Page 26 of Freshman

“Trust me. Something is wrong.”

It was against protocol to go into a cell alone at night, but Alfie had no choice. Henry didn’t have his back, and neither did Glen and Marie, but Nate was there and Nate sounded serious.

“You’d better not be screwing with me,” Alfie gasped. “Promise me, Nate.”

“I promise.”

Alfie unlocked the door.

He readied himself just in case Queenie launched from the bed, and when there was no movement, he bashed his fist to the assistance button inside the cell.

“Freshman, talk to me!”

Alfie moved to the bed, rolled Queenie over, then lowered him to the floor. There was no twitch in his limbs, no groan of annoyance like when a prisoner of G-wing had taken too much spice one night and he and Glen had to go in to rouse a response out of him.

Queenie’s eyes were shut, and his lips were slack. Alfie stared at his chest, but there was no movement. He hovered his ear above Queenie’s mouth, but no breath tickled him. Alfie’s fingers shook as he felt for a pulse, and when the weakest one touched his fingertips, he gasped.

“Freshman!”

“He needs an ambulance!”

Alfie stabbed at his radio and spoke savagely down the line, but still, his cries for help were ignored. He turned back to Queenie, patted him down in the search of a wound, but there was nothing. He shuffled along, braced his hands on Queenie’s chest, then pressed down. His chest didn’t move like in first-aid training. It was stiff, hard to shove down, and Alfie glared at his hands, wishing they would do more.

Nate started banging his cell door, the same drum of months ago. Every door began drumming, and the sound crashed against Alfie’s skull. There was no way Henry could sleep through the noise, and soon enough, he croaked Alfie’s name into the radio.

Alfie squeezed the button and yelled the situation loud enough his lungs ached.

The only reply was Henry’s strangled, “Shit.”

Alfie released the radio and grabbed Queenie’s face. He forced his lips to part and opened his mouth up to look inside. Even after he slapped the emergency light on, it was too dull to be any help. Marie appeared at the door with a gasp. Glen followed her into the cell, running his hand through his hair.

“He’s dead,” Glen mumbled.

Alfie shook his head. “No, I felt a pulse. Have you called an ambulance?”

“Henry’s sorting it,” Marie whispered. “He does look dead.”

“Well, he’s not,” Alfie snapped.

Marie moved farther into the cell, knelt and gripped Queenie’s wrist. She bit her lip and shook her head. “No pulse, and he’s not breathing.”

Alfie growled and turned back to Queenie. He pried his mouth open again and tilted his head to take a better look inside.

“He’s not breathing. Something’s blocking his airway…”

“He’s not breathing because he’s dead!” Glen shouted.

Alfie ignored his panicked cry and flapped his hand out at Marie. “Give me your torch.”

Marie unclipped it from her belt and slapped it down on his palm.

“We’re going to all get fired,” Glen whined, backing out of the cell. “Oh fuck, my parents are going to kill me.”

Alfie gritted his teeth and shone the light inside Queenie’s drying mouth. He widened his eyes at the brown lump stuffed down Queenie’s throat.

“What the fuck…”

He didn’t bother with gloves but plunged his fingers into Queenie’s mouth. It was the wrong angle to use his thumb and forefinger. Instead, he had to grip the object with the tips of his fore and middle finger. The angle was tight. His nail scratched the back of Queenie’s throat, but he kept pushing. He pinched the soft material with his fingers and pulled it from Queenie’s mouth.

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