The I-80

1

We were young, and god, she looked gorgeous as ever that day.

The Nevada air really emphasized her hair, the open window acting as a vacuum for it, letting the bright crimson strands fly under the bellowing of Alanis Morissette. It was just a wave, flowing the same as the car, warping through the harsh conditions going on it’s own journey, inviting me along the way. I couldn’t help but become entranced with her image that day. She was already the reason love constantly coursed through my veins like a virus, but that young image of her made everything tied to her ‘there’. Under her Ray Bans, the ones we found at Goodwill and she had resting on her small freckle speckled nose, she was wearing a Star Wars tank-top. There was a stain in the top right, right on the breast. It had to have been ketchup or something, that was the only way it could’ve been. The only places along the I-80 were restaurants, mostly McDonalds and Burgers, Burgers, and Fries sat off in the panhandle of the long stretch of road. Especially in the desert of Nevada, where a gas station was only present after the tank was completely out. Maybe it was the heat bringing them inside out of the world, but she definitely didn’t care. That stain, and the heat, and the lack of scenery, still kept a Cheshire grin spanning her face while the world inched over the horizon. A smile that created stars from it’s reflection, and being our headlights when the dark sky clouded over, and we opened up the hatchback to throw out our feet and see the sand blow gently. Those nights when there wasn’t a motel near, those were the best nights. They made it more personal, more intimate, more other-worldly for us. And when it was back on the long stretch of asphalt and dust, we wished that a motel wouldn’t show. I kept at staring at her almost the entire way down the road, the heat coming by in a warm breeze that just acted as a sort of nagging in my neck. Nothing annoyed me for that month out on the road, just driving to get a view of the world. New York to California, and back again. The world was our oyster.

“Alright, if we hit the reservation by at least two, then I think we can pass over into Salt Lake before night hits us hard. God I can’t wait to get a Mormon tainted sandwich over there.” She had the MapQuest papers in her hands, shuffling through them like old documents being brought to a deposition.

“After that hotel, I’ll take anything food wise.”

She laughed, “You know Rich, they weren’t that bad. The eggs were worse if we’re getting there.”

“Oh come on, those waffles were soggy to all hell. They had a bitter taste. There was no syrup. It was basically just like eating a bed’s backboard.” I replied, keeping the music turned down slightly.

“Look, we’re both in agreement that it was shit-awful. But god damn, you can’t deny wanting some club sandwiches out in downtown Salt Lake? Maybe something down at That Sandwich Shop.” She pushed in on my side, making me laugh.

“Come on now, I’m driving.” She kept at it, and my smile grew.

“Maybe we could have some after dinner cunnilingus, and fall asleep to one of your old movies babe. Get all weird. Maybe wear that lace thing.”

Despite the impact I would have felt at the time from her disregard to my movies, I couldn’t help but I feel a bit turned on from her offer, and my smile grew like my pants, as awkward as that sounds.

“Sounds like a plan. But maybe we should wait until this traffic clears up to start thinking about what we’re going to be doing hon.” I let out a half-assed laugh, and she followed, slugging my shoulder, and leaning back against the dashboard, gazing out the window at the dust tornadoes and wild animals cowering in holes scattered along the road’s own shoulder. Her name was Jennifer Koffer, and she was the love of my life. Our relationship was at the peak that summer, along with the heat and constantly shifting smells. It was as strong as a girder, and she was the bolt.

That was the first month. There was no second month.

Our trip was continuing backwards, our little Station Wagon sputtering back across the I-80 back to New York, taking as many detours as we wanted. The roads were very windy, leading us to the same place in the end, but we just wanted to explore as much as we could before she had to go off to another year at Cornell. I could tell it was taking a toll on her. High school was a breeze for her, I could always tell just from the way she would talk to me on the phone afterward. No strain from studying on that little rose petal colored bed all night, only a giggle at my dumbass jokes. Even then, her hair was red like fire. A small crooked nose to accent it, and a case of shining blue eyes to make it all seem like a manic pixie girl I’d read about in forums, and think about when watching movies. She was my Charlie Kauffman character, my Clementine Kate Winslet. I’m slowly losing those memories of her before the road-trip, before we found that thing in the road, and it’s burning at me. I can’t forget it. Dishonoring her like that, is just something that would be less hateful than burning her casket. Giving up that memory like its a cigarette bud, knowing everything would fizz off into the great unknown, and letting it happen.

