Her mouth thinned as she nodded, and without a word walked out.
Dorian heard the locks snap. And the lights went off.
She lay trembling in the dark, staring up at the faint numbers illuminated on the ceiling.
10:00 P.M.
She didn’t know. She didn’t know. Yet.
Dorian watched those numbers change, minute by minute, and visualized the Matron Monster checking each door—twenty-eight on this floor. Then she’d use the stairs—please God don’t let her decide to use the elevator this time. And check the other floors. Probably.
There had to be other floors with other rooms because she’d counted at least sixty trainees. And she didn’t think she’d seen all of them. This floor held the Pretty Ones. But there were Servants, Breeders, and Pets.
Since none of the cells had soundproofing—they wanted to hear you—she listened for voices, footsteps, alarms, any sounds.
She heard the heavy door of the stairway thump shut, and closed her eyes as tears leaked.
She still didn’t know.
* * *
In the infirmary, on the narrow exam table, Mina rolled on her side, stuck her fingers down her throat, and puked on Nurse’s shoes.
“Goddamn it, 232!”
“I’m sorry.” She added a few pathetic moans. “I’m sorry.”
Nurse shoved a slop dish into her hands. “Use this if you have to vomit again. Stay there!”
Since the door to the infirmary was locked—the drugs, the supplies, the everything locked—where would she go?
She moaned, held her breath, moaned, then leaped up, dashed to the computer on the desk. Nurse had had to check her in, so no passcode needed.
She’d paid attention in computer class, had a geek friend. She knew what to do.
She pulled up the locks, hit the release for Dorian’s door, crossed her fingers for luck, then yanked open drawers.
Nurse chewed gum. All the damn time.
And there was a pack of it. Mina grabbed two sticks and, chewing madly, dashed back to the exam table.
She had time to tuck the wad into her cheek when Nurse came back—wearing fresh shoes.
“I’m so sorry, Nurse. I’m sorry, but I feel a lot better. Just really tired and sort of weak, but my stomach doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Nurse grunted, took her temperature, checked her pulse.
Mina knew her skin felt clammy—but that was fear, and excitement.
“I’m not hauling you upstairs, then having somebody haul you back down again if it starts up again. You’ll stay in the sickroom tonight.”
“I just want to sleep.”
Nurse helped her up, and Mina leaned against her as they went across the hall to the sickroom. Half the size of her bedroom upstairs, it held a cot, a rolling chair for a medical.
At the door, Mina swayed, leaned a little more weight on Nurse as she covered her mouth with her hand, spit out the gum.
“I thought…” She breathed out as she shoved the wad of gum against the latch. “False alarm. A little queasy, but not like before.”
Nurse dumped her on the cot, used the mini tablet in her pocket to record the sickroom stay. She set a bucket beside the bed.
“You have to go, you have to vomit again, use that. If you need medical assistance, press the button on the bed guard. Don’t bother me unless you need medical assistance. Understood?”
“Yes, yes. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”
“Easy for you. I have to clean up your mess. Lights, ten percent,” she ordered. “So you don’t miss the bucket.”
She stalked out.
Since Mina didn’t have a clock, she counted off the minutes.
Nurse had to get cleaning supplies, mop up the puke, then she’d probably go back and clean up her shoes. She had a little room with a sleep chair and a screen.
Maybe she’d sit at her desk first, write up the report on the puking incident, but if she did, she’d face the comp screen, not the glass door.
Quietly, Mina slipped off the cot, moved to the door. She pressed her ear to it, heard nothing.
Now or never, she told herself, and eased the door open a crack.
No alarm sounded, so she picked the nasty gum off the latch, then crept out. Nurse sat at the desk, and everything inside Mina trembled.
She pulled the door closed behind her, heard the lock click. Though it sounded like an explosion in her head, Nurse didn’t even glance away from the screen as she worked.
Mina made the dash to the elevator.
“Come on, Dorian. Please, please, please.”
If Dorian didn’t come—
No, no, she would. She had to. They had to get out, go to the police. She had to call her mom and dad. They’d come get her. And Dorian, too.