You would think, what with my melt-down, The Powers That Be would have me permanently strapped to that hospital bed as I had been initially. Nope. My little tantrum worked wonders. I’ve been out of my hospital prison room too. Two armed guards and an armed Lynch escort me everywhere, but I’ve gotten to see some of this facility.
I was on a hospital floor, and as I suspected, we’re underground. There are no exterior windows anywhere, so I asked about it, and Lynch told me we were seventy feet below the surface of Baldy Mountain, forty five miles south of Havre Montana. I guess nobody cares if I know anymore, or at least Lynch doesn’t care. I don’t think he really cares about much. Except me.
There are six levels below the surface, and my room is on level three. Yeah, I still have to reside in my room, and the tests haven’t stopped. But I get to play basketball. Yup. There’s a full exercise facility inside this facility. Weights, a pool, tennis court, and a mini b-ball court, perfect for two on two. I’ve been eating up the competition. Far be it for me to brag, but I’ve been going HAM on these military pricks. Generally, my partner is Lynch, and he’s fucking good. Better than me and I’m good. Well, in comparison. I held my own against the big boys in the big house. White men can jump. Oh, if you didn’t read my first journal, I’m an ex-con. I didn’t mention it before, because it’s not overly important.
I’ve also been playing backgammon, chess, checkers, and some game where I move stones back and forth across this wooden board. Again, I usually play with Lynch, and he beats me at everything every time. Bastard isn’t just a living weapon with lightning fast reflexes and a snippy attitude, he’s damn smart. He doesn’t read my journal anymore, so I can give the prick a compliment without his head getting all big.
I’ve been exploring the facility, which everyone calls Area 8, and as I’ve said, it’s big. Two hundred and eight steps from my room to the elevators, and there are more rooms past mine. The gym is on level three with the hospital. Levels one and two are administration, with offices, barracks, cafeteria, and storage. Level three has a few offices, and tons of medical equipment in addition to the work out stuff. There’s also a small firing range and training areas. They have all kinds of guns, and this is just what’s for the range. Absolutely everyone is armed, and there’s supposed to be an armory someplace, but I don’t know where it is. I got to pop off a bunch of rounds to keep me frosty. I like the M16s they have here, and they also have HK416s. The Brass (important people like Generals, and doctors from USAMRIID) all have personal guards with FNP90s, which are these little submachine guns, and I got to shoot one of those too. I prefer my old M4 to all of them.
Level four is laboratories and weapons storage, with some kind of satellite tracking facility. I haven’t been up to the surface, Lynch says I can’t, I could get a hang nail or something.
My explorations are accompanied, but the only place I haven’t been allowed to go other than the surface is Level Six. You need special clearance for that, and Lynch won’t tell me what’s down there. Level Six has its own elevator. That makes me nervous, I don’t know why. There are no guards on the bank of six elevators that ferry people up and down to all the other floors, but the lift down to six has its own guard shack. Not just guards, but a small structure that you have to pass through just to get to the lift.
There are three hundred people down here, and Lynch says that the facility in the mountain above is just as big. He also told me that other than the occasional stray zombie, there hasn’t been an attack on the base since the beginning of all of this. Most of these people, other than the soldiers, haven’t even seen any infected. They’ve been closed off down here for a year.
They know their families are dead, the country is dead, and the world is dead. They got to watch it in high definition during the first few weeks of the plague. I’ve spoken to some of them, and they’re mostly friendly, but standoffish. I played a game of chess with a lab guy named Frank at three this morning. He kicked my ass too.
I can’t roam freely, and there’s still a pair of guards outside my room, but I can come and go as I please as long as the gun-toting guards or Lynch come with. Hose B hasn’t come back as one of my door guards, but I did see him working on the Universal at the gym. He gave me death eyes.
I haven’t seen doctor dick since I bit him though. Lynch said he’s fine. They watched him for a while, ran some tests, and then let him out of quarantine. I hope they took his spinal fluid and eye juice too. Prick.
Yeah, so that’s that. You’ve got the general layout of the facility, and my role here as guinea pig. You’ve figured out that Lynch is not my favorite person, even though he did save my life from a freaked out Jose. You know my friends are all far away. That pretty much sums it up. I did get some shoes too. A pair of combat boots, and a pair of cross trainers.
I know what you’re thinking: “Where are my damn zombies? This is a zombie story right? Not a stupid tale of some guy getting experimented on? I did not pick up this tattered and yellowed (and probably blood spattered) journal to read about a government stooge with his lab rat reject. I want the living dead.”
Well, you’ve got them incoming. There will be zombies a plenty in the next chapter, I’m just too tired from running and dodging and shooting and being thirsty to write anymore. Besides, backstory is vital. It is critical, need-to-know information in order for you to make a rational, informed decision on whether or not to chuck this notebook in the fire to keep you warm.
Don’t. Not yet. Unless you’re really cold.