I have to remember those nights when she would come over to ease me.

When I would cry, and she would be my only company to keep me sane and able to go on in the day, able to see the sunshine between the thick clouds. Past the jets and chirping birds, and at the big ball of light and life.

My doctor says the memory thing is a sort or response to what happened. That it was the pills that were slowly eating away at my only source of happiness over those past few years with her, and swallowing it down like a perfect cut of steak. Showing me every movement in the throat, while I can only watch from a locked box. So, I might as well go over it until it’s gone too. Maybe it’ll stop the rest from fading away. I don’t know.

Her favorite movie was Rafifi, she was always into those heist movies. Oceans Eleven was almost my favorite, and I can’t even count how many times I tried to convince her that it was better. Her favorite flower was a white rose, especially purple splotched ones, looking diseased and almost like mistakes. She loved the purr of Harley motors when we went glancing through the engines in my father’s repair shop, looking at all the pistons and cylinders moving like clockwork. Since she was a little kid, her fondness for the clouds stood out. They were like spirits for her, dancing in the pale sky, waiting for a gust to ship it away. Those afternoons of watching them was the most amazing thing I remembered.

Wait, no no, that’s off track. The trip, that’s what the doctor wants.

Out trip had started as a joke. Like the days of watching clouds, it came under the impression that the world was our oyster. My dad hated that saying, but he didn’t hate saying yes. Her days and nights were jam packed with studying for her engineering degree and drinking small shots of Peppermint Schnapps, leaving me to think under a lamp for our schedule. We wanted to go big. We wanted to see the world before responsibility completely took over and left us stranded in the suburbs with a few kids glued to our hips. Everything planned and everything talked about revolved around getting into some shenanigans that John Hughes would write about. He was another movie guy she adored more than me.

In total, I think we took three months of restless sleep over money problems and filled in sketch-pads with doodles of random interstates running through each David Lynch type town that we could find, wanting to discover each nook and cranny. And then after packing our bags into my little car, we left on June 23rd, 2003.

We were just in the middle of Nevada, maybe slightly north, twenty or so miles past Indian’s Peak, and our tank was at just about half way down the line. The Station Wagon didn’t hold the most, but enough to survive the trip without having to worry too much about location over price. My pack of Red Apples was crumpled on one side, and the lighter was weighing down the front pocket of my flannel over-shirt. I don’t remember what was under that, maybe a plain Nike shirt or something, but that didn’t matter. Just as the last car was out of view, I spotted something in the road. Heat waves were coming off of it, and the redness of it’s flesh stuck out like a sore thumb. Almost literally.

It glistened like a traffic cone, and without even knowing it, my foot began hovering over the break.

“Shit, there’s something in the road.”

She looked away from the window, and winced at the sunlight, but that still couldn’t stop her view from being intervened with. “That thing is huge. Is it a deer?”

I chuckled to her demise. “Doubt it. It’s probably just a fox or something.”

We started to slow down a bit once I actually did see it. It was protruding from the road, sprouting up and showing all that it could. No fur, no visible features, nothing but a thick brown color. The Alanis was still playing, and the smell of the summer heat still wafted through our noses, until it was just in view, and we had come to a complete stop about forty feet away. The interstate was barren as the land around it, and so was my mind when it was there. A huge heap of something lying in the road, steaming off its essence while we watched. Wide eyed, bushy tailed, our minds were blank. My hands felt greasy against the wheel, and my throat felt swollen and dry. I stared.

“The hell is that?” There was a tremble in her voice. Shaky like a drumskin.

My hand was resting on the door handle, and the puttering of the engine was growing louder by the second. The gas output matching the beat of my heart. Our windows were still open, and at the time, I didn’t know why I hated having them like that. It was a sort of mental tick to have them shut when still, and this was something revolving around that philosophy, and something else.

The world went quiet.

My car was always something special. It had been the first hunk of metal I got from my parents after the end of sophomore year, when my license finally went through with the DMV, following a three month wait.

My breath felt like steam, and the door clicked. “Stay here, I’m gonna go check it out.” I knew she wanted to say something, but she stayed silent and instead gave off her feeling with a sigh.

Once my Nike hit the asphalt, melting into it almost right away, I felt naked in the heat.

