The Zone Read Online Free Page B

that is aluminum tubes and green woven nylon. Next to the ladder was an alcove with a stacked washer/dryer, the kind they put in apartment closets.
    Morning routine called for some basic exercises, shower, and clean clothes (tee shirt, running shorts); I shaved about every third day unless there was some reason to look clean-cut. For the first time in my adult life I had no regulations controlling my appearance, but I was too old a dog to learn new tricks-my hair was in the same buzz cut it had been since Basic Training.
    My kitchen was small, tan wood-pattern counters and white cupboards, a stainless-steel fridge, and a built-in booth ‘breakfast nook’ with a processed wood table and maroon vinyl on the booths. I had a stove (my microwave and the grill on the roof did the real cooking), a double sink, and not much cupboard space, but that was all right because I ate off plastic and paper on the occasions I made meals that did not cook in their own container. A pop tart and a juice box made up breakfast, eaten leaning against the fridge, and I headed downstairs to start my day.
    The ground level was wide open, divided into two parts by a load-bearing interior wall that split the floor space into two-thirds and one-third. The big area was now my living area with my sofa, milk-crate coffee table, big-screen TV, entertainment center, a small fridge, a multi-use gym, a treadmill, and a couple free-standing bookcases from Target that held my books, video collection, and a boom-box from my uncle’s leftover stock. The floor was bare concrete, the walls primed and undecorated.
    The only window on the ground floor had been a big display window next to the front door, but it had been closed off with cinderblocks with internal rebar and concrete fill when my uncle opened his pawn shop. The front door was ballistic plastic between black sheets of expanded metal mesh in a strap-iron frame and hung on peg-and-loop hinges set deep enough into the concrete door frame to foil even the best man-portable ram-Uncle had not been interested in burglary. I had taped butcher paper to the inside for privacy, although the two sheets of mesh didn’t line up so there really wasn’t much visibility anyway.
    The door to the back third was strap iron and bars, propped open by an Army-surplus ammo can; I didn’t use the area much; there was an alcove with a toilet and a sink, my gun safe from home, and some boxes of stuff gathering dust from my divorce. The double doors that led to the alley were original to the building, cast-iron panels on hinges you could lift a bridge section with to let ships pass by, held closed by both a central bar, and top & bottom latches that went four inches into concrete
    The whiteboard on the wall near the TV displayed the chores and duties currently outstanding, but none required immediate attention. I had a couple paperbacks to read and plenty of unwatched video to hand, so my options were numerous. After some poking around I settled down with a VHS collection on the Civil War that my uncle had taken in during the last days, a History Channel special.
    A couple hours learning about Lincoln and his generals (which was a lot more interesting than it sounds-history has always been a major interest of mine) passed pleasantly enough, until my stomach reminded me that half-a bag of stale stick pretzels wasn’t enough to hold the line. I made it a habit to get out of my place a couple days a week, and the white board indicated it had been four days since my last foray (I kept track), so I decided to head out for a bite to eat and a stroll about the city.
    In my closet I have a collection of knee supports, braces, crutches, half-crutches and canes, but my knee was responding very well to exercise and use so long as I didn’t try to move faster than ninety steps a minute. I put on one of the ace bandage tube supports you can buy anyplace just to be safe. The medics had assured me that my surgery and therapy had gone