Girl Cyborg: A Dystopian Action Adventure Thriller

For Sale

Bess retreated to a corner of the hayloft where the floor seemed stable. Her position gave a good view of incoming threats. The house was at right angles to her position, easily viewed through a knot in the wall to her right. Below, through flaws in the floorboards, she could see if anyone came through the barn door. With her back to the wall, she gathered hay toward her until she was covered up to the chest. She wasn't willing to pile the foul-smelling mouldy stuff near her face, unless the bounty hunter got closer. She hated being surrounded by filth.

Bess sneezed, three times. Allergies. In the Academy, they didn't test you for such weaknesses. They trained you, and imposed rigorous exercise to make you tough. Non-life-threatening problems were kept to yourself. Bess worried the bounty hunter would go near the barn. If he did, one sneeze would give her away. Bess wished Lance hadn't refused her a side-arm, and not just because it made her feel vulnerable. No gun meant he didn't trust her.

She heard the crunch of gravel under tires. She looked through the knothole. Unfortunately, because the house stood between barn and laneway, she couldn't see the vehicle. Lance's sister had talked about defending the neighborhood and keeping strangers out. This community had its own defense militia. Could that explain the visitor?

A car door slammed and an outdoor light went on. Did bounty hunters ring door bells? Bess didn't know whether to feel relieved or scared. If it wasn't reinforcements, Lance just welcomed the bounty hunter into his house. Were they working together?

Lance had been quick to send his parents and sister away, as if he were preparing for a confrontation. Question was, which side was he fighting on? Her kidnapper was a black box to her, his motives a puzzle she couldn't solve. Was the eat-your-chicken-soup stuff real, or just an act to get her guard down? She went back over the events of the past 24 hours, searching for the key to Lance.

Something moved. Through the knothole, she saw a window open on the top floor of the house. The bounty hunter stuck his massive head out the window.

Bess froze. There wasn't time to pile straw in front of the knothole. Either he saw her, or he didn't.

He nosed the air like a tracking dog. Bess waited, certain he would see her. His massive shoulders were too wide to fit through the window. His augments were offensive and sensory. Lance had been right to hide her in this stinky hay — as long as it didn't make her sneeze.

He swung his head subtly, side-to-side, the way Bess did when searching rubble for warm bodies. He must have heat vision. A little shiver went up her spine, setting off the pain in her back. With super senses to find her, and strength like Capt.'s to subdue her, Bess was going to have to be very clever to survive. As soon as he moved from the window, Bess piled more straw around her face and head so that she was completely covered. If he came into the barn, she would sense the heat of his augmented muscles; which meant he would sense her too. The hay scratched and poked her skin like a hundred itchy needles. Bess settled in and concentrated on not scratching. Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe he wouldn't check the barn at all.

She heard men's laughter in the yard between house and barn. Lance was talking to the bounty hunter. What would they have to laugh about? She sensed their approach. Why would Lance walk him directly toward the barn? Was he selling her out? After everything he had done to help her?

She could wait, but not too long. If the bounty hunter got much closer, he would sense her presence. She had to attack while she still had the advantage of surprise.

They were at the barn now. She heard the jangling of heavy chains and then a dragging sound. What were they doing down there? The two of them were standing still. Bess heard a long, low whistle — the kind Academy guys reserved for pretty girls. Bess waited as long as she dared. Could the whistle be for her? This was starting to feel like a bad joke. He must have caught her scent from the floor below, and his whistle expressed wonder at how badly she must stink.

She heard Lance say, "Well, what do you think of her?"

"What does she do?"

"I haven't really been able to test her, but what jackpot, eh?"

The jackal laugh of the bounty hunter set Bess's teeth on edge.

"I may have to speak to my employer about this," he said.

"She's not for sale."

"Every man has his price."

"Not me. I've grown attached, especially since they won't be making any more."

Lance was bartering her away! She recognized this kind of banter from the night market. The vendor would refuse to sell. The purchaser would raise the price to change his mind. This back and forth almost always ended in a sale. Time to throw off her straw and attack. She scanned the hayloft, hoping to find some sort of improvised weapon. Now that it was two against one, she might have to do the unthinkable: kill a civilian.

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In a thriller, the reader is often a few of steps ahead of the heroine. What would you tell Bess if you could?

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