The Line Book One: Carrier by Anne Tibbets Page A

hall and kicked it open with the ball of her foot.
    “Would you stop this?” I yelled. “Where are you taking me?”
    Inside was a carpeted office with faded flower wallpaper and a large bright window. In the window was an air conditioner that hummed loudly and blew cold air into the room. Dolore walked me over and stuck my face right into it.
    “What the...” I started. Then I inhaled, and my lungs sucked in a delicious cool breeze.
    Fresh air!
    It was heavenly.
    No stench. No humidity.
    Clean.
    I don’t know how long I stood there breathing, enjoying my lungs full of freshness.
    It was a while.
    Eventually, Dolore let go of my elbow, and I leaned into the air conditioner, taking deep breaths. The air filled my lungs and felt cool in my nose and mouth. I had all the crisp air I could hold.
    When I’d had my fill, I felt much calmer. I turned around.
    The doctor sat in a rocking chair next to a desk, typing feverishly onto a tablet and rocking back and forth. Dolore looked at me with great concern from a folding chair by the black door. There was a glass aquarium full of brown mice on a table in the corner. They squeaked and rolled around the container like balls in a bowl.
    “I’m all right,” I said. “Really.”
    The doctor didn’t look as if he agreed. “Hardly. I’d wager you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That would explain the panic attack before.”
    I raised an eyebrow at him.
    He ignored my expression and continued. “How long were you on the Line?”
    “Nine years,” I said without flinching.
    Dolore’s mouth gaped open.
    The doctor glared at her. She clamped her mouth closed.
    “How old are you?” he asked.
    “Twenty-two, I think.”
    “Oh, heavens,” she cried.
    “Dolore,” he warned, and she sighed. Then he turned back to me. “Is that where you got the facial bruising?”
    “Yes.”
    He typed on his tablet. “You wrote on your chart that you’re pregnant?”
    “That’s what they told me.”
    “Who told you?”
    “The Line.”
    His face clouded. “So, they let you go?”
    “Y-yes.”
    He flushed and his eyes hardened. I didn’t think he believed me. “Dolore,” he said. “If you could get me a—”
    Dolore was on her feet and down the hall before he could finish the sentence. “Pregnancy test...got it!” she hollered.
    The doctor stood from the rocker and placed the tablet on his beaten desk. “I’m going to need to examine you. Is that all right?” His voice seemed softer now. I couldn’t help but notice his hands as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. He was careful not to crease the fabric, and folded them over as if they were silk.
    Gentle. I liked that.
    “Sure. Okay. I-I can do that.” I should have figured it would be like an inspection. I turned from my position in front of the air conditioner and pulled my shirt up over my head. I’d been naked in front of many men. Too many to count. This was no big deal, I told myself.
    I pulled the drawstring on my pants. They dropped to my ankles.
    The doctor inhaled deeply and blushed to his ears. He stared at me in such a sad way. It wasn’t the look I was used to getting from men when they saw me naked.
    The room was frigid from the blasting air conditioner, and I felt goose bumps crawl across my skin.
    He held up his hands, then turned away. “Uh, that’s not what I... It’s not that kind of... Let’s wait for Dolore to come back. You should get dressed.”
    “Oh.” I pulled the shirt back over my head and got my pants up, a little embarrassed. I crossed my arms across my chest, suddenly ashamed I wore no undergarments.
    Dolore scrambled into the office with a small cardboard box about the size of the palm of her hand. She handed it to the doctor.
    He opened it, pulled out a black electronic device the shape of a spool, and then he handed it to Dolore. “You should do it.”
    “Really?” she protested. “But usually you—”
    “Please,” he said, and looked away from both of us.
    Dolore frowned but