There were probably two dozen people gathered outside on wooden picnic tables around a small radio. Batteries were becoming scarce, but no one was going to miss a broadcast of Tim Reynolds’ WKPO Voice of the Jackson Purchase. People talked quietly, not wanting to miss the break in the static that signaled the beginning of the show.

Harold Buchannan sat at one of the tables thinking how strange the world was now. Not many months ago he was simply in charge of security at Hancock State Prison, then he became the warden by default, and now seemed to find himself the unnamed, but very real, leader of everyone who remained at the prison.

It had been a few weeks since they had taken care of the prisoner problem. The seven men on death row were executed along with the nineteen serving life sentences without the possibility of parole. Another eight were executed for attempted murder, or in one sad case successful murder, of prison guards since N-Day. The remaining two hundred and twenty-two prisoners were released after a board screening. Most simply expressed a desire to go home to whatever families they might have. Harold believed the majority of them. Despite this, he took certain precautions.

The parolees were given a blanket, some water, and a little food. They were released individually at five minute intervals to walk the one main road south or north out of the small town. Any man who returned, or was seen in the town of Hancock after sunset, would be shot on sight. Harold also released the least violent men first to give them time to get on the road before the more dangerous types came after. Many begged to stay, and probably would have behaved themselves, but Harold just could not think of them as anything other than convicts and the first rule of prison administration was never trust a con.

The town residents of Hancock weren’t happy with the plan, but understood the need. The majority of the National Guard troops had long since melted away and people didn’t like the idea of a bunch of hardened criminals in their neighborhood. The towns’ folk lined the main street with their guns and helped funnel the men out of town. Harold insisted on civility, but in a couple of cases that was simply too much to ask. At least a dozen inmates were beaten badly before they could get away and one was killed in what was likely misplaced fear, anger, and frustration over the uncertain future. The process took three days, but they were all now long gone and Harold prayed he had not unleashed a scourge onto the pitiful remnants of society.

Some of the guards and workers left after the releases, but most stayed, moving into Hancock Prison with their families now that there was more space. Hancock Prison in effect became a castle. It was secure from the outside with an ample supply of guns and ammunition. The looming problem was their dwindling food supply. They had enough for several months, but doing the math, Harold knew they would run out eventually. It would be easy to just ignore this impending crisis, but Harold realized a problem ignored eventually returned home in spades. He had an idea, but needed something he currently didn’t possess to make it work.

Harold’s musings were interrupted by the break in the static and the crowd around the tables immediately became silent, leaning in close. A bright, clear, and Lord Almighty almost cheerful voice came over the radio.

“Good afternoon friends. This is Tim Reynolds of WKPO, bringing you the broadcast of The Voice of the Jackson Purchase. The local time is 1 P.M. and the date is 15 February, exactly one hundred and thirty-eight days since N-Day. This signal is transmitting on 930 and 1620 megahertz.” The voice continued on with little pause or inflection; Tim was obviously reading from an all-too-familiar script. “This broadcast will take approximately eighteen minutes and the next broadcast will commence tomorrow at 1 PM subject to any technical difficulties. Should there be technical problems, listen in at this station at exactly 1 PM on subsequent days. I also want to remind you we will have a special broadcast with newly elected JP President Reggie Philips at noon this Friday before our regular show.”

There was a pause as if Tim were shuffling through papers in front of him before he continued on, “The JP County Cooperative Committee has asked me to remind everyone of the vast importance of paying their allotted taxes and also to apologize for the inconvenience of the very narrow electricity hours. They also want to urge everyone to attempt to pool their resources to make them go further. They have additionally asked that people refrain from buying and selling fuel illegally which only hurts us all in the long run. Anyone caught engaging in such activity will be fined heavily.”

Harold and the others looked at each other slightly in awe. They had electricity and paid taxes. Government was evidently alive and well in the JP.

Tim coughed in a slightly uncomfortable manner before going on. “President Philips has also asked me to remind all those listeners out there who are not part of the JP that the borders are closed. The situation may change in time, but for now the security situation is simply too dire. He also states that people are discouraged from traveling to any of the refugee camps along the border and not to believe the stories that food and medical care are provided there. Mr. Philips stresses that people are better off where they are than at one of these dangerous camps. Only individuals who can prove they, or their immediate family, permanently reside within the JP will be admitted. No exceptions.”

Harold smiled to himself. Those sly dogs. They were obviously taking care of the people in those camps at least to some degree, but didn’t want the camps to swell more than they already were. They might also be letting people in regardless, especially if they possessed special skills, but he couldn’t count on that.

Tim Reynolds was continuing on, but Jim Meeks’ gigantic frame suddenly thundered up to him in a huff. “Boss, I need you now.”

“Now?” asked Harold. “The broadcast will be over soon.”

“Sorry, boss. Now.”

Harold saw the serious look on Jim’s face and asked no more questions. “Everyone keep listening and fill me in on whatever I miss,” Harold walked quickly after Jim.

Harold tried to catch up to Jim, but he was moving too fast through the corridors and up the stairs. Harold figured out that he was leading him to the guard tower overlooking the prison’s main entrance. He followed Jim’s big figure out into the open sunlight and saw two guards with rifles ready looking down.

“Any change?” asked Jim.

“None. Just stands there,” answered the guard to the left.

Harold looked down and saw a squat muscular man with long scraggly hair and unkempt graying beard in an overcoat looking calmly up at them. He appeared ready to ask them some innocuous question such as what the best diner was in town, or what the price of gas was at the local CITGO.

“He walked up about ten minutes ago and just stood there,” said Jim. “Doesn’t look armed, but the men have spotted at least a half dozen others off in those ditches and woods across the road.” Jim pointed south.

“How did he get through the outer fence?” asked Harold.

“Must have crawled under by the gully,” said the other guard, “we don’t take care of the fence the way we used to, animals and such come under I’m sure.”

Harold looked at the man below him for a long time, and without turning his head asked Jim, “Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t know, boss,” Jim seemed to be searching for words. “I don’t like it, I can tell you that,” he again seemed to be troubled. “It just isn’t normal!” he said in exasperation.

Harold almost laughed. “Normal? Are you crazy? What the hell is normal anymore?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Jim looked away and then looked back with comprehension. “Look, we’re a big building with high walls and fences and guards with guns and this guy just strolls up as easy as you please. To top it off, he just looks so damn calm and cool. It’s like he’s done this a hundred times or something and knows what to expect. It just isn’t normal,” he repeated.

Harold looked back down and stared at the man who met his gaze levelly. “Well, I’ve got something for him he won’t expect…I guarantee it. Let's bring him in.”