Scavanger front

The Night of the Executioner’s Scavenger Hunt (Volume 2)

Christopher Johnson looked out the window of the bus at the state penitentiary, shining mid-day at midnight. The prison had a wall around it and then fencing around that. The area between the fence and the wall was jammed with reporters, mini-cams, and photographers. The bus rolled in through the front gate, drawing the attention of the reporters and a hail of flashing photographers’ lights. Guards kept the clamoring mob-like throng back as the bus door opened and fifteen people filed out.
Johnson, in his cape-like overcoat, was a head taller than the lot. They all were buttoned against the bitter night cold, moving straight ahead, oblivious to the shouted questions from the reporters on how they felt about what they were doing and what they were headed to see. None looked happy to be there. In single file, the group walked inside the main gate of the wall and then inside the prison itself while the reporters returned to their posts and huddled in their big coats.
Inside the line lost its cohesion and became a disorganized clump, Christopher ambling along at the back. They moved through halls, stood around in rooms, sat in another until the Marshall who had been their guide came in with Warden Jerome Lysom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time,” he told them.
They gathered in two lines following him into a viewing space around a room shrouded in a curtain. They formed a single file in a semi-circle, approaching from two directions and meeting on the other side. The warden left them.

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