Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1)

by Ann M. Noser

  The Handler chuckles. “I hear that guy is a complete psycho. He hates anyone and anything to do with the Incinerator.”

  “Really?” A smile plays on my lips because I think Franco just winked at me.

  “Yep. That’s what the other guys say. But don’t worry. If he gives you any trouble, let me know, and I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks.” But your assistance won’t be necessary.

  “And don’t be scared about those explosions in the sky. There must be some simple explanation for it. I’m sure we’ll be safe. It’ll probably be on the news when we get back into the city.”

  The poor guy drives as fast as he can over the potholes, gripping the steering wheel until his fingers turn white. For a moment, I consider telling him about the fireworks program I watched, but I stop myself, thinking that maybe I better keep my mouth shut. The now over-friendly Handler keeps up a nervous chatter, all the way back to town. I can barely hear his words over the plethora of questions bouncing around in my head. I need to talk to Gus. Alone. What’s his plan now? Why were there fireworks in the sky? How did he know they were coming? That had to be what he was waiting for, but why? What does it mean?

  I’m exhausted by the time we finally reach the Mortuary. Even though we haven’t been much help to the Handlers all afternoon, Gus starts unloading carts right away. Once we’ve finished, and the Handlers depart, we head back to the office.

  The lights are on.

  “I thought we turned these off,” I say.

  “We did.”

  We step inside a transformed office. Gus’s desk has been cleared off. His maps have been unpinned from the wall and folded into a neat pile. His work clothes have been taken off the hooks and tossed over a chair. My gym bag is on the desk, open as if someone rifled through it. An electric teapot is plugged into the wall outlet. There’s a foul stench in the air, and I work in a Mortuary so something has to be really bad for me to notice.

  “What the heck?” Gus rubs a hand through his wild hair.

  Heels click across the floor, and a stranger enters. Her bobbed, black hair has been teased into the shape of a helmet. Her cool, patronizing tone chills me. “Gus Andrews, I’ve been waiting for you,” she says.

  “What’s the meaning of this, Edwina?” Gus gestures at his desk. “Where’s my stuff? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s Dr. Wang to you.” Her thin lips form a tight, unfriendly smile. “And, Gus, you’re far too old to let yourself get so worked up over nothing. You might have a heart attack and die. Wouldn’t that be a pity?”

  “This is my desk.” Gus points. “This is my office. This is my job.”

  “Not anymore. Consider this your retirement party. Starting today, I’m in charge.”

  he already chilled room drops a few more degrees from the loaded ice daggers sent between Gus’s blue eyes and Dr. Wang’s brown ones.

  “I’ve heard nothing of this.” Gus’s bushy white brows furrow together.

  Dr. Wang scowls, her voice as foul as bile. “Oh, Gus dear, you’re positively ancient. You should’ve stepped down ages ago, but I’ll admit it gives me quite a thrill to be the one to kick you out the door.”

  Gus crosses his arms. “I’ll be glad to step down once Silvia is ready to take over. And, if I must refer to you as Dr. Wang, then I expect the same in return. It’s Dr. Andrews to you. Only Silvia gets the great honor of calling me Gus.”

  “Silvia Wood can’t take over.” Edwina Wang shakes her head. Her bobbed hair barely moves as if it’s not allowed any freedom. “I’ve seen her chart. It’s marked for ‘Special Attention.’ She won’t be your intern for long.”

  “What?” Gus gapes. “How did this happen? Who’d you have to blackmail to weasel your way into my job?”

  Dr. Wang examines her nails. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. I know about you and your ways, and don’t you forget it.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Watch what you say, or I’ll scream from the highest tower that you’re a sexist, racist pig.”

  “That didn’t work last time, did it, Edwina?”

  “Whine all you want, Gus. It won’t do you any good. I’m here to stay, so get out of my office!”

  “Let’s go.” Gus places a hand on my back and guides me into the main workroom, his steps dragging like an injured man.

  I turn to Gus and whisper, “What do you mean by ‘last time?’”

  He breathes heavily. “That evil woman was my intern fifteen years ago. She never did her assigned work. Instead, she used her access to private information to blackmail one of the soft tissue surgeons in the hospital into giving her a coveted medical position upstairs. Somehow, she must’ve slithered her way up the system to the point that she’s here, busy destroying my office!”

  I glance back at Dr. Wang, vigorously placing items on Gus’s desk. “There’s gotta be some way to get rid of her. How can I help?”

  Gus rubs his temples. “Have I told you lately what a wonderful young woman you are?”

  I grin. “Most every day.”

  “Good.” He bites his lower lip. “Then know I mean well when I ask you a big favor.”

  “Fire away.” I’ll do anything to help Gus.

