Left for Dead: The Left for Dead Saga, #1

By B.L. Hurst

Everydaypeople from all walks of life are going about their normal business when a disaster of epic proportions changes everything.  Lights flicker and go out, self-driving cars begin to behave eratically, planes fall from the sky, cellphones ignite like Fourth of July fireworks.  And the disaster couldn't have come at a worse time, because the US is already bogged down under feet of snow and ice having suffered an Artic Polar Vortex, thought by some to have been brought on by global warming.

In an instant, the world is transformed into a killing field as all modern technology is stripped away.  Some believe the Nation has been struck by an EMP but signs point to something else, something inexplicable.

Asher Latham is in the Tennessee State Penitentiary when disaster strikes.  A consumate prepper, he believes he knows what's coming and what he must do to survive.

Bethany Johnson, a graduate law student at Vanderbilt University is on campus and wants nothing more than to avoid injury or death and somehow get through the chaos to find her mom and sisters who are scattered all over the city, which has been turned into a disaster zone.  Grant Foster, pastor of a local mega church and his beloved wife Donna-Jo rally their neighbors and others to try and help the flock from their church.  Their odds of survival are low but they all fight to survive as they realize they are on their own. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.L. Hurst
• Release date: Jul 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201389918

Book preview

B.L. HURST

Coming Soon from B.L. Hurst:

THE LEFT FOR DEAD SAGA BOOKS 2-4:

Steps Back

Facing Darkness

Seeking Home

THIS NOVEL IS FICTION.

Copyright © 2021 B.L. Hurst

All rights reserved

Edition1.1

cover photography by Kayla Thompson

For a sneak peek at new novels, free stories and more, find me on:

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For Mark Hewgley...

The one true urban mountain man I’ve known.  You will always be loved and missed.

Disclaimers

All rights reserved .  Any unauthorized duplication in whole or in part or dissemination of this edition by any means (including but not limited to photocopying, electronic bulletin boards, and the Internet) will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

This is a work of fiction.  All of the events described are imaginary.  Most of the characters in this novel are fictional.  A few real-life individuals gave permission for their names to be mentioned.  Aside from these individuals, any resemblance to living people is purely coincidental.  Any mention of any actual place, including, cities, states, or places of business is purely coincidental.

The information contained in this novel is intended for entertainment purposes only.  The medical details contained within this novel do not constitute medical advice.  Consult a doctor if you have any medical questions.

The purpose of this novel is to entertain only.  The author, publisher, and distributor shall have neither entity with respect to any loss or damage caused, or alleged to be caused, directly or indirectly by the information contained in this novel.

LEFT FOR DEAD

A THRILLER

THE LEFT FOR DEAD SAGA

BOOK ONE

B. L. HURST

Table of Contents

Chapter

Rock Bottom

What a View

Guys can be Jerks

Polar Bear

Writing Her Escape

Hauling Goods

Good People

Destination Wedding

Almost Dead

Fire!

The Campus is Under Attack

He’s Dying

I’ll Run You Over!

The Parking Garage

House Fire

Don’t Shoot!

Still Trapped

Slow Down!

Will it Start?

Sweet Dreams

AMG of Death

Word from the Outside

The Power Comes from Somewhere

The Next Fire

Work to Do

Jeep Called Crappy

Heat can be a Good Thing

In the Line of Fire

That was Close

Urban Rock-Crawling

Jackpot!

Back at the Church

Grocery Shopping

Is Anyone Else Alive?

Checking on the Dealership

Anyone Alive in Here-part 2

Why are they Shooting

It’s a Cop

Abandoning the Church

Cutting Dead Weight

Buckin’ the System

Back at the Bowmans’

Loading up the Armory

You Can Fly

Alone at Home

Getting’ Ready to Ride

Back in the Factory

The Girls Made It

Get Ready for the Apocalypse

Time for Rest

Mom’s Ready

Parts Run

Dreamin’ About Moving

The Hilltop

The Tracks

Want Some Coffee?

Gotta Help

The Rail-Yard

Caught Off Guard

Work the Plan

Thermite

Please be There

Food!

What Next?

Saving Ricky

Falling Still

Finding Erica

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Asher’s Men – aka - Prison Inmates

Asher Lee Latham - aka Polar Bear - 36yo, White, never married, no kids.  Church of Christ, jack-of-all-trades, serving time for murder.

Aaron Thomas - aka Aaron aka Jerk Face - 34yo, White, divorced, has one daughter named Darby.  Baptist, loyal, rail worker not-approachable due to natural facial expression often misread as angry, serving time for armed robbery.

Chris Anglin - aka Red aka Santa Claus - 40yo, White, divorced, three kids.  Baptist, contractor who grew up on a farm, serving time for drug trafficking.

