by L. A. Cruz
Helia pointed to the adjacent door. “What is that?”
“The communications booth. Cell phones don’t work down here. In the booth, there’s a phone with a land line where you can call the outside world whenever you’d like. Communications are monitored of course. We treat any mention of this facility as treason.”
“No pressure there,” Helia said.
Colonel Gates swiped his card for the door to the living quarters and the heavy door swung open. She followed him inside. It was a large cinderblock room. The temperature was five degrees higher and there were half a dozen ceramic space heaters keeping it warm.
Twelve cots lined the room, two rows of six. The blankets were tucked tight. Two of the cots were occupied. On one of the beds, there were two bumps on the figure: on the chest, and then the other end, the feet rising sharply like a sarcophagus. It was a woman, asleep with her boots on.
Thank God she wasn’t the only female, Helia thought.
Behind each of the cots was a metal headboard and a shelf where the soldiers kept their books and their personal trinkets, most of which were framed pictures.
Helia followed the Colonel down the middle of the room, glancing at the shelves as she passed. In the picture frames, there were pictures of old people, mothers, fathers, and occasionally a younger child, but no one young enough to be a wife or girlfriend.
Everyone here was unattached.
At the foot of the last bed, was a pair of dumbbells, forty-pounders.
At the back of the living quarters, the Colonel carded into another room. Helia, who was right on his heels, nearly ran into him as he stopped.
“Whoa, hold up, Corporal. These are my quarters.”
Past him, was a small room with a taut blanket on the cot. The pillow was squared off perfectly at the head. There was a stainless steel toilet and sink combination, an old beige computer tower, and a shelf full of books.
“It’s a pain in the ass getting stuff down here, so we stick to the bare minimum while on post and take our pleasures on leave. Make sense, Corporal?“
“Yes, sir.”
“Now if you don't mind, I’d like a minute or two to change.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel Gates closed the door and left her alone in the living quarters. She surveyed the room. It wasn’t that much different from the barracks at Camp Blanding.
In truth, it was one helluva dingy place. Each one of the beds had been made so meticulously that there wasn't a wrinkle in sight, the thin blankets pulled as tight as an aging actress’s face after plastic surgery. The two soldiers who were asleep snored gently, their chests rising and falling in rhythm.
Behind her, the door suddenly opened.
The Colonel exited his cabin and closed the door behind him. He was now dressed in full battle dress uniform, his boots shiny, his trousers bloused properly, his black MP armband tight around his bicep.
“Much better,” he said.
She knew the feeling. After a while, the uniform was more comfortable than street clothes. It felt strange to take it off.
“I know the feeling, sir. I’d sleep in my uniform if it was allowed,” Helia said.
Colonel Gates nodded. “You’ll fit in just fine, Corporal,” he said. “Now follow me. I’ve got one more room to show you.”
Chapter 15
They left the sleeping quarters and headed back down the main hallway. Overhead, braids of wires and ducts and pipes snaked along the length of the ceiling. They were all intertwined, co-mingling, a mating ritual between the old and new.
At the end of the hallway, Colonel Gates carded into the last door beside the control room. The door opened and Helia shielded her eyes from the bright light.
When she recovered from the lighted blast, she felt as if she had stepped into an oasis. It was a beach. A tiki bar. The surf was turquoise, almost glowing. It washed against the shore and retreated, leaving snake-like tracks in the sand.
A man was laying on a lounge chair, his arms behind his head. He was shirtless and tanned. Judging by the size of his biceps, not too large, but nothing to sneer at, Helia guessed that the forty-pound dumbbells in the living quarters were his. He was tall and had a day’s worth of stubble and a hard chin, the kind of guy who was very nice to look at, but based on her previous experiences, the kind of guy to be wary of. At all times. Helia supposed the regulations for shaving every morning didn’t apply down here.
Startled, he removed a pair of giant sunglasses and stood and saluted.
“At ease Sergeant,” Colonel Gates said. “Why the hell aren’t you sleeping? It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
The man grabbed a brown T-shirt from the back of the lounge chair and pulled it over his head. “Is it? I didn’t know.”
“Sergeant Dunning, this is Corporal Crane. Our new recruit.”
“You’re a girl,” Dunning said. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“I prefer woman, thank you,” Helia said.
He grinned and held out a hand. “Yes, sorry. I’m Matt Dunning.”
“Nice to meet you, Sergeant Dunning.”
They shook hands. He looked directly into her eyes and his grip was firm and warm from the heat lamps. It sent goosebumps up her arms.
The Colonel cleared his throat to break their gazing and pressed a button on the control panel on the wall. The beach changed to a mountain top, the wind whistling through the rocks. Sergeant Dunning was now standing on the precipice.
“It’s a state of the art immersion chamber,” the Colonel said. “Daylight balanced bulbs in the ceiling and a projector that will take you anywhere you want to go. I’m assuming you’ve heard of SAD?”
“Not sad,” Dunning corrected. “There’s plenty of that going around. S.A.D.”
“Yes,” Gates said. “Seasonal Affected Disorder. Working down here can produce an extreme version in susceptible individuals. Make sure you take care of yourself. You know. Mentally. This room will help.”
