“Actually, before I go, could you point me to the restroom?”
“It’s through that hallway,” he gestures behind me. “The second door on the left.”
“Thank you, I can see myself out,” I say and stroll away, my expression calm. My pace slows the instant I am out of his sight. Rivera is still in the lobby, pretending to scroll through his phone, watching me. I can’t give anything away. Not yet, anyway.
I push the restroom door open and slip inside. It’s empty. The lights are too bright, and it only has two stalls. I listen for the sound of footsteps in case Hanley has decided to wait for me, but there’s no sound coming through the door. I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Rivera:
Me: Think I’ve found something. I’m going to try and get into the restricted area. Can you cover for me?
Rivera: I don’t like the sound of that. I’m supposed to be keeping you safe.
Me: I’ll be okay. I’ll text you when I’m in. Heading to the west wing, area is earmarked for equipment staging but I think it’s a front.
Rivera: I still don’t like it. If I don’t hear anything I’m coming for you.
Me: Okay.
I stuff my phone back in my bag, take a deep breath and walk back out. I don’t turn towards the lobby. Instead, I walk in the opposite direction. The corridor curves just enough that I disappear from view. My steps stay quiet, but I move fast towards the door. The keypad is glowing faintly.
I glance over my shoulder and find no one there.
My pulse is pounding in my veins because this is breaking the law. I reach the door, but the one ahead isn’t fully shut. Someone left in a hurry or got careless. This is my chance. I slip inside without a sound.
I hug the inside edge of the corridor as I retrace my steps. The restricted door sits ahead of me, only a few feet away. The air feels different now. I can’t really describe it, but it feels like I tripped a security alert or sensor. I can sense it in the air. Still, I refuse to turn back now. When I reach the door, I push my palm against the metal. It opens with a soft snick. Relief lances through my chest as I slip into the room and ease the door shut.
That’s when I hear it. A voice behind me. “Hey you, stop!”
I cringe on the inside, but I keep walking. I keep my steps steady, pretending I didn’t hear whoever is calling out to me. The voice gets sharper, and a little closer the second time.
“Ma’am, I need you to stop right there, this is a restricted area.”
I don’t turn around. Instead, I pick up the pace, in a desperate plea to get away. The hallway curves enough that I can use it to break line of sight, but I only get a few feet before a second voice calls out from ahead of me.
“Intruder in the restricted area. She’s not cleared for this level.”
There are two guards, one behind me and one in front.
All my former excitement gives way to fear. The same kind of fear I’ve been running from for years. I glance towards the left corridor, trying to calculate whether I can slip through before they close the distance. The guard in front of me lifts his radio and speaks into it, his voice low and clipped. I can’t hear the words, but he’s staring right at me. And I can see the tension in his posture. He knows something is wrong.
I back up a step, my breath catching. Then I do something truly stupid, I break into a run.
The guard in front lunges for me, but I dive to the right. I hear the guards curse behind me as they run after me, their boots heavy and fast. The corridor tilts slightly and the lights blur at the edges of my vision. My fingers fumble for the strap of my bag. I clutch it close and push forward harder.
I take a sharp turn into another hallway lined with offices. A row of copy machines hums against one wall. I duck behind them for a second, trying to catch my breath. I’m scrambling to try and figure out my next move. There is no way I can reach the lobby from here without running straight into the guards coming from the main corridor.
I need help. Slate said trust him to help me and I decide that’s just what I’ll do. I pull out my phone and swipe the screen with one shaking finger. Rivera is closer, but if he doesn’t hear from me, he’ll probably come looking anyway. There’s only one bar of reception and I don’t have time to send a long text, I’m not sure whether it will get to Slate, but I try anyway and text the only thing I can:
Me: Help. I’m at Hydro Relief in Greer County with Rivera. They’re coming for me.
I hit send.
And a second later after sliding the phone back into my pocket, the footsteps get louder. The hallway opens into a small break area with vending machines and a round table. A cleaning cart sits beside the wall with a bucket and mop leaning against it. Realizing that if I’m caught with my phone I’m done for, I drop it in the trash bag and push past the cleaning cart, then head to the exit door at the far end. For a moment I think I’m home free, but the door doesn’t budge.
I hear the guards enter the room and quickly crouch behind a cleaning cart. Their footsteps slow. One exhales with irritation. The other speaks into his radio again. “She’s still in the west wing. Red badge. Auto lock all the doors.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying they will overlook me, and I can somehow make it out of this area without being caught. I start wondering why I ever thought this was a good idea.
The guards split up. One walks towards the break room door. The other moves farther into the wing, closer to where I am.
