The Attachment Race by Bliss Kevin

Author:Bliss, Kevin [Bliss, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-02-05T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Omicron had arrived. Nearly ten kilometers from Transition Compound Upsilon, Omicronians had to be shuttled in via the same beaten and bruised transports which had delivered Belinda and the others to their temporary home three weeks before. Omicron had been constructed around the bones of a dead town, just like Upsilon and other compounds that peppered the area.

Flowing out of the dorms in a pair of single-file lines, the last bits of daylight faded and electricity took over for its shift of illuminating the grounds. The broods had arranged themselves on the ground near the north fence in the long shadow of the mess hall. They applauded and whistled, laughing among themselves. Yet it seemed to be clear in the minds of the women about to walk through the gates to the Race that there was no malice or envy on the part of the broods. Even with the differences among them, there existed a sisterhood. Almost as an affront to the system, to the Watchers, they were playfully bonded in this moment.

Grace and Belinda were set side-by-side as Watchers reorganized the ladies into rows of five across. Not unlike a regiment prepared to march into battle, the group remained in place as the glow of the setting for the Race attracted their attention beyond the west fence.

“Count on at least forty-five percent bullshit from all of them,” Grace said with a smirk.

“At least,” Belinda agreed.

“Do you think Alisson could use some words of advice along those lines before they unleash Omicron on her?”

“Of course. But wouldn’t Peg be the best one for that job?” Belinda smiled a little. She appreciated the lightness of the moment, the respite from routine and the structure that had been imposed on them – finally reaching its crescendo in an exercise of sheer absurdity.

Belinda scanned the lines behind her. Something was missing.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Grace asked.

“Alisson.”

“She was…” Grace turned to look over the others, “…behind me in the hall. Wasn’t she?”

Belinda worked her way back through the cluster of Upsilonians. As the last of the women cleared the dorms, Belinda tried to spot Alisson among the ever-shifting wave of dresses, but didn’t see her. Worse, she couldn’t, for the life of her, recall the color of Alisson’s dress for the evening. How many times had Belinda looked Alisson’s way, finding Upsilon’s “little sister” lost in thought? How could she not know the color of the dress?

“Purple,” she said softly in an attempt to convince herself she did remember. It might absolve her of the guilt she harbored for looking right through the young woman with whom she’d shared a room, meals and drudgery since arriving at the compound.

It finally dawned. Regardless of Grace’s recollection that Alisson had been behind her in the hall going down, Belinda had no specific memory of Alisson ever getting up from the chair.

Into the dorm, up the stairs to the third floor and past open doorways, Belinda ran. She had nothing to go on. Not a single concrete fact to suggest anything was wrong.

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