Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown

by Joseph A. Coley

  Lane wandered aimlessly, checking equipment. With all the officers armed, it was more difficult to track weapons, but it didn’t matter. Accountability was the least of their problems right now. She wandered back over to the row of monitors and stared.

  The last few inmates from Bravo building were exiting the prison. While he didn’t completely agree with the method that Captain Winston had used, it was effective nonetheless. There had only been a few incidents thus far. Several inmates had expressed their distaste in leaving, but were quickly quelled. This is what they wanted, Lane thought. Freedom is the only thing that most of them dream of, and now they’re fighting it tooth and nail. Granted, that freedom may not last long, nor would their life expectancy if they didn’t find some kind of shelter soon. Night had fallen and there was no place completely safe. To hell with ‘em. Too many good people need this place.

  Lane watched as Captain Winston entered Alpha building. With any luck, they would have the rest of the prison cleared out in the next hour. Power would be shut down to Alpha and the institution would be secure. Lane breathed a sigh of relief – once Alpha was clear, she would make the trip home to get her mother. It was time to make sure she would be safe.

  * * *

  Captain Winston waited by the door of Alpha building. The control room operator buzzed the door, and Winston stepped inside, along with the half-dozen officers that were his muscle. It was difficult enough to get the inmates to leave semi-voluntarily, but the added presence and show of force usually made that decision a bit easier.

  Officer Nate Freeman stuck his head through the porthole in the control room. “All right, Captain. Cunningham has all the inmates from Pod 1 out in the day room. They already know about having to leave, and they’re ready to go.”

  Winston nodded. Maybe Cunningham wasn’t such a total douche. At least he’d taken the initiative to get the inmates ready to exit the institution, making Winston’s job that much easier. The population of Alpha building shouldn’t be too difficult to remove. Most of them were ready to be released anyway; their pardons expedited by the undead.

  Winston walked into Pod 1, not allowing himself to be scared. His contingency plan walked in behind him. The area was largely quiet, in stark contrast to the last three buildings. Most of the inmates chatted and argued between one another, but not Alpha. The compliance and stillness of the pod surprised Winston, even for the “good behavior” building.

  Cunningham got up from his desk and met Winston at the door. Dozens of inmates were waiting on him as he walked in. The mood was much tenser in Alpha. Maybe it was because it was the last building to be cleared. The sight of a finish line tends to make the last bit of a fight that much more difficult. You become focused on the destination instead of finishing the journey.

  “As you’ve been told, there have been some developments in the outside world. I have orders from the Governor of Virginia via the President authorizing us to execute all institutionalized prisoners in the prison. However, I am giving those who wish to leave the opportunity to do so. Make no mistake, I will kill you if I have to, but you have the option to leave the prison…now,” Winston had given the speech three times already, but it wasn’t getting any easier to deliver.

  “Yeah, we know, Captain. Problem is, we don’t want to leave,” Bill Young said, stepping forward. “And we sure as hell don’t want to take one to the head like Gutiérrez did.”

  Winston stepped forward within a few feet of Bill Young. “Well, you got two options, Young. I suggest you make up your mind as to which one you want to pursue. Don’t fuck with me, Young.”

  Winston’s hand slowly reached for the Glock in its holster. Before he could pop the hood on his triple retention holster, Bill Young reached out and grabbed him by the shirt collar, shoving his own Glock 27 under Winston’s chin. Winston’s heart leaped from his chest into somewhere just south of his Adam’s apple. A moment passed when the thought crossed his mind that Young might fire, but he quickly realized what was about to happen. If you were taken hostage, you were more or less fucked.

  Winston was more or less fucked.

  “Feels kinda shitty having cold steel shoved under your chin, don’t it captain?”

  “Fuck you, Young,” Winston said as the barrel pressed tighter against his chin. He could sense his backup creeping forward. They stopped as Winston held his hand out, keeping them at bay.

  Young pushed harder and angled the gun so that it pulled Winston forward. Winston edged towards his captor.

