ASYLUM
Chapter 1
When I was younger, one of the County
psychologists suggested I start keeping a journal. I thought it was silly;
people want to read the words of special people, why would someone want to read
the journal of someone so, ordinary and mundane? Until she told me why I
should. I did and it seems to have helped at times when I felt excited, or lost,
alone and about as far from special as you could get. I took some derision from
some of the foster kids I shared different homes with, you know, a guy with a
diary, but after I started, it sort of became a compulsion. I wrote about
everything. The good, the bad, and the down-right shitty. So, that’s what this
is, in case you’re wondering.
I’d never spent much time on computers or
games when I was growing up because most foster homes don’t spend a lot of
money on the foster kids if they can get away with it. From what I was told as
I was being raised in a series of foster homes, I was abandoned by my mother
the day I was born. The last foster home I lived in was actually kind of nice.
The husband and wife who took care of their charges, really seemed to care for
the kids living with them. Well, until they turned eighteen. On my eighteenth
birthday the wife baked me a cake, then presented me with the only birthday
present I remember ever receiving, a suit case and two hundred dollars in cash.
She helped me pack my clothes and then led me to the front door where she told
me “good luck” and closed the door after I stepped out. It wasn’t supposed to
end like this, there was supposed to be a transition house where…yeah,
but…there was always that ‘yeah, but.’
I had finished High School the week before
and sort of just drifted down the street wondering what I was going to do with
the rest of my life. Two days later, after sleeping at night in a local park, I
was thinking about what to have for breakfast with my quickly disappearing
money when I passed a construction site and overheard a man shouting angrily
into a cell phone.
“Damn it! That son of Cole’s just called and
told me he had a rough night and isn’t going to make it in this morning! I have
a bob-tail delivery truck coming with an entire four-inch calculated system
that needs to be off-loaded and located onsite, and now I have to try and carry
it in by myself.”
He listened to the reply and he finally said
in return, “What about the Union Hall? Don’t they have anyone they can send
out?” He listened again and responded, “Dale, that son of Cole’s is the worst
apprentice I’ve ever worked with and frankly I’ve had it with him. The union
has A, B, and C list workers; I’ll gladly take a C list guy that knows nothing
about the job than put up with Cole’s son another day.”
He listened again before dejectedly
replying, “Damn, Nick, where can I find a day worker around here? Hell, I live
fifty miles from here and you know it.”
For some reason, I stepped forward and
through the chain-link fencing surrounding the job site I said, “I need a job.”
The man glanced at me and then looked away, but stopped and looked at me again.
I knew what he was seeing; a scrawny eighteen-year-old kid that a stiff wind
could blow away. Auburn hair that needed a trim, five-foot-ten and on my best
day maybe 140 pounds. “I’m stronger than I look,” I said, as I desperately tried
to get him to consider me.
He stared at me for about ten seconds and
then his attention was drawn to a large truck loaded with bundles of pipe that
was pulling into the job site driveway. “You’re hired kid.”
Dragging my suitcase, I quickly ran to the
gate the truck had entered and then walked onto the jobsite. When I reached the
man on the phone, I leaned my suitcase against the fence and waited as he finished
his call and then put his phone away.
“Come here,” he said.
I stepped
up and held out my hand to shake his, “My name is Daniel Smith, Sir.”
He took my hand and shook it, “John
Cameron.” He was quite a bit older than me, probably in his early forties and
though he had a good deal of grey in his moustache and sideburns, he looked
really fit.
“Mr. Cameron.”
“Ever done any construction work? Fire
Sprinklers?”
“No, Sir, but I’m a quick learner.”
“I
can’t promise more than a day’s work, but you’ll get ten dollars an hour as
long as I need you, okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He
glanced over my clothes and asked, “Got a pair of boots? Work gloves?
“Uh, no Sir. Is that going to be a
problem?”
“As
long as the Job Superintendent doesn’t notice the loafers your wearing, no. As
far as the gloves go, I have a spare pair you can use.”
“Thank you, you won’t regret it.”
The bundles of pipe were heavy and
extremely oily, but I didn’t complain; I just tried to stay up with Cameron’s
pace. It took a while to unload the truck and I figured I’d probably get maybe
fifteen dollars, but it was fifteen dollars more than I had to begin with.
Cameron signed off on the truck driver’s delivery receipt and the trucker drove
his truck off the job site.
“Well,” I said. “I really appreciate you letting
me help.”
Cameron looked at his watch and then
asked, “Unloading the truck was helpful, but all these line bundles and mains
need to be positioned where they belong in the building. You up for helping
with that?”
“Sure! Where do we start?”
He motioned for me to follow him to his
truck where he removed a roll of plans from the front seat. Stepping to the
front of the truck, he rolled out the blueprints and weighed down the corners
with rocks. “Okay, I can’t be the brains for two bodies, so I’m going to give
you a short primer on reading blueprints. If you have any questions don’t
hesitate to ask, ok?”
