“Hey! Excuse me, ma’am, this is a restricted area.” The guard who challenged her had gray eyes in an angular face. What there was of his hair under his cover was sand-colored and looked like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. She gave him an apologetic half-smile, letting her eyes linger on his face with the perfect amount of interest to be encouraging but credible. It was blatant false advertising. She ruthlessly squashed the hint of pity.
“Oh, is it? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see the sign. I got a little turned around, anyway. Could you point me back to base housing? My sister-in-law is going to think I’m such a dummy,” she said.
As he kept approaching her, she moved towards him a bit less than halfway, judging the difference between flattery and triggering paranoia to within a hairsbreadth. A quick look back down the road and a helpless look back at him was enough to hook him and get him to follow her about a few meters down the hill. She made sure she had eye contact when she let her foot turn and took her spill.
“Oooh!” She squealed, arching her back as she turned and grabbed her leg. “It’s my ankle…” She rubbed the alleged injury, extending her leg and trying to rotate her foot. She winced prettily.
The guard squatted beside her, arm instinctively going behind her shoulders to support her.
“Ow.” She looked up into his eyes, arching just a little more.
His eyes flashed down to her tits, and he released her, standing back abruptly. He looked more nervous than wary. She decided he didn’t get out much — more leeway to flirt. Nervous, but trusting. Damn, there was that pity thing again. The team would be in and out without a trace. She wasn’t getting him in trouble.
“If there’s swelling, I don’t see much yet. Do you want me to call you a medic, ma’am?”
“I think I just twisted it a little. Would you mind?” She extended one slim hand for him to give her a hand up. He released it as she stood, so she put it on his shoulder to brace herself as she made a show of testing her weight on that leg.
In her ear, she heard Tommy’s voice. “Dude, I need a beer.”
The wind had picked up and was whipping her silver-blonde hair around her face. “Oooh, it’s getting cold.” She rubbed her hands together, coincidentally pushing her boobs forward with her arms. She felt his eyes drop again and smiled inwardly.
“Do you think you’re going to be able to get back your sister’s house on that leg? If you do, you might want to get in out of the weather, Miss… ?”
“Gracie. And it’s my sister-in-law,” she said, offering her hand to shake. “You’ve been so sweet, you’ve got to tell me your name.”
“Abrams, ma’am — Gracie. Mark Abrams.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Mark. What the hell is that?” She slammed her hands against her ears and looked around, eyes wide and fearful, as the sirens went off signaling the start of a drill. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, it’s just the Posleen alarm.”
“Oh my God!” She threw herself into his arms, clinging like a limpet. “Is there an attack? Are they coming in?”
“Oh, no, it’s just a drill,” he said, awkwardly patting her on the back.
“Are you sure? We’re in feral land, aren’t we?” She filled the words with terror.
“Real sure. It’s okay. They’re just about all hunted out here.” As seven men came out the doors of the archive building, one of them nudged another and winked at PFC Abrams. Predictable. These men hadn’t been hit by fellow humans in so long that security was a ritual afterthought.
She disengaged herself from him, reluctantly. “You must think I’m such a dummy. It’s the first time I’ve been in feral country. It’s only my third time out of the Urb.”
Cally made small talk with him for a few more minutes, giving a fictional name for her supposed brother and mentally crossing her fingers. At a training base, people were always coming in and leaving. Since Fleet Strike was trying to give a more family-friendly appearance for PR, even short-term trainees brought their families along. Stupid policy, but it helped her out. She wondered how long she’d have to talk to this guy — Mark Abrams — before Tommy and Harrison got clear of the building. She also wondered whether Mark would get around to asking her out before she had to leave.
“Dude. I ran into somebody I had to deal with. I think I’ll still get my paperwork done, but we’ll have to rush lunch. See you at the chow hall. Over,” her earbug announced.
“Roger that.” George’s answer to Tommy cut off.
Shit. Shit shit shit. Better shift the conversation to something she could keep going longer. She might have to keep Mark talking for a good little while. She glanced at the treeline and started trying to figure out exactly how far she’d have to get down the road to sneak over and risk making a dash into the woods. She’d probably have to go all the way down to that bend.
She suppressed nervousness when she started seeing men return from the drill. She sunk herself deeper into her cover role, almost forgetting it was a cover. By now, she had the private almost thinking they were soul mates. They had just discovered a mutual interest in woodworking. She had briefly dated someone who had a passion for it, and that was sustaining her so far, but she was encouraging him to talk as much as possible. There was no way to spare his career from what she was doing to it, which really sucked.
“Lady, as soon as we’re clear, disengage and haul ass. Big time,” Tommy said in her ear just after he passed her. Just as if that wasn’t pretty fucking obvious.
“Oh, my God.” She looked at her watch and back up at Mark’s with dismay. “I told Carrie I’d watch the baby! I’ve got to go!”
“Wait! How do I reach you?”
“I’ll call! I’ll call tonight!” She lied, remembering to put a limp into her jog as she left the young soldier staring after her.
“But you don’t know my number!” She heard him call it after her, after a pause.
“Mark Abrams! Got it!” She called over her shoulder, losing the limp as she got out of his line of sight. A quick glance showed nobody in view; she hit it straight into the woods, zipping her windbreaker over the glaringly bright top as she went. She was maybe ten meters inside the tree line when the sirens went off again.
“Holy fuck!” She poured on the speed, dashing straight for the fence. They’d find the jumpsuit, but to hell with it. It only took about half a minute to reach the fence, but then she had to decide whether she was north or south of the hole. She went north for about two hundred meters before deciding she’d been going the wrong way. Unfortunately, she’d had to slow down to pace the fence line, sirens wailing the whole time so she had to look, not listen. The only benefit was that nobody could hear her moving over them, either.