The Cure, стр. 11

only a small chance that the Professor was even alive, let alone whether he was still the genius he once was and not a rabid animal. It was a long shot, but it was the only option they had.

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Finding the location of the Professor turned out to be easier than they could have imagined. Although Logan had no idea what the Professor looked like, with satellite imaging he could quite easily track down anyone still alive just by their name. There were nineteen Clarence Brittle’s in the United States since 1942, but across a dwindling population now only four remained alive and only one had been a Professor. The CCTV cameras were up and running in the cities and the satellite could pinpoint him using facial recognition to his exact location, but therein lay the problem. Professor Clarence Brittle was in Mississippi State Penitentiary.

The notorious Parchman Prison was Mississippi’s State Penitentiary and was a maximum-security prison that was run by the prisoners. Having killed off the warden and most of the prison guards nobody got in and nobody got out. What was last known was it was one of the last standing buildings with its own self-sustaining community. Unfortunately, that community was now made up of the worse criminals known to man and was run by a man called Isaac Mendez who was serving concurrent life sentences for multiple murders. Also known as ‘The Mexican Godfather’, he had taken over the prison when it was decided that, with food in short supply, prisons would be the first institutions to receive rationing and then eventually left to die. Mendez had other ideas though and having overthrown the guards they had allegedly thrown a party for all the other prisoners with the guards as the main course. Isaac Mendez had moved to the top of the food chain, quite literally.

Of course, by then the government had been moved to the military base in Texas. The events in a closed off prison was of little significance to them. So, Mendez continued to run the prison and the prisoners soon fell in line, realizing that they were safer and better provided for within the prison walls. Anyone trying to break into the prison was instantly killed, whilst the only people permitted to leave the ground were Mendez’s own ‘death squad’ who would make frequent supply runs and the rest of the prison made no complaints and asked no questions as to what it was they were eating, as long as they were eating.

How the Professor had become an inmate was a little more concerning, bearing in mind that many of the crimes the men had committed to find themselves behind these bars was of a serious nature. But he was alive and whether he knew it or not he was the potential key to survival of the remaining population. The only question Logan had to answer was how he would extract the Professor from a high security prison being guarded by hundreds of felons.

In addition to getting the Professor out of the prison there was a lot of moving parts to the plan, which if any were to break down then they would be undone. This had to go down perfectly, which meant everyone played their part and that anyone else that they brought on board to help could be trusted and up to the job.

Even getting off the base wouldn’t be easy. There were three exits which were heavily guarded by most of the army presence left on the base. Only two of those exits were for transport, which narrowed the likelihood of getting away without anyone knowing. Then there was the transport itself, fuel, how long it would take to get to the prison and back again. As the planning continued, they realized that this mission was slipping out of their hands and that they weren’t capable of doing this alone. They needed to bring someone on board, and they needed to do it soon.

Chapter Six

Somewhere in Boston, Massachusetts circa 2028.

Frank McGregor sat at a card table in one of Boston’s few remaining taverns. The lights were dimmed, and people huddled in the corners of the room avoiding eye contact drinking whatever they could get their hands on. The barman stood behind the bar occasionally spitting tobacco onto the floor, supervising McGregor and three other men playing poker.

What made this different to any other game of poker was that the stakes they were playing for were more important than money. McGregor pulled a tin of sweetcorn from his bag, placed it down in the middle of the table and whispered ‘call’ to the other men playing cards.

McGregor had previously sold second-hand cars for a living but before The Cure he supplemented his income cheating at cards and conning people out of their hard-earned cash, which turned out to be a worthwhile skill to have when the world was crumbling down around you. As confidence went McGregor’s was in ample supply and he could take a beating, which also came in handy. Not thickset by any means he was wiry and muscular and had been in plenty of fights. This Irishman knew how to hit back.

Another man at the table looked McGregor up and down and without saying anything threw his cards down, stood up and left the table walking past the bar and out of the back door. McGregor smiled to himself, whilst slightly turning up the corners of his cards to take another look at his ‘winning hand’.

‘You’re a piece of crap McGregor,’ said one of the men. ‘You’ve got nothing.’

‘So, put down or shut up Richards,’ said McGregor in his Irish drawl.

‘Fine. I see you,’ said Richards and he placed a can with the label missing down on the table.

‘What the Hell is this Richards? That could be cat food for all I know,’ said McGregor angrily.

‘So, what if it is? You’re