RONA, a short story anthology about the global COVID-19 pandemic

NFL - Part 1: Survival of the Fittest

THE NEWS

Jamie B came running like a bullet stumbling across the yard towards the main table.

Giddy with excitement, he caught a breath, savoring the moment where, for once, the B in his prison name wouldn't stand for "bitch". But that would only become true if he opened his mouth fast to tell the 3P Crew what he'd just heard - if he waited a while longer, the B could as well stand for "buried"; that low-life was treading in thin ice by sitting on their table, let alone talking directly to them.

"Have y'all heard? Brother Boy's got the 'rona!"

It didn't take much for their expressions to go from "dafuq you doin' here?" to "shiiit". That was big. That changed everything.

"You know what that means, right? Time for a Power Play", said Hoarse.

Besides its debatable moral compass and a very diverse composition, one of the most interesting things about the 3P Crew was its anarchic nature. They had no clear leaders - which for many of the inmates was the reason the crew would never amount to anything but the status of being the third most powerful faction of the Norfolk Federal Lockup. Its members would organically and (most of the time) collectively gravitate to the associate they felt best suited to lead through whatever challenge they were facing.

So, of course: a guy that earned his nickname due to the fact that his tongue was faster than his brain, that used his larynx so often his voice became thin and raspy... wouldn't be the best choice to lead them through such a complex, strategy-demanding, situation. Soon enough they turned their heads and ears to the man leaning against the gym fence, reading a newspaper: Collin.

Collin was the most insightful of them. A late-educated black man from Oakland, that was this close to entirely cleaning his criminal organization when he got caught and sentenced to 40 years in jail. Though up until that point he had never been in the limelight, he was always close to it, confiding and advising the members in charge.

"Yeah, I don't think that's the best of ideas", said Collin, without raising his eyes from the newspaper that read "USA has become the worldwide leader in COVID-19 infections".

"Why the hell not? The leader of this fucking jail is finally weak, and you're saying we shouldn't do anything about it?"

"I ain't saying we shouldn't do anything about it--"

"Hear me out, fellas", said Hoarse, rudely cutting off Collin: "We pay a visit to Brother Boy at midnight, chop his head off and send one part to the Crips, and the other to the rest of Brother Boy's crew."

Annoyed, Collin left the fence and approached the table, speaking loudly and firmly:

"Yo, Bitch!"

Hoarse swiftly turned to Collin and almost sighed in relief, noticing he was referring to Jamie B and not him.

"Is the whole Brother Boy's crew with the 'rona?"

"N-not that I know of. I know Brother Boy's definitely has it", said a giddy-er Jamie B, feeling as if he was finally someone.

"Then, what makes you think..." - Collin said to Hoarse - "we could go and do what no one has ever managed to do in the 10 years the motherfucker has been running this shit?"

Hoarse had no answer, and he knew the longer he took to reply, the weaker he looked in the discussion. So, he changed strategy:

"I say we parlay with the Crips, and unite to take Brother Boy out and share control of this joint!"