 After this, I am going off grid. After I speak the truth, I join the army on my 18th birthday, a boy from a small town who was a half measure excited and half a measure terrified as the truck packed with recruits pulled up outside the gates of the compound that was to be our home for basic training. I remember it all so clearly. The moment when I piled out of the back of the truck, the sight of huts stretching as far as my eyes could see. The scowl on the face of the man who would become my tormentor and inspiration drill Sergeant Mallory. He was a 30 year veteran who looked enacted like he started his day sitting in a bath of scalding hot water, bringing his temper to the boil and reddening his grizzled face. His first words to me were, I hate you. This I soon realized was nothing personal. It was just the first step in breaking us down so he could build us back up. Ten weeks later, on the day we shipped out at the end of our basic training, I stood on the parade ground and saluted him with respect and gratitude in my heart. I had no idea where I was headed for as we set off a few hours later. I suspected I was still too green, but hoped my destination would be one of the conflict zones that my country had its finger on. Not officially at war, but with boots on the ground and bristling for a fight. After a days long hard ride, we finally ground to a halt. The NCO yelled at us to get off our butts out of the truck, and we were only too glad to oblige, stepping out, and seeing hills. Not a military airport, not a waiting troopship, but a scrawny looking set of hills that stretched to the horizon. There was no sign of civilization, just the road we'd driven in on and our small group milling around. My comrades' disappointed expressions mirrored my own. I rubbed my chin and cracked a joke about ordering in pizza. No one left, especially the NCO, who had undergone the sense of humor removal procedure required for promotion to this elevated position. An officer appeared, wherefrom I did not see, and while we hurried to stand to attention and salute, he looked us up and down, then addressed us. Gentlemen, welcome to your new post. I can see two things from your faces, that the cousins in your families are romantically entangled, and that you are not where you were expecting to be. Well tough, this is the hand you've been dealt, and your country demands that you rise to the occasion. Before I go any farther, I need to make something very clear. Everything you see, everything you hear, every damn thing that happens from this moment is subject to absolute deniability. And for anyone who does breathe a word of this, I guarantee you a life sentence in a military prison. There will be no trial first, no jury. Do you understand? He looked at us. We stared back, dumbfounded. The NCO repeated the question, screamed at it all of us. Do you understand? We roared back, yes, suitably warned and completely ignorant. We were led by the officer towards a rock face that opened before us. Cool. Private Wells whispered. Wells was a country boy with ears that stuck out and a skinny neck. He left comic books about monsters, and it somehow become my best friend. As for me, my heart was beating fast as we passed through that opening. I was pure and simple, excited. I couldn't see the ground in front of my feet. If I had, I wouldn't have been surprised to see that it was stamped with the words Top Secret. Here I was, Billy from the Backwaters, William Pointer Jr. on my signing up papers, on the verge of discovering a cave, a big, brightly lit cave. Cool. Wells whispered again, as we stared up and around the vast area we'd emerged from. The officer wheeled, faced us. This is the reception area. He told us, it is monitored by cameras, movement and heat detectors. At this moment in time, you are in the line of fire of two dozen automatic guns, one sweep of which would reduce us all to bloody gore. We tensed. At the edges of this area are three main conduits which lead to storage areas. There are secondary conduits which lead to living quarters. You will be taken to yours now. Before then, are there any questions? I don't know why I opened my mouth, why the words, what is being stored here, came out, but they did. The officer walked up to me, his nose right up to mine. As it was, I could feel his breath on my face as he said, Do you want your mama to open her porch door in the morning and find a bag of gore with your name tag tied to it? No sir, I replied and lived to screw up another day. Our initial period at the facility, which was the only name we'd ever heard it given, were taken up by the mindless routine so beloved of armies around the world. We cleaned, we drilled, we were inspected and in between we were inducted into our new world. I say new world because that's what it felt like to me. The only light was artificial and the air tasted stale. We were permanently underground. Sounds carried like the gentle rumble of thunder in the distance from the various tunnels to wherever we were posted on guard duty. It was army speak for tunnels, and as we rotated from post to post, we learned the storage areas the three main tunnels led to were numerous and reached deep into the earth. After two months of the facility, I had the feeling I'd still seen only a fraction of it. As for the question I'd been stupid enough to ask on my first day here, I can only wonder, about twice a week a new shipment arrived, packed in steel crates on