In the car the world seemed cramped, and outside, the world seemed empty and constant. Like the real world I guess, but it was suffocating being out there. The body of something was only a ten second walk away, and by god, it was huge. I wanted to be cramped, I wanted to be trapped in my own imagination again. A scent hit me like a truck peering over the horizon.

It was the biggest corpse I’d seen of any animal on the road. There’s the occasional raccoon, and maybe even a deer, but this was a creature. The gas kept puttering under the scorching heat, beads already moving down my neck. I couldn’t feel it, but it was as present as the body.

Why was I so scared?

Afterward, I knew I was only jittery and terrified because in the back of my mind, I knew what it was. It wasn’t human, it wasn’t an animal of the barren wasteland set before us. It was just a roadblock. As a kid, I knew that roadblocks were precautions, and things set up for the needs of safety, and my little head kept doing what it did, and made something of it. A monster, under the bed, defying every need for safety, with the fact that nothing could stop it from eating and chewing and killing me. Off, far ahead, it was just a monster on a bed. One of those that had rows of thumbtacks lining their mouth, with a vicious snarl complimented by a pool of drool. I would call the monster ‘Denny’ or something to sooth the fear, until it took me. That doesn’t work when you’re mind comes up blank though, does it? I thought it was covered in a big tarp at first, but no wind could confirm or deny it for me. It was shiny and wrinkly, and almost having a shaking presence. That monster was quivering, like it was see through and had smudged marker for eyes.

The heat made the corpse as shiny as a pool.

My eyes stayed glued, while I continued up the road, my head throbbing under the sun and feeling the terrible fate coming up, under the tangy smell growing stronger. It wasn’t something I recognized, but assuming was easy. It was the scent that came with the lose of life, as corny as that sounds.

“Richard, just come back to the car, we can drive around.”

I kept going. “No, it’s fine sweetie.” Something about it was drawing me like a fish on a reel, with the hook stuck deep in my gum, and that bait tasting like a butterscotch candy from my Grandma. She always had them, and I must’ve eaten maybe four hundred in my life.

Her uneasiness was more present than the smell, and I felt terrible moving up, but it needed to be seen. For some reason.

My sneakers stopped, as soon as the corpse moved.

The desert seemed more closed after I gulped at the sight of ruffling. It wasn’t a tarp, it was skin, writhing underneath the desert heat. The dust shuffled across the road. The smell then seemed more familiar. A twitch in my nostril, drawing the first connection between this thing and any sense of a thought in my head. Suddenly, I felt a rush of swamplands, and a hot and thick air surrounding me, and finally the shagged beard hanging from my grandpa’s face like a bundle of vines. Him and I would always go fishing every Sunday, and under the smells of canned beer and diesel, there was the heavy smell of swamp water, and fish, and everything else. It had the ability to linger for days, sticking sweetly, with nothing but a rotting and wet smell coming from everywhere. Flower shops, dinner, deodorant, it was all that same smell.

And so was this thing laid out in front of me, now shifting a lot faster, hurrying to get along with it’s day it seemed. The tarp like skin started shifting again, glossy and hitting my eye.

Jennifer’s breath was all I could hear. It was soft like her skin, and I just wanted to be back in the car, back in the blow back of heat washing in through the window, treating the gas station pine freshener like a pinwheel in a Swedish field.

“Richard. Come back to the car.”

Her voice was more faint, just like a inner-mind voice trying to make their way to the ensemble of main characters running the show in the frontal lobe. I was being yanked away from my love from a fucking smell. The smell of gasoline starting to finally overpower it, and the sound of the engine deafening out the ambient soundboard of the desert. I should’ve gone back.