“Yes, Sir. I had two years of mechanical
drawing in school, so maybe that will help?”
He showed me which lines designated what he
called “bulk mains” and then the “cross mains” and where they started and ended
in the building. That’s what we did first and then we started spreading out,
what he called, the branch line bundles. By the time that was finished he said
it was time for lunch and he asked if I had anything to eat, I said no, but
there was a fast food place across the street from the job. He asked if I had
money to pay for it and I said yes. He sat down in his truck to start eating
his lunch and I went and bought my own after he said he’d watch my suitcase.
When I came back to eat, he was just finishing a call. We shared some information
as he asked me questions about my situation, talked about his job and other
small talk.
When we were finished, he asked, “Are you
going to be busy tomorrow?”
“No, Sir.”
“I have another delivery scheduled for tomorrow;
do you want to help me with that one too?”
“That would be really great!”
“Okay, lets finish up today and we’ll talk
some more then.”
“Yes, Sir.”
That’s what we did. I’ll be honest, he
worked my butt off and by the end of the day I was dragging ass, but I stayed
with it the best I could. The best thing was he was constantly teaching me,
explaining why we were doing what we were doing and everything he said made
sense. At the end of the work day I helped him unload ladders, a tool box, and
a pipe machine that I really wanted to play with because the way it operated
was so interesting.
He was sitting in his truck after we
finished for the day and I was standing there with my suitcase wondering where
I was going to stay the night when he asked, “You don’t have anywhere to go, do
you?”
To tell the truth, I was embarrassed to
admit that no, I didn’t. My face must have shown my discomfort, “No, like I
said earlier…”
“I’m going to need you early because I live
so far away from here and I don’t want to get caught in the rush hour traffic
coming and going. So, we’ll be starting at six in the morning. Do you have an
alarm clock?”
“Uh…”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Look, I have
a shed in my backyard that’s actually pretty nice. If you want to, why don’t
you come home with me and I’ll put you up until I don’t need you anymore? You
can get showered, cleaned up, and I might have some old work clothes you can
borrow; what do you say? There’s no sense in ruining the good clothes you
have.”
“I…I mean, that sounds pretty convenient;
how much rent will you ask for it?”
“It’s a shed, Daniel, it won’t cost you
anything. This way I can be sure you show up on time, rested and fed.”
“Well, ok, if you’re sure it won’t be
inconvenient?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if it was
inconvenient. Throw your suitcase in back and let’s get going.”
That’s what I did, and it changed my
life forever.
When we arrived at his home, we had an
early dinner after we both took turns getting cleaned up. John grilled up a
platter of BBQ chicken thighs, cooked some mac and cheese and a pot of canned
baked beans he doctored up. I swear, it was one of the best meals I ever had.
After that, he wheeled a fold-up bed into the shed in his back yard and I put
my suitcase up on a box so it was off the concrete floor. I followed him back
to the house and he went through a closet in his bedroom and handed me five
sets of work clothes that hung a bit loose on me, but would work fine. He said
working wasn’t a fashion show anyway. Unfortunately, the pair of used, but good
work boots were too small for my feet, so I asked if there was a shoe store
around and I would buy myself some. He took me to a second hand store that
carried shoes and boots and I purchased a pair of really good hiking boots that
fit me perfectly, heck, they were even broken in already and only set me back
ten dollars.
I put my boots in the shed when we got back
and he told me to join him on the back porch where he had grilled, and we had
eaten our dinner. When he came out of the house, he had two dark bottles that
were shining with icy coldness. “Here, Daniel, try one of these and tell me
what you think.”
“What is it?” I asked as I took the offered
bottle with no label.
“Home brewed Bock.”
“Bock? What’s that?”
“Beer, dark beer. I think it’s pretty damn
good if I do say so myself.”
“Uh, John, I’m not twenty-one yet.”
He smiled and said, “Dan, you’re not going
to be driving tonight, we’re sitting on my back porch, and I want your opinion;
go on, try it.”
I popped off the lid and what looked like
blue smoke drifted up and out of it; not a lot, but definitely noticeable. “Is
it supposed to do that?” I asked.
“Yep.”
I took a tentative sip and allowed it to
sluice over my tongue before swallowing and then breathing it, “Wow, that’s
really good,” I said. I meant it; it was very good.
John smiled and sipped from his own bottle.
“I limit myself to only one beer a night when I’m working the next day because
the alcohol content is so high, but you shouldn’t feel any effects because of
the big meal we had. I don’t drink to get drunk; at least, not anymore.”
I smiled and took another sip. By the time
I finished my first bottle of beer, my brain was humming and not long after
that, John sent me to the shed and bed.
The next day was a repeat of the first, but
we actually worked harder. The piping that was delivered was to be installed on
the second floor of the building and there was more of it for some reason.
Cameron finally told me the extra piping would go into the attic space for fire
protection up there. I was damned sore when we started from the work I wasn’t
used to doing the day before, but the stiffness worked out pretty fast once we
actually started spreading the pipe. At the end of the work day I actually fell
asleep on the way back to John’s home; I was one tired puppy.
