Reflex by Steven Gould Page B

fingers.
    Davy doubled over, coughing violently. He was nauseated, on the edge of throwing up, his forehead covered with clammy sweat. He pushed off the bed and, bent over, still coughing, shuffled toward the green square. Almost immediately the coughing and the nausea lessened. When he stepped over the green tape, the urge to cough and the nausea ceased completely.
    She went on talking. "Outside the green box, you'll feel it. Just outside the yellow box, you get a repeat of this morning's ride. You do remember this morning, don't you?" She looked over at the empty mop bucket and mop, leaning in the far corner.
    Davy wanted to wipe the sweat from his forehead but he forced himself to stand there, unmoving, watching "Miss Minchin" with eyes cold and distant.
    She continued. "You go outside the yellow box and the convulsions will probably kill you."
    Box is the right word.
    "Do you intend for me to live here? In this four-foot square? Are you going to bring the portable toilet back?"
    She shook her head. "Your body will let you know when you need to be in the square."
    "If you turn this on while I'm taking a shower, I could crack my skull and die. I'm pretty sure you guys don't want me dead."
    "There are a lot worse things than dying, darling. You'll get a warning, sort of like being in the yellow square. If you're not in this big square," she indicated the outer yellow boundary, "within two seconds, it'll be like this morning and worse. You won't be, ummmm, 'symptom free' until you're all the way inside the green square."
    "Miss Minchin was the right name."
    "I really must look that up. We're going to leave the zone on for a few more minutes. You figure out when you can leave it."
    She turned. As she walked away she swung her hips. Davy watched her ass sway from side to side. In the doorway she paused, blew a kiss, and let the door swing shut behind her.
    Nice legs.
    I'd like to break them.
    He stuck his hand over the edge of the green tape. Nothing happened. He sat down and stuck his feet over the edge. Again, nothing happened. Did they already turn it off?
    He scooted up to the line. As his torso edged over the tape, he coughed lightly and felt a mild wave of nausea. He scooted back again. The coughing and nausea ceased. He lay down on his back and started inching out of the square, feet first. He didn't feel anything until his upper chest crossed the line.
    No surprise there. That's where the scar was, where they'd put the device, whatever it was. He stood back up inside the square.
    He experimented, leaning out into the larger square. His stomach heaved and his coughing was rough but he could walk two thirds of the way to the yellow line before he had to stagger back in defeat. He thought he could probably push it even further in an emergency, but they were watching and there was no reason to let them know his limitations. He believed them about the far edge. The memory of flopping on the floor like a freshly caught fish was still strong in his mind.
    He was testing the border again when the sensations cut off abruptly—the coughing and nausea dropped away—and he staggered. He felt like someone who'd been shoving at a stuck door, when all of a sudden the door is opened from the other side.
    He wanted to wash the sweat from his face and rinse his mouth but it took a definite act of will to step over the yellow line on the way to the bathroom.
    Two seconds, he told himself. Two seconds is lots of time.
     
    They started testing him an hour later. He was lying down, reading The Count of Monte Cristo, when he felt a tingling in his throat followed almost immediately by a wave of nausea, then the inevitable cough. Then it stopped and he wondered if it was a fluke.
    Then he doubled over, coughing and throwing up, getting vomit on his sheets and covers. He scrambled for the end of the bed and the safety of the green square.
    Shit! Shit! Shit!
    The scrambled voice over the speaker said, "Two seconds—we meant it."
    He felt like