Free Plus One by Elizabeth Fama Page A

was being honest, that baby’s jab also reminded me that for the next hour and a half the tables would be turned on Ciel. I would be the one taking something precious away from him.
    There was a mass of people—families, outpatients, and staff—milling toward the revolving door, funneling into a line. The sun was low in the sky, streaming through the glass entry, leaving beams on the floor, illuminating dust motes in the air.
    I almost choked on my own spit when I saw two Hour Guards on either side of the revolving door, wearing their stupid helmets even inside, tapping people as they passed.
    A random Day check.
    It felt like a rubber band was strangling my intestines. My heart beat against the baby. I had to concentrate on slowing my breathing, on not running in the other direction. I had such an urge to step out of the line, to give myself a chance to think, to figure a way out of this, but I knew that I mustn’t call attention to myself. My feet continued shuffling toward the door, while I was mentally paralyzed—too afraid to bolt, too confused to troubleshoot.
    I focused on how they were choosing, and whom, and how long it took to check their phones. They were trying to be random, but it seemed like they were selecting men more than women. Each time they tapped someone, that person had to step out of line, a phone had to be produced, the Guard had to activate the phone—twenty seconds for each encounter, at least. There was a good chance I wouldn’t get chosen. Like a wildebeest in a massive herd, the odds of my being taken down by either of those two lions were objectively slim.
    That’s the thought I held on to.
    The baby squirmed. It was hot in the lobby.
    A squeak.
    The man in front of me turned around. I coughed. When he turned away, I rubbed my belly—the baby. I patted her. So solid. So warm. She settled down.
    Three people in front of me now. A female doctor got chosen by the Guard on the right. Score, I thought. What were the chances they’d pick another female staff member to harass, which is what I hoped I looked like? I hid my bandaged finger in my front pocket. I told myself that the hospital lanyard and ID would help me pass as Day, as long as the Guards didn’t flip it over to see the photo. The door kept revolving, and I was almost there. I felt a warm breeze waft in as it spun, smelling of the outdoors mixed with exhaust fumes from the line of cars waiting to drop off or pick up patients. Through the glass I could see valets running with keys toward the parking lot. There was a pigeon roosting on the steel support of the overhang, dirty and haggard, like me.
    I was next at the door. I saw my hand go out to give it an extra push. I felt a tap on my left shoulder. I turned to see the black uniform, the helmet, the visor. It was so unexpected, so last-minute, even the woman behind me bumped into me.
    “Really?” I said to the Guard, immediately regretting how belligerent I sounded.
    “Destination?” he said, slightly annoyed, slightly mechanical. The people behind me were impatient. They wanted to go home; most of them probably had long commutes before curfew. But I wouldn’t step out of line. I refused to give up. I was so close .
    And then I realized that he hadn’t asked for my phone yet. He hadn’t reached for my fake ID. Thank god, I hadn’t been caught yet.
    “I’m going to stand there ”—I pointed to a cement urn outside filled with sand and cigarette butts—“and take a five-minute smoke break, or go back upstairs right now and kill my Mentor by strangling her with this stethoscope. Which do you think I should do?”
    “Get out and calm down,” he said, like my crassness made me the scum of the earth, which it probably did. But it had also freed me.

 
    Wednesday
4:15 p.m.
    When I was sure the Hour Guard wasn’t checking on me, I pulled the cap off my head and slipped in step with the crowd of Rays making their way to the train, still putting my faith in the wildebeest