Quagmire's Gate

by Allan E Petersen

  After carefully removing the teabag from her cup, she gingerly placed it on the saucer. She liked to use the same tea bag for her second cup. Still sitting at her desk, she relished the first steaming sip. The aroma was a gentle aromatic massage to her mind. She so loved her afternoon tea. With teacup in hand, she prepared to fill out the medical report concerning a hole in the hand incident. Reams of reports must be filled out and sent to goodness knows where for scrutiny of security breaches. She had no idea what happened to these copies once they were handed in and she did not care.

  She did not cringe at the paper work as it meant something to do. From a folder of medical reports, Doctor Lynda Gray dove into the endless questions and prognosis. It took almost an hour but finally she finished the requirements of her station. Yet, at least for her, the report did not take long enough, finishing it all too quickly. Upon reflection, she sadly realized that there was not any more to say about it. After all, it was just a small hole in a hand. What harm could possibly come of it?

  There was still an hour before the shift change and so with nothing left to do, she opened her book and continued to get excited reading about somebody else’s life. She was at a part in the story where poor Zelda’s heart was ravaged by Richard’s cruelty. After trusting Richard with not only her inner most secret desires and confiding in him her wants and lusts, he discarded her to the dark corners of loneliness and despair. Zelda was on the verge of suicide. What good was life now that the man she gave herself to was with another woman?

  Doctor Lynda Gray was compelled to read that paragraph again. She felt the same pain as Zelda. A man she trusted had hurt her as well. She deeply understood and was emotionally attached to poor Zelda’s dejection of her first lover. The lump in her throat was not for Zelda but rather for herself. She knew that if she did not stop reading the page she would assimilate the sorrows of Zelda and break into her own tears. She knew she had to get on with not only the next page of the book but the next page of her life as well. However, it was far easier to simply turn the page and get on with Zelda’s life then her own.

  Suddenly the infirmary door opened and Lynda was rudely jolted off the page and back into the cruel reality of her boring life. She was so taken back by the sudden intrusion that she felt embarrassed. She did not want anybody to see her emotional door wide open. With flushed cheeks, a hesitant hand came up to check for tears. It showed weakness to care for the emotional state of a one-dimensional character in a book. She quickly slammed the book shut.

  In an effort to drain the pressing tears, hoping they would soak back in, she looked up. However, not up to the intruder but rather up to the clock on the opposite wall. She was pretending to care what time it was. It was already five PM, time for the shift change. Coming in was Doctor Raymond Nelson, her shift relief. He was older than Lynda, perhaps by as much as ten years. He beamed what she called an inner ‘soul smile’ that also shone through the eyes. She often wondered what hellish turn of events led him here to this French Foreign Legion of the Medical Profession.

  Because he too had fallen into the ‘Shut Mouth Syndrome’ she knew very little of him. She envied his ability to adjust to this environment. He always seemed happy, always smiling to the point she wondered how many times a day he dipped into the medicine cabinet. She knew that he had no children, no wife and therefore to the reckoning of most, no life. No wonder he was conforming so well to this lonely underground existence.

  As he approached, he beamed that ‘soul smile’ that forced her to return one just like it. He had a round flushed face that falsely advertised a rugged outdoorsman. It was clear that he spent too much time under the solar lamp soaking up not only a tan but ample melanoma as well. When working deep underground, a pale complexion is an occupational hazard. As he placed his briefcase on the desk, next to her book, he said,

  “It’s’ my turn in the salt mine.”

  There was no doubt that he was a handsome man but the last thing she was looking for right now was somebody else in her heart. If she were to weaken to Doctor Nelson’s warm and alluring smile, he would find her empty, nothing but a cold and hollow shell. There is no heart in this steel chest. Still, he was a handsome man. If she were to let go of the past, she would discover she was attracted to Doctor Raymond Nelson. If she was ever in need of a physical, she wanted him to be doing it.

  With her eyes still held captive by his, her hand blindly fumbled for the romance novel on the table. Her attempt to save face by turning it over failed. His big blue eyes naturally gravitated to what she was so awkwardly trying to hide. Through gleaming white teeth he said,

  “Oh, I read that book. Richard was such a bitch? I mean after she put him through university and everything. I’m sorry honey but I really mean bitch. What else can one say about him?”

  Suddenly his face turned red and a finger shot up to his puckering lips. He blurted out,

  “Oh my god!”

  Defensively she snapped her attention to her chest checking her top buttons and instinctively quickly crossed her legs. What did he see to make him suddenly so mortified? Heavy on the apology he blurted out,

  “I’m the bitch aren’t I? Please tell me you’ve gotten to the part where he dumped her.”

  Yes she had but somehow coming from his mortified mouth, it seemed even more sinister. Richard was definitely a bitch but that was not the word she would have used to describe him. She knew he was going to dump her anyway. As Lynda got up, she casually let him off the hook by saying,

  “Many pages ago. And yes, he is somewhat typical of a chauvinist pig isn’t he.”