Marlow Warren - aka War aka Milk Man - 30yo, Black, never married, no kids.  Muslim, extremely likeable, always smiles, former semi-pro boxer, serving time for murder.

Martin Carlson - aka Martini - 32yo, White, never married, no kids.  Undecided Christian who dislikes organized religion, wordy, highly intellectual, creative, overly analytical, and really tall, 6’8", serving time for accessory to murder.

Shane Gaston - aka Stain - White, 44yo, divorced, three kids, Pentecostal Holiness, farmer, contractor, serving time for aggravated assault and drug possession.

Gary Raymore - aka Ger-Bear - 45yo, White, married to Carrie, father of two grown kids, Preston and Peyton.  Baptist, who never shows anger, former executive, serving time for embezzlement.

Miller Jeffries - aka Brother Miller - 36yo, White, married, three kids.  New-aged Christian who talks about Christ 24-7 and calls everyone brother, hence the nickname Brother Miller, serving time for murder.

Alex Williams - aka Axle - 33yo, Asian & Caucasian mixed, divorced, one teenage son.  Messianic Jew, often mumbles when speaking.  Looks like Asian Jack Black on diet and steroids, serving time for gun and drug possession.

George Wallace - aka Papa-Smurf - 74yo, White, no living family.  Agnostic, former Flea-Market owner, former biker, experienced outdoorsman, obsessed with word-searches, smart-ellic, serving time for murder and racketeering.

Alfred Stanford - aka Stack - 82yo, White, divorced, daughters live out of state.  Christian - Pentecostal, former Life-Insurance Salesman, stroke victim, wheelchair bound, serving time for murder.

Drew Glidden - aka Drewsky - 30yo, White, never married, no kids.  New-aged Christian, former college student, nerdy, strong, capable, rarely serious, serving time for forgery.

David Johnson - aka Super Dave - 60yo, Black, divorced, adult estranged kids.  New-aged Christian, former hustler, serving time for drug trafficking.

Duane Collins - aka Reefer - 45yo, Black, never married, no kids.  Jehovah’s Witness, electrician, serving time for murder.

Antonio Madden - aka Mad Man - aka Maña, 62yo, White and Native American mixed race.  Divorced, adult estranged kids.  Christian who dislikes organized religion, grumpy, hence the nickname, serving time for murder.

Jacob Barker - 54yo, Black, divorced, grown kids, former Lance Corporal, 2nd Marine Air Wing, Desert Storm, incarcerated since he was 22yo.  Christian, serving time for murder.

Kevin Wallace - aka Nutty - 34yo, Black, married, highly intelligent, but quiet.  New-aged Christian, former Music Industry Executive, serving time for drug trafficking.

Craig Johnson - aka Crash - 48yo, White, short, fit, bald headed.  Heathen Asatru, Fire fighter and EMT before ‘crashing out’ into drug addiction a string of petty crimes.

Bradley Smith - aka Big Country - 35yo, White, divorced, estranged children.  Atheist, former tow-truck driver, redneck, serving time for drug trafficking.

Marcos Mendez - aka Marquito - 36yo, Honduran, married, three children.  New-aged Christian, former contractor, serving time for drug trafficking.

DeMarcus Black - aka Black - 42yo, Black, never married, seven kids all over the state.  Episcopalian, former truck driver, serving time for drug trafficking.

? – aka - Strong Man - He’s mute so nobody knows his actual age, his real name or really anything about him.  He’s black and maybe in his thirties but could be in his forties and none of the men know why he was serving time.

Timothy Dresden - aka Cut Throat - 34yo, White, married, wife and kids live in Alabama.  Pagan, former professional lifetime criminal, serving time for murder, kidnapping, and robbery.

Daniel Santaroni - aka Danno - 64yo, half Native Hawaiian half Italian mixed race.  Divorced, adult estranged kids.  Practicing Catholic, former pro surfer and Dive Shop owner.  Likes to call all non natives Haole, serving time for drug trafficking.

The Johnson’s and Friends

Mai-Lynn Johnson aka Momma Mai - 55yo, Japanese ethnicity U.S. born, widow of U.S. Marine Mike Johnson, stay-at-home-mom, micro-green gardener.

Mike Johnson - Deceased husband of Mai-Lynn Johnson.

Bethany Johnson - aka Annie Oakley - 23yo, Vanderbilt Univ. Law student, daughter of Mai-Lynn.  Carries her father’s Heckler & Koch HK416 outfitted w/Leopold scope.

Ashtyn Johnson - 19yo, daughter of Mai-Lynn Vandy undergrad.

