Dear Planet Earth,
With Dr. Eimer and I the only civilians on base, security is pretty lax for our prisoner. At least that’s the excuse I’ve been hearing all day from our nation’s last line of defense.
“Martha” escaped. She ripped out the throat of one of the guards with her teeth — her fucking teeth — took his pistol, and went on to kill three more soldiers. I knew one of them. Mendoza. He’s the one who first questioned me when I drove up here, bloody and suicidal. I spoke with him a couple times after that and decided he’s a pretty decent guy. He was a pretty decent guy.
The whole base is on high alert, complete with round the clock sirens and floodlights. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep last night, though I’ll never know if it was because of the noise or the incessant thoughts of my throat being torn out by a crazed homeless woman.
Lieutenant Christiansen and the rest of the Beetle Baileys won’t tell me why they’re so intent on catching her, or what she knows, or if she’s still even within the perimeter. Insomnia, here I come.