the backs of lorries, which were driven to one of the storage areas, all under the watchful eye of armed guards. We speculated, of course, in our bunks, watching smoke spirals from our cigarettes drift lazily up. Private Wells' favorite theory was that the crates contained aliens who had crashlanded on this planet and the remains of their spaceships along with radioactive monsters, possibly giant gators or car sized cockroaches. In the humble opinion of Private William Pointer Jr., well sir, I reckon the crates contained deadly viruses, hard drives containing classified data, compromising photographs of politicians and the like. The dirty secrets no government would want to see the light of day. If I was right, there were a lot of secrets buried down there, a hell of a lot. But I believe there is no government anywhere in the world that does not mass produce scandalous illegal and downright dangerous materials as a matter of course. For us in the rank and file, it didn't matter at the end of the day. As long as we could stand up straight for hours on end, holding a rifle and jumping on command, then the world kept turning in the same old way. Or so I thought, until that nightmare day. It began like any other, far too early, with an NCO reminding us just how far down the food chain we were as we dragged ourselves out of our bunks. Whatever it had once been, our breakfast was something that had been beaten and fried into a shapeless lump. And then we were assigned post and marched there double quick. Wells and I were among those ordered to stand guard, while a newly arrived lorry unloaded its crate in one of the storage areas. The crate itself couldn't have been more than six foot by six, small by comparison to others we'd seen. And there were six of us soldiers watching over it, rifles held at the ready. It must be gold dust. I whispered to Wells. He suggested ground up Martians. Whatever it was, the unloading crew clustered around the lorry were taking their time. I caught sight of one or two worried looks among them. They know what's in there, I thought, and it made me nervous. The straps on the lifter grew taut and began to haul the crate into the air. To this day, I don't know what happened, whether the crate was not secured properly, or if there was a flaw in the material of the straps, but the crate suddenly tipped down to one side and then fell to the ground. A heartbeat later, one of the unloader boys called out, run. I grabbed the gawking private wells by his collar and began to run away. We made it out of the storage area and into a tunnel before the explosion came. Dust filled the space where we stood, and there was a moment of silence. The explosion caused by whatever was in that damn crate had been sudden and extreme shielding our faces as best we could with our sleeves. Wells and I moved cautiously back towards where the tunnel had opened out into the storage area and saw that it was now completely blocked by fallen earth. I had the sickening feeling that beyond this blockage, the storage area was buried under fallen earth, the storage area, and the rest of the poor souls who'd been in there. I became aware of a siren. It seemed very far away and that Wells was saying something to me, but I couldn't make it out because of the ringing in my ears. He held up one hand and made the universal sign asking if I was okay. I nodded, coughing up dust. It must have been less than a minute later that we were joined by other soldiers among them an officer. The expression on his face confirmed my worst fears. A tragedy had happened here. A terrible accident. I thanked my lucky stars I had survived and I tried to hear what was being shouted. My hearing was still affected and I was beginning to shake, delayed shock I guess. Around me, other men were acting. They were digging at the solid wall formed by the fresh fallen earth with their bare hands and calling out if anyone could hear them. I thought it would be a miracle if anyone had survived, but I kept this to myself and I told myself to get a grip. I stepped forward and began to tear away lumps of earth. I had barely got started when an order was yelled to move away. A digger truck trundled into sight behind us and began to advance on the wall of fallen earth. We stood and watched and there was more than one bowed head. Then there was a crackling sound. I turned to see the officer listening to his radio intently. He nodded. We need to pull out men. He said then walked alongside the truck and relayed the order to the driver who looked frustrated but didn't argue. None of us did. We followed orders. Without question I should be able to say I was a good soldier, but whatever flaw in me that had made me ask what was stored here showed again. Why are we pulling out sir? I asked. This time I was not given a dressing down. The officer looked at me and I could see the concern in his eyes as he replied. There there have been secondary collapses, son. There are chemical substances leaking into the side of the explosion, so we need to leave. But don't worry, there are troops on the way with hazmat equipment. And even as he said this, soldiers wearing the bulky safety suits rushed past us towards the wall of earth. His radio crackled again and he walked on as he answered it. I fell into step alongside Wells. He was shaking his head. Shit, Billy. He said, secret chemicals and dead bodies. You know what that adds up to? No. I said, shit, Billy. He went on. We got