Lilly-Anna Johnson - 14yo, daughter of Mai-Lynn private Christian High School.

Cooper Allen - aka Coop - Vandy student, coder, hacker.

Wanda Ryder - Neighbor of Mai-Lynn.

Gregory Ryder - Wanda’s husband.

Randy Vincent - 18yo, Vandy student, East Tennessee native.

Nicky Landers - 19yo, Vandy student, Atlanta native, resembles pop star Rhianna.

DeMarcus Jackson - 21yo, Vandy student, St. Louis native.

Chantel Murphy - 18yo, Belmont Student, New Jersey native.

Angelica Peña aka Angel - 19yo, born and raised in Texas although her parents are from Sonora/Chihuahua, Mexico. 

Tristan Goldberg - 44yo, lives in condo in Nashville.

Anderson Goldberg - 5yo, Tristan Goldberg’s son.

Hubert Decker - 68yo, widower of Martha Decker.

Martha Decker - Deceased wife of Hubert Decker.

The Church Group

Ted Graham - Senior Pastor of Northern Hills Church of Christ.

Nancy Graham - Wife of Ted Graham.

Mike Heath - Boat shop owner.

Shea Heath - Boat shop owner.

Grant Foster - BudCamp’s RV dealership owners and associate pastor Northern Hills Church of Christ.

Donna-Jo Foster - BudCamp’s RV dealership owner, Grants’ wife and middle-school teacher.

Bowman Family

Dale Bowman - aka Chip n’ Dale - 64yo, retired, husband of Trina Bowman.

Trina Bowman - 62yo, retired, wife of Dale Bowman.

Ricky Bowman - Grown son of Dale and Trina Bowman.

Melinda Bowman - Grown daughter of Dale and Trina Bowman.

BudCamp’s Neighbors and family

Daniel Martin - Head Mechanic boat dealership.

Jackie Martin - Daniel Martin’s wife.

Ben Garretson - Hunter’s dad.

Hunter Garretson - Teenage son of Ben Garretson

Stacey Reed - Teenage friend of Hunter Garretson.

Belinda Davis - Teenage friend of Hunter Garretson.

Military Personnel

Staff Sergeant Edwards - 38yo, Black, served with Mike Johnson.

Corporal Fleming - 27yo, Hispanic, serves in the same Company as Staff Sergeant Edwards.

The Carlson’s

Erica Carlson - aka Ricky Bobby - 2nd Lieutenant Carlson, Army 101st Airborne - 30yo, White, Martin’s sister, current microbiologist, former medic in Army mother of Max and Alyssa 

Max Carlson - 14yo son of Erica Carlson.

Alyssa Carlson - 6yo daughter of Erica Carlson.

Brandon Smith - 35yo, EMT, visiting family in Idaho when power goes out.

National Guardsmen

Army 1st Lieutenant, Harry Spencer aka Lifeguard - Surviving soldier from the Massacre

Gary’s Family

Carrie Raymore - Author, wife of Gary Raymore.

Preston Raymore - aka Pretzel - son of Gary and Carrie Raymore.

Peyton Raymore - Daughter of Gary and Carrie Raymore.

The Mackenzies

Mr. Mackenzie - Neighbor of Carrie.

Mrs. Mackenzie - Neighbor of Carrie.

The Donaldsons

Mr. Donaldson - Neighbor of Carrie.

Mrs. Donaldson - Neighbor of Carrie.

The Wheelers

Mr. Wheeler - Elderly neighbor of Carrie.

Mrs. Wheeler - Elderly neighbor of Carrie.

Prologue

The entire southern half of the United States sat under several feet of snow.  The experts called it a Polar Vortex, an artic weather system that had blown down from the uppermost regions of the artic, inundating populations not ready for such winter weather events.  State, county and city governments scrambled to deal with the continuously falling snow and ice and rolling power outages.  Already strained, after the shutdowns from COVID-19, businesses worked to keep supply chains intact.

Asher Latham placed the receiver of the Blue-Box prison phone back in its cradle and leaned against the cold block wall behind him.  He’d just hung up with one of his younger sisters.  He’d caught her at work, but on her lunch break.  She’d only had a few brief moments to say hi, as she walked from the courthouse where she worked, to the deli across the town square.

A tear welled up in one corner of his eye.  He spent a lot of time worrying about his family.  Phone calls, by nature, were nearly as difficult as in-person visits, because contact with his family was a painful reminder of his own incarceration.

The call-out for ‘chow-time’ sounded over the prison intercom system.  Not wanting to miss an opportunity for free calories, Asher fell in line.

The housing unit door opened and the men in the line were greeted with a frigid blast of winter air.  One-by-one, each man tucked their chins into the collars of their thin denim jackets, which had been provided to them upon their arrival at the state prison and braved the cold.

