Enter Hazard House


Martha:

Well it's just like I told you. Somebody screwed up BIG TIME! And it's not like I didn't warn them. This is what happens. Innocent civilians bear the consequences. When the Army first started to test their bio-weapons in the lab, it was my job to mop up the mess. And let me tell you, there were plenty of 'em. Accidents, errors, call it what you want. It ends up the same. Me and my guys gear-up, quarantine the bodies (yes, I said bodies), and scrub down the place. And who's to know how many germs are still in the woodwork. Maybe not enough to kill outright but over time, I imagine. Years later people are getting sick and die and you think maybe the germs got 'em after all.

Sure, I've used the best anti-bio equip in the civilized world. Pretty impressive, when it comes right down to it. But you get that rad-suit on and you ask yourself if even a million bucks is enough money to do this. A nanogram of that crap gets in and you're toast (without the jam)!

So what am I doing here? Again? I'm 54 years old and I was hoping to make 55. Yeah, but they need me, so they say. Enough to order me out of retirement in Florida, put me on a plane, and fly me out to this infected piece of farmland. The State owns it now and they can have it. There's more germs per acre here than hairs on a hog! But it's got to be cleaned up, I figure. And it's gotta' be cleaned up good lest some other unlucky folks buy the place one day and wake up dead and decaying. Yeah, I said "other" because that's just what happened to the original owners, or so I've been told. And I don't really trust anybody anymore so I'm just gonna' assume the worst and look out for my own backside.

Of course, that ought to mean hightailing it out of here and back to Boca. But I can't do that. I gotta' go in...

Fondly, Sam.