  “Since you’re a good white boy, I might have use for you. For now, you’re gonna tell your boys in blue to back the fuck off and leave us alone.”

  Winston tried to turn his head away. Young kept the pressure under his chin.

  “What do you want, Young? The fucking world has gone to shit outside. Why don’t you just leave?” Winston asked.

  Young reached down and removed the Glock 23 and all three magazines from Winston’s duty belt. Another one of Young’s white supremacist goons grabbed the gun and kept it pointed at him.

  “Have you forgotten something, Winston? This is my fucking house; you just work here. And as such, I decide who gets to stay in my house. Now, tell your boys to get the fuck back, Winston before I paint the walls with your fucking brains.”

  Winston waved fervently, trying to get the point across for his cohorts to back off. They didn’t want to, but they obliged.

  “Good boy…Now, I’m gonna need some insurance. Tell your control room operator to let one of my boys up there. I’m not being locked out of my own house by some asshole pushing buttons. And I believe I will take Officer Cunningham as added insurance,” Young said.

  Winston reached for his radio. Young placed the barrel of the Glock directly between his eyes. “Not so fast, Winston. Take it nice and slow.”

  Winston slowly and deliberately brought his hand up to the mic. As much as he didn’t want Young to get control of the control room, he had no choice. The control room in of itself was enough of a loss, but the equipment in it would be worth much more. He could concede giving up one building if it came to it, but he didn’t want the inmates getting control of the handcuffs, OC, radios, cuff keys, and riot gear stored in the control room.

  “Young, why don’t you just cut your losses? There is no way in hell that I am giving you that control room. Even if I did, I would rather die trying to get it back from you. You have one gun and a handful of ammo. Right now, my boys are going into the armory and getting everything they need to fuck your shit up, and make no mistake, they will. Those half-dozen officers may not seem like much, but four of them are TSU, ex-military. They killed insurgents in the sandbox; they got no problems bending you over, big boy.”

  Young contemplated the statement for a moment. He knew there wouldn’t be any more backup coming for Winston, but having the officers there did put a cramp in his plans. I guess I just need to show them that I’m serious. Kill the rat and get rid of the HACKs at the same time…Sounds like a sure-as-shit, bona-fide idea!

  Young grinned his devilish smile. “You know what, Captain? You’re absolutely right…”

  Before Winston could react, he was seeing stars. With a swift, backhanded stroke, Young pistol-whipped him with the butt of the Glock, catching the bottom of the grip across the bridge of his nose. Winston saw stars for a brief moment, grabbing his nose to stem the quickly forming nosebleed.

  Cunningham smiled, ever so slightly. He’d been watching everything from less than ten feet away. Not only was he going to secure his place at Black Mountain, now he was in the good graces of the man that would be controlling it. He had a long life ahead of him, one that would be safe from whatever was roaming around outside. Cunningham kept grinning.

  Right before he took a .40 caliber round between the eyes.

  The noise of the gun firing in the enclosed pod was earsplitting. Bill Young knew it was coming and it still surprised the hell out of him when it fired. Cunningham never knew what hit him. Without a sound
, he fell forward, his head smacking the floor like an egg dropping from a counter. If the shot had not killed him, the fractured skill from hitting the solid concrete floor would have.

  Young brought the gun back to bear on Winston. “Tell your boys to drop their belts, guns, and ammo.”

  “Fuck you, Young. You kill me and you’ve got no bargaining chip,” Winston replied.

  Enraged, Young pistol-whipped Winston again, bringing blood this time. Winston slowly got up, wiping blood from his lip on the back of his hand.

  “Then you get to stay here with me,” Young said. He grabbed Winston by the shirt collar and spun him around, holding the Glock to his right temple. Young squeezed against his neck hard, slowly taking away oxygen from Winston’s brain. “Get the fuck out of here!”

