I open the door wider and glance around the hallway. It looks clear, both ways, and I don’t hear anyone but Doc nearby. I step into the hall, closing the door with a barely audible click. Ken could be here, in these very rooms. This might be my last chance to explore unsupervised.
I make my way down the hall and try the first door I reach, but it’s another examination room. So are the second and the third. When I come to a set of stairs, I pause. Last time I did something like this was back in the lab in New Hope. My mother came to my rescue then, making sure I wasn’t discovered. Now there’s no one to rescue me.
I grab one of my knives from its sheath and hold it in front of me as I walk quickly up the stairs, my body pressed against the wall. The second-floor layout is the same as the first. I try the first door and see that it’s a file room, the musty air thick with dust. I slip inside and the lights snap on automatically, motion-activated. The sudden brightness makes me jump. After a quick scan, it’s clear there are only cabinets, a table, and some chairs strewn with files. I close the door quickly, hoping no one can see the light from outside.
I make my way to the first drawer and pull it open. The folders are alphabetized by last name, and when I look at the drawer I see it is marked A. With shaking hands, I yank open the O drawer, but his folder isn’t there. As I check more drawers and more folders, I realize these are files on the prisoners. I close the drawer and turn to leave, accidentally knocking into a chair piled high with papers.
My eyes immediately snap to the door and I hurry to hide under the table, waiting for someone to investigate the noise. I’m breathing too fast, my body tense.
After a few minutes my breathing slows as I realize no one is coming. I crawl out from under the table and am about to stand when I look down at the paper my hand is resting on. It’s a mug shot, and I recognize the face—Tank’s crony Pete. Keller, Peter M. was doing eight years for armed robbery. A handwritten note is scrawled across the top: Highly malleable personality. Recommend for guard duty w. Lawson, Ellis H., a.k.a. Tank.
When I think of Tank, I clench the paper so tight, it crumples. I debate whether to take the time to look for his file. Maybe if I knew something about him, I could protect myself better in the future. I look quickly through folders on the floor. When I can’t find what I’m looking for, I move on to the folders on the chair and quickly shuffle through them, then move to the L file in the cabinet. His file isn’t there, either.
I hate that I’m spending time on this and am about to leave the room to continue my search for more clues on Ken when I hear a loud whistling coming toward me from the hallway. I shrink against the wall, but the whistler soon passes. I can hear his heavy footsteps head down the stairs.
Curious, I slip out of the room and follow him. I make my way to the top of the stairs and catch a glimpse of the man as he trudges down the steps. He’s tall, dressed in a suit, but wearing a Stetson hat and cowboy boots. When he hits the ground floor, the whistling stops and he disappears around the corner. I follow, slowly, keeping a distance between us. He vanishes into the room where Doc’s voice was coming from earlier. The door closes. I make a dash for my examination room, freezing when I hear my name spoken in a gruff, authoritative voice, then Doc’s slightly exhausted tone.
“That’s what she said. . . . I checked in for today and already gave my general report.”
“Did you sound the alert?”
“No. I wanted to tell you first. Should we detain her?”
“Let her in,” the gruff voice responds.
“You know I can’t do that. What about . . . ?” I don’t hear what Doc says because a noise behind me takes me by surprise.
I turn to find Jacks motioning to me from the hall outside the door to my holding room. He opens his mouth in shock, then wider, as if to shout an alarm.
Chapter Ten
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks in a loud whisper, waving me to the door. “Get in here before they find you.”
I pause for just a second before I hurry back to the room. Jacks shuts the door, his face scrunched. “You’re covered in dust. Where did you go? You were supposed to stay here.”
He looks at the knife I’ve been clutching the whole time.
“I’m not going to tell on you. Put that away.”
I hesitate, then sheath it. I’ve got no choice now but to trust this guy.
“Quick, clean up before Doc comes in here.”
He motions to the sink, where I quickly wash my face, the dark material of my synth-suit hiding the rest of the dust.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“I told you. I’m looking for someone. I thought I could just take a quick look around to see if I could find him.”
“And?”
“I found a disorganized file room. . . . Tried to look up Tank’s file so I could find out what he did exactly, but it wasn’t there.”
“You could have just asked me.”
“You were being pretty vague. . . .”