ourselves a recipe for disaster. Wells was my friend and a good person, but his obsession with the things that existed in the pages of his comic books had gotten the better of him, I thought, until I heard the first scream. I froze. It wasn't the sound of a man in shock or pain. It was a cry of terror. Wells, meanwhile, was on the move. His rifle raised in front of him as he ran towards where the scream had come from. Back to the wall of earth. Reluctantly, I followed. We were met by a chaotic scene. A half dozen soldiers and hazmat suits were standing, staring in apparent shock at one of their comrades whose face was pressed against the wall of earth. It was like he was being held there. What happened? I said to one of the suited soldiers, his voice was muffled beneath his headgear, but I thought I heard him say, it reached out from the dirt, grabbed hold of him, which made no sense to me. Wells, meanwhile, had continued to advance until he was close enough to tap the man pressed against the wall of earth on the shoulder. When he did, the man began to shake, then flew backwards. He landed on his back, and I looked down with horror where his headgear was torn open. The bloodied sight where his face should have been. His flesh was torn away, almost as if it had been bitten off. I looked up, and I saw hands reaching out and the face protruding from the wall of earth. Blood dripped from its mouth. What the hell? I said and could only stand there gripped by fear as the thing struggled free of the wall of earth to stand there swaying until it bared its teeth. And with shocking speed, it threw itself at Wells. A volley of bullets exploded from my friend's gun tearing into the thing's head until it collapsed onto its knees then fell forwards. I gasped for breath that wouldn't come. And for the first time realize the thing was wearing a soldier's uniform. The same as mine. The same as Wells who spat out of the ground and whispered, Shit. Put the rifle down. Someone yelled from behind us. I turned. It was the officer flanked by soldiers all of whom were aiming their weapons at Wells. No, I said it was attacking him. Stand down son. The officer said. I looked again, and there were more hands now appearing fighting through the earth. And within seconds, three more men stepped out into the open. They too wore our uniform. And I recognized all three as men from our unit, men who had surely died in the collapse caused by the explosion, men who were clearly no longer human. Their faces were twisted with rage, and a low growling sound drifted from their mouths. And they were advancing on us. Wells raised his gun once more ready to fire, lower your weapon. The officer said, he sounded unsure though, scared. Wells said back, better you give the order to open fire on me than I let one of these dead critters get their teeth into me. I knew what I had to do. I turned and aimed my own weapon at the officer. Sir, we have a common enemy here. Those things are no longer our friends, they're monsters and we need to take them out. Ice cold sweat trickled down my face as I spoke, the rifle shook in my hands. The officer hesitated, moments that cost my friend his life as Wells delayed opening fire until it was too late. He took out one of the things, but a second dug its teeth into his shoulder, the third into his throat, and he fell to the ground with both of them on top of him. I ran to him and battered at the things head with a butt of my rifle. Within moments, the heads of the dead were reduced to pulp and their twitching bodies dragged away. I knelt over Wells. He looked up at me, tears streamed down his face, mingling with his blood. I could see the bone beneath where his flesh had been bitten away. He tried to speak. I'm here, I said, helps on the way. I glanced back at the officer who was talking into his radio. Wells tried to speak again. I supported the back of his head with my hand and I moved closer so I could hear. Put a bullet in my brain, Billy. He said, please, if you don't, I'll become one of them. I can't. I said, I'm sorry. I looked into his eyes as he fell still. I felt a hand on my shoulder. We'll look after him. It was the officer. I held Wells close to my chest. No, I said. Then two soldiers took my arms and pulled me away. I struggled, but I couldn't resist. They held me down as more soldiers descended on Wells and started to strap together his ankles and his wrists, gagging his mouth. He's dead. Leave him alone. I said. They ignored me and lifted his body. A sudden spasm passed through it and it began to rise. I wept and I watched as the soldiers carried the struggling corpse away. I'm crying now as I recount this. I should have done as Wells asked, placed my gun against his head and pulled the trigger. I've thought about this constantly for the last two years while I was being debriefed and in the time I spent in a secure medical facility following a nervous breakdown. And after I was discharged during my treatment, I realized I was being led to believe that there were no dead who came back that I thought this because of an illness induced by witnessing the explosion survivor's guilt. They called it false memories, but I know what happened and I believe I know what happened to the body I saw carried away. There is a tunnel that opens out into an area deep underground where a crate holds imprisoned, a monster that is dead and will never be at peace. A monster. There was once a man I called my friend.