacement radios weren’t
coming anytime soon.
“Tower Four
Operational.”
He had to say it
again before dispatch was able to break through the static long enough to for
him to hear, “Acknowledged. Stay cool.”
The mandatory
hourly check in completed, the solitary man on the watchtower wiped his brow
and put his tan ball cap back on his head. Two hours down and probably at least
two more before he had his chance. He was new to the prison located deep in
southwest Texas. Being the new man had drawn him the assignment in the
sweltering tower that had no working air-conditioning. With no working AC, it
was a little bit cooler outside on the catwalk than inside the tower. Unlike
the other guards, he could not hide inside behind the glass. That suited his
purposes perfectly, so he pretended to grumble for the benefit of the other
guards while relishing the opportunity.
Mom always said
every Sunday on the way to church, "There's no rest for the wicked, not
even on Sunday," and it seemed like divine providence that he was assigned
that tower. The old louvered windows were open as wide as they would go.
Prayers for a breeze hadn’t worked; the tower was broiling. The sweat frequently rolled down into his
eyes despite his cap and he worried that a drop would slip into his eye at
precisely the wrong time.
He stepped out
the door onto the old metal catwalk, as he had several times each hour, and
glanced quickly at the nearest tower. The guard there ignored him like he had
all morning, which also suited his plan perfectly. The novelty of watching the
new guy suffer had worn off quicker than he had thought possible. He didn't
know him or any of the other guards on the towers around him, and didn't expect
to live long enough to know them. While he cradled his rifle and kept a finger
lightly on the trigger, his eyes scanned all around the flat Texas desert for
any signs of life. Far to the north somewhere sat Midland, lost in the heat
haze. All he saw were heat mirages and the occasional buzzard riding the
thermals under the blazing June sun.
His radio
squawked and he glanced at his watch. After he gave approval, the small
procession began to cross the dusty inner courtyard below. The four guards surrounding the prisoner ……
If
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