Suddenly, the projector shut off and the room flooded with red and there was an intermittent warning tone.
“What is that?” Helia said.
Colonel Gates checked his watch. “As expected, all hands on deck. “We’ve got a new arrival.”
The hallway was pulsing with red light. They left the “Mood” room and walked swiftly down the hallway. As they headed back to the main chamber where they had begun, Helia couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking through the veins of an ancient creature, one that would outlast them all.
The door to the living quarters opened and two Keepers dressed in full combat gear ran out and joined Dunning, Colonel Gates, and Helia. They must’ve been the two who were sleeping. One was tall and thin and looked as if a breeze in the hallway would meet him as strongly as a gale in a wind tunnel. The other was a short and squat woman, her legs like tree trunks, her arms buff, her hair buzzed on the sides. She made Helia look downright feminine.
“This is Corporal Crane,” Colonel Gates said. “Our new recruit. Corporal Crane, these are Sergeants Lawless and Pinder.”
Lawless adjusted his glasses for a good look at her. “Welcome, Corporal.”
Pinder looked at her too, the corners of her lips rising into a snarl.
“Careful not to inhale all the bullshit,” she said.
They stopped at the end of the hall and Dunning and Pinder carded into the steel door closest to the exit. It was a small concrete chamber, no larger than a walk-in closet, a single naked light bulb in the ceiling. Along the wall, stood rifles, two suits, and helmets. The elbows and knees resembled riot gear, but the actual suit was closest to the heavy, snow-suit-like padding you’d wear if you were playing victim in K-9 training, the arms and legs thick enough to withstand canine teeth from breaking the skin.
Dunning pulled off his shirt, giving her another look at his chest. He was ripped, two slabs of muscles for pecs, deep lines between his abs. When he looked up, Helia realized she was staring and looked away. He pulled on
the heavy riot gear, hiding a thin grin.
Pinder didn’t take her shirt off to don her protective gear. “You see what I mean about the bullshit?” she said out the side of her mouth. “We don’t need your pit sweat in that suit, Sergeant. We all have to share it.”
“How about my ball sweat in your helmet?” Dunning said.
“How about you both shut your mouths and show Corporal Crane what a classy operation we run around here,” the Colonel said.
Helia stood in the doorway, half in the red light from the hall, half in the yellow light from the equipment closet. She stepped aside to let Dunning and Pinder waddle out, wondering what on earth they needed all that protective gear for. She had learned about how to deal with violent inmates before heading to Leavenworth, but never anything like this.
They crossed back into the main chamber. The elevator sat at the bottom of the shaft, the gate closed. No one had used it. The light in the ceiling was blinking, making the whole chamber pulse in red.
At the other side of the chamber, the Colonel swiped his card and the dead bolt disengaged. He pushed open the leftmost door and stepped aside, holding it for the crew.
“After you.”
Like marshmallow men in their suits, Dunning and Pinder squeezed through the doorway, followed by Lawless. Helia brought up the rear.
The Colonel held up an arm and blocked her at the door. “What you’re about to see is not going to be pleasant. You’re going to doubt your very eyes, I promise you that, but I assure, this is all very real. Can I count on you to stay rational?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any history of fainting?”
“No sir.”
“You ever been to a morgue before, Corporal?”
“No, sir.”
He nodded. “There’s a channel along the back wall. For flooding. If you need to use it to vomit, don’t hesitate. Sergeant Lawless here couldn’t eat for days his first time.”
“Yes, sir,” Helia said, her heart pounding. She walked into the darkness. It was cold, even colder than the rest of the facility, and she could feel the inked snake on her arm constrict.
Chapter 16
“Won’t you join us?” Dunning said.
“I’ve been to this rodeo more times than you’ve taken steps,” Colonel Gates said and closed the door behind them.
The chamber was pitch black at first, and then Dunning flipped a switch on the wall. A bank of fluorescent lights came on, dim and pink at first. When they turned white, Helia had to shield her eyes.
The lights illuminated a cinder block wall. There was another steel door, and embedded off to the right, was a steel frame and a plate glass window. Past the window, was a dark room, the only light sneaking through the crack under the door, the same crack blowing a cold draft. She couldn’t be sure, but the closest association she could make was that of an interrogation room, a room inside a room.
“They’re sure taking their sweet time up there,” Pinder said.
“It’s getting sweaty up in here,” Dunning said under his helmet, his breath fogging the visor.
All four of them watched the plate glass window. Nothing but darkness.
From overhead, there was a banging sound. Like a large rock dropped in a laundry chute. It got louder, louder, and then there was a flash of movement in the darkness, a dull thud, and the sound of sprinkling, like pebbles being dropped on a piece of plywood. Next, there was a horrible stench. The reaction was instant and Helia put a hand to her lips to keep from lurching.
“Welcome home,” Pinder said.
Helia could see nothing. She stepped closer to the glass. Still nothing. Suddenly, there was a large bang, a face against the glass, and she gasped and jumped back. Sharpened teeth, fingernails, blood smeared on the window. Then the thing disappeared.
