Fifth Column: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 5) by Bobby Akart

Author:Bobby Akart [Akart, Bobby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

January 19

Preston E. Smith Prison

Lamesa, Texas

Named for former Texas Governor Preston Smith, the prison outside Lamesa was capable of housing twenty-three hundred inmates plus several hundred more in their expansion cells on a temporary basis. Duncan had not spoken directly with the prison, leaving that task up to Sheriff Dawson to clear it with the local warden, Lester Jackson.

“Commander, I’ve got about thirty seconds before these people explode,” said a frantic lieutenant over the comms.

“There, Espy,” said Duncan, pointing toward a tall set of chain-link gates, which opened as they approached. A contingent of prison guards stood in a semicircle as the buses pulled in. By the time they pulled to a stop, there was a full-blown riot on each bus.

Duncan’s men slowly backed out the doors with their weapons raised. People were hanging out the buses’ windows, flipping off anyone they could make eye contact with, and shouting obscenities at the tops of their lungs.

As Duncan’s lieutenants joined his side, several were wiping the sweat off their brows despite the mid-thirties temperatures. While the first part of Duncan’s plan had worked, he doubted he’d try to implement it again.

“Who’s runnin’ this circus act?” bellowed a voice from behind Duncan. He turned to see a very large black man approaching his group.

Standing nearly six feet eight inches tall, the prison warden towered over them as he arrived by their side.

“I’m Commander Duncan Armstrong with the Texas—”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Jackson interrupted. “Do you think you’re just gonna drop this mess off on my doorstep? I don’t think so.”

“Warden Jackson, I’m just following orders from Fort Hood,” started Duncan. “Our directive is to round up any refugees and deliver them to local law enforcement or, in the alternative, the nearest state prison.”

“Look here, Commander. I know about that so-called directive, but this is my prison. I’ve got animals at various levels of classification in there. This ain’t a hotel for women and children, the poor, or the downtrodden.”

Duncan tried to reason with the man. “Warden, my understanding is that the refugees will be moved as soon as Austin and Washington can reach an agreement on logistics for their return to the States. That should happen—”

“Bull crap! I don’t know what you people have been smokin’, but no government moves that fast. What am I supposed to do with all of them? Put them in general pop? How many ya got, anyway?”

“A little over two hundred,” Duncan lied. The actual head count was three hundred eighty-three. He just wanted to wash his hands of the problem and get back to Camp Lubbock. In his mind, his job was done.

The warden chuckled. “Our regular inmate capacity is maxed out at two-two-three-four. We were full up before the two buses arrived from Seminole yesterday. I had to move men out of the luxurious G-1 accommodations into the G-3 units. That went over like a ton of bricks. Those inmates were used to living in dorms and working outside the fence with only periodic, unarmed supervision.

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