Penguins of Anarchy III: Edge of Disaster

Six

Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred. One hundred push-ups. Drake let out a gasp and sat up on the floor of his cell. One hundred push-ups used to be nothing. Now it took the strength and breath out of him. Sweat had made his hair damp. His stomach growled loudly. He hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.

Drake got up and sat on his bed. He glanced at the tallies on the wall of his cell. Sixty-five. Proof that no once-great soldier was invincible to the tortures of Alcatraz Prison. "Bloody icicle, I'll be one of those tallies before long at this rate," Drake whispered to himself.

He yawned. He hadn't slept in a while. He was getting restless, wondering how in the world he would be able to get out of this prison—and off this island. Just how much help would Nekron be? How much did he have access to? Did he actually have a plan, or was he just going to improvise when the time came? These questions continuously raced through Drake's mind.

It was dark. It was dark and quiet. Moonlight shone through the barred windows, casting an eerie bluish glow down the hall of the cell block. Drake became aware of footsteps as an elongated shadow blocked some of the moonlight glowing on the floor. "Do you ever sleep?" Drake asked the unseen figure.

"Not during my shift," the disembodied voice replied. Nekron appeared just outside Drake's cell, looking into it. "You've been rather lethargic lately, General."

Drake figured that meant that he hadn't been making any alliances with the other prisoners. "It's not like I have a whole lot to work with around here," he replied.

"You might want to make some friends. It's good to have buddies around in case some other prisoner tries to pick a fight."

Yeah, Drake thought; prison fights are the least of my problems. "You trying to keep me alive for something, Warden?" he asked, toying with Nekron.

"I just think it's a good idea to have friends in high places," Nekron said, and then he continued down the glowing hall.

"High places," Nekron had said. Drake chuckled and shook his head in amusement. Was that supposed to mean the big white penguin Drake had seen in the cafeteria? Probably. But a guy that large probably wasn't interested in making friends—and it's not like he'd need any, unless he knew he would have a chance to bust out of here. Then again, he was probably the best option Drake had. Most of the prisoners fended for themselves and tried to stay alive as long as possible, but a few of them might still be honorable enough to stay by Drake's side once he told them the plan. But he would probably have to show some loyalty to them first.

And then there was Felly. How in the world would Drake be able to get Felly to trust him again? He could say that he knew Dreemo was alive, but Felly was too smart to believe him if he did. He supposed he'd just figure it out as he went along.

Drake snickered. It was all a game of chance.

Drake sat at a table in the cafeteria, ignoring his food, twirling the plastic knife in his flipper. A clump of slimy meat was on his tray, cut from some unknown animal that was probably as ugly as the meat looked. The meat was tough—too tough for a measly plastic knife to cut through; but it wasn't like the guards—or the prisoners—cared that much.

But Drake wasn't focused on his meal. He sat alone at this table; everyone had come to be afraid of him since he killed another prisoner for trying to take his food. But two tables across, the large white penguin was sitting down. The other prisoners at that table scooted away from him to put as much space between them and the large penguin as possible.

"I wonder where your soft side is at," Drake muttered. The white penguin seemed pretty strong, not as scrawny as most of the other prisoners. Drake could say the same about himself, except this penguin was probably head-and-shoulders taller than he was.