She swallowed hard, trying to breathe, but coughing on the stink.
“What the hell was that?”
“Corporal, meet our new arrival,” Lawless said. He flipped a switch on the wall and a light inside the chamber buzzed to life. The walls were painted white. There was a large rectangular hole in the ceiling, and in the far corner behind the glass, a huddling man shrank away from the light.
Or at least, it was what was left of a man. His hair was torn away and his scalp was hanging off his skull. Flaps of blue skin hung from his cheekbones. His clothes were tattered, nothing but a radioactive symbol on his chest. The flesh was hanging off his arms and his bones were exposed and bright white under the light. His chin was black with what looked like dried blood.
He was a moving corpse. Helia blinked and looked again. Dirt rained from the rectangle in the ceiling and pebbles skittered across the floor.
Dunning lay a gloved hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
She managed a nod.
“The first thing I need you to do is to forget all the made-up shit you’ve heard about these things. We don’t use the V-word down here, nor the Z-word. These are human beings who have gone through some kind of transformation, the process of which we don’t fully understand yet,” Lawless said. “They are not undead, but they are unliving. When they drink human blood, they get stronger and heal up, but when they don’t quench their thirst, they rot. They don’t live forever. They’ll last about a month without blood and then be nothing but bones. The longest we’ve recorded is thirty-eight days.”
“I swear to God I saw fangs,” Helia said.
“Some of them, like this son of a bitch, like to sharpen them. It makes it easier to bite their victims. They don’t grow that way.”
“It’s afraid of the light.”
“It’s a natural reaction. It’s night time above ground. They’re dumped in one of the open graves you saw. Down the chute, end up here, where we keep them until they’ve rotted away.”
Helia stared harder. The man—or creature—had stopped cringing from the light and was fingering a rotten abscess on its stomach.
“They’re not afraid of sunlight?” she said.
“Only to the extent that it makes ‘em rot faster,” Pinder said.
“Garlic?”
“It makes ‘em smell bad,” Lawless said.
“Silver bullets?”
“That’s werewolves.”
“What happens if they bite you?”
“You crave blood and you start to rot.”
“Is it a virus?”
“We don’t know.”
“It burns. Like a bad STD,” Dunning said. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“And there’s more of these things?” Helia said.
“Fifty-two cells in total,” Lawless said. “Twenty-three of them vacant.”
“How long have these things been out there among civilians?”
“For centuries.”
Helia’s head was spinning. She was more nauseous from confusion than seeing the actual corpse. For her whole life, her whole existence on the planet, the government had been keeping this a secret.
“This is containment,” Lawless said. “They stay here until they’ve rotted away. There’s no other way to kill them, short of dismemberment or fire. It’s the best way to keep the public safe. We could burn ‘em to ashes, but some your more empathetic types in Congress think they can still feel the pain. It avoids the cruel and unusual punishment and all that jazz.”
“Surely a slow death by rot in solitary confinement is unusual punishment,” she said.
Lawless shrugged. “Maybe. But if you haven’t noticed, they’re not the most loquacious of creatures. We don’t know what they’re thinking.”
“What about rehabilitation?” she said.
They all turned their heads and stared at her.
Pinder waved her hands in front of Helia’s face as if to break a stare.
“Okay, honey, can you not see that thing in there? That is not a human being. That is a corpse.”
“But it used to be.”
Pinder shook her head. “We’re talkin major regression here. I got more in common with a c
himp than those things have with me.”
Dunning grinned. “You’re sure? A chimp?”
Pinder pushed him aside. “Lemme show you how its done. Watch and learn, bitches.”
Chapter 17
Pinder and Dunning stood at the door to the interrogation room: Pinder in front, Dunning behind. There was about a foot between them, but their suits were so large and so puffy that they were touching. Lawless hovered a hand over the card reader on the wall, his arm cocked and ready to swipe.
“You both ready? I don't want to see anything close to what happened last night.”
“We both outrank you, man,” Pinder said.
“But I hold the key,” Lawless said.
“Whatever, dude,” Pinder said. “Swipe it.”
“Take a close look at what happens the moment they step through that door, Corporal,” Lawless said. “It’ll be you in there soon enough.”
Then he dropped the hammer.
The bolt unlocked. Pinder grabbed the door knob as if she were wearing welding gloves and about to enter a burning house. She turned it slowly and when the latch had receded behind the strike plate, she yanked the door open and she and Dunning rushed inside.
“Close it!” Lawless said.
“Me?” Helia said.
“Yes!”
Helia slammed the door shut behind them and Lawless swiped the card. The deadbolt engaged again, locking Pinder and Lawless in the room with the creature.
“You never do this by yourself,” Lawless said. “It takes a minimum of three men.”
She wondered if he meant three men and a woman, or three people. But before she got a chance to clarify, that pile of bones and flesh in the corner suddenly jerked to life as if being yanked upward by marionette strings; its movements were gangly and awkward and jerky, yet somehow fluid. Its limbs snapped from spot to spot as it popped to its feet and charged the two suited figures, leaving a mess of feces and drool and what she could've sworn was a sausage link of intestine on the tiled floor.