At the time that Richard found the creature, the big red button was pressed just a few miles away by a Dr. Zimmer. Being last resort, his hand came off as sweaty as Richard’s forehead when he first saw the cause for such an event. He, unlike most of the others there, was relaxing behind the control booth to the cage room, enjoying a ham sandwich that his wife had made and packed in his lunch sack. It was no office, just a control panel covered in glazed stains, with his ass planted down in an IKEA office chair eating his lunch. He personally it could have used some more mayonnaise, but nodded off of it. He was hitting the tenth hour of his shift, a day of sitting in silence with the faint beat to a song in the break room across the hall, and waiting for the other doctors to show back up from their meeting. It was the same day as always, but with less people. Being crowded was never one of it’s traits, sitting at a solid 32 workers (based on the papers he swiped from the copier to bring to the boss man). They were all headed to check out a problem at the Atlanta CDC plant, leaving only about a dozen guys behind to keep things up and running, but Zimmer seemed to be the only one there. For the past few days, he hadn’t really heard any boots clapping against the linoleum, and only saw real flesh and blood when Jimmy came to take his place for the night until morning. And the silence was starting to get louder. No phone-calls, no coffee runs, nothing. But as soon as the alarms started blaring, the sandwich became the second thing to cross his mind with discourse.

The world suddenly became lopsided, and Zimmer inhaled what he could, before getting back to the problem. His first thought was going back to training, a day that seemed like years before, and hearing every detail uttered by the head scientist of the time. Each sense being pushed into twelfth gear, and a warning being pushed in front of the camera lens while he watched the cages through the paned windows begin to open at a rapid pace. No paws yet. Everything was written in cold undeniable facts on the brick wall in front of him, spelling out what to do.

Fuck shit fuck.

Priority one, cages. Okay we have to hit those fast, and then work on shutting down the building. Lockdown mode initiated mofos.

The drill came at him like the shape spawning in over the asphalt horizon, and Zimmer did all he could. The feeling in his stomach tasted a lot like stale bread and ham, getting more and more sour as it came up and hit his throat, but his fingers kept moving and moving. His lab coat felt like a weight jacket, giving him a brief instance of PTSD from high school gym. As soon as the button was hit, he felt a was of relief hit him first, with the collective sound of slamming metal sounding like a chorus of angels letting loose their best impression of Robert Plant. It was glorious. His hand came off, and moved along the board, checking everything of the list.

Each and every one of the cages possessed something he had no knowledge of. They only stood beyond the window, sitting vacant, as far as he knew. He knew from the beginning that that stood out as weird. The only time he was told any information about them was during the training.

It was just a regular day, with only the occasionally heavy weight of stress holding him down into the mud, dirtying up his old homecoming suit. It was the only one he could find, but it was nice and it would work. He had gained a bit of extra luggage, according to his wife, so the suck-gut maneuver was his best friend. He had lived in Reno at the time, under the roof of a small apartment complex called Sandy Acres. It always came off as a senior resort name.

Taking their old Plymouth Fury across the desert sure seemed like an escape, but the further he jetted through the dust covered rock surface landscape that was the desert, the more it seemed sketchy. Driving in the desert was always a bad idea. Flashbacks of The Hills Have Eyes and The Twilight Zone came by, but the sound of rubber flapping against broken down road kept him stationary, with his eyes on the road. It was a place that always seemed more empty than it need to be, the desert. There was never a reasonably sized hunk of sand and scorpions, it would always leave the eye gasping for a different view sitting over the hills and far away, but stayed vacant until something was out of the ordinary. That was sadly the most uncommon thing out in Reno, and the desert as a whole, predictability.

Sure seems fishy. They’re further out than the Road Runner.

It didn’t take too long to see the glistening of silver over the cacti fields. Right up against a giant burgundy plateau, the building rested like a pillow, almost looking just like a giant mirror. If so, Zimmer was too blind to see it. He threw on his aviators and kept moving, breathing heavily under his sweaty forehead. The size of the establishment was almost mind-blowing, probably tripling the land area of Carson Industries, a place that he only wanted to forget and let it ferment in alcohol. The road kept on for about half an hour after, and ended with a barricade. It jutted out like a car with hydraulics, a man sitting in bright green fatigues with an M4 resting against the little cottage like parking booth. His soon to be sunburn was easy to notice, and the vision tied to the interview shifted. Once it was just some regular research center, now it was the CDC headquarters, but with less guards. The M4 made Zimmer finally see the mirror, but kept going. Just out of panic, he turned off his TLC CD, and rolled down the dirt road with his eyes locked on the M4, as clean as the dickens.

He came to a stop, and the M4 stayed off safety.

“Afternoon sir. License please.” The officer asked. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old.

He quickly complied, shaking while their hands came close to touching.

A quick scan, and the metal made Zimmer breath harder. “What’s your business here sir?”

