» Fri Aug 12, 2011 2:31 am The Last Prisoner
Chapter One – The Big House
The heat of the Mohave Desert sun reigned over us, about a dozen prisoners with pick axes and dynamite used to demolish boulders that stood in the way of the NCR’s railway lines. I looked over my shoulder; about seven NCR troopers stood keeping guard on us, there were less and less every week I observed, not a month ago there were just over a dozen sent out to guard us. They all held Service Rifles and liked to use them on occasion, I noticed a couple of the other prisoners talking, and I recognized one of them; Samuel Cooke. He had saved my ass a few weeks earlier when I had been cornered by a few of the other prisoners who wanted pay back for one of their men I had beaten. I owed Cooke for this, and he wasn’t going to let me forget it. I wandered what they were talking about, the guy Cooke was talking to had a smile spread across his face, this was rare, who smiled when they were being forced into manual labor, our backs being burnt by the unforgiving sun. The prisoner who had been planting dynamite for the last few minutes stood and shouted to one of the troopers.
“Dynamite is ready sir!” shouted the prisoner who had been laying dynamite on a huge boulder that was blocking the desired railway path. He looked young, no older then twenty five I guessed. He was new, there were about thirty of us in the prison so it was always easy to spot new prisoners. This guy looked like a fish; prison slang for someone who would be an easy target to rob and beat, poor bastard wouldn’t last long.
“OK maggots! You know the drill, get in a line! This will be the last work for today!” screamed the commanding officer of the troopers. All of us got in a straight line on the railway track, after two minutes we were lined neatly and two troopers walked in front of us while two flanked us, the remaining two walked off to the side of us, keeping an eye on the center of line and looking out for hostiles. The young lad still waited by the rock, waiting for the order to blast the dynamite.
“Andy, what the [censored] are you waiting for!? Light the damn dynamite and get in line!” shouted the trooper; both the trooper and Andy the young prisoner went redder in the face, the dike head trooper because he wouldn’t shut the hell up and Andy because he was being scolded. Andy crouched down and lit the wick of the long fuse dynamite. He came running over to us and slipped into the back of the line. Directly behind me, I prefer being at the back; it means no punk I’ve agitated somehow during my time here will stick a rusty shank in my back. The boulder blew up scattering small bits of rock everywhere.
“OK, let’s get a [censored] move on shall we?!” screamed dike head.
The trek back to the NCRCF as the screws called it was boring; when the main trooper decided he would spend the night in Primm and headed off us prisoners began talking, the other guards weren’t bothered, they started talking themselves and it kept our minds off the heat. I pvssyd to Andy; he said he was twenty three. He had been stealing funds from his boss back in the Hub, he volunteered for a work release prison when he was told it could half his sentence because of his knowledge of explosives. We started nearing the facility and were told to shut the [censored] up in case the warden was down in the yard to check on us.
Two hours later we were all back in our cells, there were four or five of us per cell. I only had three people in my cell. Myself, Joe Cobb or Cobber as we had named him and Ian Granger… I got on with Ian; he was a good guy and a great repairman. When he was dumped in this hell hole he made the worst mistake possible. It’s rule number one in the big house and generally among criminal men. Do not ever show emotion. The next day not ten minutes after he was given his food ration Scrambler had set upon him, he spent his first night in the prison sleeping or rather crying about how he missed his wife and son in our cell and I had already grown to like him so I put my neck out for him. I still remembered it clearly.
He had been walking across the yard with the small piece of Molerat meat in his hand, Scrambler had approached and pushed him over. Scrambler was one mean looking dude; he wore an eye patch over his left eye and donned a Mohican as a haircut. He reminded me of the Great Khans I had worked for in the past.
“Give me that meat kid, or Ill [censored] grind you into it!” Scrambler had said coldly with Ian looking up at him. I had approached, stepping out of line and walking towards them.
“Hey Scrambler, give the new kid a break aye?” I had said trying to sound friendly. Unfortunately Scrambler was a sick and ruthless bastard; friendly wasn’t in his dictionary.
“Get lost, Shane. Unless you want some of this too!” he had said, glancing at me before turning back to Ian and booting him in the ribs as he tried to get up.
“No you get lost you ugly [censored]!” I had shouted walking towards him. I had seen him fight and he was not one to be screwed with but I had already started this. Not finishing it would be worse then actually following it through. I was confident I could beat him though; I had grown up on the streets of Freeside. I grew up angry always getting robbed by junkies and thugs. By the time I reached ten years old I had decided learning to fight would be my goal in life. I practiced brawling constantly and was bare knuckle boxing in the alleyways to earn money to eat by the time I was thirteen.
“Oh, you’ve [censored] asked for it.” He screamed throwing a punch; I threw my left arm up with the palm of my hand facing him, easily swiping his punch away and launched my fist towards his face at the same time. My fist smashed into his nose, it busted and spewed blood over his prisoner overalls, and he stumbled backwards. I readied myself for the rage that was inevitably coming. He jumped towards me tackling me to the ground; it would be over for me if I didn’t respond quickly. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face towards me, tearing into his cheek with my teeth, the warm blood and bits of flesh choked me slightly, I gnawed again and hit bone, it reminded me of the time I had a gun in my mouth, the same scraqe feeling on my teeth. Blood poured down my face. I used the distraction to use all my power to kick him off me. He was grabbing his face screaming in blind rage. I dived forwards, us both now on the floor with my knees on his chest. I pummeled his face with a right hook, then a left hook. Time seemed to go in fast forward as every prisoner in the yard ran towards us chanting. I was smashed over the head with what was most likely the butt of a rifle.
I awoke in my cell with dry blood in my hair and all over my overalls. Ian had thanked me that night and had scavenged a small rectangle piece of metal from the yard. He told me he would sharpen it and wrap some dry Molerat meat around it as a handle. After two nights of barely any sleep, constantly running the piece of metal along the concrete floor he was done and I was left with a very sharp dagger. I thought I would need it, Scrambler was the right hand man of one of the smartest men in the prison; Eddie. The next day they had approached me in yard, they had cornered me. I was getting ready for my beating when Sam had walked over.
“Be easy boys, the only enemy here is those bastards.” He had said, nodding towards a screw up in the guard tower. “And the enemy of my enemy is my friend. You boy’s don’t want to be hurting my friends now, do you?!” he had asked in an all knowing tone. The men had scolded at me and walked off. Although I did not share his beliefs about the NCR I grew to like him from that day on, the man was a born leader, slightly deluded and close minded but he had a way with words.
I was thinking about the fight and Cooke saving me from possible death when I drifted off to sleep, the makeshift dagger still stuck neatly inside the fabric of the mattress I lay on.
Ive already written some of the chapter in which the escape takes place but decided it would be better to have the story set in the prison for a while. 
