Harold Buchanan rubbed his head and looked down again at the sheet of figures on his desk. He still could not force himself to use the Prison Warden’s large office, even though the old man ran off over two months ago and was unlikely to return. Harold felt moving out of his small office into the larger one was to accept the fact that none of this was temporary, but in his heart he knew better. He looked out the window at the rolling, wooded, snow covered hills of eastern Kentucky and with a sigh accepted that the world had gone straight to hell.

Jim Meeks lumbered into his office and collapsed on the couch across from Harold while pulling his baton out of its holster, laying it beside him. The couch groaned in protest as Jim’s gigantic frame settled into a comfortable position. Harold looked up and just shook his head.

Jim smiled grimly twirling the baton in his hands, “As bad as all that?”

“I’m not sure what to do, Jim." Harold admitted running his hand through thinning hair. "We’re losing guards and staff every day and the inmates know it. We have more attacks by the day and they’re getting as desperate as we are. Also, I don’t think the electricity or water is going to come back on. And even if the Governor had any instructions for little old Hancock State Penitentiary, how would he let us know?”

Jim nodded gravely, “Yeah, I talked to those National Guard boys watching the Food Lion in town, and they haven’t heard anything in over four months. They’re only stickin’ around because they’re local and get first dibs on food. All the others in the unit have taken off including their commander. Just a few left now and they've stopped accepting money, will only take fuel or ammo now.”

Harold felt the weight of what must be done. He'd said he didn't know what to do, but he did. Time was clearly against them. Under such circumstances somebody was going to make a mistake. In Harold’s experience mistakes in a prison led directly to death as sure as night followed day.

He was able to keep some of the guards and staff around by allowing them to move their families onto the prison grounds. This arrangement provided the families greater protection from the increased acts of robbery and violence outside the prison. It also meant those guards were less likely to run off, or not show for work. Also, Harold could work them longer hours, but that came with a cost he knew only so well. He had lost his left eye working a triple shift at a penitentiary in Kansas many years ago because he had not been alert to the ever-present danger of working near the most violent and dangerous men a society could produce.

Time was not their friend, and Harold felt each passing minute increase the load on his shoulders.

“Jim, we have to do something soon, before more guards run off or the inmates get organized to make a move. Also, we can't keep feeding them and us even with the Food Lion,” said Harold.

“What are you thinking?” asked Jim.

Harold hesitated. What he was contemplating certainly exceeded his authority as Chief of Prison Security, but he had already assumed the role as acting warden. He also knew that if things ever returned to normal, they would likely put him in prison for the rest of his life, but he felt certain they would never see “normal” again. With that thought, he made up his mind.

“Jim, have all the inmates locked down in their cells as soon as possible, even the trustees and anyone in the infirmary. After that, I want to meet with all the guards and staff and tell them my thoughts.”

“You sure you want everyone?” Jim asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, all the way down to janitorial crew, but no family members. This is going to be official. Maybe the last official thing we do here.”

Jim started to say something and then thought better of it, lifting his giant frame off the couch. “All right boss, I’ll let you know when we have everyone in the cafeteria. You need anything else from me?”

Harold smiled, “No…thanks. I appreciate it.”

Jim slid the baton back into his belt and walked out closing the door on his troubled friend.

*******

An hour later, Harold looked out over a frighteningly small number of worried faces.

“Is this everyone?” he asked Jim incredulously.

“Yes. Walter Burton, Joe Kilzney, and their families took off right after I met with you. Wouldn’t stay for the meeting. Said they were done.”

“All right then,” said Harold trying not to let the distress show on his face. He looked around the room taking inventory of what he had. Will there be enough to pull this off? he thought.

“First of all, let me start by saying that I appreciate all of you staying on as long as you have, but we all know things are getting worse. We have to do something soon. I have come up with a course of action I feel is our only option given the circumstances. This decision is mine, and I accept full responsibility; but I’ll need your help in carrying it out.” Harold almost added that their cooperation was voluntary, but that would be stating the obvious. He had everyone's attention he saw. They're smart people, they know we have to do something.

"We need to close the prison and dispose of the inmates as soon as possible. I want to adhere at least to the semblance of law as much as we can. We also have a responsibility not to release violent criminals back out into society, even though that society is disintegrating." No response yet, just a room full of tired eyes looking at him expressionlessly. "But I think men can change given the right circumstances. I've always hoped so anyway, else why would we do this job?"

Harold waited to see if anyone would answer, but the room was dead still. What are they thinking?

"What's the plan boss," asked Jim loudly breaking the spell.

Harold smiled and felt a deep gratitude to the big man, "The seven men on death row awaiting execution will be executed despite any pending appeals. The appeal process is effectively over. Also, any inmate serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole will be executed. Any inmate who has attacked a guard or staff member since the bombs fell, will be executed."

Harold paused to allow for righteous protests of indignation, but there was nothing other than a light of understanding in the faces of a few. He continued on.

"All trustees will be freed. Everyone else is up for a review process based on their criminal convictions and behavior as a prisoner. Inmates will be allowed to speak for themselves at the review panel made up of selected individuals seated in this room. Until the process is complete, inmates will not be allowed out of their cells except for the review panel, execution, or release."

Harold stopped talking and looked around. He was still expecting a flurry of indignant protests, but the room was as still as a crypt. The faces looking back at him largely reflected relief, their breath visible in the cold room. They realize this ordeal is nearing an end, however terrible that end may be.

Big Jim Meeks eventually spoke up, “Terrence told me yesterday they can’t run the gas chamber without electricity, and we’re nearly out of fuel for the generator.”

Harold let out a long strained breath, “Execution will be carried out by a firing squad made up of volunteers. If there are no volunteers, I will personally carry out the executions. I will also make the final decision as to who will be released and who will be executed based on the recommendations you bring me after each review panel. We need to move fast. I’m talking about having this done by the day after tomorrow.”

Finally, a murmur of protest bubbled up from the crowd. Bobby Wilson, the prison’s doctor, stood up and the room went still again. “Harold, leaving the morality of this aside for a moment, we have over two hundred fifty inmates here. Do you really think we can do what you ask in a day and a half?”

“Bobby brings up a good point.” Harold said, “We need to make the review boards quick…very quick. We also need to release as many prisoners as possible. We’re going to have to trust in the fact that these men can live the best way they can. Those that we think will only use this as an opportunity to prey on the weak and defenseless cannot be released.” Harold wearily rubbed his head again. “Look, I know this is hard and unsavory, but I see no other way. I welcome any other ideas.”

No one spoke and many just looked at the floor. Harold expected some in the room would not help, but he was glad they at least remained silent.

Jim broke the silence again. “How do we start this?”

“That’s easy,” said Harold with a grimace. “Death row.”