Fiona in room 244 barked out orders and kept Fran scurrying from one task to another. She insisted her room was stifling, and Fran smiled and adjusted the temperature. A moment later, however, Fiona claimed she was going to freeze to death, and demanded a blanket. She growled that her throat was closing up from thirst, and Fran rushed to get her some water. However, when she returned, Fiona slept comfortably in her chair. Fran huffed. Must be from the West Wing.
Given a guess, Fran estimated Marie to be the oldest of her wards, at about thirty five, and John and Bob not too far behind. Fiona’s age remained more of a mystery. With a face full of makeup and her head donned with fashionable wig, she resembled a woman in her early twenties. However, the decline gnawed on the rest of her body, giving evidence that twenty had been a long time in Fiona’s past.
Although Fran’s quirky patients suffered from various levels of decline, they were her team. Team Fran. She pledged to stay with these four until the end… Or until she found her way out—whichever came first.
Over the next few days, Fran began to enjoy the eccentricities and banter of her team while touching their soft hands and whispering words of encouragement. It lulled her emptiness, reminded her of the hope that lay ahead. She knew it would be hard to say goodbye to every one of them. Yet, knowing where they were headed when their time came, she would celebrate a silent victory.
In between visits, Fran nosed around the corners of the Ranch hoping to find a clue as to the whereabouts of the portal to the open air. Although she now understood the tidy layout of the Ranch, the location remained a mystery.
After assuring Fiona to be comfortable, Fran slipped from her room and padded down the hallway in the papers booties referred to as proper footwear. Her back itched from the scratchy low-grade material she wore, and with a roll of her eyes wondered who in the world ever thought up the idea of making scratchy, canvas shirts. If she saw that person on the outside, she planned to give him a piece of her mind.
As she swished along the hallway, the buzz of a venting sounded, and Fran hurried to the nearest shaft just as Pete wriggled from the opening. Although not quite as combed as it had been a few days prior, his wavy hair still looked cute tucked behind his ears and his brown eyes, just as captivating. She liked Pete. As a matter of fact, maybe she even really liked him. Their gaze locked, and Fran lifted her chin toward a deserted room a few doors down.
She hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed Pete over the last few days, until he wiggled his brows with unexpected levity.
“You’re a handful, Mr. Pete,” Fran laughed.
“That? Coming from the Wolf?” He stepped closer and reached for her hand. “Let’s see this bad boy.”
On inspection, Pete let out a low whistle. When Fran giggled, he dropped her hand and lifted his gaze. “So, did you read Chan’s notes?”
“Mm hm.” The smile felt good on her face.
“And?”
“And, I’m going to find the portal.”
“Really?” Pete stepped forward and draped his long arms over her shoulders. Fran released an easy breath and didn’t even push him away. In reality, she kind of wanted to close the six inch chasm and get lost in his cheap cologne.
“Mm hm. Why wait for the decline, right? But, I’m going to need some help.” Fran took a baby step forward and wedged her head in the hollow beneath his chin.
“Just name it.”
Fran enjoyed the vibrations of his voice. She hesitated before pulling away and holding up her wrist. “I need to get this thing off. I’ve been thinking about how to do that, and wondered if maybe Folsom could fashion something.”
“Hmm. I’m sure he’d consider it an honor to at least try.”
Fran smiled. “Thanks, Pete.”
“Mm Hmm, I’ll swing by his niche after I leave.”
A sudden howling in the hallway interrupted their soft banter. Fran recognized Fiona’s boisterous screams and the corners of her mouth took a dive.
“I have to go.”
She raced out of the room as a crash sounded and a deep male voice rang out between howls. She rushed down the hallway and around the corner, almost colliding into a guard as he towered over Fiona’s chair. Fiona cowered and wept as the guard shouted out insults and ridiculed her. Fran positioned her body between the two and looked up at the assailant.
She hadn’t seen him since her school days, but the blood in his eyes still evoked the same response. With a rumble in her throat she snarled, “Freddie.”
