He hoped that she knew that he was trying to get home to her.
And that he could see a life for them on the Islands. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen. He could apprentice with her father—become a man of science. They could live in comfort and luxury, always knowing that they had opted out of a life of tribulation and fear.
Grant realized that he had wasted too much time dreaming about his future; he imagined that the call to their presentation from Huck and their trip to the surface could not be far away now. He crawled off the beanbag and pushed the elevator button. The doors opened immediately and he slipped inside, letting them close on their own. It was time. He couldn’t wait to leave this place. Copia awaited.
A few guards milled around outside Scott’s lab and the Center. They were in full fatigues, lugging around their weaponry like they were headed off to war. In pairs they marched in formation from one end of the long hallway to the other, and Grant watched them with a sense of unease. He had watched the men (and woman) laugh and engage in drunken silliness, and he’d heard their stories and played cards with them. They had allowed him into their small circle, but it was clear that now they had pushed him out.
They were all business. Nate nodded wordlessly as Grant passed him in the hall. When he saw Dylan standing at attention against the doors to the Center, he stopped and jabbed his friend playfully in the arm, hoping to draw him out of his dour mood.
“Hello,” Dylan said officially, but he didn’t budge. His weapon was pointed at the ground, his arms stiff at his sides.
“Man,” Grant said, scratching his head. “You are all crazy serious about this departure.”
Dylan closed his eyes. It looked like it pained him not to talk to Grant in their familiar way. “I’m just working,” he finally answered with an apologetic smile. “I have my orders.” He sniffed and stood up a little straighter. “It’s nothing personal.” Then he turned to look straight at Grant and the penetrating glare made Grant’s hair stand on end. “That’s all you need to know. It’s not personal.”
“Right,” Grant said and he took an instinctive step backward.
Mick from breakfast was right behind him, smacking his gum and chattering into a walkie-talkie. He sidestepped away from Grant to avoid running into him and nodded to acknowledge his presence.
“You have a nice afternoon, son?” Mick asked.
“Me?” Grant pointed to himself and looked back at Dylan, who was staring straight ahead.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t asking any of the guards. We’ve been too busy to have a nice day,” Mick replied.
“I think so,” Grant answered. “Just anxious.”
Mick gnawed on his gum and then snapped it loudly behind his teeth. He was about to reply when Blair appeared, marching down the hall in her skirt, holding on tightly to Frank’s leash. The dog trotted happily by her side, his pink tongue sticking out of his mouth, bouncing along to the rhythm of her walk.
Grant walked down the hall to escape the congregation and rested against the corner. He pushed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ceiling, hoping that no one would notice him. He didn’t have anywhere to go.
“Ryley isn’t back, sir,” a young man named Jorge said to Mick, rushing up from down the hall, holding his standard-issue rifle across his arm.
“Is that bad?” Blair asked, immediately entering the conversation at full-speed. She tugged on Frank’s collar and pushed on his rump. “Sit, Frank. Sit.” Frank barked.
“I bet he’s just being thorough,” Mick replied, shrugging. He checked his gun and then holstered it.
Nate approached and cleared his throat. “Ready for the announcement, Mick? We should get people up here soon. I have the video from Huck cued and ready to go. Scott’s boxes are in place.”
Mick’s head shot up and he scanned the area quickly. Grant slid further down the hall, hoping he was fully out of sight. Still, their voice carried to him. He felt his heart beat wildly in his chest. Scott’s boxes. He had heard them. Scott had never talked about boxes to him; he had certainly never seen Scott tinker with anything that could be described as a box. He tried to push it away, tried to play it off as something innocuous. He shook his head and mumbled to himself, “It’s nothing,” which he wanted to believe with his whole heart.
“Jesus, Nate,” Mick chastised in a loud whisper. “We have civilians in the hall.”
Their voices died away. Grant peered out again. The guards marched past.
Blair took a step forward after they cleared. “Maybe you should see where Ryley is? Maybe remind him that he’s supposed to be back?” She looked at the boys pleadingly.
“Sure,” Nate replied and he tossed his walkie-talkie to Jorge who caught it and sighed.
“Attention Guard Command Three. Please finish up your sweep and return to the Center for operation King’s Box. I repeat, finish up your sweep and report to the lab to be equipped for operation King’s Box.” Jorge tossed the walkie-talkie back. “Is that better, Blair?”
“Sure,” she shrugged with a smile. “I want this all to go well just as much as you do.”
Grant slid away and sat down again.
The guards marched up and down the hall from the end closest to the elevators to the end closest to the exit from the theater room. Four of them marched together, and they never looked up the hallway to Scott’s lab to see Grant sitting there, waiting for the rest of his Copia compatriots to arrive.
Blair walked around the corner with Frank and she jumped a bit. She eyed Grant with suspicion and concern.
“I didn’t see you there,” she said quickly. “How long have you been here?”
Grant shrugged and smiled. “Just waiting,” he said. “Eager.”
She didn’t reply. Frank wandered down toward him and barked once. Reaching out, Grant gave him a small scratch behind the ears and the dog responded by licking his palm in long slurps. It tickled Grant’s hand and he smiled. Mick rounded the corner and looked at Grant.
“You’re everywhere, Grant Trotter,” he said with a hint of annoyance.
“I don’t have anywhere—” Grant started, but he realized that Mick wasn’t listening.
“It’s time, Blair. I need to start the call for the Copia residents to arrive for their briefing. You ready?”
She shook her head and looked confused. Looking down at Grant, she handed him Frank’s leash. “Hold this,” she instructed, and she turned back to Mick. “You should let me try,” she said.
“Try what?” Mick asked, distracted.
“Let me try to get Ryley on the radio.” She held out her hand. “Maybe I’ll have better luck getting him back...since his absence here is a clear breach of my father’s protocol.”
“What?” Mick stared at her. “A breach of your father’s...Blair...listen...we’re about to call the Copia residents to the Center.” He looked at Grant and then looked at her. “Time’s up, sweetie. Ryley’s probably off dealing with some Copia-related issue. Maybe he’s taking a dump. Does it even matter? He’ll be back. I’m not wasting time on him. Protocol. Who gave you the right to assume what our protocol should be?”
“My father gave me the right,” Blair answered. “I have the ultimate power and authority here.”
Grant wished he could disappear into the wall. He fiddled with Frank’s leash.
Blair held out her hand. She kept her hand out until Mick put the radio in her palm. He crossed his arms and chewed his gum like cud.
Clicking on the walkie-talkie, Blair cleared her throat, and mustered up her most professional sounding voice. “We are missing Private Ryley. Private Ryley, we are ten minutes away from needing you at the starting point for our operation. Please report to the lab.”