Chapter 16 #2
He’s telling another lie and he’s not good at being deceitful.
I catch sight of another detail behind him.
A clipboard hanging on the wall. The top sheet lists a vendor name—Carewell Transit in bold block letters.
The hairs rise on the back of my neck. It’s another name in my notebook.
I remember seeing it on the manifest that never made sense.
I remember the day I confronted a REACH coordinator in Myanmar who brushed me off hours before the blast that left me in a coma.
I force my voice to sound calm and steady. “Your vendor list must be extensive. How do you handle so many partners?”
He gives a polite smile. “We streamline communications through a central network. It keeps things efficient.”
He doesn’t elaborate because this is just a tour. It’s the kind of information that might be explained in more detail during an initial consultation.
Hanley continues the tour as though nothing happened.
A few more rooms. A tech station. A storage hall that smells faintly of plastic and cardboard.
My eyes drift to the far end of the corridor.
There’s a door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’.
The metal around the lock is unmarked, the keypad seems newer than anything else in the building.
Hanley doesn’t even glance at it as we glide past.
“What’s through there?” I ask lightly. “Is it a testing site where you check water purity or something like that?”
“That area is restricted. It’s actually used for equipment staging. It’s not part of the tour.”
He moves on quickly, but the answer sticks in my head as a potential issue for closer scrutiny. Restricted sections in companies like this aren’t unusual, but the tension in his voice was indicative of some sort of issue.
We finish the loop back towards the lobby. Hanley’s smile returns, almost instantly. He also seems relieved for some reason. Me? I’m excited, curious, and determined to find out more information. I know I found something. I just don’t know quite what it is yet.
Turning to him, I give him my best million-megawatt smile. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hanley. You have an amazing facility. Everything is so nice and clean. I’ll be sure to tell my colleagues about what fine work you do.”
He nods and his entire body relaxes. “If your organization wants to schedule a longer tour, we’d be happy to carve out some time for you.”
“Actually, before I go, could you point me to the restroom?”
“It’s through that hallway,” he gestures behind me. “The second door on the left.”
“Thank you, I can see myself out,” I say and stroll away, my expression calm. My pace slows the instant I am out of his sight. Rivera is still in the lobby, pretending to scroll through his phone, watching me. I can’t give anything away. Not yet, anyway.
I push the restroom door open and slip inside. It’s empty. The lights are too bright, and it only has two stalls. I listen for the sound of footsteps in case Hanley has decided to wait for me, but there’s no sound coming through the door. I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Rivera:
Me: Think I’ve found something. I’m going to try and get into the restricted area. Can you cover for me?
Rivera: I don’t like the sound of that. I’m supposed to be keeping you safe.
Me: I’ll be okay. I’ll text you when I’m in. Heading to the west wing, area is earmarked for equipment staging but I think it’s a front.
Rivera: I still don’t like it. If I don’t hear anything I’m coming for you.
Me: Okay.
I stuff my phone back in my bag, take a deep breath and walk back out. I don’t turn towards the lobby. Instead, I walk in the opposite direction. The corridor curves just enough that I disappear from view. My steps stay quiet, but I move fast towards the door. The keypad is glowing faintly.
I glance over my shoulder and find no one there.
My pulse is pounding in my veins because this is breaking the law. I reach the door, but the one ahead isn’t fully shut. Someone left in a hurry or got careless. This is my chance. I slip inside without a sound.
I hug the inside edge of the corridor as I retrace my steps.
The restricted door sits ahead of me, only a few feet away.
The air feels different now. I can’t really describe it, but it feels like I tripped a security alert or sensor.
I can sense it in the air. Still, I refuse to turn back now.
When I reach the door, I push my palm against the metal.
It opens with a soft snick. Relief lances through my chest as I slip into the room and ease the door shut.
That’s when I hear it. A voice behind me. “Hey you, stop!”
I cringe on the inside, but I keep walking. I keep my steps steady, pretending I didn’t hear whoever is calling out to me. The voice gets sharper, and a little closer the second time.
“Ma’am, I need you to stop right there, this is a restricted area.”
