The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 3: Surfacing (Part 5 of 7)

The portal's incinerator had stayed inactive and didn't burn them alive, which was good.

Damn good, R.J. thought, guiding Amy into the staging room.

She halted in the doorway blocking his way. The bright lights seemed to daze her. Amy's face tilted up and the harsh glare reflected off her eyes. But it became obvious that it wasn't the lights that overcame her but the novelty of this place. Slowly, first one step then another, she wandered around the room gawking at the hazmat suits and the decontamination shower.

In some ways it was sweet. In others, it was sad. But however he viewed her raw innocence, they simply didn't have time for it.

"Amy, you need to change into these clothes now." He put the duffel on a narrow plank of wood that served as a bench. The seat was Spartan in design but necessary for people wearing bulky equipment. There was one on either side of the room in front of the racks of neon colored plastic suits and air tanks.

Amy looked down at her camisole and bare feet, suddenly reluctant to get dressed, as though she would be giving up something of herself if she put on the clothes he had brought. But curiosity drew her over to him and she started digging through the bag.

"What is all this stuff? Why is there a wig?"

"There are also glasses. We're going to disguise you as Emily to sneak you past security."

"But I don't look anything like her."

"The guards on duty are new. You're about the same height. Dressed the same way, with same hair color, hopefully they won't notice."

"Hopefully?" Amy frowned dropping the wig onto the bench. "That doesn't sound very promising."

"If all goes as planned, there will be too much confusion for them to take much notice." R.J. didn't elaborate on the distractions he was hoping for. Distractions that might never happen, a nagging voice reminded him.

"And if things don't go as planned?"

Amy was barely moving. Whatever she was thinking, it didn't involve the urgency that was beating like a totem in R.J.'s ears. His instinct was to be delicate with his words but perhaps the time for that was over. She needed to feel some of the panic that was invading every one of his actions.

"They'll kill us."

"And if you take me back to my room?" she asked.

"Then they'll just kill you."

R.J. put his hand on her shoulder. "Look, I know this sounds crazy, but we've gotten through the hard part. The bunker is deserted, so the guardroom is the only other obstacle. I've set everything up to give us the best chance but we have to hurry. I'll leave you too it." He gave the bag a nudge and headed for the door.

"R.J.?" Amy was looking upward, her body tense. "It's not deserted. Someone's coming." Her lips puckered with intensity. "A woman. I don't recognize her. Strong perfume. Flowers—smells like revolting dead flowers. From that direction." She pointed. Her finger moved through the air like a compass needle tracking magnetic north.

"I'll take care of it. Get dressed."

R.J. opened the door only the minimum required to slip his body through and into the hallway. He could hear footsteps ringing against the metal floor like someone was wearing wooden shoes. He hurried in the direction of the clatter.

No one was supposed to be down here. Could it be possible that the Agency was onto him? Did Maxwell just pretend to believe him and was currently ushering an armed contingent through the bunker to capture them?