Gods Under The Dome

2.2

《Seeing Red》

¤

I'm taken aback by the brightness and the color. Our walls are stark white, clinical and clean, blinding like freshly fallen snow basking in sunlight. But here, the walls are a rich taupe, the color of beach sand, warm and inviting. The lights have none of the harshness of our fluorescents. They've got a softening effect and even Marava's face looks a little less angular.

"I think they're leading us this way on purpose," I say.

Quint's brow furrows and he shoves his hands in his pockets."Why do you think that?"

I point to my right. "Because the windows here don't have bars."

His head snaps to attention, eager to follow my finger. And though his eyes initially house doubt, as soon as his gaze finds the first window, then flits to the three beside it, each flanked by long, pale blue curtains, that feeling is extinguished.

The glass is frosted, so it's a bit hard to make out what's beyond, but there's an outline of trees behind some kind wall, where towers, similar to those eagle nests along the track, shoot up at evenly spaced intervals. Some kind of light streams in through the window, diffused but strong enough to highlight dust particles as they dance through the air.

"See?" I say, gently pushing his shoulder. Marava hisses."No pinholes on the sill to house the laser bars. And that glass doesn't look too thick. Sunlight never pours through the windows in our neck of the woods." He nods, though the sight of such normal windows has made him silent. "I think this part of the Facility was designed with lessened security measures. We were never supposed to be here, so why all the bars and steel doors if the only people coming here are approved staff?"

"You think we could shatter one of them?" Tujo plucks a coffee urn from underneath a lone maker from the counter across from us.

He tosses it casually in the air, like a baseball or a rock before it's hurled at its target. I shake my head. Rima puts her hand on his forearm and frowning, he lowers the urn.

"I don't think you'll need to find out," I say.

"And why's that?"

I motion toward the guards, toward their vests. "They've got enough grenades to blast this entire ward to smithereens." I nod at the windows. "They might be shatterproof, but they sure as hell aren't grenade-proof."

¤

"No dallying!" one of the guards' yell. "Fall behind, get left behind." The edge to the voice and the directness of the command makes me think it's the woman speaking to us.

Tujo chuckles. "Dallying," he says as he picks up Rima's hand and starts moving. "What is it about guards--"

"Or imposter guards," I contribute.

He nods. "That has them spouting aged slang?"

I shrug. "Maybe they've left modern idioms in their other Kevlar vests."

Tujo's large hand briefly leaves Rima's embrace to smack me on the back. I stumble forward, almost face-planting into a nearby dinette set. "Good one, Ten," he says, grinning.

I manage to recover my footing in time for most not to notice. Marava's scowl has shifted into more of a lazy half-smile so I guessing she saw and is running high off my near-collision. With eyes that hawkish, I guess you'd have to have your head tucked up your ass to have something go unseen.

We turn down corridor after empty corridor. I half-expect a lone tumbleweed to blow past, what with how deserted everything feels. Steam wafts from coffee cups. Plastic trays divide that day's lunch - some kind of roast, slathered in gravy, with a side of scalloped potatoes and stewed greens. Forks lay stranded across tables, as though whoever's been eating, left mid-bite.