Cameron had me shower up first and when I had finished, I discovered he
was once again cooking on the BBQ. This time though he had me watch as six
burgers slowly cooked on the top wire shelf of the grill, while he showered.
When he was done, we worked together preparing veggies and lettuce for a salad.
We both ate two burgers apiece and a shitload of salad, topped with his own
dressing he had prepared fresh. I was pretty well stuffed because the hamburger
patties and buns were the biggest, I had ever seen. When I asked him about the
two extra grilled patties, he said they were for our lunch the next day.
“You mean you have more work for me?” I
asked.
“Yeah, well, I was wondering; do you like
the work you’ve been doing?”
“Yes, Sir, it’s kind of fun learning all
the new stuff you’re teaching me.”
“Do you think you might like to keep doing
it?”
I held my breath for a moment and then,
“Yes, Sir, I mean, you know I need a job pretty bad and…Yes, Sir, I’d
definitely like to keep doing the work.”
He held up one of his index fingers as if
to say, wait, and then walked into the house and came back with two beers; he
handed one to me and when we had opened them he tapped my bottle with his and
said, “Looks to me like you are an official working man.”
“Honest?”
“To God, Daniel, honest to God.”
The immense feeling of relief I felt almost
made me break down emotionally. Life was looking better. “Thanks, Mr. Cameron.
I won’t let you down.”
“No, I don’t think you will. I spoke with
the owner of the company I work for and told them how good of a worker you
were. He is going to pull some strings at the Union Hall and get you listed as
a Probationary Apprentice until the next group starts their classes and you’ll
join up with them for training. In the meantime, you’ll keep working with me
and receiving Apprentice wages.”
“How much is that going to be?”
“Sixteen dollars an hour and after 300 hours
you will have health insurance too.”
“Wow!”
“That’s not all; every six months, if you
pass your classes and get good field reports, you’ll get another raise in pay
over the next five years.”
“Really? Just for learning something I like
doing? Wow!”
John laughed, “Yeah, you get paid for doing
something you like doing.”
That
is what I did for the next five years, I learned my job and all its permutations.
I worked hard and I studied hard. The most important thing was I saved my
money. John had an old Ford Ranger truck in his garage and he gave it to me so
I could have my own vehicle to travel to school. When I finished the
apprenticeship, I became a Journeyman Sprinklerfitter and continued working
with John for another three months before I accepted the first job I ran as a
Foreman. Now I was running a crew and I started doing all of the specialty
systems the company I worked for would install. I found out the Apprenticeship
school was accredited in the local community college and I could apply the
credits to earning an Associate of Arts degree, so I took the rest of the
classes required and received an Associate of Arts Degree in Fire Science. I
discovered I enjoyed going to college so much, I started taking more night
classes while expanding my horizons. Then I heard about on-line courses I could
take and I accelerated the learning process by taking as many classes as they
would allow me too.
Eight years after meeting John Cameron, the
company I worked for asked me to come into the office because they wanted to
ask me some questions about a job they were planning on bidding for. Of course,
I went and discovered they were considering bidding on a government job.
Supposedly, it was going to be completely underground and the project was going
to require multiple types of systems; they wanted me to supervise the
installation if their bid was accepted. I agreed I would, but the project was
going to be a huge undertaking and I really did not think we would be awarded
the contract.
I was wrong.
The company was awarded the contract and
Homeland Security was requesting that the individuals in charge of
acquisitions, design and installation of the fire sprinkler system travel to a
co-ordination meeting in Austin, Texas. I had never been out of California, so
I was looking forward to the trip. We were told to acquire airline tickets and
book hotel accommodations for a period of one week. At the end of the visit we
would receive a check from FEMA to cover all of our reasonable expenses.
The trip was spectacularly boring with long
periods of waiting for meetings to start. Frankly, I thought my presence was
particularly unnecessary, but when I brought up the possibility of leaving, I
was informed that I couldn’t leave until they had received clearance from the
FBI that I was not considered a security risk. That made me rather nervous. Before
the week was up, the three of us received our security clearances after we
signed nondisclosure agreements and were warned to never, under any
circumstances, speak about the job to anyone who had not been cleared by the
FBI. That made me somewhat nervous also. The time frame of the job was listed as
one year and all construction personnel would be housed onsite. All meals would
be provided and the workers would be required to work 21 days straight with ten
days off each month. During that 21 days, no outside contact with non-employees
would be allowed. No one would be allowed the possession of cameras, cell
phones, and on and on. In other words, don’t even think about sharing anything
about the job site. Especially when you visited your family and friends during
your ten days off.
