Free Blood Cell by Shaun Tennant Page B

his ankle. Then, the hand on Leo’ back thrust him upward, while the hand holding his ankle jerked down. The result was like watching a catapult launch Leo, flipping him hard, face first, into the nearest steel table.
    Leo hitting the table sounded like a watermelon hitting the sidewalk combined with a hammer striking an anvil. There was a loud metallic bang, and a sickening hollow thud. Leo’s head probably left a dent in the table. By the time everyone at Santos’ table had even registered that something was happening, four guards on the floor were swooping in—two to tend to Leo, and two to pull Thomas away from his target.
    “Oh Hell,” said Josh.
    “Leo’s gonna be locked up for a while once T.T. gets through with him,” added Charlie.
    “Goddamn him,” added Eli.
    “T.T.?” asked Josh.
    “Terminal Thomas. Real sensitive type. But he can hand out a beating.”
    “Yeah,” said Josh, watching the giant thrash Leo, “seems real sensitive.”
    Santos felt his world spinning as he considered the repercussions. He spoke, more to himself than to anyone else: “If they take him to the hospital he’ll never be put back in this pod. We gotta kill him before they take him out of the room.”
    “What? We can’t touch—“Carlos started, but Santos was already gone and heading for the crowd that had gathered around Leo and Thomas.
    In the crowd, Santos found an inmate named Mikey Woodcock. Remember Morgan Freeman in Shawshank Redemption? Well that was Mikey, only he was young and white and had dreadlocks. Mikey was the man who could supply you with just about anything. And that made him both popular and influential. The hunger strike that Santos took credit for was mostly Mikey’s influence. Mikey had the ability to call in favours, and Santos needed one.
    “I need to stop Leo from getting out of this room alive.”
    Mikey looked sceptical. The guards were already treating Leo. What did Vega expect—a miracle?
    In the back corner of the cafeteria, Ox Werden and the motorcycle club watched in amusement.
    “Shit, you see the look on Vega’s face?” asked Sonny Ramsden with a smile.
    “What’s he doin’?” asked Ox.
    “Looks like he’s talking to Mikey.”
    “Shit, he’s up to something.”
    Ox leaned in. “You guys do your work last night?” As he asked, he pulled up his shirt. Rolled into the waistband of his pants were the four shanks he’d crafted the previous night. Sonny, Frankie, and Paul also rolled up their waistbands. They had all finished their shanks.
    “Gather the boys. The time is now.”
    The fight had drawn all the inmates away from their own tables. The inmates were now piled into the far corner, circling Leo and the guards, shoving each other in a rush to see what happened. Terminal Thomas was by far the biggest man in the stew, and the inmates respected his ability to put on a show. But tensions were high, and the grouping of inmates was leading to a lot of shoving and elbowing. The guards upstairs on the balcony looked ready to fire into the crowd.
    Josh followed Santos’ crew as they tracked down their leader in the crowd. The guards were aiming their shotguns into the crowd, and the four guards holding Thomas off Leo were screaming for the inmates to disperse. Santos was busy getting everyone to do the opposite.
    “Santos, what you thinking?” asked Eli.
    “Mikey’s working the crowd. We gotta keep Leo here long enough to figure out a plan.”
    “Santos you gotta think this through,” said Carlos, “we got no play here that doesn’t end in the hole.”
    “Fuck the hole, Leo dies!”
    An inmate with a goatee overheard and screamed “Leo dies!”
    Then Frankie Frisby’s arm shot out of the mob of inmates. And his razor-sharp shank buried into goatee-man’s neck. Blood sprayed across the crowd and suddenly the jostling crowd turned on each other.
    The Eighteenth gave each other a quick ‘oh shit’ look, and started brawling. Four white guys armed with identical