Free Murphy's Law (Roads Less Traveled Book 2) by C. Dulaney

boots on or a gun tucked tightly against our chests.

Chapter Four
     
    March 22 nd: Blueville Correctional Facility
     
    “Mornin’,” Jake greeted Michael, and the two shook hands in the hallway.
    “Morning. Breakfast is being served in the mess hall, if you’re all up and ready to eat.”
    Zack was just coming out of the room he’d shared with me and pulling a shirt over his head. “In a hurry to get rid of us?”
    Michael smiled in reply and shook his head. “Not hardly. But we run a tight ship around here, and we don’t keep food out all day. When it’s ready, it’s ready, and if you don’t eat then, you don’t eat until the next mealtime.” He glanced at his watch, then back to Zack. “Which is in five hours, to be exact.”
    “Fair enough.” Zack knocked on the bedroom door next to ours.
    I had snuck over a little earlier to wake up Nancy, and was currently busy in the john, but I heard her say we’d be there in a minute. Mia was still asleep, and would sleep until noon unless someone woke her. I flushed the still-working toilet—thank God for gravity-fed water systems and big-ass generators—zipped my jeans, washed my hands, and shut the door behind me. Nancy was giving her hair some finishing touches in the mirror over the dresser, so I walked over to Mia’s cot and gave it a swift kick.
    “Hmrrggh…” she groaned and mumbled.
    I kicked the cot again.
    “Call in sick for me, would ya, babe?”
    I kicked the cot a third time. Her eyes flew open, her hands automatically reaching for the rifle propped next to her cot. After a second of what-the-hell, lucidity returned and she grinned.
    “Mornin’, baby.” This had been her customary greeting for as long as I’d known her.
    “Time to get up, the guys are getting anxious I think,” I said. Nancy waited until Mia was up and in the bathroom before opening the bedroom door.
    “Ma’am,” Michael said in greeting. Nancy was quite taken with the man young enough to be her son. She ruffled Jake’s hair, drawing a scowl from him, and said her good mornings to Zack.
    “What’s up?” I asked, stepping into the hallway.
    “I just came to let you folks know breakfast is ready. After you eat, I can show you around, or show you out, all depends on your plans,” he said, absentmindedly playing with Gus as the dog jumped around and against his legs.
    “Let’s eat first, then go from there.” I was slightly annoyed at his attitude. He was friendly enough, but if there’s one thing my traveling companions had learned about me, it was don’t start throwing all kinds of shit at me first thing after I wake up. It’s a good way to lose an arm or something.
    “Sounds good. If you’re all ready?” he asked and swept his arm out.
    I yelled for Mia, who replied with a string of curse words and a few thumps from inside the bathroom. No doubt she was trying to hurry and bumping into things in the cramped stall. That’s my Mia.
     
    * * *
     
    There were a dozen people in the mess hall when we arrived. We could hear them as we walked down the hallway; talking, joking, plates and silverware clattering about.
    “That’s the dayshift now,” Michael explained. We walked in and started down the “chow line.” French toast, sausage, orange juice, milk, and coffee. Nice spread.
    “We run three eight-hour shifts here. The day and afternoon shifts are split up between keeping watch and doing the daily housekeeping chores. The men and women on the roof are our most skilled shooters, and usually don’t get assigned any other duty. They mostly stick to the roof. The nightshift is the smallest. Those folks are strictly watch only, up top. We’re running pretty slim on manpower, but we get the essentials done. Cleaning, cooking, garbage detail, that sort of thing. Everyone rotates shifts and jobs once a week—except the roof watchmen, they only rotate shifts—so they’re not stuck doing the same job for too long. Keeps them busy, gives them something to