They would walk nearly a half a mile from their unit to the chow hall.  During the trek, Asher wondered which version of slop would be served to them upon their arrival.  Their boots crunched along the sidewalks that had been shoveled free of snow and then dusted with rock-salt deicer by Asher and others early that morning when they had been called out by the intercom to report for an early three AM duty shift.

Thankfully, the chow line moved at a quick pace.  Then, they sat eating in relative silence.

A mere eight minutes later, they all headed back, having finished slurping down the menu item known as Savory Home-Cooked Bean Soup, though the soup consisted of more slimy liquid than beans, and Asher found nothing savory about the disgusting slop.

Already, Asher worked out in his mind, the meal he would prepare from purchased commissary items to fill his still-empty stomach once he returned to his housing unit.  He would microwave some sliced summer sausage, then crisp some tortillas, again in the microwave, add some pizza sauce, shred a bar of cheese, layer it all up, and with one more go around in the microwave he would enjoy.

His stomach grumbled as he imagined the steps in between his current position and that first bite as he, and the other men headed back to their assigned housing unit.

Thirty minutes later, Asher sat at a table.  His good friend Marlow snuck up on him grabbing him from behind in a choke hold, while playfully jabbing him in the ribs, as he sat alone eating his personal size pizza.

Did you use the Halal beef sausage this time?  Marlow asked, eyeballing his pizza.

Asher’s friend was a devout Muslim, so Asher was aware that his truthful answer would involve giving up some of his pizza.

If I say yes, you want a bite, huh?  Asher grinned.

Duh, of course.  And... you’d never lie to your good buddy, would ya?

Asher grabbed his plastic arts-and-crafts ruler and used the thin edge like a knife to slice off a piece of the pizza, before sliding it over to his friend on a torn off piece of a cracker box.

Thanks, bro!  Marlow offered his fist to bump.  You’re the best.

Shut up, dude, Asher bumped his fist and laughed.  You’re just saying that because I’m feeding you.

Hey, Jerk-Face and Martin both said they heard the guards are gonna lock us down later, you know, ‘cause of the snow.  You wanna make a big meal early so we’ll have something good to eat, just in case they do?

Sure, but you’re cooking this time, Asher negotiated.

Whatever, Marlow shrugged.  I just hope the power doesn’t go out again.

If you kept your weight up like me, you wouldn’t freeze so easily.

You mean if I had a gut like you, I’d be a sweaty fat guy.  Marlow doubled over, laughing at his own joke while revealing a huge piece of summer sausage that was stuck in his teeth.

Thirty minutes later, they stood at the table beside the microwave, cooking dinner.

You know, Ash.  Sometimes, it’s like all we do is talk about food or fix food.

I think it’s ‘cause we have such limited options.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

Oh, no, not again!  Marlow slammed his hand down on the table.  And the meal’s not done.

Lockdown! the guard yelled from behind the desk.

Asher and Marlow both scrambled to divide the half-prepared meal and gather the rest of their personal items and run to their cells.

Maybe, we’ll come out later and we can finish this.

Yeah, I’ll probably eat my half cold.

Whatever!  Marlow yelled.

BETHANY JOHNSON STOOD in front of the full-length mirror at the latest store her sister had dragged her to, adjusting a dress.

I think this is, like, totes the best one yet, Ashtyn pinched the waist of the dress Bethany was trying on.

I don’t know why it matters, Bethany scoffed.

Because you need to look super-hot for him!

But I already told you I’m not interested.  Bethany turned to go back into the changing booth.

Ashtyn followed her.  Yep, and you told me that you’d go.  So, we’re going and you’re gonna be nice!  Ashtyn said, referring to their double date.

But you promise it’s not a date?

It’s not a date, ugh!  Ashtyn lied.  You are so hard to deal with!

Back at ya, little sis, Bethany pursed her lips.

But, when you meet Terrence, you’re gonna like him.  I mean, his pecks are, like huge!  And he’s got these big brown eyes, she leaned forward, mockingly batting her eyelashes at her older sister.

They headed to the checkout where Ashtyn paid for the dress, an early birthday gift, though her motives were to get her prudish sister to finally hook up with a cute boy.

I hate all this snow!  Ashtyn complained, as they trudged through drift, hiking from the store to Bethany’s Jeep.

A big truck passed by, throwing sprays of slush in their direction.

Ashtyn screamed, as she tried to dodge the airborne mess.

Bethany laughed, ignoring her sister’s antics.

Just then, the streetlight up ahead flickered and then went out.

Look, the power went out again, Bethany pointed.  We’d better head home.