Stuttering, “I’m here for an interview with Doctor Ulysses Angkatell. We have an appointment at 3:30 for the guard technician position. My name is Derek Zimmer.”

The officer stood stiff. “I know, it’s on your license.”

He took a minute, Zimmer doing his impression of a scarecrow, until the license was being held right below his nose. The officer was breathing a little harder now, but in a more friendly way. His voice came out dry, parched, and a ray of heat was scanning his forehead. His pores started appearing like groundhogs, and he seemed about a decade older than he previously thought.

“Okay Mr. Zimmer, my name is Sergeant Andersen. From here on out, you are not allowed to access any electronic items. You are not allowed to enter an unregulated area that is off-limits to citizens. There are no questions for the big honcho of this establishment. Do you understand?”

The secrecy almost made Zimmer want to see what the true consequences of a little rebelling would get him. Just spouting out a little sentence regarding what the mens restroom smelled like, he expected lemon, and how his life would follow after that. Maybe they’d get him arrested or—

(you’ll be killed Derek)

He nodded at the man, creating a bright smile in the white light.

“The citizen parking lot is up above, to the left, right under the gravel hill leading towards the sun. Have a good day sir.”

A half-terrified smile responded, and the candy cane gate lifted to let his pass through so he could finally breath. The sun beating like a drum felt like clockwork, and he started heaving heavier, a button feeling like it would pop. After that, he found everything a blur. The car was parked right in the middle of two company Hondas, and then the sun made the world go into full whiteness.

I stood my ground.

Lunging up, we were facing each other straight on.

It was up on all fours now, staring right through me. I was just a plaything for whatever the fuck that thing was, and it was my fault honestly. Anybody could say that it was the creatures fault for deciding to just randomly take a nap in the middle of the I-80, and collectively mine for thinking I could help it. No one could deny that it was all my fault, the one who walked out there out of pure curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, isn’t that what they always say. The thought of Jenni watching made him shake in his shoes.

The road was infinite right then and there, and I was shivering in the naked heat, yearning for something. The waiting was killing me more than what it was about to do to me, I felt life being sucked out, my heart beating like a bongo drum while everything went numb and lifeless. The creature was snarling, drool pooling under it’s feet, or paws, whatever it had, and I could feel it’s breath hitting my feet in patterns, eyes completely shut, leaving me to just see slits. What a real mexican standoff, huh Dick. Fate being locked in, I just wanted to wait.

Jennifer was sitting in the front seat, eyes opened like fishbowls through the slightly cracked windshield at some sort of movie scene unfolding in front of her. Her skin feeling like paper, about to tear from the slightest movement of wind.

The creature kept still, mouth open.

I could’ve sworn it was covered in blood. The tarp like skin was ruffling with such fluidity, and only then did the short mangy fur start to become noticeable. It was buzzcut, but it still as dark as a closed off basement. Dark and disgusting.

More than anything, I was hoping that Jennifer was reaching for the gun in the glove compartment. It was only a small .22, and probably wouldn’t even dent the Lovecraft baby in front of me, but when damage does nothing, sound is a close second to scare it off long enough to get back behind the engine, and start moving back down the interstate towards a new adventure that doesn’t involve a ripped out throat. Always, always always always, she took her stand, and I was almost more afraid of that. So I hoped she was reaching for that gun.

She wasn’t though.

Jennifer was shifting into the drivers seat, tensing her muscles to hell while trying to move as slowly as possible. Her jeans were audible from where I was, and it only made me want to scream out to stop, but that would’ve meant my ass too. The leather squeaked, and the stick clicked, before it started growling, and it’s eyes opened up. They were a sickly pale yellow, the same as a lemur, and open for the world to see. What a self-centered bastard. They reflected the light off, grounding their position as just a pair of marbles stuck in it’s head. Its growl turned into something filled with flem and flesh. My feet started turning, I could feel my pants getting damp.

My hands rubbing against themselves, my heart racing, and the engine purring like the creature. It started moving into a different stance, it’s marbles dilating.

I knew Jennifer was about to do something stupid. She always wanted to play hero, and it never helped. She was just going to get herself hurt. This time more than anything. My hands were patting against the damp denim, and the heat was just the past, my stomach let me know that much.

The engine’s purrs shifted, the floor shifting with the weight of the creature dispersing and moving forward towards me. No, towards the car. It’s marbles weren’t directed at me anymore, they were spotting the next kill to fill its stomach, sitting through a windshield, with just as much panic filling her lungs.

