Charles hated asking for rides. But pride didn’t pay for gas.Melanie’s dad dropped him off at the prison gates with littleconversation.
Night shift. Cold fluorescent lighting. Concrete that never slept.
The next morning, Melanie was already up and cooking. Bacon popped in the skillet. Their son sat in his highchair, smearing eggs with determined focus.
She left Charles’ plate in the microwave.
He woke around noon, groggy, head thick.
“Your breakfast’s in there,” Melanie called from the sink.
He smiled faintly. “You’re a saint.”
“Don’t push it.”
He nibbled, scrolling through headlines. Same words. Same tension. Different tone.
Russia mobilizing.
China conducting “defensive exercises.”
Markets unstable.
He felt it now. That low hum. That feeling like something was pressing against the walls of normal life. That evening before work, the news anchor’s voice was tighter.
“…Pentagon sources confirm elevated nuclear readiness protocols…”
Charles froze.
“What’d he just say?” he muttered.
Melanie looked up.
“Nuclear.”
He stood, walked closer to the screen.
“…The administration has not confirmed any imminent threat…”
“Not confirmed,” Charles repeated. “That means yes.”
Melanie folded her arms. “Don’t start.”
He ran a hand over his head.
“I don’t like this.”
“You don’t like a lot of things.”
“That’s different.”
Truck horn outside. He kissed his son. Held Melanie a second longer than usual.
“Come back home,” she whispered.
“I always do.”
But his voice wasn’t as certain.
At roll call, the room felt off. Lieutenant Mason stood straighter than usual.
“Due to recent intelligence,” Mason began, “we will be conducting bomb and lockdown drills tonight.”
The room murmured.
“Including nuclear scenario simulation.”
That word landed hard. Charles felt heat rise in his chest.
“Nuclear?” someone said.
Mason’s expression didn’t change.
“This is precautionary.”
“Precaution for what?” Charles asked before he could stop himself.
Mason locked eyes with him.
“Atkins. You questioning readiness?”
“No sir. Just … didn’t know it was that serious.”
“It is.”
Silence.
One officer laughed nervously. “We’re a prison. Who’s nuking a prison?”
Mason answered calmly:
“They don’t aim at buildings. They aim at cities.”
No one spoke after that. The drills began. Sirens echoed through concrete corridors. Inmates shouted jokes at first. Then stopped.Because even they understood. If something like that came —There would be nowhere to run.
Later that night, Charles stepped outside for a cigarette. The air felt wrong. Heavy. He checked his phone. No alerts. But the signal bars flickered. Just for a second. Then steadied.
He stared at the sky. Too quiet. He crushed the cigarette under his boot. And for the first time in his life, Charles wondered if the walls around him weren’t protection —But a coffin.