Ugh, but I wanted to go to a few more stores.

Not gonna happen during a blackout, Bethany smiled inside, relieved to have an excuse to end their shopping trip.

1

Rock-Bottom - Asher

Sometime after Day One

Asher thought he had hit his actual rock-bottom several times before.  And each previous time he thought he’d hit it, he tried to learn from the experience and tried to improve upon himself.  But he had also learned that in his life at least, things almost never played out as planned.

Asher was what people may call an over-thinker, and often struggled to let things go.  Mistakes haunted him for years after he made them.  In his mind, in his own personal hindsight reality, he often focused on those mistakes or errors in judgment.  And, when looking back, he could always plainly see that he’d gotten himself into a situation that he could almost always trace back to a single decision or pivotal moment in his life, that if he’d made the decision differently, life would have led him to a much better outcome.

But for Asher, this time... this rock-bottom moment was very, very different.  While he had fully accepted that coming to prison was absolutely his fault, a devastating outcome that had happened so many years in the past.  Back then, he’d accepted that he’d done wrong and deserved some sort of punishment, just like he’d accepted that in the broken criminal justice system he’d been over-charged by well-meaning, but disillusioned prosecutors, and therefore over-sentenced when the biased and prejudicial jury convicted him, without all the facts.  He’d long ago accepted that the prosecutorial biased court ordered him to serve a life sentence, though he’d appealed the decision of the court, to no avail.  He’d accepted those truths very quickly upon entering the overburdened, flawed and corrupt criminal justice system.  He’d made real changes in his life to prove to God and to those around him that he was worthy of redemption, but throughout it all, he’d never fully imagined the events of recent weeks.  Early on in his prison experience, he vowed to himself and to God, that he never again would do anything that would give the government that much control over his life.  Though, when he made that humble vow, he’d never imagined that it was far too late for him to have any control over his own destiny. 

As these thoughts played their viscous game inside his mind, he let out a dry chuckle.  He realized that the government already owned him, he was their slave, made decidedly obvious by their most recent actions, the system believed that it did, in-fact have the authority to let him die. 

He was both shocked and devastated by this new reality.  It was common knowledge that the state could kill its citizens after a fair trial, (loose terminology) and decades of subsequent fair appeals (through murderous death penalty executions).  Just like it was common knowledge that the state could kill its citizens if those citizens, re-dubbed inmates, attempted to leave a prison or jail (through escape) before they had served whatever amount of time the Honorable Judge, (again loose terminology), had decided that the flawed citizen must serve.  But, neither of those situations applied to Asher in this very moment of crisis.  He’d believed he still had rights, like the right to be fed a certain number of calories every day, or the right to minimal healthcare, after-all, he hadn’t been given a death sentence by any Judiciary.  And, to that point, he hadn’t attempted to escape, not that either of those points really mattered because Asher, along with a little over seven-hundred other flawed citizens had been left for dead...  left to starve to death... left to rot in their cells.  Their day of redemption had long passed and they would cease to exist in the most evil place in society, the state penitentiary.  In-fact, some of the men had already been killed at the hands of their captors as their captors took the opportunity, the total collapse of society, the collapse of law and order, to settle old grudges.  But as far as Asher knew, the majority of them had simply been left to die.

ASHER HAD STARED INTO the bottom of a toilet bowl before.  In his younger years, while a member of a college fraternity, he’d actually spent quite a bit of time in that position, after many a long night of binge drinking.

He could still clearly remember praying to God in those desperate moments asking Him to save his life when he felt like his guts were turning themselves inside-out and preparing to protrude up his throat and out through his mouth.  And now, once again at an more mature age, Asher prayed to God asking Him yet again, to save his life.  But this time was very different from his college days and even different from the crime that had sent him to prison in the first place. 

The different circumstances were what led Asher to his current predicament.  These new circumstances caused him to reevaluate, once again, and much later in his life, redefine, at least for himself, a whole new level of... a whole new definition of... a whole new universe of... hitting rock-bottom.  An all-time new low for Asher Lee Latham.

THOSE TWO SIMPLE, YET powerful words, rock-bottom, echoed in his mind over and over as he stared at the bottom of the stainless steel toilet bowl, sucking dry the last few drops of rancid water from the bowels of the prison sewage system, using a straw he’d made by carefully sliding the rubberized protective coating off of a common, black, household-style RG-6 coaxial cable TV wire.

