Page 17 of The Freshman

“Queenie?”

Alfie stabbed the button on his radio,speaking fast into the receiver. “Code eleven. I have anunresponsive inmate. Cell number 149.”

The radio crackled, but no oneanswered. Queenie didn’t move, and Alfie slapped his hand to thecell door again, attempting to startle a response. Nothing, and theangle Queenie’s arm hung unnerved him.

Alfie repeated his panic into theradio, but a static hiss was all that greeted him. He beat his fistinto the door, and Nate struck the wall between theircells.

“Queenie doesn’t fuckabout,” Nate said.

Alfie grimaced. “I’m supposed to trustyour word, am I?”

He tried the radio again, then leanedover the railing and yelled Henry’s name, but that didn’t work. Hewas at the farthest corner of the prison, shouting for a deafman.

“Trust me, Freshman.Something is wrong.”

It was against protocol to go into acell alone, but Alfie had no choice. Henry didn’t have his back,neither did Glen and Marie, but Nate was there, and Nate soundedserious.

“You better not bescrewing with me,” Alfie growled. Then he unlocked thedoor.

He readied himself just in caseQueenie launched from the bed, and when there was no movement, hebashed his fist to the assistance button inside thecell.

“Freshman, talk tome.”

Alfie moved to the bed, rolled Queenieover, then lowered him to the floor. There was no twitch in hislimbs, no groan of annoyance like when the members of G-wing haddoped themselves up one night. Queenie’s eyes were shut, and hislips were slack. Alfie stared at his chest, but there was nomovement. He hovered his ear above Queenie’s mouth, but no breathtickled him. Alfie’s fingers shook as he felt for a pulse, and whenthe weakest one touched his fingertips he gasped.

“Freshman!”

“He needs anambulance!”

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

Nate started banging his cell door,the same drum of weeks ago. Every door began drumming, and thesound crashed against Alfie’s skull. There was no way Henry couldsleep through the noise, and soon enough an old man croak soundedin the two second beat of silence.

Alfie grabbed his radio and yelledtill his lungs ached.

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

Alfie released the radio and grabbedQueenie’s face. He forced his lips to part and opened his mouth upto look inside. Even after he slapped the light on, it was too dullto be any help. Marie appeared at the door with a gasp. Glenfollowed her into the room, running his hand through hishair.

“He’s dead,” Glenmumbled.

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

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

“Well he’s not,” Alfiesnapped.

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

Alfie growled and turned back toQueenie. He pried his mouth open again and tilted his head to takea better look inside.

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

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

Alfie ignored his panicked outcry andflapped his hand out at Marie. “Give me your torch.”

Marie unclipped it from her belt andslapped it down on his palm.

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