  He sighs. “I’m sorry, Silvia, but you’re going to have to throw this race.”

  “What?” My stomach drops. “It’s only a few weeks away. What do you want me to do? Drop out or something?”

  “No. Don’t drop out. That’s too suspicious. But don’t win it. The dogs seem to be sniffing at your heels, and it all started when you signed up for that race. There’s some funny business with this contest. I don’t trust it.”

  “I’m not sure what to say.” I clench my jaw.

  “Why do you want to win so badly?”

  “It’s just that…” I sigh. “It’s nice to see my mom happy again, and the orchestra conductor told her it would be good for her if I won.”

  Gus narrows his eyes. “See? What’d I tell you? Sniffing dogs.”

  “What do you want me to do now? Can I still practice with Liam?” Even at a time like this, my first concern is losing my new friend—and my connection with Franco.

  “Of course. I don’t want to raise anyone’s suspicions, but I must keep you as my intern. It’s imperative.”

  The sound of a banging hammer draws our attention back to Dr. Wang, who’s nailing what looks like official government papers to the wall.

  Gus grabs his hat. “Let’s go.”

  “You mean right now? What are you going to tell Dr. Evil?”

  He chuckles but only for a short second before his face turns somber. “Oh, let her wonder what happened. I’m out of here but only for the night. I’ll be back tomorrow with a plan.”

  We head for the stairs and begin the ascent.

  Gus pauses on the third step. “I changed my mind.” He turns to me, a devious look in his eyes. “Let’s both take tomorrow off.”

  “What?” This never happens. Has he gone nuts? “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Yes. I think it’s perfect.” He continues up the stairs. “Silvia, I’ll see you in two days. I hope you find the time off to be profitable.”

  We reach the top without another word, but I can tell Gus’s mind is spinning the way his fingers tap imaginary keyboards on both sides of his pant legs.

  “Bye, Gus. I’ll see you later, then.” I call out to his departing back as he heads home, humming a dark tune I don’t recognize.

  I sleep in the next morning, but, due to my tumultuous dreams, I wake even more exhausted than before. After a quick meal alone, I head to the gym for yoga before a long run with Liam.

  Pausing at the classroom door, I feel guilty going without asking if Liam wanted to join me. But I’m not ready for his steady conversation… not yet. I don’t understand what’s going on with Gus. I don’t like being listed for “Special Attention.” And I’m not sure what to do about this upcoming race—if I ever
had a chance to win it in the first place. The only thing I am sure of is: I don’t want to work for Dr. Wang, and I’ll help Gus with whatever plan to get rid of her.

  I’m tense during Pigeon. I’m tight during Downward Dog. And I can’t relax during Savasana. After yoga fails to calm me, I head toward the railway. There, waiting for me at the monorail stop, is Liam.

  He waves. “Howdy, stranger.”

  “Hi. How’re you feeling?”

  He laughs. “Are you worried I’ll cramp up again and prove I’m as big of a wimp as Franco thinks I am?”

  I shrug as the monorail pulls into the station. We back up to the metal railing as the passengers pour out, then we board. This time, there’s no room to stretch. It’s so packed; we stand pressed side by side, leaning into each other as the train departs.

  The buildings pass by in a flash.

  “Franco might meet us on his bike after he finishes work,” Liam says.

  I nod.

  Liam frowns. “You’re quiet today. Is everything okay?”

  I lean close to whisper. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

  “Gotcha.”

  In mutual silence, we watch the other passengers. It occurs to me that very few people actually hold conversations with each other in public places such as this train. Everyone’s gazes focus on some arbitrary point perhaps to avoid making any accidental eye contact. Is this due to customary politeness—or fear? Maybe everyone is afraid of the cameras and the Suits waiting behind them, ready to pop out and haul them away at any moment. Dad always taught me to talk superficially in public and carefully in private. Perhaps this is a lesson we all learn at a young age.

  After a few more stops, we finally reach our destination: the lovely hallowed, potholed, gravel roads near the greenhouses. I’m free to be myself out here without cameras or microphones recording everything.

  “Let’s stretch.” This time it’s Liam who makes this suggestion.

  “You really are worried about cramping up again, aren’t you?” I tease, but my heart isn’t in it. My troubles make me feel heavy and old.

  We start with a ten-minute slow warm-up run.

  “Okay, spill. We’re alone now,” Liam commands as we run, passing long metallic buildings on both sides. The greenhouses will start soon on the left.

  I glance at our government-issued running watches. “That is, we’re alone if these watches don’t contain microphones.”

  Liam grins. “Now you’re starting to sound like Franco. He checked my watch over for an hour the first night I got it. No bugs.”

  “Good.” I shake my shoulders a little to loosen up. “Here’s my problem: I’m really worried about Gus.”