As thoughts from both the past and present jousted inside his mind like to ancient knights fighting for their very honor, Asher began laughing at his predicament so hard that he almost choked on the life-sustaining sewage water.  In his current state of delirium, Asher fell backwards onto the icy concrete floor landing hard on his back.  The impact was so hard and so definite he knew without a doubt, that he’d just cracked a rib upon contact.  Despite the intense, breath-robbing bolts of pains which emanated from his ribs, he continued laughing.  Like an insane person who’d lost all touch with reality, he laughed and laughed and laughed until he had no more laughs left in his soul and then he began sobbing, except he was so dehydrated that not a single tear fell from his dry, itchy eyes.

Those words, echoing inside his mind drove him on like an old steam locomotive, chugging down a railway, because just like all those other times, he’d made it through all those rock-bottom moments, he’d somehow survived and gone on to live his life.  Those words, pinging off the inside of his skull in this icy dungeon of death and rot, were the driving force to remind him that he was still alive.  And, he knew, that as long as he was alive, he would fight to lift himself up off of that rock-bottom moment.

SOMETIME... DAYS BEFORE this redefining rock-bottom moment and after the food stopped coming and he ran out of both food and eventually water, he searched his tiny cell for other sources.

Due to the artic conditions outside, ice formed on the outer wall of his cell and he found that he could hurry that production by breathing on the wall.  The moisture in his own breath would accumulate and then freeze.  Once frozen, he would gather the ice, by scraping it off with his fingernail clippers.  Unfortunately, the ice often came off with chips of old paint and concrete dust.  It made no difference to him.  Once he had enough ice, he would strike a wick, made from fluffed cotton swabs, graphite from a busted up #2 pencil and toilet paper.  Then, using AA batteries, and scraps of a broken razor blade, he’d make a prison cigarette lighter.  Once he had a flame, he would melt the tiny flecks of dirty ice in the bottom half of a cola can, careful not to burn his fingers as he worked.  He’d saved some seasoning packs from Ramen noodles and gently stirred it in for flavoring.  He’d drink the soup savoring every paint-chip-filled drop as if it were Miso soup from the fancy Asian restaurant located in downtown Nashville that he used to frequent.  His batteries eventually died, and he could no longer strike a wick.  When that happened, he tried to melt the ice using his tongue.  But his tongue quickly became so cold, that the ice simply froze to his tongue, causing him to abandon that endeavor altogether.

Asher had initially scooped water from the toilet to drink using his small plastic coffee cup.  Then, as the water level dropped, he eventually resorted to retrieving the water, a tiny bit at a time, using the small plastic Spork sold in the prison commissary after he melted and bent the handle to create a tiny ladle.

On that day, and as he took that first drink from the toilet, he thanked himself over and over that prior to the current nightmare he’d had a normal daily routine of cleaning the toilet with strong chemicals before reporting to his job as a loading dock worker in the local prison kitchen.  Each time he drank, he drank as little as possible because the work project that he and his friend Aaron Thomas, housed in the neighboring cell, had been working on was going slowly and he’d estimated that at their present combined pace, the work wouldn’t be complete for at least two more days. 

Asher had also been saving his urine, not to drink, but to keep the toilet water relatively clean.  When the toilet water got low, he remembered in his past, having watched a TV documentary or maybe a movie, he wasn’t sure, but it had been about a hiker who had become pinned to a wall in a slot canyon by a falling rock and who’d survived for seven to ten days on just his own urine.  That memory also helped to push Asher onward.  A lot of his neighbors had refused to drink their urine, even told him he was crazy when he suggested they should do the same.  He simply smiled sitting on the ice-cold floor of his cell sipping urine in between slurps of his homemade Miso-paint-chip soup before continuing his work digging out of his cell.  He was tired of arguing with others as they gave up one-by-one.

When the ladle no longer worked, but he could tell that more water was still trapped well beyond his reach in the plumbing traps, he had begun searching everything that he owned... every little item in his tiny prison cell to somehow reach that last little bit of precious water.  And he worked hard for those little drops.  He anxiously tried to urinate waiting for the liquid so that he could use it to quench his irritating and unending thirst, but he could force not even a single drop from his body.

He tried to keep up with the days, but sleep came and went sporadically.  He’d often wake, not having a clue whether he’d slept through an entire night, or more or less.  But he realized that most of his friends and neighbors must have passed away.  He had lost contact with them some time in the past, again days and nights blurred together confusing him the more he attempted to track them.

Despite his best rationing efforts, he had run out of water before the work was complete.  The sour water that he’d been drinking from the bottom of the bowl, which had sustained his life thus far, had run out as he sucked the last few drops from the bowl.  But he knew that more water remained just out of reach in the plumbing traps and that thought haunted him, keeping him from meaningful rest.