  Raymond was greatly relieved and because he was holding his breath waiting for her to respond to his ‘spoiler alert’ he let out a deep gasp and blurted out,

  “Yea, like I would know. Men! You can’t live with them and as far as I’ve heard or at least looked into, you’re still not allowed to shoot them.”

  Suddenly his expression turned to one of obvious spitefulness to one of revulsion.

  “I mean you are allowed to shoot cute helpless little Bambi but not cheating men. Go figure. I mean, where is the frigging justice?”

  His obvious malicious reminiscence stunned her. Curiously her eyes looked up and snuck a furtive peek into his. No doubt, there was some baggage piled up behind his suddenly distasteful expression of men. He had opened personal baggage and was rummaging through it. She wanted to probe, to ask who had hurt him but because he was gay, she did not know the appropriate questions to ask.

  At the door, she removed her smock and draped a light tanned jacket over her shoulders. As her arms pushed through the sleeve, he asked,

  “Is there anything exiting and hopefully earth shattering in the daily log honey?”

  Her answer did nothing to push aside what he knew was going to be a dull shift.

  “No but feel free to read the report on the scientist who burned a hole through his hand with a laser beam. Read it a few times if you like. It’s certainly more interesting than the report you left me about Mister Johnson’s wart.”

  He produced an obviously fake hurt expression and said,

  “But did you read the part about it being on his butt?”

  As he watched her disappear through the door, he heard her say,

  “How exciting.”

  When the hiss of the door indicated the air lock was in place, Doctor Raymond Nelson found himself wonderfully alone. At the door, he took off his navy blue jacket and donned his white smock. From the pocket a metallic bell sound was heard sounding like the cheap bell on a kid’s bike. He reached into the pocket and pulled it out. Reaching high he pressed the adhesive side of the backing hard onto the wall above the door. Now, if he was busy, lost to thought or other somewhat dubious activities, the bell will warn him and his lover of an intruder. Memories of his father’s grocery store flooded to him but quickly disappeared. He too had baggage.

  He pulled two romance novels from his briefcase, sat and settled down to delve into the lives of othe
rs. However, he found himself unable to concentrate. With almost every turned page, he was distracted by something Lynda had said. ‘Laser beams?’

  One of the benefits of being gay in a small community like this was how easy it was to find each other. Birds of a feather as it were. One of the older scientists from the secret laboratory, Mister Johnson, the one with the supposed wart on his butt, regularly came to the infirmary when Raymond was on duty.

  Captivated, he put his fantasy life on hold for a moment and reached for Lynda’s medical file on the ‘hole in hand’ incident. The fact that a laser beam had cut through a scientist’s hand perplexed him greatly. When his favorite patient came in for ‘medical treatment’, they on occasion talk about secrets. Because of that, Raymond had a reasonably fair idea what was going on over in the lab. Although not knowing exactly what, he knew there were no laser beams shooting about. A little while later he looked up at the clock and was surprised to discover it was almost time for Mister Johnson’s daily ‘treatment’.

  Chapter 3

  Above ground, in the middle of the Deep Lab 6 enclosure was a barren field. In the middle of the field was with a small silo protruding as if a finger pointing to the sky. As the elevator doors opened, Lynda exited and stepped out into the field and nature’s fresh air. As she always did, she stopped and gulped in a few deep breaths. She hated that recycled air down in the lab. It was stale and made her cough. At least up here it was real. It was not Australian air but then what was. Allowing for that consideration, Lynda still found this desert air fresh and invigorating.

  It was evening and getting dark fast. With the desert to the east and the mountains to the west, one of the many things she had yet to get used to was how fast it got dark after the sun ever so quickly disappeared behind the mountains. At home, in the Outback of New South Wales, the setting sun had the good manners to charmingly linger and slowly say goodnight before sinking into the far horizon. As a gift to those who appreciate a lasting sunset, it produced the most vivid of red sunsets ever admired by romantic eyes. Here, it was as if turning out a light bulb, click and it was dark. What an unromantic country this Yank land is.

  She always felt lonely walking back to her apartment under the illumination of the cold streetlights. There was no warmth in tungsten lights so uncaringly glaring down on her. There was no romantic sunset presenting her with a bouquet of flowers at the end of the day. Then why did she care? There was no rainbow in her life anymore anyway. Never again will she have somebody to make a romantic dinner for. Never again will she have someone to snuggle into and whisper the wants and intensions of the body.

