He hopped down off the wall.

 

After a while they hadn’t bothered to fix him anymore.

 

He rubbed his head. But the pains were now more consistent and more frequent. He

didn’t know why. He walked back to the van and drove off, passing by a row of

officers’ quarters.

 

A world of memories had flooded back to him as soon as he had seen Fort Monroe.

But none like the ones he had recollected when he stopped in front of what was

known back then as Building Q. It was set off in a remote part of the fort. It

had large buffers of empty land around it. There was a high perimeter fence with

concertina wire. There were gates with armed guards. Their job had been to keep

some folks out and other folks in.

 

He was one of the other folks.

 

Unlike many of the large commercial-sized buildings around here, Building Q was

not empty. The parking lot inside the fence was full of cars. The lights inside

were on. As he watched, someone came out of a side door, moved away from the

building, and lit up a cigarette.

 

The concertina wire remained on top of the fence. The gates were manned by armed

guards. He wondered if the electronic security system was still active.