ASHER WENT ON WORKING and he thought that maybe another day had passed.  He passed-out a few times both from the work and from extreme dehydration before realizing that the answer had been right in front of him the whole time.  In his youth, he had worked for a large Cable TV service provider and couldn’t believe that the idea had taken so long to form in his mind.  The glaring oversight was just another clue as to how near-death Asher actually was.  He carefully stripped the covering off of the wire and ever-so-gently inserted the tubular covering into the tiny puddle at the bottom of the toilet bowl.  He sucked on the tiny and very long straw and savored every drop of the rancid water.

Then, as an afterthought, he jumped up excitedly, though when he did, his head began to swim, and he once again nearly passed out.  Eventually, he fought through the dizziness and scrambled like a mad man over to the vent.

Before the collapse, the vent had provided fresh air to his cell, cool air in the summer and warm air in the winter.  And like several others in the prison, he’d long ago crafted a homemade cover for the vent that could be adjusted to better control the temperature inside the cell.  The secondary purpose of the vent cover was to block off noise since the ventilation system also doubled as a prison phone system.  Inmates regularly yelled through the ductwork, carrying on loud, annoying and often-times, lengthy conversations with others throughout the prison housing unit.

Asher gathered his senses, shaking off the dizziness.  He ripped the cover blocking the vent completely off, threw it aside and then began yelling through the ductwork.  He called out to his best friend Aaron in the adjacent cell who he feared might already be dead. 

BOTH AARON AND ASHER had grown up in the same medium-sized town, though they attended different schools, and ironically had never met until they both landed themselves in the State prison.  Aaron was well over six-feet-tall, white, relatively handsome and fit with a trim, athletic build.  In his youth, having been heavily involved in sports, ranging from football, to baseball, basketball, golf and with even a short couple of seasons on the Lacrosse team, he’d maintained his chiseled physique all the way into his adult year.  Aaron also had what he himself described as a jerk-face, a permanent, off-putting scowl that caused people to prejudge him as a jerk, which ironically couldn’t have been further from his actual, benevolent, kind, happy-go-lucky nature.

Despite having a wonderful life prior to his arrest, Aaron was serving a fifteen-year sentence for armed robbery.  He hadn’t needed the money at the time, but instead, had always thought it would be cool, a rush per se, to rob a store at gunpoint, just like in the movies.

During his first robbery, he’d carried an unloaded shotgun into a local market and held up the place.  His total take was less than two hundred dollars but afterward he felt alive for the first time in years.  Aaron became addicted to the adrenaline rush the robberies brought to his cookie-cutter and very normal blue-collar life.

Prior to coming to prison, Aaron had worked for the railroad since just after high-school and made good money.  He had always lived within his means and had a beautiful wife and a young daughter in a nice newer home in the suburbs of Greater Nashville.  He had a good life by any definition of the term.

Such had been his life by day, but at night, he would don his ski-mask and then he would go on his robbery sprees.  His first stop would be the local airport, where he’d park his regular vehicle.  Then, he’d walk to the opposite side of the parking lot and climb into an old beater sedan that he’d purchased for cash, while wearing a disguise, and had never registered with the DMV.  The sedan displayed a license plate that he’d stolen, to help cover his tracks.  He would then drive to, and park a few buildings away from, his target location to reduce the risk of a witness spotting his getaway car.  Then, with his bases covered, he would walk the rest of the way on foot.

Aaron would then rob the store, getting in and get out as quickly as possible with whatever cash he could get from the register nearest the door.  He later told people that it was an adrenaline rush unlike any he’d ever imagined and that he’d had a blast.  Each time he felt like he was living in a movie.

The stores he robbed were chain stores, and had insurance, he’d later told himself, to alleviate his conscience from any lingering guilt.  He’d even donated all the money he stole to various charities, trying to justify his actions within his own mind.  Even when he stole the license plate to put on his getaway vehicle, he’d tucked an envelope under the windshield wipers that was loaded with two crisp hundred dollar bills withdrawn from an ATM connected to his own bank account.  In his mind, he was playing an innocent game, like a child would with the neighborhood children whenever they played Cops and Robbers, or Cowboys and Indians.  For him, it was merely a fun experience.

One time, after one robbery that he first thought went rather smoothly, the store clerk ran out after him.  But the clerk did so giving Aaron enough of a head start that Aaron didn’t even know he had been followed.  The clerk caught up to Aaron as he sat in the driver’s seat and was in the process of turning the ignition on the little get-away car.  The clerk held a shotgun to the window, pointing it directly at Aaron’s face, but for some unknown reason, he didn’t pull the trigger.

The clerk’s description of Aaron’s face, without his mask, described to a police sketch artist, was Aaron’s downfall and quickly led to his arrest.  Once in custody, Aaron quickly confessed to the detectives, though he downplayed every one of his actions, still having not considered just how dangerous and dumb his game had been.

