They turned the final corner and she stopped. “Stay here,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure it’s clear.”
“I’m coming with you,” he insisted.
She shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re looking for. Or where to hide while you do.”
She did. Or she had. Dizzie ran to the end of their short corridor. The space opened up exactly the way she remembered.
Deep in the basement, a complicated series of bins and conveyors collected the building’s trash and carried it to the landfill. Those transfer bins were her escape plan.
The trams ran like clockwork, automatically controlled from elsewhere in the building. Security monitored the area—sort of—but never paid close attention. Corporate espionage was a huge concern for the company. The trash was searched and sorted before it reached this point. Not to mention, the smell was a strong deterrent.
She watched the system, silently counting the timing of the transfer for two full cycles. Nothing had changed.
She returned to their hiding place.
Killian was practically shaking with impatience. “Where were you?”
“Making sure we don’t get killed. C’mon.”
Retracing her steps, she led him to the edge of the platform.
He paled as he caught on to her plan quicker than she’d expected.
“We’re going out with the trash?” he asked with a gagging noise.
“You didn’t have a better idea,” she whispered, then shushed him again as he began to object.
She grabbed Killian’s hand. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away. If he had, she’d have left his sorry ass to face Tremaine Security alone.
“Leaving the building this way is tricky,” she warned. “We need to time the jump perfectly. There’s a narrow window of time after one train leaves and before the next one arrives.”
His grip softened and his fingers curled around hers.
The synth-skin bandages that covered his palm were rough against hers. The artificial skin was intended for quick fixes. Doctors could heal wounds easier, but it took longer.
Was the rest of him as banged up as his hands? She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. She meant it as a comfort, but when he flinched, she regretted it.
Keeping her grip as businesslike as possible, Dizzie leaned close. “We need to get over there,” she said, pointing across the tracks, “quickly and quietly.”
The rattle-rattle of the next cart got louder. They didn’t have long.
“C’mon!” She tugged his hand and raced forward. Thankfully, he followed without hesitation.
She ran toward the tracks and stopped at the edge. Killian pulled level with her.
It was all coming back to her. “Steady. We have to let the first one go by.”
The incoming tram whizzed by, nearly smothering them with the stench. Her stomach clenched.
“Oh god, that’s awful.” Her hold on Killian strained as he leaned away from her and puked over the side and into a bin down below. “I should take you back to the cell for this,” he rasped.
He sounded so traumatized that she struggled not to laugh. “I doubt you could find your way back,” she teased.
Sobering, she studied the tracks again. As soon as the outgoing tram raced by, she started counting. “One Tremaine sucks, two Tremaine sucks, three Tremaine sucks.” She chanted under her breath, the rhyme and the rhythm familiar and soothing. She and her friends had yelled it when they snuck down here to play.
“What are you saying?” he asked.
Without breaking the pattern, she squeezed his hand to silence him. She passed twenty-nine and stepped to the edge. “Okay, now!”
