Finding Hope

Chapter Four

We enter through the pressurised door into the corresponding room, Brandon and I are the first through. My ears pop in response to the pressure dropping. The two goons follow shortly behind and carry out a procedure to pressurise the door again and ensure complete containment is achieved. 

The room I now find myself in is only slightly less primitive than the rest of the facility, so far. I explore the room, darting my eyes from right to left.

However, what I see in front of me doesn't offer many answers. I can feel one of the goons watching me out the corner of his eye.

What doesn't he want me to find or see?

I stare up in awe of Mother Nature, at the stalagmites hanging from the ceiling. The walls adorned with a red rock façade. My eye is then cast to the caravan come trailer that is situated over in the far corner; it looks as though it has been adapted as the windows have metal bars securing them, and the door has been replaced with a lockable, secure metal shutter. On the opposite side of the room to the trailer is a row of cubicles that makes my stomach turn.

Whilst at first, they seemed fairly ordinary, it's not until I realise that they have prisoners inside that I really take notice.

Brandon, seeing the concern on my face looks me dead in the eye,

"What you are about to see, man, will be shocking, but you'll be okay."

I can't help but feel more concerned by this admission, and so, in the only way I think appropriate, I respond to him in an aggressive tone,

"I wasn't worried, but I am now." However, in truth I am far from just worried. Fear and panic are long gone and are instead replaced by complete blood boiling anger.

"You have said nothing to me since we got here, and now you drop that little bombshell." I am gesturing wildly with my hands pointing at the cubicles and then Brandon.

In doing so I feel my hands shaking, the blood coursing through my veins must actually be boiling. The heat races straight to my face and beads of sweat form on the edge of my brow. My heart once again wants to escape through my chest, and the pressure against my ribcage is intense. Taking deep breaths, I grab my chest and turn from Brandon. The powerful feeling pulls me forward, I am now hunched over.

Ah what is happening to me?

I drag myself up straight, in an attempt to combat the feeling that is surging in my chest. It's not long before my attention is now fully fixed on the glass cages as I make my way across to take a closer look, starting at the first cubicle on the left as I enter the room.

Why the hell are they in these cages?

I physically leave my shoes upon approach; the head of a zombie hits the inside of the glass.

"What the fuck?" an explosion of blood and mush splats across the glass.

Hunching over, I turn my back from the cage, the last remaining contents of my stomach leave. The floor is now a Jackson Pollock of my own creation.

"What the hell is wrong with them?" I aim the question at Brandon.

The ease in which the head was pulverised against the glass is unnerving.

I don't get an answer from Brandon, so I straighten myself up, wiping my mouth of vomit. My throat is red raw from the retching, feels like I've swallowed glass.

Why the hell am I here and will I end up in one of these cages?

Feeling a little reluctant to see what else is in store, I make my way down the row and soon pick up an interesting pattern.