It’s feet moved, just as fluid as it’s eyes.

All I was able to do was throw myself out of the way and scream, “JENNI!”

Spinning downward, my right arm smacked against the dirt in the shoulder of the road, and I heard the tires screech into a thud. The sudden noise took me from the blinding pain filling my elbow, and my view switched up past the edge of the road to see the two head to head. The car shooting back smoke trails from the tires, and the creature biting into the front tire axle. Jennifer screamed bloody murder, and then it raised up and fell into the windshield.

My feet shot up, dirt evaporated in the air, and I ran. My arm was burning more. The creature was now inside the windshield, and my hearing went out. There was no engine purr, there was no shattering glass, there was no razor sharp growl filling me with terror. Stumbling up the shoulder of the road, my hand caught the passenger side door, now dinged to hell and pushed in, and grabbed on to the handle. That was the moment that I realized that I was still in the hottest part of our world, and yelped backwards from the steaming metal.

SAVE HER!

One more time, I grabbed the handle, pulling it open this time to give me a view of the creatures mid-day snack. It burned like hell, but didn’t scorch me like the air. Or the sight.

The smell of the swamp hit me hard. As hard as the scene almost, but definitely not as much. My mind fell blank at the sight, the sun hitting the tarp like skin stretching through the windshield like a cat reaching for it’s little toy. That’s all she was to that thing, a toy. She was lying against the front seat, a place I would fill the entire trip, mouth torn open from fear and a blood soaked and flesh covering hole in the middle of her chest, her breasts raw and candy red. My stomach over turned and I gagged at the sight, but stuck in shock. Her tank top was a rag, and hung loosely from her shoulder. The creature continued munching atop her stomach, it’s front paws leaning on her thighs, leaving small dents that bled like a stuck pig, her jeans were just as torn as the shirt, with loose fabric fluttering with each movement. The blood soaked fur of the creature stayed pitch black, but her hair stayed just as red as her insides.

The world suddenly came back, and the tears were sensitive to my sun-burnt nose, and the sight made them make sense. I looked away to find my object of interest, the prop of my scene, and saw the glove compartment covered in shredded plastic. My hand almost jutted back from the small sensitive spot on my hand that was burnt, and I still opened it, revealing my small pack of cigarettes, CDs, and a .22 Colt resting atop a box of rounds.

The creature’s masticating slowed.

It was already loaded, making it easier to get into business.

The world went silent again, with the engine now completely off.

Now in my hand, I cocked the pistol, and saw the marbles looking at me now, one paw now stuck right where her ribs had been.

With no hesitation, and my teary eyes almost completely compromising my shot, I hoped for the best and watched the hammer fall back until it clicked, and the road gave no dialogue. The air only smelled like a swamp.

The door to the head honcho’s office was probably the most fancy door Zimmer had seen, if there was even such a thing.

With the gold frame showing it off like a king, the royal highness’s name was right in the center with similar colored letters saying ULYSSES ANGKATELL; Ph. D. The presence of that last part made it almost seem cheesy and full of itself, but Zimmer was in no position to make that remark, he thought he was hot shit because he drove a Plymouth, the holy art of cars in his mind. Breathing heavy, he knocked the door the receptionist left him at, and waited for the shapes behind the frosted glass to move. And they did.

A click left him face to face with the sweater coat wearing, and bald sporting boss.

“You must be Derek?” He reached out his hand.

“Yes sir, that would be me Mr. Angkatell. May I come in?” He asked, sending Ulysses into a small fit of laughter, making him sweat a little more.

“Well if you couldn’t, I wouldn’t have called back, would I have?” His front arm came out, leading him in.

His office was something straight out of an episode of The West Wing. Right in the middle was his desk, with a pair of dinosaur curtains and tall window behind it. It was one of those old Credenza desks that would be filled to the brim with stuff, but everything seemed to be up top for him. Each corner held a huge stack of papers, with the closest one to the door taking the spot for looking closest to a tree in height. His laptop was neatly placed neatly in the middle, his cup of pens and pencils right behind that. It was neat and messy, with his certificate and art covered walls showing that even better.