Behind Fran, Fiona continued to whimper. Freddie’s face lit up, and he bore his teeth like an animal.
“What are you going to do, Monde? Kiss me?”
He puckered up and lunged toward Fran. When she ducked, Freddie stumbled onto Fiona’s lap which made the old woman screech even louder. Freddie spit out a string of curses as he stood and then launched Fiona backwards. Fran sucked in her breath as the chair careened into the wall. Freddie laughed. Although she wanted to pummel his fat face, Fran rushed to the aid of the Fiona instead.
“He hurt me. That man hurt me,” Fiona whimpered.
Fran rubbed her shoulders to help soothe the poor woman. Then she turned back to Freddie.
“What were you thinking?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Monde, she’s halfway to death’s door. I was just helping her along.”
Fran harrumphed. “She’s looks very alive to me.”
“We’ll see,” he snickered. “When you’ve been here as long I have, you learn to see the signs. This one? I’m betting she’ll be gone before the week's out.” He grunted and shook his head before heading back down the hallway. “Have fun.”
Fran continued to sooth Fiona, as she moved her back into the safe environment of her own room, stroking Fiona’s faux head of hair and whispering words of encouragement. Finally, Fiona’s chin dipped and a light snore followed.
“Don’t worry, Fiona, soon you’ll be heading out.” The words slipped from Fran’s lips a moment before her drawn brows lifted to her hairline and a strange congruency of grief and joy flooded her soul. Fiona would be heading out soon. It was an arrow pointing straight to the portal. She ran from the room and swished down the hallway.
“Hey, Freddie. Wait up.”
Fran followed Freddie into the small break area and watched with sick fascination while he dissected his food. He tore a brown gooey sandwich, or pie, or something, into pieces and slurped on the ends. Although repulsed by his table manners, Fran decided sharing a meal might help mend fences. She retrieved her lunch from the cooler, popped the lid from a cold aluminum cup, and scooped a spoonful of applesauce into her mouth.
“So, where do they go?”
Freddie looked up. “Who?”
Fran shrugged while trying to contain her disgust. Her eyes seemed to roll on their own these days, so she lowered her lids to cover their inference.
“The post-primers. You know, when we send them off. Where do we send them to?”
Freddie snorted. “Who cares? They’re just gone, that’s all.”
“Well, someone has to bring them to wherever they go. Don’t you do that?”
“Nope. That's done by the higher-ups. The old guys.” He continued dissecting and chomping.
“Superiors?”
“I guess.” He shrugged. “All I have to do is swipe this little button.” Freddie held up his com device, and his chest puffed out.
“Wow. Do I have one of those?”
He sputtered brown bits of food onto the table. “Sure, Monde.” He shook his head. “You know, I’ve racked up two years in this joint. Maybe if you can make it that long, they’ll give you the chance to send off a few. For now? Just be glad you’re not pulling diaper duty.”
Fran couldn’t decide whether to be excited or sad for Fiona. Nevertheless, she stayed close to the woman’s side for the next few days, and just as Freddie predicted, her health did take a dive. When Fiona barked, her orders became more and more delusional until Fran understood they no
longer dwelt on the same plane of reality. Not only that, but her body began a rapid descent as well. Although Fiona held her own spoon on Tuesday, by Thursday, the food trolley stopped in her room three times a day to shovel in the porridge. Fran stood by and watched as the mechanized arm scooped globs from a tall bucket and dumped the contents into Fiona’s awaiting mouth. Sometimes the gruel made it in. Sometimes it didn’t. Either way, the arm kept moving.
When Friday rolled around, Fran stopped by to wake Fiona. The woman's eyes barely fluttered when Fran called out her name. She placed her face next to Fiona’s. The weak stream of breath trickling from the resident’s nose and mouth indicated such a vulnerable state, Fran feared if Fiona didn’t get out to the open air immediately, she would expire in this tortured world.