I don’t turn around. Instead, I pick up the pace, in a desperate plea to get away. The hallway curves enough that I can use it to break line of sight, but I only get a few feet before a second voice calls out from ahead of me.
“Intruder in the restricted area. She’s not cleared for this level.”
There are two guards, one behind me and one in front.
All my former excitement gives way to fear.
The same kind of fear I’ve been running from for years.
I glance towards the left corridor, trying to calculate whether I can slip through before they close the distance.
The guard in front of me lifts his radio and speaks into it, his voice low and clipped.
I can’t hear the words, but he’s staring right at me.
And I can see the tension in his posture. He knows something is wrong.
I back up a step, my breath catching. Then I do something truly stupid, I break into a run.
The guard in front lunges for me, but I dive to the right.
I hear the guards curse behind me as they run after me, their boots heavy and fast. The corridor tilts slightly and the lights blur at the edges of my vision.
My fingers fumble for the strap of my bag.
I clutch it close and push forward harder.
I take a sharp turn into another hallway lined with offices.
A row of copy machines hums against one wall.
I duck behind them for a second, trying to catch my breath.
I’m scrambling to try and figure out my next move.
There is no way I can reach the lobby from here without running straight into the guards coming from the main corridor.
I need help. Slate said trust him to help me and I decide that’s just what I’ll do.
I pull out my phone and swipe the screen with one shaking finger.
Rivera is closer, but if he doesn’t hear from me, he’ll probably come looking anyway.
There’s only one bar of reception and I don’t have time to send a long text, I’m not sure whether it will get to Slate, but I try anyway and text the only thing I can:
Me: Help. I’m at Hydro Relief in Greer County with Rivera. They’re coming for me.
I hit send.
And a second later after sliding the phone back into my pocket, the footsteps get louder.
The hallway opens into a small break area with vending machines and a round table.
A cleaning cart sits beside the wall with a bucket and mop leaning against it.
Realizing that if I’m caught with my phone I’m done for, I drop it in the trash bag and push past the cleaning cart, then head to the exit door at the far end.
For a moment I think I’m home free, but the door doesn’t budge.
I hear the guards enter the room and quickly crouch behind a cleaning cart. Their footsteps slow. One exhales with irritation. The other speaks into his radio again. “She’s still in the west wing. Red badge. Auto lock all the doors.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying they will overlook me, and I can somehow make it out of this area without being caught. I start wondering why I ever thought this was a good idea.
The guards split up. One walks towards the break room door. The other moves farther into the wing, closer to where I am.
Then one of them knocks over the mop bucket with his foot. The metal clatter is loud enough to wake the dead. The guard closest to me freezes.
“Hold on,” he says. His hand grips the edge of the cart and pulls it aside. We lock eyes, his widening with the kind of recognition that always comes right before a fight.
Making another in a long line of bad decisions, I try to bolt past him.
He grabs my arm and yanks me back with a firmness I wasn’t expecting. I twist, trying to break free. My bag slips off my shoulder and hits the floor. He keeps his grip tight, dragging me upright.
The second guard joins him, reaching for my other arm. I lash out with my knee, catching him in the thigh hard enough that he grunts.
“Stop fighting,” the first guard growls, squeezing my arm tighter.
I don’t stop trying to get away. I should, but I’m panicking and can’t get ahold of myself.
I kick again, twisting, pulling, dragging every ounce of resistance I can manage.
For a split second, it works. I slip free of one hand, but the second guard grips the back of my coat and slams me against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me.
Pain sparks through my face and ribs. My vision blurs around the edges.
The first guard grabs my wrists and clamps them together. The second pins my shoulder to the wall. Their radios both crackle at once with a command I don’t understand.
I gasp for air as they force my arms behind me, holding me in place. I try to yell for Rivera, hoping he’s already close, but my voice barely rises. One of the guards pulls out a zip-tie.
“Package secured,” he says into his radio.
And that’s exactly how I became a package, not a person. Their words piss me off, so I try to push back. Using the floor for leverage, I try to push back. But they drag me towards the restricted wing, towards the place I should never have entered and never even got a chance to explore.