'Maybe.' He looked down at her. His knife hand didn't move. 'If you're skinny.'
A narrow little window in his bathroom opened over a back courtyard. It was a good ten foot drop but there were piles of trash bags down there. The obese man helped by pushing her through the narrow opening, his hands pushing hard on her back and her buttocks until she went flying out into the darkness. Nilla landed with a meaty thud and rolled away. In a second she was up, collecting the brown hat that had fallen off her head in mid-flight. It was more than just a way to hide her face, she realized. The obese man had been afraid of it. It had to be a symbol, as respectable as a policeman's badge. A badge that allowed her to be out past curfew'and something that would scare the hell out of everyone she met. She adjusted it carefully, low over her forehead, and headed back out into the night.
I have about THREE days worth of food. We WERE starving before but with only my MOUTH left to FEED' if you find this I guess that means I'm probably DEAD' if you don't find this I guess that means we're ALL dead, and this is really IT for the HUMAN RACE [Diary inscribed on the circulation desk of the Harold Washington Library, Chicago, IL, 4/14/05, emphasis as per original]
The Civilian took a handful of valerian root capsules as soon as they boarded the military flight back to Las Vegas. He fell asleep with his mouth open minutes after takeoff and snored obnoxiously the rest of the way. When the captain called back over the intercom to say they were being kept in a holding pattern above Las Vegas Clark woke up his patron to give him the news.
Still half-asleep the Civilian nodded and looked out the window. 'What's the hold up?' he asked. Before Clark could answer that he didn't know the Civilian offered to get on the radio and bully the air traffic controllers into submission.
'I don't imagine that's necessary,' Clark told him, and tried to get back to the paperwork he had called up on his ruggedized laptop.
Eventually they put down and were met at the gate by a team of men in brown caps with carbines slung on their backs. Both of them were forced to submit to having the inside of their cheeks swabbed and tested on the spot.
When the results came back one of the men looked down at his shoes and offered Clark his hand. Clark took it, out of simple courtesy. 'I am truly sorry for the inconvenience, Captain, but we can't take any chances right now. One of ours turned up dead'dead and walking, I mean'earlier today. Half his face was chewed off. It's not the first time but this one's a little weirder than usual and it's got us all spooked.'
'Weird? How?' Clark asked.
'Well, there's no sign of a forced entry, anywhere on the perimeter fence. And when you get dead people chowing on security personnel you expect to find a bunch of them but from all signs this was just one guy or whatever and our guy was armed to the teeth. Then there's the fact we never found the kid's hat. It feels like they're trying to infiltrate our ranks or something. Impossible, yeah, I know, they don't have the brains for that.'
All seven bones in Bannerman Clark's spine went rigid at once. The girl: the notion tore through his brain like a howling wind. 'At least one of them does. They've shown organized behavior before, too'that's what happened to Denver. Listen, I'm way out of my jurisdiction here, but I think maybe I need to talk to your superiors about''
'Yo, Bannerman, hold up there.' The Civilian moved in with practiced ease. He switched his overcoat to his left arm and got his right hand on the brown cap's shoulder. 'I'm sure these fine fellows have this thing under control. You guys work for, what, sheriff's office, state bureau of investigations, what?'