Fran swished out of the room in search of Freddie, with a strong hunch where he might be found. Sure enough, as she raced into the break room, she found him seated at the table, catching the latest gaming match and munching on a package of cookies.
“Freddie, its Fiona.”
He looked up and continued chewing. After dipping his hand back into the packet, he pulled out another cookie and then shoved it into his full gullet. He swallowed, took a slug from a large plastic thermos, released a sigh, and stood.
“Did you say your goodbyes, pretty lady?”
Fran had no intention of taking Freddie’s bait. “She’s ready. You can call the Superiors.”
Freddie kept his eyes on Fran, lifted the com device, and, without even bothering to glance at it, swiped his finger across the screen.
“Done.” He moved a little closer to Fran and licked the crumbs from his lips. “Now what?”
She backed out of the room. “I’ll go check on my remaining residents.”
Freddie chuckled. “One down, three to go. At this rate, you’ll be rid of this stink before you know it.”
Fran ignored his last comment as she hurried back to the room. For her plan to succeed, her timing needed to be impeccable.
Chapter Sixteen
As she neared Fiona’s room, Fran spied a yellow-uniformed worker rolling the dying woman away. Belted into the moving chair with a porridge-stained wrap sagging on her wilted frame, Fiona seemed unaware of the move. One bony shoulder peeked out from where her smock had fallen away, and her bare feet dragged on the ground, making a sick scraping sound. Her shaved head, which had always remained hidden beneath a stylish wig, now exposed her hairless scalp and lobbed about like a heavy ball on a wobbly stick.
Fran waited for the worker to pass and after a few extra breaths, turned to follow him. Every so often, Fiona looked as if she might topple forward, before the orderly yanked on her shoulder to right her back into the chair. Fran followed at a distance holding back at each juncture and peeking around the corner before moving forward.
At the third intersection, as Fran spied around the corner, the yellow uniform halted mid-hallway, set the brakes for Fiona’s chair and turned around to depart. Fran dove into a nearby room and waited until the footsteps swished away before moving around the final corner.
She neared Fiona and, with relief, noted a supply closet with a swing-style door located in her periphery. Fran swiped her employee code and wormed into the closet, using caution to leave the door ajar just a crack. As she watched, Fran fought the urge to run out and tend to the old woman, itching to straighten Fiona’s smock and speak words of comfort. Before she could talk herself out of the closet, however, two men in matching red suit jackets, approached the chair.
Fran’s spine straightened as she watched a red light flash from a hidden sensor. A voice announced their Superior credentials, and the wall hummed opened revealing a human guard on the other side. Outfitted with a breathing apparatus like the ones fashioned for would-be earth trekkers, the guard saluted the Superiors and handed over a mask for each of them. The Superiors adjusted their masks before pushing Fiona through the opening, out of Fran’s view.
She cracked the door until she could see past the opening into a vestibule. The three stood before what looked like an elevator door which soon opened as well. A moment later they disappeared with Fiona through the second set of doors.
Fran charged out of the room and skidded to a halt at the opening of the first chamber. A warm and foreign atmosphere with a thick, damp quality emanated from the room. Fran breathed the strange air into her lungs. It tasted sweet on her tongue and made her head feel heavy. Could it be air from the outside? She inhaled a long breath and as she did, the panel hummed to a close, returning the wall between her and the portal.
Fran contemplated her new discovery for a fraction of a moment and then scurried away for fear the Superiors would return and find her gawking at the panel. Had she just pulled outdoor air into her lungs? If so, it hadn’t sent her into choking death spasm, and as far as she could tell, her face remained intact—not even a drop of melted skin on her canvas shirt.
A smile grew on her face. She wanted to scream with joy. She couldn’t wait to tell Pete.
.~.
The next day, her work shift began bright and early. After changing into the required Canvies, Fran yawned and swished down the hallway. As she passed a vent opening, she heard a “Psst.”
Fran’s gaze brushed past the grate just as Pete lifted an imprinted cheek from the mesh. She smiled. Good old mesh-face. She leaned down and whispered. “Meet me two hallways over at the fifth vent. I’ve got some new findings.”
