101 Ways to Skin a Hoodie

Chapter 5

I jump awake as the bell tolls for what I assume is morning. It's time to bust out of this place. No waiting around, we already have all the information that we need. I don't want to stick around and go through this torture again, and there's just one item left that we need, which we can get it during mealtime. After that it should be smooth sailing. As long as we remain exceedingly lucky.

So yeah, we're set.

The hatch slides open in the ceiling, and the latter drops down. Aruetta starts climbing, and I follow her. The distance from the cell floor to the hole that we emerge from is only around double my height, so we should be fine later, especially since Aruetta is taller than me.

When we're up we turn around and head into the mess hall/fighting arena, just like yesterday. I think we look inconspicuous enough among the crowd of prisoners, but if the aliens can sniff out heart rate then we're screwed. I, for one, am currently quite nervous, and my natural cardio functions are responding to that in turn.

We seem to be good, though, and none of the aliens that are starting to appear on their observer platforms seem to be picking up on our plotted misdeeds. We join to queue for food, and I point to whatever slop that Aruetta chose again.

Once we've found a seat I start shoveling the food down my throat, not stopping to worry about the taste like yesterday. Time is of the essence now, after all, and this is the integral part of our plan. My main worry is that the lunch ladies have a very bureaucratic system, as they seem to be quite efficient during ordering, and then later taking the trays that we return. Let's just say that if they take careful inventory then we're screwed.

Despite my best efforts, Aruetta finishes before me, and that's when the announcement comes on. In our heads, that is.

"The first match of this morning will be inmates Aruetta versus Samantha. Finish eating and report to the ring."

Shit shit shit. We lock eyes. This is not according to plan.

"A-alright then, Samantha. When you're done eating could you take my tray back to the counter for me? I'm going to start preparing now." Nice improv, Aruetta!

"Mm-hm!" I mumble with a mouthful of stew, and Aruetta heads off. This should still work. There are a couple of eyes on us as Aruetta walks away from me, but I don't think our exchange was particularly unnatural or noteworthy.

I choke down the last of my food, and slide Aruetta's tray under my own while getting up from my seat.

Alright. Showtime.

As I walk back to the lunch counter my hands start to get clammy. Most of the other inmates have finished by now, so a lunch lady is watching me as I move in what feels like slow motion over to her. She turns away to bark an order at one of her coworkers, and I start to slide my hands together, but quickly jerk them back apart as she turns back to me just as quickly.

Even if the top brass of the facility can't sense that something's wrong I wouldn't put it past another human to figure it out.

I'm at the counter now, and I try to keep a neutral expression as I begin my movement. As I raise my hands up to put the trays on the counter, I turn them to the side and make a motion that I'm pushing them across the counter at the woman. In actuality the trays and the counter block her line of sight to my other hand, which is pushing the lower tray back into the imaginary space between them.

She takes the tray and turns to hand it back to the dish cleaner. I turn to walk away.

...

And then when I'm almost out of earshot; "Miss!"