UnDivided
Page 38
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“Ten-four?” Risa asks. “Did you actually say ten-four?”
Beau shrugs. “It worked, didn’t it?”
They put the thin guard inside a wooden toy box in a deserted pediatric waiting room. The corpulent one fits nicely in the cabinet underneath a huge fish tank, ironically populated by puffer fish that somewhat resemble the man.
Now that the unconscious guards are safely tucked away, Risa begins to relax. There’s an exhilaration to a narrow escape that Risa had almost forgotten. A physiological payoff to the adrenaline rush of danger.
Beau, feeling his own relief, begins to laugh. It makes Risa laugh in spite of herself, which makes Beau laugh even harder, pushing Risa toward an unwanted giggle fit that is suddenly silenced by Beau grabbing her and kissing her.
Her response is immediate and reflexive—although even if it wasn’t a reflex, she’s pretty sure she would have done the same thing. She pushes him off and pops him in the eye with such force that his neck snaps back and his head hits the fish tank with a thud, scattering puffer fish in all directions. Risa doesn’t want to stay for whatever the aftermath will be—apologetic or angry, she doesn’t care. She storms away.
“Risa, wait!”
Of all the things to deal with at this particular moment, why must she have to suffer the advances of yet another hormonal douche?
“Risa!”
She turns to him with fury and has to restrain herself from slugging him again. “Are you an idiot? Stop saying my name! They don’t know who we are, and if there happens to be anyone in these offices who can hear you . . .”
“Sorry.” His eye is already swelling. Good.
“If Connor had seen that, your face would look a whole lot worse!” she tells him.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“Why is it that every loser with a penis feels the obligation to put moves on me?”
He looks at her like the answer is obvious. “Because you’re Risa Ward,” he says. “And whatever happens now, I’ll go to my grave knowing that once—just once—I kissed the one and only Risa Ward.”
“You’ll go to your grave?” says Risa, still outrageously bitter about the whole thing. “That’s just wishful thinking. More likely your memories will get ripped out and planted in someone else’s head!”
“Maybe, maybe not,” he tells her. Then he finally reaches up to touch his swelling eye. He doesn’t seem angry that she hit him. It’s as if the act was well worth the consequences.
Risa feels a buzz in her pocket and pulls out the old flip phone Sonia gave them. Such phones and the fading providers that serviced them were considered “retirement sector technology.” They were perfect for communicating under the radar, because the network was too antiquated for the Juvies to bother with.
“U OK?” reads Connor’s text.
She lets out a breath of relief to know that he hasn’t been caught. “YES, U?” She texts back.
“FOUND THE LAB,” he texts. “MEET U AT CAR.”
And although she doesn’t want to just leave him, she knows further wandering through the hospital will just jeopardize things.
“Is that him?” Beau asks. “What does he say?”
“He says you’re a lousy kisser, and I have to agree.”
Beau gives a halfhearted laugh, maybe thinking that she forgives him a little. Which she doesn’t. She realizes she doesn’t care enough to hate him or to forgive him.
“We’ll take the nearest stairs down,” Risa says, “then slip out a back way—just like you told them we did. We’ll meet Connor at the car.”
He nods, accepting the plan, but then he’s got to go ask, “What if Connor doesn’t show?”
“You want another black eye?” Risa says, and so he backs down from the question, and opens the stairwell door for her.
“Oh, and for the record, I’m not a loser,” Beau tells her. “No matter what my unwind order says.”
20 • Connor
The plan is simple. Plans can be simple when you’re dealing with the human mechanics of an institution that has no reason to expect intrigue and subterfuge. The hospital personnel are more on the lookout for slippery floors that might lead to lawsuits than for AWOLs stealing biomatter. Why on earth would anyone want to do that?
When Risa and Beau were spotted by security, Risa made the right decision to lure security away. It wasn’t like the guard had any idea who they were and what they were up to. Of course, Connor’s instinct was to go after Risa, but he knew it would be the wrong thing to do. That could just result in all of them getting caught. He had to trust that Risa was clever enough to play a successful cat and mouse, even if Beau couldn’t.
Connor now wanders down corridors in the wings that don’t cater to inpatients. It’s mostly deserted on a Sunday. He finds the research building, connected to the rest of the complex by a glass-enclosed skywalk—which would give the world a clear view of him, if anyone in the world was looking. If someone is, he’ll know soon enough.
He finds the lab he’s looking for in the basement. While the rest of the research building is richly appointed, the basement is utilitarian and institutional. Dimly lit corridors floored with puke-colored linoleum tiles. The low-rent district of an otherwise upscale facility. Apparently the rogue research team that insisted on playing with pointless cellular manipulation is kept out of sight as an embarrassment to medical science. Shunned as if they were studying the use of leeches and snake oil.