I would stop in at the office every once in
a while, and inquire about the engineering of the job that was officially
referred to as “The Facility”, but no one knew exactly when our portion of the
job was going to start. All the plans were submitted to Homeland Security and
after several weeks we received directions to prepare to start fabricating. I
had spoken briefly with John Cameron about the job, but when I informed him
Homeland Security had told us not to speak to anyone about it, he immediately
said not to discuss the project with anyone, including him. He said his
grandfather had worked on the Manhattan Project and even his wife and kids had
never known what he did there. We never discussed it again.
It was another six months before we were
told to fabricate the pipe for the first phase of the job and prepare it for
shipment. When our head engineer asked where our truckers were to deliver the
materials, he was told the pipe would be picked up by a certified trucking
company and delivered by them to a transfer site where a team of government
contractors would take the material on to the designated work site.
I was given directions to report a week
later with enough personal clothing and toiletry items to last a minimum of 21
days. I was also informed I would receive all meals onsite and there would be
facilities for cleaning my dirty laundry. I was also told “The Facility”, would
provide information regarding my transportation the day before I was to leave.
As promised, the day before my scheduled departure I was informed to be at
Hollywood/Burbank Airport at one AM the next morning. I was told to look for a
desk with the name INSEC on it where someone would assist me and escort me to
the noncommercial plane, I would be traveling in. I would not be passing through
Airport Security gates, so I should feel free to bring larger sized personal
hygiene products, alcohol, anything I might need for three weeks. That was nice
to know; on my first flight I lost several items to security because they were
too large, like shaving cream and such.
I spent the rest of the day making last
minute purchases and telling John Cameron I was leaving that night/morning and
I would be gone for 21 days. He seemed sad to see me go, but said this job
could lead to bigger and better things. I shrugged it off; to me it was just
another job.
John drove me to the airport and we arrived
two hours early for the flight. That’s what you do now days, but the airport
was totally dead. There were people there, but not very many. I said my goodbyes
to John, grabbed the duffel bag I had all of my gear in and strolled into the
building looking for the Security desk. It was easy to find and the two
uniformed guards seemed absolutely bored to death as I walked up to them; they
actually looked relived that something was happening. They didn’t appear to be
your normal TSA employees, but seemed more…I don’t know, maybe, engaged? They
were not wearing TSA uniforms either, they actually appeared more like guys you
would see on a SWAT team. Neither man had a name tag on their shirt, but both
had Patches stuck to a Velcro panel on the right side of their jackets that
simply said INSEC.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m supposed to meet someone
here for a 1 AM flight?” I suddenly felt foolish and ill-informed as I looked
at them. I had no idea of the name of the carrier, who I was looking for, or
anything else.
One of the guards pulled a clip board over
and flipped the cover page. “Name?”
“Uh, Daniel Smith, I work for…”
“We don’t need to know who you work for,”
the guard who was not looking for my name said. “Just answer any question with a
brief, but correct answer.”
His abruptness irritated me a bit, but when
in Rome, “Right, Daniel Smith.” I answered.
“Identification.”
I pulled out my wallet, removed my ID and
handed it to him.
He scanned a short list, looked at my ID,
looked at me and then handed my ID back. Pointing to an area to their right,
the one who handed me my ID stated, “See the three benches within the
rope enclosure?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Take your bag there and have a seat. If you
need to use the facilities, please inform us and one of us will escort you to
the restroom and back. Speak to no one outside the rope enclosure, if someone
approaches you and tries to engage in conversation, ignore them. If they are
persistent, one of us will take care of the problem. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, pretty much stay to myself.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, you might as well escort me to the
men’s room now because I drank a huge cup of coffee on the way here.”
I expected a heavy sigh, or something, but
the one on the right stood up, pushed his chair under the desk and then stepped
around it. “We’ll leave your bag in the waiting area; my fellow officer will
ensure its security.”
“Thank you.” I tossed my bag onto my
shoulder and carried it to the “waiting area,” where I laid it next to one of
the benches and then followed his directions as he walked beside me. “Any idea
how many people will be joining me on the plane tonight?”
“Yes,” that was all he said and I didn’t
bother him with asking how many it would be. Obviously, I didn’t need to know.
By the time 12:30 AM rolled around, there
were twelve people, including yours truly, sitting within the rope enclosure.
None of the people who arrived said a word to me, though a few deigned to nod
at me before sitting down. We waited until 1 AM before the two guards were
replaced by one TSA employee. The two men stood just outside the ropes and
spoke quietly to one another until a third man dressed in khaki pants, a black
polo shirt, black boots, and a lightweight jacket approached them. They handed
him the clip board holding our names and he began speaking.
“Please acknowledge when I call your name by
simply stating, here.” He read down the list of names as each person responded.
Mine was almost last, but one woman’s name started with a Z. I bet she spent
most of her life waiting.
Two men pushing a baggage cart arrived and
loaded everyone’s bags before leaving with them. “Alright,” khaki pants guy
said. “Please follow me.” He immediately started walking away at a brisk pace.
The rest of us followed and he led us to a
set of double doors that were standing open. As we passed through, I saw we
were now outside the terminal and approaching a small jet aircraft. I have only
flown once before when we flew to Austin, but it had been a much larger plane.
