David Robbins - Houston Run

“Only if you want to come,” Lynx told her. “But I can promise you this.

I’ll do my best to protect you, to watch over you. But if you’re the kind of woman I think you are, you won’t need protectin’ for long. I suspect you’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

“I hope you’re right,” Melody said.

Lynx glanced over his right shoulder.

Tom was deathly still, a large pool of blood encircling his head and shoulders like a red halo.

“How soon before they miss him?” Lynx asked.

“I don’t know,” Melody replied. “It depends on if anyone heard us. The walls are soundproofed, but if someone was walking by in the hallway—”

“Go check,” Lynx said, cutting her off.

Melody moved to the door, deliberately refraining from looking at Tom.

She cautiously opened the door and peered into the corridor. “I don’t see anyone,” she stated.

“Good,” Lynx said. “Close the door.”

Melody complied, returning to his side. “Now what?”

Lynx reflected for several seconds. “You said the testin’ floor is seven floors up?”

“That’s right,” Melody confirmed.

“I’ve got to get up there and see if my buddies are there,” Lynx declared. “Can you find me a white uniform like Tom’s?”

“No problem,” Melody answered. “We all have lockers in the break room, the Employees’ Lounge, for our personal effects. I can take one of his uniforms from his locker, and no one will be the wiser.”

“How will you get into his locker?” Lynx inquired. “Do you have a key?”

“Why would I need a key?” Melody responded, puzzled. “It won’t be locked. No one locks their lockers.”

“Okay,” Lynx said, pondering. “The uniform should fit, no problem. Do you need a pass of some kind to go from one floor to another?”

“No,” Melody said, reaching up and tapping the Orwell Disk in the middle of her forehead. “They monitor our location with these.”

Lynx nodded. “I know. I forgot. If you were to leave this floor and head up to forty-five, would they notice right away?”

“I don’t know,” Melody said.

“We’ll have to risk it,” Lynx stated.

“And what about you?” Melody asked.

“What about me?”

“You don’t have an O.D.,” Melody observed. “If we bump into a Superior, he might ask questions.”

“Then find me some glue when you go for the uniform,” Lynx said.

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Just this,” Lynx stated, and impetuously pecked her on the lips.

For a moment, her face registered only stunned surprise.

Lynx abruptly wished he could become invisible. What the hell had he done that for? Now was not the time or the place, he mentally chastised himself. What a dork!

Melody, incredibly, smiled. “What did you call that?”

“A kiss,” Lynx responded shamefully. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me!”

“I know what got into you,” Melody said.

Lynx was astounded when she placed her hands on his shoulders and drew near to him.

“And you can’t call that nip a kiss,” Melody admonished him.

Lynx was too amazed to react when she touched her soft lips to his, disregarding the blood on his face and mouth. He felt her warm tongue flick his lips once, and then she stepped back.

“Ummmmmm,” Melody commented. “You taste good.”

Lynx didn’t know what to say.

“Not bad,” Melody added. “But you’ll have to do better next time.” She hastened to the door, opened it, winked and grinned, and departed, closing the door behind her.

Lynx slowly reached up and traced his left index finger along his lips.

She’d kissed him! Actually kissed him! He couldn’t believe it! She certainly wasn’t as shy as he’d supposed. He walked over to Tom’s corpse and nudged the body with his right toe. “You asshole! If she’s frigid, I’m Peter Rabbit!” he said, and laughed.

The minutes dragged by.

Lynx spent the time wisely. He took a washcloth from the sink and used it to soak up the blood from the floor. After cleaning up the food spilled during the fight, he lifted the cot to its proper position, then rolled the corpse underneath the cot. A careful adjustment of the blanket, and Tom was effectively hidden from view. He was dabbing up the last of the blood when the door opened.

“I’ve got everything you wanted,” Melody said, closing the door. She surveyed the room. “Where…?”

Lynx nodded at the cot.

“Oh,” Melody declared.

Lynx rinsed the washcloth, then draped it over the edge of the sink. He faced Melody. “Let’s have it.”

Melody walked over and handed him the white shirt and pants. She held up her left hand, a tube of glue in her palm. “Why did you want this?”

“You’ll see in a sec,” Lynx said. He quickly donned the clothing, pleased at the perfect fit.

“My! Don’t you look handsome!” Melody said appreciatively. “But we need to do something about your face.”

“Thanks a heap,” Lynx retorted.

“I mean those cuts and all that blood,” Melody remarked. She went to the sink and ran cold water over the washcloth, then came back. “Hold still,” she directed, and hastily wiped the blood from his fur. “Do you want me to bandage these cuts? They look deep.”

“No time,” Lynx replied. He knelt and stuck his head and arms under the cot.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” Lynx said.

Melody nervously glanced at the door.

There was a muted rustling from under the cot, followed by a peculiar sucking noise.

“Got it!” Lynx said, elated, and emerged. He stood, holding Tom’s Orwell Disk in his bloody right hand. “There ain’t no wires on this gizmo. How do they implant it, anyway?”

Melody couldn’t take her eyes off the disk. “They shave off your fur, if you have any, and use a scapel to cut a circle in your forehead the same size as the disk. Then they attach it.”

“What do they use to keep it in place?”

“I’m not sure,” Melody hefted the glue. “We’re not permitted to view the implantation procedure.”

Lynx gazed at the O.D. on Melody’s forehead. “I hate to say it, but that thing is comin’ off as soon as we’re out of Androxia.”

“I know.”

“It’ll hurt when I take it off,” Lynx predicted.

“I know,” Melody said. “But it can’t be helped.”

“See? You’re one tough momma,” Lynx stated. He moved to the sink and washed off the disk. “Let me have the glue.”

Melody gave it to him.

Lynx coated the reverse side of the disk with the glue and handed the O.D. to her. “You’ll have to do the honors. Just press it against my fur. Try and get it as flush as you can.”

Melody quickly applied the Orwell Disk to his forehead. She pressed on the disk as hard as she could, then blew on it to hasten the hardening of the glue.

“I wish you were doing that to my ear,” Lynx commented.

“Behave,” Melody rejoined. She tentatively withdrew her hand. “There. I don’t know if it will hold. But if no one looks at it real closely, they won’t know it’s a fake.”

“Then we’re out of here.” Lynx took her hand and crossed to the door.

“What’s the best way up to forty-five?”

“We could take the stairwell,” Melody advised. “Hardly anybody ever uses the stairwell.”

“Which way is it?”

“Take a right,” Melody instructed him.

Lynx nodded, opened the door, released her hand, and nonchalantly strolled from the room, bearing to the right.

Melody stayed on his heels, closing the door after them.

Lynx took four strides, then froze as a deep voice stopped him in his tracks.