constricted the lungs, and made any kind of excessive cardiovascular exercise painful. Those of us who were sane enough to do so got to do light weight training; enough at least to keep fit, if not maintain the muscle mass some of us started with. Exercise releases endorphins, endorphins make us happy, and when we’re happy, we don’t crap in the rec room. Good theory, and based on actual research done by the guy down the hall from me who would engage in the latter activity if not allowed the former.
I couldn’t wait to write my memoirs.
Once upon a time, I had been a muscular fellow. No Schwarzenegger or Stallone, but certainly larger than your average Gold’s Gym toolbox. I still had a decent amount of size to me, but nowhere near the imposing figure I cut in my last film.
Either way, breathing was a happy place for me right now as my lack of aerobic exercise caught up to me.
As the pounding on the door kept up, I pulled the still wet flashlight from my pocket and for the first time, thought to check to see if it worked. A glorious beam of light shot from the lens, and temporarily blinded me as I adjusted to my surroundings.
I was in a narrow, low-hanging chamber, and large, corroded pipes led from my little room down a narrow passageway to a terminus unknown. The walls here were brick, probably the original stuff from the 1890’s. I moved slowly down the passageway, looking over my shoulder to check that the latch was holding strong against my pursuers. Water dripped slowly from the low ceiling, and as I moved further into the dark hallway, the dank, centuries old walls illuminated by the fluorescent glow of my flashlight, it took more and more effort to quell the sense of growing claustrophobia. Shadows created by the severe contrast between light and dark masqueraded as solid entities before me.
I walked for what seemed like hours through the maze of subterranean passages. At times, I would pass side chambers, formerly devoted to storage or some other inane function. Several times, I passed more sinister looking rooms; even a morgue, complete with yawning stainless steel cavities and vacant examination tables. To say that, after my ordeal upstairs, I was less than excited about wandering these dark tunnels with such sights was an understatement.
Eventually, the passageway terminated where a boiler room began, and I faced a grouping of massive furnaces and steaming pipes. I took in the room, checking it from floor to ceiling for potential weapons. No luck on that count, but I did take the opportunity to chuck my blood soaked scrubs and don a dark blue janitorial jumpsuit I found in a locker, being careful to avoid the blood and wipe as much off my skin with the discarded clothes as possible. I checked my hazy reflection in the stainless steel of a water heater, ran a hand through my hair, grabbed my flashlight, and started up the stairs to the only door in the room.
I didn’t know where I was, where I was going, or what the hell I’d do when I got there. The most important thing to me was the sign over the door that promised simply: Exit.
Chapter 4
I opened the door slowly, not knowing what was waiting for me on the other side. It moved easily, making only a brushing, metallic sound as the steel hinges worked against the frame. Quietly, I listened for movement before slowly peering into the hallway. No shuffling, no moaning.
I looked slowly around the corner of the door, ready to slam it shut in an instant. I was in another hallway, identical to the one I left in the last building. Moving cautiously out of the doorway, I made sure not to let it slam shut behind me. The sign on the door frame to my right read “Boiler Room”, surprisingly enough, but gave no further indication of my location. The corridor stretched out straight ahead of me, with closed doors lining the sides. I moved further down the hall, tiptoeing past seemingly empty rooms and abandoned nursing stations. No sounds of movement came
I couldn’t wait to write my memoirs.
Once upon a time, I had been a muscular fellow. No Schwarzenegger or Stallone, but certainly larger than your average Gold’s Gym toolbox. I still had a decent amount of size to me, but nowhere near the imposing figure I cut in my last film.
Either way, breathing was a happy place for me right now as my lack of aerobic exercise caught up to me.
As the pounding on the door kept up, I pulled the still wet flashlight from my pocket and for the first time, thought to check to see if it worked. A glorious beam of light shot from the lens, and temporarily blinded me as I adjusted to my surroundings.
I was in a narrow, low-hanging chamber, and large, corroded pipes led from my little room down a narrow passageway to a terminus unknown. The walls here were brick, probably the original stuff from the 1890’s. I moved slowly down the passageway, looking over my shoulder to check that the latch was holding strong against my pursuers. Water dripped slowly from the low ceiling, and as I moved further into the dark hallway, the dank, centuries old walls illuminated by the fluorescent glow of my flashlight, it took more and more effort to quell the sense of growing claustrophobia. Shadows created by the severe contrast between light and dark masqueraded as solid entities before me.
I walked for what seemed like hours through the maze of subterranean passages. At times, I would pass side chambers, formerly devoted to storage or some other inane function. Several times, I passed more sinister looking rooms; even a morgue, complete with yawning stainless steel cavities and vacant examination tables. To say that, after my ordeal upstairs, I was less than excited about wandering these dark tunnels with such sights was an understatement.
Eventually, the passageway terminated where a boiler room began, and I faced a grouping of massive furnaces and steaming pipes. I took in the room, checking it from floor to ceiling for potential weapons. No luck on that count, but I did take the opportunity to chuck my blood soaked scrubs and don a dark blue janitorial jumpsuit I found in a locker, being careful to avoid the blood and wipe as much off my skin with the discarded clothes as possible. I checked my hazy reflection in the stainless steel of a water heater, ran a hand through my hair, grabbed my flashlight, and started up the stairs to the only door in the room.
I didn’t know where I was, where I was going, or what the hell I’d do when I got there. The most important thing to me was the sign over the door that promised simply: Exit.
Chapter 4
I opened the door slowly, not knowing what was waiting for me on the other side. It moved easily, making only a brushing, metallic sound as the steel hinges worked against the frame. Quietly, I listened for movement before slowly peering into the hallway. No shuffling, no moaning.
I looked slowly around the corner of the door, ready to slam it shut in an instant. I was in another hallway, identical to the one I left in the last building. Moving cautiously out of the doorway, I made sure not to let it slam shut behind me. The sign on the door frame to my right read “Boiler Room”, surprisingly enough, but gave no further indication of my location. The corridor stretched out straight ahead of me, with closed doors lining the sides. I moved further down the hall, tiptoeing past seemingly empty rooms and abandoned nursing stations. No sounds of movement came
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