There wasn’t even a set of stairs necessary to climb onboard, only three steps
folded down from the aircraft’s side. We filed onboard and moved towards the
front of the cabin where those in front of me sat in the foremost seats and
everyone quickly sat filling in all of the seats. As I sat down, a voice came
over the cabin’s intercom.
“This is your pilot, please remain seated
with your seats in the upright position, we are expecting some rough air this morning.
Keep your seat belts snug and please utilize the bags you will see on the back
of the seat in front of you if needed. We will be departing as soon as the
ground crew has topped off our fuel tanks.” Not much of a soothsayer, I guess.
I turned to Ms. Z and asked in just barely a
whisper, “This is my first flight here, are we allowed to talk?”
She smiled, “Once we are on the plane, yes,
but don’t discuss your job, or the location of the facility.”
“Okay, but can’t we just look out the window
and see where we are going?”
She was an older woman, almost matronly. She
smiled once again and said, “The plastic shutters on the windows? They don’t
open. I’m not allowed to tell you how long I’ve been at The Facility, but it’s
been a while and I have no idea where it is.”
“Wow, I guess they are taking this stuff
pretty serious.”
“You better believe it. The pay is really
good though if they hire you on permanent; especially if they consider you a
must have.”
“Okay, well, I guess I should have brought
something to read.”
She laughed softly, “Yeah, most people catch
on really quick; it can get pretty boring in here. I’ve got a bunch of “Do It
Yourself” magazines and others on off-grid living if you would like one?”
“You know, my friend and I talk a lot about
that kind of stuff; yeah, could I have one of your off-grid magazines to read?”
“Sure,” She reached under her seat and
pulled out a briefcase she had carried onboard. Leafing through her magazines
she pulled one out, “Try this one, it has a good article on building a root
cellar.”
“A root cellar? What’s…”
“The fun is in the finding out.” She smiled
and then returned her briefcase below her seat, “They don’t bother telling
people they can have a small carry-on, so keep it in mind. Sometimes the
flights can be rather long and boring.”
“That’s good to know, thanks, I appreciate
the advice.”
“Sure, I’m going to try and sleep if the
weather isn’t too rough.”
“Okay, thanks again.” I was more than a
little concerned about the possibility of a rough flight. Yeah, I’ve ridden
lots of amusement park rides, hell I’ve probably ridden every one there is in So Cal, but I never did it inside a closed compartment; it was one of the
reasons I wanted to be able to see out. It wasn’t long before I heard a couple
of thuds, actually I felt the thuds rather than heard them, then the engines
began to spin up and you could definitely feel the aircraft start to move. We
wound away from the terminal and after several turns, we stopped and waited a
few moments before the engines began to again spin up faster and you could
sense the buildup of speed. There was a sensation of acceleration and suddenly
the front of the aircraft pitched up, the sound and vibration smoothed and we
were in the air and climbing. We banked to the left for an extended period of
time, then to the right and once again we climbed as the nose of the plane
definitely pitched upwards. A few minutes later, the plane leveled out, the
engines became quieter and I realized we must be cruising at some unknown altitude.
I was really glad I had suffered no discomfort by the maneuvering of the plane
and began to the flip the pages of my borrowed magazine.
After a while, I started to become tired as
the words I was reading began to blur, so I placed the magazine I was reading
in the slot in the back of the seat before me and leaned back in my seat.
Within moments I was asleep.
I was jolted awake four hours later, by the
time of a clock on the wall of the plane, as we seemed to bounce on a runway.
The jet engines suddenly whined louder and then louder yet, as I was pushed
forward against my seat belt. Startled, I looked across the aisle at Ms. Z; she
looked perturbed as she shifted in her seat and braced one hand, with the arm
extended against the seat in front of her. Looking across at me she said, “That
was a bit rough.”
“This is only my second time in a plane,” I
said. “Does that happen very often?”
“No, in fact, usually the landings are much
smoother, but we probably have a stiff crosswind on the runway. Normally they
warn us ahead of time.” She dropped her arm and wiggled her bottom to a more
comfortable position. “They used to use nothing but turbo-props and believe you
me, the vibration in those things will flat numb your ass until it feels like
your lower back is burning. Those used to bounce really good in even moderate
crosswinds.”
“Really?” I asked.
She nodded, but didn’t answer as the pilot’s
voice came over the intercom, “We will be topping off our fuel tanks here, so
when the plane rolls to a complete stop you may visit the lavatory. There will
be snacks and water made available. For those inclined, there will also be
coffee, tea, and hot broth, either beef or chicken also available. Please
remain seated until the aircraft is completely stopped.”
The door we had entered from was opened and
a young Hispanic woman entered and asked each of us what we would like as a
refreshment. I chose chicken broth because I didn’t want any caffeine that
might keep me awake for the remainder of the flight. Within a few minutes we
had all been served and the exit was again closed. We waited, and then waited
some more until Ms. Z said, “I think something is wrong; we never wait this
long just to be refueled.”