Beau shrugs. “It worked, didn’t it?”
They put the thin guard inside a wooden toy box in a deserted pediatric waiting room. The corpulent one fits nicely in the cabinet underneath a huge fish tank, ironically populated by puffer fish that somewhat resemble the man.
Now that the unconscious guards are safely tucked away, Risa begins to relax. There’s an exhilaration to a narrow escape that Risa had almost forgotten. A physiological payoff to the adrenaline rush of danger.
Beau, feeling his own relief, begins to laugh. It makes Risa laugh in spite of herself, which makes Beau laugh even harder, pushing Risa toward an unwanted giggle fit that is suddenly silenced by Beau grabbing her and kissing her.
Her response is immediate and reflexive—although even if it wasn’t a reflex, she’s pretty sure she would have done the same thing. She pushes him off and pops him in the eye with such force that his neck snaps back and his head hits the fish tank with a thud, scattering puffer fish in all directions. Risa doesn’t want to stay for whatever the aftermath will be—apologetic or angry, she doesn’t care. She storms away.
“Risa, wait!”
Of all the things to deal with at this particular moment, why must she have to suffer the advances of yet another hormonal douche?
“Risa!”
She turns to him with fury and has to restrain herself from slugging him again. “Are you an idiot? Stop saying my name! They don’t know who we are, and if there happens to be anyone in these offices who can hear you . . .”
“Sorry.” His eye is already swelling. Good.
“If Connor had seen that, your face would look a whole lot worse!” she tells him.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“Why is it that every loser with a penis feels the obligation to put moves on me?”
He looks at her like the answer is obvious. “Because you’re Risa Ward,” he says. “And whatever happens now, I’ll go to my grave knowing that once—just once—I kissed the one and only Risa Ward.”
“You’ll go to your grave?” says Risa, still outrageously bitter about the whole thing. “That’s just wishful thinking. More likely your memories will get ripped out and planted in someone else’s head!”
“Maybe, maybe not,” he tells her. Then he finally reaches up to touch his swelling eye. He doesn’t seem angry that she hit him. It’s as if the act was well worth the consequences.
Risa feels a buzz in her pocket and pulls out the old flip phone Sonia gave them. Such phones and the fading providers that serviced them were considered “retirement sector technology.” They were perfect for communicating under the radar, because the network was too antiquated for the Juvies to bother with.
“U OK?” reads Connor’s text.
She lets out a breath of relief to know that he hasn’t been caught. “YES, U?” She texts back.
“FOUND THE LAB,” he texts. “MEET U AT CAR.”
And although she doesn’t want to just leave him, she knows further wandering through the hospital will just jeopardize things.
“Is that him?” Beau asks. “What does he say?”
“He says you’re a lousy kisser, and I have to agree.”
Beau gives a halfhearted laugh, maybe thinking that she forgives him a little. Which she doesn’t. She realizes she doesn’t care enough to hate him or to forgive him.
“We’ll take the nearest stairs down,” Risa says, “then slip out a back way—just like you told them we did. We’ll meet Connor at the car.”
He nods, accepting the plan, but then he’s got to go ask, “What if Connor doesn’t show?”
“You want another black eye?” Risa says, and so he backs down from the question, and opens the stairwell door for her.
“Oh, and for the record, I’m not a loser,” Beau tells her. “No matter what my unwind order says.”
20 • Connor
The plan is simple. Plans can be simple when you’re dealing with the human mechanics of an institution that has no reason to expect intrigue and subterfuge. The hospital personnel are more on the lookout for slippery floors that might lead to lawsuits than for AWOLs stealing biomatter. Why on earth would anyone want to do that?
When Risa and Beau were spotted by security, Risa made the right decision to lure security away. It wasn’t like the guard had any idea who they were and what they were up to. Of course, Connor’s instinct was to go after Risa, but he knew it would be the wrong thing to do. That could just result in all of them getting caught. He had to trust that Risa was clever enough to play a successful cat and mouse, even if Beau couldn’t.
Connor now wanders down corridors in the wings that don’t cater to inpatients. It’s mostly deserted on a Sunday. He finds the research building, connected to the rest of the complex by a glass-enclosed skywalk—which would give the world a clear view of him, if anyone in the world was looking. If someone is, he’ll know soon enough.
He finds the lab he’s looking for in the basement. While the rest of the research building is richly appointed, the basement is utilitarian and institutional. Dimly lit corridors floored with puke-colored linoleum tiles. The low-rent district of an otherwise upscale facility. Apparently the rogue research team that insisted on playing with pointless cellular manipulation is kept out of sight as an embarrassment to medical science. Shunned as if they were studying the use of leeches and snake oil.