He had been facing a life-sentence, but when the judge saw proof that he had, in-fact, donated his spoils to charity and that the gun had never actually been loaded, (he didn’t even own any ammunition for the weapon) how he’d paid for the stolen tags, he went easy on him.

Once he was out on bond and had to face his family, friends and coworkers, Aaron felt a level of shame like he never had and cursed himself for his own stupidity.  He hadn’t considered how much fear and pain he had caused, not only to the store clerks, but to the other patrons in the stores.  One woman testified, during her victims’ impact statement, of how she had been plagued by debilitating nightmares every single night since the robbery.  Another victim, an older man, testified that he was a war veteran and the incident had stirred up flashbacks from the war, causing him to require heavy doses of anti-anxiety medications.

A young girl from one store, who had been shopping with her older brother, refused to leave the house after the robbery.  Her parents had been forced to home-school the child.

While still out on bond, and even before his conviction, Aaron began transforming his life hoping to somehow make up for the wrongs he had committed.  He rededicated himself to Christ publicly, in front of his entire church congregation.  He began volunteering at local charities.  Through his attorneys, he paid for counseling for several of his victims.  And, after sentencing, while in prison, he attended counseling and became involved in the prison church services.  He did all he could to remain involved in the lives of his wife and daughter from behind bars, but the whole experience had put a strain on them all.  At his rededication to the Lord, he promised to spend his life doing good, and so far, he had kept his word.

He was in this phase of life when he met Asher, learned his story of bad decisions and they became fast friends.  Now, over three years after meeting, they were both on the verge of death.

ASHER SLAPPED HIS HAND on the metal cabinet, yelling from his cell.  AARON!  I FIGURED IT OUT...  AARON...  AARON!  YOU THERE, BUDDY?

Asher heard nothing, not a sound in return and he feared the worst, that his best friend Aaron had finally died.

Asher began sobbing again as he screamed into the vent, AARON, MAN!  YOU BETTER ANSWER ME.  I FIGURED IT OUT...  JUST GRAB YOUR CABLE CORD AND CAREFULLY TWIST THE METAL ENDS OFF IT.  MAN, ARE YOU LISTENING?  YOU CAN MAKE A STRAW!  YOU CAN GET TO SOME MORE WATER.

What?  Dude, shut up, Asher!  Aaron groaned.  Man, I was dreaming, Asher, and it was beautiful!  I was at Loco Juan’s, back home drinking a Margarita and it was the most awesome one I’ve ever had in my entire life.  I had a bowl of those fresh hot tortilla chips and a huge bowl of queso.  Why did you wake me up, man?  And, what in the world are you screaming about?

I CAN SAVE US, MAN!

Would you stop yelling, please?  Please, man...  I can hear you fine and you’re yelling is making my head hurt!

Sorry!  I figured out how to get the last of the water, so we don’t die.

Now that Aaron was conscious and listening, Asher explained in detail how to make the straw, and within minutes Aaron was sipping his own toilet water.

Aaron and Asher both spread the word throughout their building to the few men who were still alive.

Like I said, man... all we need is a little more time to complete the work.  We’re almost there.  You gotta stay positive, man!  Asher encouraged.

Asher!  Would you just please shut up with all that positivity crap.  Really, dude, I am so tired, man and I think I’m just gonna take another nap, Aaron responded, as he laid back down to rest his eyes some more.

Through the vent, Asher heard the distinct sound of the plastic-covered bed mats the prison issued.  No, no, no...  Get up!  You listen here, buddy!  You need to work while you’ve got a little water in your system, man, or I swear you’ll die.

When Aaron realized Asher wasn’t gonna shut up he begrudgingly got up.  Once again, he began scraping grout from between cinder blocks that separated his cell from the pipe chase that ran up into the roof structure of the prison housing unit.  He heard the rhythmic sound coming from Asher’s cell where he was performing the same action.

Aaron had broken through much faster than Asher using an iron wheel that had come from a water main in the unit mop closet.  The valve had leaked for years, and rather than replacing the valve and handle, the Maintenance Officer would simply remove the handle, tighten the valve and then reinstall the handle.  Asher had complained many times because only hours later, the valve would once again begin leaking and the cells nearest the closet would hear the constant drip, drip, drip of the leak.

The Maintenance Officer was a shyster of a man and it was common knowledge that he was stealing from the state and had been for years.

Anytime a work-order to repair or replace something inside the prison, generated by a department head came across the Maintenance Desk, the Maintenance Officer had the justification he needed and would order brand new parts without even leaving his office.  Then, and only after the new parts arrived, he would go to the site of the required repair and see if he could rig a solution.  More times than not, he would in-fact rig up something and then