employees had references, a prison record or even a green card. She’d get by. Kate would take her back. She’d get the I-told-you-so looks and lectures for the rest of her life, but Kate would take her back. They were sisters. Family meant more than anything and nothing, nothing, was worth this.
Her paz chimed.
Sarah wiped her face, which had been dry for some time but which was almost certainly blotchy and gross, and crawled across the floor to her briefcase to dig it out of the trash. Only after she answered it and saw an IBI security guard’s face did she recall she was still wearing nothing but a labradoodle and a towel. She supposed she should care. She didn’t.
“Sarah Fowler?”
“Yes.”
“Just touching base. You left Checkpoint Seventeen at 11:45 and haven’t passed any checkpoint since. Where are you?”
“Where does the locater in my paz say I am?”
His eyes narrowed. Otherwise, his expression did not change. “It says you’re at home.”
“Then you know where I am. I had to change. I’ll be back soon, just let me get dressed.”
The security guard’s face showed neither surprise nor concern. “If you would like to make an incident report at this time, we can do that right over the phone. Do you know the name of the bug involved?”
She opened her mouth, not to give Samaritan’s name, but to ask why he wanted it, but that was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He wanted it so he could round up a posse of IBI’s soldiers and go handle things. She told herself she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but without looking at that too closely, she did take a moment to imagine walking down the causeway and never having to hear Good Samaritan’s crudities again.
It was a bad moment, but it ended.
“Involved in what?” she asked.
Impatience carved a notch between the guard’s heavy brows. “Ma’am, can we cut the crap? Checkpoint Seventeen reported you left his gate in great distress—”
“Nothing happened,” Sarah said.
“Ma’am, all hostile action taken by the bugs must be reported.”
“I fell into a ditch, that’s all. If the gate guard thought I was in such great distress, maybe he shouldn’t have made me stand outside the gate dripping alien sewage-water until I had my stupid girly breakdown. Now you want to make me feel even worse about that, you go ahead. I fell into a ditch, I came home and got a shower.”
The security guard’s eyes in the small, flat monitor were blatantly derisive. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m just going to remind you that if you are ever involved in a hostile situation inside the containment area and you fail to report it, action will be taken.”
“It wasn’t a hostile—screw you, then,” she finished dully.
He’d hung up on her already.
Sarah shut off her paz and tossed it back in her briefcase. She sat with Fagin for a few minutes more, then got up and took another shower. She had to go back to work and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she had to go back to Cottonwood. If she could find just one piece of paper that needed filing back in her cubicle, she would find a way to file it all damn day, but she wasn’t going back. Not yet. Not today.
Maybe not ever again.
* * *
Sanford came back from the Heaps close on to dark to find a slip of paper half-under his door. He picked it up, heart throbbing, expecting to read NOTICE OF TRANSFER or something worse in the human language, but it was instead a blank form for the ordering of emergency supplies: food, water tablets, charcoal, light bulbs, soap, even things he’d never seen in any camp, like fire-resistant blankets, propane ovens, and solar-heated portable showers.
Puzzled, Sanford sent T’aki inside and walked down the road to Sam’s house. “Do you know anything about this?” he asked.
Sam glanced at it and gave out a loud laugh. “She missed that one.”
There was only one ‘she’ he could possibly mean and it made the mystery no clearer. Sanford
Her paz chimed.
Sarah wiped her face, which had been dry for some time but which was almost certainly blotchy and gross, and crawled across the floor to her briefcase to dig it out of the trash. Only after she answered it and saw an IBI security guard’s face did she recall she was still wearing nothing but a labradoodle and a towel. She supposed she should care. She didn’t.
“Sarah Fowler?”
“Yes.”
“Just touching base. You left Checkpoint Seventeen at 11:45 and haven’t passed any checkpoint since. Where are you?”
“Where does the locater in my paz say I am?”
His eyes narrowed. Otherwise, his expression did not change. “It says you’re at home.”
“Then you know where I am. I had to change. I’ll be back soon, just let me get dressed.”
The security guard’s face showed neither surprise nor concern. “If you would like to make an incident report at this time, we can do that right over the phone. Do you know the name of the bug involved?”
She opened her mouth, not to give Samaritan’s name, but to ask why he wanted it, but that was a stupid question, wasn’t it? He wanted it so he could round up a posse of IBI’s soldiers and go handle things. She told herself she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but without looking at that too closely, she did take a moment to imagine walking down the causeway and never having to hear Good Samaritan’s crudities again.
It was a bad moment, but it ended.
“Involved in what?” she asked.
Impatience carved a notch between the guard’s heavy brows. “Ma’am, can we cut the crap? Checkpoint Seventeen reported you left his gate in great distress—”
“Nothing happened,” Sarah said.
“Ma’am, all hostile action taken by the bugs must be reported.”
“I fell into a ditch, that’s all. If the gate guard thought I was in such great distress, maybe he shouldn’t have made me stand outside the gate dripping alien sewage-water until I had my stupid girly breakdown. Now you want to make me feel even worse about that, you go ahead. I fell into a ditch, I came home and got a shower.”
The security guard’s eyes in the small, flat monitor were blatantly derisive. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m just going to remind you that if you are ever involved in a hostile situation inside the containment area and you fail to report it, action will be taken.”
“It wasn’t a hostile—screw you, then,” she finished dully.
He’d hung up on her already.
Sarah shut off her paz and tossed it back in her briefcase. She sat with Fagin for a few minutes more, then got up and took another shower. She had to go back to work and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she had to go back to Cottonwood. If she could find just one piece of paper that needed filing back in her cubicle, she would find a way to file it all damn day, but she wasn’t going back. Not yet. Not today.
Maybe not ever again.
* * *
Sanford came back from the Heaps close on to dark to find a slip of paper half-under his door. He picked it up, heart throbbing, expecting to read NOTICE OF TRANSFER or something worse in the human language, but it was instead a blank form for the ordering of emergency supplies: food, water tablets, charcoal, light bulbs, soap, even things he’d never seen in any camp, like fire-resistant blankets, propane ovens, and solar-heated portable showers.
Puzzled, Sanford sent T’aki inside and walked down the road to Sam’s house. “Do you know anything about this?” he asked.
Sam glanced at it and gave out a loud laugh. “She missed that one.”
There was only one ‘she’ he could possibly mean and it made the mystery no clearer. Sanford
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