Fran hurried to meet Pete at the opening just a few yards from where the Superiors had exited with Fiona the day prior. Checking her back every few steps, she swept down the corridor, made a left and two rights before arriving breathlessly before the vent opening. A soft hum later, Pete unfolded from the dark.
She grabbed his arm, tugged him to the hidden panel, and whispered. “This is it.”
With lifted brows, Pete opened his mouth to speak, but Fran quickly shushed him. Then she lifted a nervous finger to the inconspicuous sensor pad before pointing to her own eyes. She pressed her lips to Pete’s ear and breathed out, “That’s how the Superiors got in.”
Before Pete could do or say anything stupid and alert the guard stationed on the other side of the door, Fran nudged him down the hallway while holding in her own breath. Once they turned the corner, she exhaled loudly. “Can you believe it?”
“No I can’t. So how does it all work?”
“I’m still not one-hundred percent sure. However, this is where they bring the residents. I saw the Superiors wheel Fiona into that chamber before they disappeared through another door.”
“Well,” Pete looked at the floor and squirmed a little. “What if they’re just bringing them to an incinerator or something?”
“Seriously?” Fran grabbed Pete by the shoulders. “What’s wrong with you? You read what Chan said. It’s the way out. Anyway, I saw them put on special breathing masks.”
“Okay, okay.” He took a step back. “So, how do we get in? Or, should I say, out?”
Fran chewed on her lip. “I’m not sure yet. But there’s got to be a way.”
“To bad we can’t just climb through the vents,” Pete chuckled.
“Mm-Hmm.” Fran thought about the thick air she’d inhaled yesterday right before the panel had slid shut. If it had really come from outside, certainly a vent would be involved.
“Pete. You’re a genius.”
Pete smiled and wiggled his brows. “Oh speaking of genius, I’ve got something for you that might help things.” He rummaged around in his front pocket until he produced a small band of metal.
“What is it?”
Pete chuckled. “Folsom calls it the deactivator-plus.”
Fran’s eyes grew wide. “I love that guy!” She grabbed the strip from Pete and turned it over in her palm. “A deactivator. Nice.” She nodded in approval. “So what’s the plus for?”
Pete chuckled. “It deactivates your bangle, plus gives security a pseudo reading every ten minutes. Your little bangle—while tuc
ked away on a shelf somewhere―will appear to move about the Ranch, head home at the end of the day, and even come back for morning check-in…” His brows danced and he spoke from the corner of his mouth. “…In case you want to have an overnighter elsewhere.”
Fran snorted. “What you mean overnighter?” She grabbed his arm. “What did you tell him?”
“Um… I just said you and I were…” He shrugged.
“…You know.”
Fran huffed. “Um, no. We’re not.” She mocked Pete’s brow wiggle before rolling her eyes. “But, hey, thanks for ruining my reputation.”
Pete chuckled and shoved his hands his pockets. The old stirrings of irritation prickled Fran’s skin. She wrapped her arms around her waist.
“What?” He had that idiot look again.
“I don’t want whatever it is going on between us to get around.”
Pete lifted his shoulders and his brow arched to his hairline. “Too late?”
“What? Who’d you tell? What’d you say?”
Pete looked away and coughed. “Nothing really. I mean I might have mentioned what an awesome kisser you are.” He dropped his voice. “To a couple of guys.”
He turned back to Fran with mock sincerity and an obvious look of male triumph in his eyes.
She wanted to punch him.
Instead, she placed her hands onto her hips and glared. Her thawed heart began to re-freeze around the edges and she offered a phony smile before pushing Pete back toward the nearest vent.
“You better go now. We can’t get caught this late in the game.”
As she watched Pete crawl back into her old world, Fran reflected on their last kiss. No warm fuzzies. No butterflies fluttered in the stomach. Nothing other than frustration filled her gut.
Chapter Seventeen
Impervious Page 9