“I’ve noticed some sounds coming from the
left side of the plane and I swear we seem to have tilted a bit to the right
side.”
From the seat in front of me, I heard a
man’s voice say, “That was a rough landing, I bet the tire or landing gear was
damaged.”
I started getting a bit nervous, “You think
so?”
“Yeah, it’s
happened before, so no need to sweat it. If they can’t fix it quickly, they’ll
deplane us and either put us on another plane, or bus. They put us on a train a
year or so back, but they had a hard time keeping the windows blacked out with
curtains and other passengers kept trying to enter the car they reserved for
us.”
Again, the pilot spoke to us over the
intercom, “This is the pilot, it looks like we may be here for a short time, we
have notified the Facility and they are making arrangements for a meal to be
prepared for you and brought to the plane. Please be patient.”
I decided to continue reading to pass the
time. After another hour, the exit door again opened and the same Hispanic girl
from earlier entered with two other helpers. They had bags and trays holding an
assortment of burgers and soft drinks. They had no sooner finished handing out
the meal when again the pilot spoke, “Alright, we have been cleared to continue
our trip. Please put on your seat belts and remain seated until we are again in
flight.”
I was almost done with my hamburger when we
began to move again and then accelerated into the sky. One hour and ten minutes
later we began our descent and landed.
I was surprised when we exited the plane,
barely past the wing tip was your typical shuttle bus waiting for us to load
ourselves within. Our luggage was quickly removed from the plane and stuffed
into the baggage bay of the bus. One by one, we stepped onto the bus and took
our seats much the way we had on the plane; the front seats first and then the
rest of the seats as we filed back. The bus could have carried almost twice the
twelve people we were. I was looking forward to finally being able to see out,
but once again, the windows were covered. Not only were the windows covered,
but once we were on the bus and seated, a curtain was drawn that removed our
view through the front windshield. After sitting down, I began rereading the
magazine I had been loaned by Ms. Z.
I read through the magazine from front cover
to back and having finished it I stood up, moved to where Ms. Z sat, and
returned the magazine to her and thanked her for its use. “Any idea when we’ll
reach our destination?”
“About another hour and a half if the
weather has been good and the roads are clear.”
I thanked her again and returned to my seat.
It was mid-morning when we pulled to a stop
and our driver spoke to someone outside the bus. After that we pulled forward
at a much-reduced speed until once again, we stopped and the driver shut-off
the bus. Everyone stood up and began to file off and I followed suit. Once I
stepped off, I looked around and tried to familiarize myself with the surroundings.
We were parked in front of a large patio type affair that fronted what appeared
to be a set of double doors placed within a concrete wall. The wall itself
was embedded in the face of a steep mountain, which was covered with tall pine
trees. The air was crisp and bordering on too cool, so I figured we were at a
much higher altitude than the one we had left in Burbank.
All of my
fellow passengers headed for the double doors and started passing through, so I
decided that was what we were supposed to do, but the driver called me back,
“Mister Smith?”
“Yes.”
“There will
be someone here shortly to escort you inside.”
“Oh, okay,
uh…” I trailed off with the hope he would part with a little more information.
He smiled at
my discomfort, “Yeah, I have never agreed with the way they bring new folks in.
They unnecessarily leave people in the dark for too long.”
“You got that
right.”
He chuckled
and then pointed towards the double doors, “This is probably who you’re waiting
for.”
A man about my
own age, was quickly walking towards me. “Daniel Smith?” He smiled as he
extended his hand to shake, “Dak Sorensen, sorry for the delay, I was held up
in a meeting.”
I shook his
hand, “That’s alright. Will I need to carry my bag in, or do you have a baggage
cart?”
“You’ll have
to carry your bag in, but once we are inside there is an electric golf cart
that I will use to transport you and your bag to your quarters.”
I bent over
and picking up my duffel, I tossed it up on my shoulder, “Good enough, let’s
go.”
When he said
“golf cart” he actually meant, golf cart. I dropped my duffel in the back and
sat down before he drove away down a long wide concrete corridor. I looked up
at the high ceiling and though I was looking carefully, it took me a few
moments to recognize the fire sprinklers that were already installed. “This
corridor already has sprinklers.”
“Of course,”
he answered. “We’re driving through Phase One right now and your quarters are
in Phase Two.”
“Phase Two?”
“Yeah, because the Facility is so large, it was built
in phases; there are six of them and the contract your company holds is Phase
Six. You’re lucky, during the construction of P-1 and P-2 the construction
crews were housed in tents up where the new airport is located.”
“Airport? If
there is an airport, why did the plane I flew in land so far away?”
He laughed
before saying, “Well, let’s just say some of the people assigned here are
somewhat more important than others and demand to be treated in a manner commensurate
with their positions.”
“More commensurate
with their importance, or more commensurate with their perception of their
importance?”