Zimmer fell into one of the chairs in front of the desk, and watched Ulysses do the same on the other side, and fetch a folder from the tree pile. He could easily spot his name on the cover of it.

“So, Reno huh? Was never much of a small town guy, could never stayed too cramped. My wife says it’s claustrophobia getting to me again, but I think it’s just the interaction. Ya know? Having to really know everybody to just be able to buy a can of beans without arousing any suspicion from those bible munchers. My dad was the same way, always making us move into apartment buildings right in the middle of downtown, anywhere. Even after he died, we stuck to that same pattern just because of the idea of conformity. But you seem to only do the opposite, am I right? You a fan of the suburbs?” He fingered through the few pages.

“Yes sir. I grew up in Pandamaram, right on the coast, up until I turned eighteen and moved out with my then girlfriend, my wife as of six years ago. We decided to keep at that, because it felt more comfortable, keeping my jobs real constrained by that.” The sweat wasn’t there, and he felt comfortable around him almost.

“You ever take a job in the city?”

“Yes. When we lived in Idaho, I took up a job in the middle of downtown Boise for an insurance company, Carson Industries, until I got a job offer in Reno and took it. It wasn’t the coziest place to work, since it was more of a small town trying to act as a city, but the components were still there.”

He flipped another sheet and shot him a glance past the laptop. “At your last job, you worked as the head of operations, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

The window seemed a bit brighter, and he squinted, feeling his sweat move down the base of his nose. “Tell me about that, if you will.”

“Well, the company was Cisco Systems, and I worked out in a small branch just outside of a huge building in Las Vegas. There were maybe a dozen or so guys really working for that area, with me leading them. The boss was Garrett Edwards, and he didn’t know anything about computers. Not in the slightest. His mind was more magnetized to business really, when you think about it. We always joked about it, the head of a computer branch didn’t even know how to update his operating software. It was probably the only thing that made it so that I could lead them though. He left on the account of retirement, considering the guy was reaching his late seventies, and made me his replacement. It was a good gig for a few years, great pension and such, but a few months ago they decided to close down the branch and focus more on the big thing, you know how it is. And after a few interviews, and a good phone-call, here I am sir.” The monologue seemed to please him, and he put the folder back down on his desk, the smile completely wiped from his face.

“Do you know what we do Mr. Zimmer?” His bald head seemed more menacing, and Zimmer wanted to laugh more than anything.

“From what I remember, you all work for the CDC, as a sort of research facility, sir.”

The answer seemed to please him, and he looked entirely different than from the door. Bags had appeared under his eyes, and his sweater vest was darker shades of purple. The room was getting cramped.

“And why must you work here?”

“Because I believe in the safety of Americans, and knowing that I’m very acceptable in my field, I think I would be a great asset in helping with it.”

Ulysses grabbed a paper from the top of the pile, and a pen from the jar, and started scrambling. Only a doctor’s signature was noticeable, the rest was gibberish. After a minute, it was slid out past the laptop and was on Zimmer’s lap.

“I like you Derek, you have a good head on your shoulders. We don’t get many of those here. And based on everything I just heard and read, I know you’re no faker trying to get in the world of government to have your pants filled, or to document some shit like a regular Sinclair. But I can’t let you join out little shebang if you don’t know the rules.” His smile was back, but it wasn’t filled with joy.

“Of course sir. What are they?” He asked.

“Does that mean you are completely in for the job Derek, no backing out?” That stopped him, and left the room cramped and smelling of chlorine. When someone asks that, it almost seemed necessary to immediately back out and run for the door where he could just land a small job at a Sprint store and make a good enough wage to support Christmas. But he didn’t want mediocre anymore, maybe that was his reasoning.

“Yes sir.”

“Okay Derek. Rule number 1, no photography or phone calls are allowed on the premises of this building, unless the messages are going to those inside the building, like me; Rule number 2, you are not to release any notes you are required to take for the training course, or of anything you see during your shifts under any circumstances, or you will be sued into the ground; and Rule number 3, no touching the control board you will be working behind, unless the alarm has been told. You will be told more about these during training, but do you understand this?”

He dryly swallowed, and replied, “Yes sir.”

Ulysses smiled, and pulled out the forms for his job. It seemed polite not to ask anymore about the job considering, well, Zimmer couldn’t afford to flake out of another interview. He didn’t even ask about the next of kin question.

Or blood type.