  The above ground facilities of Deep Lab 6 had the same amenities as any small community. The department of the federal government in charge of black budgeting for secret projects had learned many lessons over the years. It learned that the major reason the public discovered Project Area 51 over in Nevada was that very few people lived on the base. Most crews were flown to the dried riverbed from Las Vegas. There they were given the privilege of private lives under the restrictions of the Secret National Securities Act. Because there was such a tide of employees coming and going to Area 51 there were naturally security leaks. Lesson number one, to maintain a high level of secrecy, confine the people to the limitations of the compound. Hence, Project Deep Lab 6 became a self-sustaining community with a surrounding electrified fence.

  The length and terms of your employment here was equivalent to the importance of the project. Although Lynda did not know the term of employment of the others, she was very aware of hers. She had signed up for six months with options based on performance for six more months if desired.

  She already knew how she would exercise that option. Only one long mind-numbing month into her contract, she knew the few scant streets of the compound very well. The distance to her living quarters was equivalent to two city blocks lined with a variety of stores typical of any small village.

  A small but adequate hair salon for the bevy of females who still clung to the vanity of beauty and self-esteem was nestled between the grocery store and post office. That was one of the first things Lynda had lost in her short time here, the need to feel the satisfaction of a manicure and hairstyle. Self-worth and suitable esthetics was more than satisfactorily taken care of over the sink in her apartment.

  There are no cars within the barbed wire compound. If there was a distance to be travelled greater than the person wished to walk there were a few golf carts scattered about. Most were limited to the higher ranked who apparently found walking any distance a great difficulty. For their added convenience, the elevator going underground to the lab had extra wide doors to facilitate the carts. She was one of the few people in this sequestered world that preferred walking. In many ways, Lynda thought the compound was reminiscent of a prison.

  Although painfully aware that she was incarcerated in the confines of a secret project as well as a foreign land, she still accepted a few small pleasures from it. The wooden framed buildings and dirt packed road reminded her somewhat of home on a large cattle station in the middle of the Australian outback. Although not surrounded by mountains, the outback does have an abundance of rolling hills in the distance. Pikes Billabong was only an hour from her home. It was a cattle community not unlike the imagery old west of the Americas. There were just as many hitching posts in front of the pub as there were parking spaces for the four-wheel drive vehicles.

  As she entered the grocery store, a woman about Lynda’s age greeted her on the way out with a congenial nod and smile. She mumbled something that sounded like, ‘How are you.’ Although her feelings about the woman were good-natured, she understood that there was not much of a chance to meet her socially. The stigma of the ‘Shut Mouth’ syndrome prevailed through all the ranks. Most of the people in this project are afraid to do much more than smile and nod at strangers.

  After purchasing a small steak, one onion, one potato and two tomatoes, she paid the older man at the cash register. At Deep Lab 6, people purchased food out of their own wages. The only benefit being, it was tax-free. Outside the store, she wondered if she should not top the evening off with a six-pack of Foster Beer. ‘Stupid thought’. Of course, she should.

  As she made her way across the street, she heard a horn from an approaching golf cart. The blare lacked authority, in fact sounded comical and certainly not threatening. She casually looked up to see a man seemingly determined to make it go faster than the ten miles an hour it was capable of. It was clear that he demanded she get out of the way. Her choices were clear, jump back or get hit. Quick reflexes saved her as well as the groceries. Annoyed, she watched as he sped past.

  One of the few things she liked about Deep Lab 6 was the dress code. Casual was not only encouraged but also recommended. The only thing she easily recognized about the reckless speeder was a bushy mustache. After a few obscene swear words she turned to continue on her way. It was then that she discovered the incident had cost her one tomato. In her effort to avoid the collision, one had flown out of the bag. Worse, she had stepped on it.

  She cast a vindictive glare at the disappearing speeder. In the dim of the evening light, she saw him racing toward the elevator silo. It was still light enough to see that the elevator door was open and waiting for him. As the doors closed on the cart, she wondered what the urgency down there was. Just her bad luck for something exciting to happen when she was off shift. Lucky Doctor Nelson, at least something exciting was happening to him.

  Her residence was on the edge of the compound and near the fence enclosure. She was not sure if the fence was designed to prevent undesirables from entering or to keep a certain bored Doctor from escaping. It was perhaps ten feet high and although she was not sure, it was no doubt electrified. She thought it might be exciting to one day lay a curious hand on the wire just to find out. That was when another thought intruded and she mumbled a sad question,

  “Has my life really come to this?”

  The one thing the fence did not
stop was windblown sand drifting in from the desert. Even the slightest gust of wind blew the sand through the fence and into her open windows. The entry swipe slot on her apartment complex had to be covered with a piece of plastic to prevent grains of sand from plugging up the slot. It was just one of many inconveniences to get used to.

  In Australia, they call them Row Houses or attachable, but in this strange land they are referred to as Townhouses. Her complex was in the middle of five units and on the second floor. At her door, she put her bag of groceries down but held tight to the cherished six-pack of beer. If there were security devises listening, and she was sure there was, as she fumbled through her pockets for the security card somebody would have heard profuse swearing.