He laughed
again, “I think I’m going to like you, but I’m not touching that with a
ten-foot-pole, if you catch my meaning.”
I smiled and
said, “In other words, when I meet an important person, make sure I don’t
wrinkle anyone’s finish?”
“Exactly.
This project is incredibly expensive and in order to keep costs down and within
budget, the powers that be decided to offer spaces to people who had a great
deal of money to spend, so yeah, don’t wrinkle finishes.”
“Gotcha.”
Turning a
corner, he started up a slight incline that passed through a huge metal door
painted with the designation P-2. It was large enough for an eighteen-wheeler
to drive through. “Damn! The only door I’ve seen like that one is the one at
the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain.”
“Actually,
the door we just passed through is larger than the one at Cheyenne.”
“No kidding,
so I take it P-1 is smaller than P-2?”
“Actually,
no, P-1 holds all of the various different engineering shops, like
Electricians, Plumbers, Pipefitters,” he nodded towards me as he said, “Fire
Protection, HVAC, and so forth. It also holds all of the warehouses and storage
areas, plus the EXSEC Bunker.”
“EXSEC?”
“External
Security.”
“Oh, so they
are sort of the police or security guys?”
“No, INSEC
takes care of any policing or security concerns within the Facility. EXSEC
provides security for the outside. Technically, EXSEC is a part of INSEC, but
because their job is quite a bit different from INSEC it operates pretty much
separate. You’ll meet Lieutenant Packer and Major Phillips in the next few
days, Phillips was in command of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Teams before he
accepted a job here and Packer was an Army Ranger. When he retired, he applied
for a job and they liked him so well, they put him in command of EXSEC.”
“Sounds like
both of them are well-qualified.”
“They are,
but then just about everyone that works here and have been hired on permanently
are well-qualified.” He turned down another corridor and I started seeing more
people either walking or driving golf carts. “We’re almost there,” he said.
“Are you a
permanent hire?”
He smiled as
he gave me a quick look and then waved to someone we passed and they shouted a
greeting. “Yes, I am.”
“I was warned
on the plane not to ask about people’s jobs.”
“No, it’s not
a good idea as far as security goes, but you’re going to learn about the people
you work around anyway. I’m with Human Resources and Warehousing; almost all of
the permanent hires are involved with at least two different employment areas. Sort
of a built-in redundancy factor. In college I studied Business Psychology and
Hotel Management; I got a degree in both fields.”
“Double
major?” If so, I was impressed.
“Yeah, in
fact I was the person that checked your credentials when your name came
through. By-the-way, I have a question for you concerning the classes you have
been taking.”
“Okay.”
“You are a
double major also, History and Communication Studies, why combine those two?”
I shrugged,
“History is interesting and it’s the result of, or the lack of, communication.”
“Ah, okay,”
he said as he pulled to a stop in front of a door. “I looked over your classes
and I think I saw some emphasis in both fields. For History I noticed what I
believe was Genocide?”
I nodded.
“And for Comm
Studies the emphasis was Intercultural Communication?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, that’s
kind of what I thought, but it just seemed strange. Thanks for clarifying that
for me.” He slowed the cart and then parked in front of one of many doors in a
concrete cinder block wall.
“So, are
these my quarters?” Above the door, there was a series of letters and numbers, Ph2L2-61.
“Yeah,” he
said as he slipped out of golf cart while waving a set of keys. Pointing at the
stenciled characters, he said “Phase Two, Level Two, Room Sixty-One. Come on
and I’ll give you the tour.”
I grabbed my
bag from the cart and followed him to the door. “Does everyone new get this
kind of service?”
“Only the
management staff, which as Supervisor for the Fire Protection Crew, you are.”
“I assumed I
would be living in a barracks type environment,” I said as he unlocked the door
that I noticed was steel.
“Most of the
workers do stay in a set of barracks that are job centered. Plumbers in one
wing, pipefitters, etc., foremen and sometimes leadoff guys have their own
rooms in the barracks, but Supervisors have their own apartment.” He pushed the
door in and walked past me into the room.
I followed
and was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t necessarily a large set of rooms, but
it beat the crap out of what I had originally expected. The room we entered was
around twelve by fifteen feet; obviously the living-room, it contained a couch,
two padded chairs that looked like they would be comfortable, a coffee table,
and a low cabinet between the two chairs. On the wall was an entertainment
center with a wall mounted flat screen TV, DVD player and stereo. The
living-room was to the right of the door. To the left was a waist-high counter
and then an entrance into the dining-room/kitchen. A small circular table with
four chairs was first and then the kitchen with a small two burner stove and
oven, all-electric, and a small refrigerator against the left wall. On the
right wall was a sink, counter with drawers and above the counter was a series
of small cabinets. Surprisingly, all the cabinets, cupboards countertops and
appliances were stainless steel. Down a short hall straight in from the
entrance was a bathroom and walk-in closet to the left and a bedroom to the
right. The bedroom was smaller than the living-room, but contained a twin-size
bed, and two nightstands, there was also an additional door in the back wall.
