Free Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown by Joseph A. Coley Page B

realistically, how much time do we have on the gennys?” Michael asked. The door buzzed again, and he opened it.
    “I don’t know. Depends on how well the Building and Grounds guys kept the fuel up for it. They were supposed to refill it after that last storm that knocked the power out. They all run on diesel, so if you guys can locate some fuel while you’re out there, see about grabbing it or securing it for later. We may not need it now, but we will before long.”
    Michael nodded. “Roger that, sir. Anything else we need to look for?”
    Master Control opened the door to the armory. All three men stepped inside. On the walls were several racks of shotguns, Glock 23s, and AR-15s. There were also rows of CS grenades, a 37mm grenade launcher, and other non-lethal rounds to go with it. Captain Winston looked around the room.
    “Well, the armory looks like it is still pretty well stocked, but I don’t have to tell you that if you run across some guns, grab ‘em.”
    “What about medical supplies? Food? How well stocked are we?” Ryan asked, grabbing an 870MCS shotgun.
    “Depends on how long we keep the psychos locked up. What do you guys think about letting them out?” Winston asked. There was no sense in beating around the bush. They were going to have to do something about the inmates, so Michael spoke his mind.
    “Give them a choice. I’d say most of them would choose to leave of their own volition. The ones that stay have to be kept locked up until we can figure out who we can trust. They’re not all bad, Captain.”
    “Yeah, you’re right. However, they are dangerous, or they wouldn’t be here. We can’t expect to turn them into productive citizens overnight. It would take a lot of time to get them in the right mindset.”
    Ryan grabbed a box of twelve-gauge buckshot and started loading the 870. “And what mindset would that be, sir? The dead are coming back to life. Something tells me they wouldn’t be well-adjusted to something like that.”
    “True. But we could use that to our advantage,” Winston said.
    “And how’s that?” Michael asked. He grabbed a Glock, holster, and a double mag pouch.
    “They’re killers. Let them kill the undead. What is the harm in letting them do something they do already?”
    “They might get a taste for it, Captain,” Ryan said.
    Winston raised an eyebrow. “Like they haven’t already?”
    “That’s different, sir. We don’t kill the living. They do.”
    While Winston was pondering Ryan’s point, the Master Control room operator stuck her head in. Office Shannon Lane was a two-year veteran of the DOC. While a young, attractive brunette who was diminutive in stature didn’t seem like a good fit for handling felons, she did more than her fair share. She was only five feet two inches tall, but her aim with a Glock more than made up for her lack of height. She was largely considered one of the best marksmen in the entire institution.
    Lane had her own problems now, though. She couldn’t get in contact with any of her family. Her mother was sick, and she couldn’t take care of herself for very long. The cancer that her mother had endured over the last six months was heartbreaking for the young officer, especially at such a young age. Lane was twenty-one; her mother was only thirty-eight, having had Lane at a very young age. Her father was nowhere to be found, abandoning Lane and her mother before Lane’s first birthday. She didn’t miss her father, nor was she bitter at him. Maybe her life was better off without him, but she still longed for the relationship. She couldn’t explain why; a girl simply needed her father. Growing up without one had left an indelible mark on her, she just didn’t know it yet. Her stepfather was a very good man, but she didn’t have the same relationship with him that she would have had with her biological father. She didn’t have her stepfather around; he was out of town on business, trying to keep the income steady in