A Month with Werewolves by K Matthew Page A

round framed
glasses.
    “Ms. Raveen?” he asked, not even bothering to
look at the clipboard that the security guard offered to him.
    “Yes.” I turned, preparing to extend my hand
as he approached.
    “I'm John Edward, lead coordinator. I will be
your guide today.” He shook my hand firmly, giving me the warmest
smile I had seen since entering the compound. “Are you ready to
begin the tour?”
    “Yes, thank you.” I nodded, preparing to
follow him out of the door from whence he had come.
    “Did you have a nice drive up here?” John
asked as we walked through a small maze of identical buildings.
    “Yes. It's beautiful country.”
    “That it is.”
    My eyes wandered while we walked, wondering
how long it took employees to memorize the layout of the compound
with so few distinguishing landmarks. Surely, there was a map that
they gave new hires to help them find their way around.
    “It's a rather confusing place,” I
commented.
    “It can be, if you're not familiar with it,”
he admitted, leading me to the door of one of the buildings and
then facing me to begin his speech. “This is the Containment
Center. Whenever a detainee is brought in, we hold them here until
after the full moon to make sure that they are actually infected.
It can be a long process for some, but there's unfortunately no
scientific way to determine if someone has the lycanthropy disease,
so observation is key.”
    Inside the first room was a small desk with a
security guard. This man appeared to be friendlier than the last
two, his eyes lighting up as we walked through the door.
    “Hey John,” he greeted in a voice that
suggested he didn't get a lot of visitors.
    “Hey Johnny,” John replied.
    My eyes darted to the security guard's name
tag. It must be interesting to have the same name as someone else,
I thought, happy that my name was unique, even though I wasn't a
big fan of it.
    “How is our detainee today?” John asked.
    “He's holding up pretty well. Would you like
to see him?”
    “That's what we're here for,” he said
politely.
    “Then come on through.” The security guard
waved us towards a metal detector, taking my camera so that I could
pass without setting it off.
    We walked down a short hallway that opened up
into an area that consisted of three large jail cells. In each one
was an uncomfortable-looking bed, a sink, a toilet with a half-wall
in front of it, and a shower without a door.
    John led me inside one of the unoccupied
cells for a better view. “This is where the detainees stay until we
are certain whether or not they are infected. Now I know that it
doesn't seem like much, but please remember that we don't get a
whole lot of government funding for this project. Detainees are
given three square meals a day, providing them with all the
nutrition that they need to remain healthy. If they become ill,
they are treated by our resident doctor, and they are also given
books to keep them entertained during their detention, as well as
the ability to watch the two provided televisions.” He gestured to
two small televisions mounted outside of the cells on the corners
of the walls. Then he pressed a panel on the wall to demonstrate
how the detainees could operate the televisions from inside their
cells.
    “Are they allowed time outside of their cells
while they are waiting to find out if they have the disease?” I
asked while snapping a few photos of the bathroom area. It was
barely enough to give the detainees privacy.
    “Yes. We have an outdoor recreation area that
they are allowed to use one hour out of every day. I'll take you to
it later.”
    I nodded, following John out the sliding
glass door and down to the cell at the end where there was a young
man sitting on his bed reading a book. He glanced up at us for a
moment and then went back to reading as if we weren't even
there.
    John lowered his voice when he spoke this
time, “This is Christopher Abbot. He was brought in about three
weeks ago. He had his first