  Young stepped forward, keeping the gun at Winston’s temple. He hadn’t planned this far out. Once he had Winston, he figured the COs would give up and leave. There was no sense in them staying and defending one man when they all had homes to go to, or so he thought. The COs stuck together a hell of a lot more than he thought they would. End of the world, holed up with felons; he figured that was enough to run them off. He had to get them out of the prison or they would surely kill him. Young shoved Winston forward, making his way out of the pod and into the vestibule.

  “Back the fuck up! Get the fuck out!”

  Young’s head exploded.

  What Young didn’t see was that Officer Janey Henderson never made it into the pod. After entering the building, she had stopped to use the bathroom in Alpha building. A few minutes later, she exited the restroom to the sounds of yelling and a gunshot. Initially, she wanted to run up to the control room and try to get a shot from there, but it was no use. Bill Young was going to try to force the officers from the building against their will. Janey waited behind the open door of Pod 1, waiting for Young to exit. Moments later, she blew the back of his head off, spraying the walls with cranium-colored wallpaper.

  Janey jumped up and shouldered the door closed. The rest of the inmates were locked in, left with no choice. The echo of more gunfire reverberated through the closed pod door. The other Aryan Brotherhood member was shooting at the glass to no avail. Every piece of glass inside Black Mountain was two-inch-thick Lexan glass – bulletproof.

  Winston stumbled forward as Bill Young fell to the ground, sans brains. With the dead man on his back, he scrambled out from underneath the corpse. Winston swallowed his heart back down after it made an appearance in his throat. He wiped the back of his head, wiping away bits of what used to be Bill Young’s head.

  Janey Henderson holstered her Glock and tried to clear the smoke from the air. The smell of cordite hung for a few moments. The other officers in the vestibule stood with a combined look of amazement and horror.

  “Well…I guess that takes care of that. Now, what do we do with the rest of ‘em?” Janey asked.

  Winston slowly got to his feet. The other officers approached him, but he waved them off. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Winston said, brushing more bits of brain off the back of his neck. “Nice shooting, Henderson.”

  Henderson managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Captain. In all fairness, it’s ‘good shooting,’ no such thing as ‘nice shooting.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Winston smiled grimly. “Yeah, sure.”

  More shots pinged against the door, the bullets having no effect on the thick door or its bulletproof glass. Henderson stepped away from the door. “So, now what do we do with ‘em, sir?”

  Winston flitted his hand at the door. “Fuck ‘em. I’m not trying to deal with them right now. Once they run out of food, they can start talking to me about leaving. Until then, we can start…”

  “Master to Captain Winston,” Officer Lane said across the radio.

  “Yeah, go ahead, Lane,” Winston answered.

  “Sir, I think you better come up here to Master Control. We might have a problem with Caine and Ryan, sir.”

  Winston frowned. The new guys he’d sent out seemed more than capable of taking care of themselves. Reading both of their files, they had both been ex-military, both had seen combat before. Whatever was holding them up had to be bad.

  “Copy that, Lane. Be up there in a few minutes. I’ve gotta change clothes right now.”

  “Copy that, sir. Might want to hurry, though. I don’t think that Caine and Ryan have a ride anymore.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Michael flung open the bathroom door, kicking at a wayward corpse on the ground, trying to get it to move. Trent and Flannigan stepped forward and moved the body. Michael moved the door all the way open, revealing five very frightened faces. Shining his flashlight, he looked to the five very scared individuals.

  “Hey there, folks. My name is Michael Caine. I’m with the Department of Corrections. You guys need some help, yes?” Michael said. He tried a bit of humor with his introduction, but it seemed to fall flat. Five blank expressions stared back. So much for keeping a sense of humor.

  “Michael!” came a scream from one of the stalls. A moment later, Lindsey came barreling out of the stall, arms outstretched. Michael met her in the middle of the room and embraced her. God it felt good. For a moment, he began to wonder if she was going to let go, but he didn’t mind. He pushed her back gently and smiled in the near pitch-blackness. The feeling that he’d gotten the first time they’d met came rushing back. That feeling of exhilaration and nervousness lasted for quite a while, and honestly, he’d missed it.

