Chapter 24
Florence, Colorado was an old mining town in the sandy foothills of the Rocky Mountains. On a barren expanse of land sat a group of low-profile concrete and brick fortified buildings. Behind the imposing fences topped with concertina coiled razor wire, was a place where dread lived, and dread died—only if the body died.
A place that consumed all who passed behind its twelve-inch-thick concrete walls reinforced with steel bars and steel doors. A place that watched with its cameras and listened with its sound detectors and detected with its motion detectors—and at all times, day or night, guarded with its snipers ready to kill from their circular tower perches.
At ground level, roving patrols of marksmen, skills honed by constant training to hit center mass of moving targets wi