Not bad and like I said before, much more than I expected.
“Nice,” I
said.
“Yeah, they’re nothing like one of the VIP
Suites, but they’ll do. Feel free to bring in your own furniture if you want
and the stand between the two recliners in the living-room has USP ports as
well as Internet hookups if you need them.”
“Cool.”
“On the table
is a welcome pamphlet that explains meal periods, maps, and an explanation of
all the paint stripes you probably saw on the floors outside. Make sure you
read it thoroughly; it will answer a lot of your questions. Did you notice the
phone beside the first upper cabinet in the kitchen?”
“No,” I said
as I walked back to the kitchen. It was stainless also; probably why I missed
it.
“It has the
number printed on the side; make sure you write it down in case someone wants
your private number.” He took a quick look around before saying, “That’s about
it, the motor pool will bring you a cart for your personal use; this place is
huge, so don’t hesitate to use it. Any questions I can answer before I take
off?”
“When will I
be expected to actually start working?”
“Ah, tomorrow
at ten AM there will be a meeting at the Main Construction Office in P-1 to
start coordinating Phase Six, you’ll be expected to be there.” He pulled a
business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “If you have any
question call me, okay?”
“Thanks, I’ll
probably have a few.”
“No problem,
oh, the rear door uses the same key as the front door.” He handed me the key to
the apartment and with a quick wave walked out the front door.
The first
thing I did was carry my duffel bag to the closet and begin hanging my clothes
up. Then I placed the rest of my belongings in the closet, night stands or
bathroom. I found towels and wash cloths in the bathroom with directions to
place soiled laundry in a receptacle outside the back door. The final thing I
put away was my Ruger P89 pistol and spare mags; I placed those in the night
stand beside the bed. With everything done, I automatically reached for my cell
phone and remembered, no cell phones allowed. Then it struck me, I, like many
people, used my phone as my watch, alarm clock, et cetera. I had no way to tell
time within the facility.
I picked up
the in-house phone and dialed “O”, “This is Central Communications, may I be of
assistance?”
“Oh, sorry,
this is my first day at the Facility and I just realized I do not have an alarm
clock, is there somewhere I can acquire one?”
“I assume you
haven’t read the Welcome Pamphlet yet?”
“No, I
haven’t.”
She chuckled,
“Take the time to sit down and read it, you’ll save yourself a lot of
frustration if you do, but to address the immediate situation, there is an
extensive Facility Exchange in Phase 3 where you can purchase items and I know
for a fact they have alarm clocks.”
“Oh, okay, I
guess I’ll do that now then; thanks for your help.”
“Yes, Sir,
goodbye.”
I hung up the
phone and picked up the pamphlet, time to do some reading. Most of the
information in the little booklet was surface info and not very helpful, but it
did tell me how to access more in-depth information through the in-house
technology center. All I had to do was turn on the TV, go to channel 150 and
scroll through the menu. I did and spent the next two hours mesmerized by the
amount of info that was available. There was even a map of the complete
underground complex that could be expanded for closeup views of all the phases,
both those occupied and Phase 6 still under construction. Then I discovered
that if I punched in my starting point and then typed in the number of the room
I wanted to go to, it would show me a path on the map to follow, but it was
also capable of providing me with a three dimensional computer Generated recording
that simulated driving a golf cart, or walking to where you wanted to go. By
the time I was done, I knew exactly where the Construction Office was and how
to get there, but also where the Facility Exchange was, where the Cafeteria was
and several other places I might need to go to in the near future. The people
in charge had a pretty well thought out system to find your way around.
I shut down
the TV and prepared to go to the bathroom when the lights in the apartment
suddenly dimmed, dimmed lower yet, and then went completely out. I was startled
by how intensely dark it became. I mean, dark, as in total blackness. I raised
my hand up and couldn’t even see a vague outline of it. Shit. Standing up, I
started to slowly move towards where I thought the hall to the bedroom was
until my hand felt it. Then I moved down the hall as my fingertips traced the
surface to the bedroom door. Entering the room, I continued to slide my
fingertips along the surface with my left hand out before me until I reached
the back wall. From there, I slid sideways until my left foot encountered the
night stand. Bending over, I opened the top drawer and felt around until my
fingers found the small flashlight I had left there while unpacking my duffel
bag. Switching it on, I shined it around the room after taking a deep breath
and letting it out. I’m not afraid of the dark, but what I experienced was far
beyond dark.
Returning to
the nightstand, I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a pouch for the
flashlight, my multi-tool, and the large pocket knife I had been carrying for
years. I laid the items on the bed and then stripped my belt from the loops of
my pants. I slid the pouch for the flashlight on to the belt and then the
multi-tool before re-threading the belt through the belt loops of my pants. The
knife I slid into my right front pocket of my pants. As long as I was here at
the Facility, I would never, ever, be out of reach of a light.
Then, of
course, the lights came back on.