  “Where the hell have you been, Michael Caine?” Lindsey asked humorously. At least his attempt at comedy wasn’t completely lost, nor was Lindsey’s sense of humor.

  Michael shrugged. “Oh, you know. Traffic, had to get dinner, fighting off the undead, you know how gets on a Friday night in Bluefield.”

  Lindsey looked past Michael at Ryan, Trent, and Flannigan. She brushed a lock of hair away from her eye and smiled. Even though no one could see, she was blushing. These men had just helped Michael save her life. Eternally grateful was not the word. She waved at Michael’s friends.

  “Um…hi boys. Thanks for getting my handsome husband back to me,” Lindsey said sheepishly.

  Michael pulled her close. “You acting like I can’t handle a little thing like savin’ the fuckin’ day, babe. Bad form, Lin,” Michael said, laughing.

  The other four people in the bathroom slowly got up and started out the door silently. None of the men did anything to stop them, but they all four just walked out of the bathroom. Michael watched as the survivors made their way outside and slowly trotted off. No ‘thank you,’ not a word of praise, not a word at all. The four survivors simply left.

  “Well, that was unusual. Perhaps they are in shock of some sort. Some sort of acute PTSD,” Trent observed. Never one to let a situation go undiagnosed, the brainpower that Thomas Trent possessed would be better suited to finding a cure for the Mortui Virus. Such as it was, he was a vital part to keeping the sanity of the group intact.

  Flannigan began coughing violently. After a few seconds, he turned and retched just outside the bathroom. The sound that Flannigan vomiting made sounded like a gallon of water being poured out onto pavement. Whatever was coming out of him was doing so in copious amounts. The smell was atrocious.

  “You all right out there, Flannigan?” Michael asked, craning his head to see out of the bathroom. Shit…he has a bite on his hand. How could I have forgotten so fast?

  Michael heard the sound of falling water again. He let go of Lindsey and moved towards the door, shining his flashlight ahead of him to light his way. Trent stepped aside, letting Michael out. Ryan followed both men, turning on his own light as he did.

  What they saw coming out of Flannigan wasn’t pretty.

  A large puddle of blood was on the ground. Not only had Flannigan emptied the contents of his stomach, which weren’t much, it looked as if he emptied a considerable amount of his blood with it. Bits of half-digested food mixed in with blood and clotted chunks of blood lay on the g
round, looking like a mixed stew from hell.

  Michael covered his nose and mouth, as did Trent and Ryan. “Jesus Christ, Flannigan. Are you all right?”

  Flannigan spat out a blood-tinged stream of saliva and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No Caine, I am not all right. My insides are on fire and every time I move, it’s like walking on broken glass. So I’m about as far from fine as I can fucking be!

  The escalation of Flannigan’s voice caused a bit of worry. From what Lindsey had told him about the virus, the change in personality and violent tendencies were signs of infection. The bite on Flannigan’s hand must have come from an infected inmate, someone who was already sick when they got to Black Mountain.

  Michael motioned for Lindsey to come outside. “Lin, come here. Take a look at Flannigan, there’s something wrong.”

  Flannigan was on all fours, still retching when Lindsey came outside. The sight of the massive amount of blood appalled her, even for a seasoned medical professional. She approached him slowly, keeping her hands out in front of her, as if to shield herself.

  “Officer Flannigan, I’m an RN. Can I take a look at your wound? The one on your hand?”

  Flannigan’s enraged demeanor softened. He held his hand out, looking like a wounded puppy. Michael shined his flashlight on the affected appendage. The hand was in much worse shape than it had been an hour ago. Though it was difficult to tell with just a flashlight, the infection seemed to be spreading at an enormously fast rate. The initial bite was nearly black, looking rotted and heavily bruised. The skin around it was a myriad of colors; dark red, white, and a sickly jaundiced yellow. Black streaks ran from the wound, following the path of the veins and arteries.

  “Officer Flannigan, when did you receive this bite?” Lindsey asked.