Читать книгу Shattered Roads - Alice Henderson - Страница 10

Chapter 4

When H124 reached the rubble at the bottom of the hole, she stood, listening. All she could hear were the building’s ventilation humming and the distant sounds from the neighbor’s display. She climbed the pile of old rubble and peeked out into the man’s living pod. She tensed, listening. Nothing unusual met her ears. The body still lay in the middle of the hallway, sealed inside the body bag. The smell of bleach hung heavily in the air. She didn’t catch the sound of any more footsteps. Maybe they’d gone past this place, heading for a different living pod.

She pulled herself out and quickly replaced the floorboards, slinging the carpet back in place. The foreign devices weighed heavily in her bag, even though she knew they were only a couple of ounces. She had to get out of there fast.

She strapped the body bag to her harness and began dragging the man down the hall. She peered out through the hole in the wall. The neighbor still sat on his couch, display gleaming in front of him. He entered text in one small window while watching a show about two girls shopping in a megamall.

He didn’t turn as she hefted the body through the hole and hurried toward his front door. She started to close her eyes to use the theta wave receiver to open the door, but instead leaned forward, staring through the peephole. The hallway was clear. She sent the message to the TWR to unlock the door, and it hissed open. Glancing up and down the empty hall, she lugged the body out, dragging it along the floor. The incinerator stood at the end. She bent with the effort, clenching her teeth. Her mind sped along, wondering what to do. Her body was on autopilot, dragging the corpse toward the incinerator the way she had countless times before in other living pods. The corridor lighting flickered overhead. If she told her employers about the asteroid, they’d know that she had been exploring, not just doing her job. She’d heard about other people who got distracted from their day-to-day tasks. Some were repurposed, moved into other, more menial positions. Others simply vanished. She knew she couldn’t tell them. Even if they listened, could she trust them to go to Public Programming Control so they could broadcast the information? Her best bet was to go straight to the PPC herself. After she incinerated the body, she’d head to the media building, and her employers would be none the wiser.

At the end of the hall, she stopped in front of the incinerator’s TWR. She sent the thought for it to open, and a gleaming metal door slid open on the burner. An incinerator stood on every other floor of each residential building. It was easier that way. She unclipped the harness and stepped out of it. Unzipping the bag, she took one last look at the man and his head wound. Then she rolled him into the furnace and commanded the door to slide back, closing him inside. She sent the mental command to burn. She packed up the body bag, straps, and harness, returning them to her tool bag.

At the exit door, she used the TWR to open it, and a gust of hot air swept over her from the outside.

She didn’t see the men until the outside door hissed closed behind her. Then she saw them, one at the end of the street, the other only a dozen feet away, staring at her. The closer one pulled out a gleaming metal tool and advanced. She recognized the black uniform, the armbands with the red insignia, the wide-brimmed hats worn low over their eyes. They were Repurposers, and they’d come for her.