  “Why? Is he sick?”

  “No, but, all of a sudden, some awful lady came in yesterday and said she’s taking over. But nobody told him anything about this, and he’s been working there forever. Work is his life. They can’t just take it from him. Can they?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they can.” Liam frowns. “Will you have to work for wench-lady, instead?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to, but I’m not even sure I’d have to. She said I’ve been labeled ‘Special Attention,’ whatever that means.”

  “Really? That’s so odd because today, at work, they told me the same thing.”

  “What is going on?”

  “I don’t know, but ever since we started training for this race, nobody at work will teach me to do anything new even though I’m so bored doing simple tasks. They act like it isn’t worth their time.”

  “Have they told you anything directly?”

  “No, but they’re acting like I won’t be working my job for much longer, so why bother? At first, I didn’t want to read into it because I thought I might be getting ahead of myself, but now… I’m not so sure.”

  “What’s up with this race?” I ask. “Do you really think we’re going to be faster than everybody else?”

  “I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure: we’re the only two contestants who petitioned for permission to run off course. The Race Director told me so himself when I saw him at the gym last week.”

  “Really? Why wouldn’t anyone else want to do this? It’s so much better than the treadmill.”

  Liam shrugs. “Maybe they never thought about it. I wouldn’t have done it without you and Franco suggesting it.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Speaking of mad scientists with paranoid delusions, there he is now.” Liam points down the road.

  Franco rides up on his bike. I hope the natural flush on my face from running hides the blush rising in my cheeks. While Liam fusses with his watch, Franco winks at me, and I’m suddenly right back in the truck with the firework-frightened Handler. What was that about, anyway? Maybe I should try to get some answers.

  “Hey, Liam, did Franco tell you about the fireworks show out here last night?” I ask, keeping my eyes trained on Franco.

  “No.” Liam says. “What are you talking about? There was nothing on the news about any fireworks.”

  Franco rolls his eyes. “That’s so you, Liam. If it wasn’t on the news, then it didn’t happen. So, what’s on the agenda today, you pain-loving running freaks?”

  Liam details the fartlek schedule: three fifteen-minute pick-ups with ten minutes break in-between. I welcome the opportunity to focus on something outside my brain. The random tweaks in my hips, knees, or ankles as I dodge potholes aren’t enough to worry me. Instead, they help me focus.

  Too soon, we finish the workup and slow the pace to cool down.

  “So, Silvia,” Liam pants. “You wanna tell Franco about Gus losing his job?”

  “What?” Franco halts on his bike so fast; he almost topples over. “What’s this all about?”

  Breathing hard, I give him the details. Once we get to the monorail station, Franco silences me with a look. We ride back into town without the usual banter, quiet as the others I observed on the ride out. Liam copies all my stretches since the car is mostly empty.

  “How do you feel?” I ask him.

  “Better.” He smiles. “Thanks, Silvia. This really helps.”

  Franco stares off in space, preoccupied.

  “Hey, Franco, you coming over for supper tonight?” Liam asks.

  “No, sorry. I got other plans.” He glances at me then turns to fuss with his bike. “ Here’s our station.”

  Liam walks me home again but doesn’t come up. “I’m pretty sweaty and stinky,” he says. “I better go home and not ruin the good impression I’ve already made on your mom.”

  “All right. See you tomorrow after work for core exercises?”

  He waves as I enter my building. I head upstairs to shower, eat, and sleep like every other day, one after the other. It’s a never-ending cycle that I somewhat accepted until Dr. Wang came along. I can’t work under that woman.

  But what if Gus can’t get rid of her?

  The next morning, I hurry to work, my nerves on edge. The second I enter Mortuary Services, I want to turn around and head back home. Instead of rock music, opera screeches in the background. And the falsetto singer isn’t the only one hurting my ears. It’s like a war zone in here.

  “So, Edwina, I heard that Surgeon you blackmailed eventually killed himself.” Gus glowers, his eyes dark and dangerous. “You must be very proud of your accomplishments.”

  “I had nothing to do with that.” Dr. Wang grimaces, bending over a body. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop talking about it.”

  “If you’ll kindly remember, Edwina, I don’t take directions from those beneath me.”

  She scowls. “You’re only here until I get up to speed in this department. I can’t believe you didn’t show up for work yesterday!”

  Gus raises his fuzzy brows. “But, Edwina, you said I was retired—”

  “Stop saying my name over and over, you aggravating—”

  Gus turns to me. “Hey, Silvia, didn’t you hear Edwina tell me my services wer
e no longer needed here?”

  Dr. Wang whips her head in my direction. “So, you decided to show up today, too, eh? Why didn’t you show up yesterday? I don’t recall telling you to take a vacation day—”

  “No, I did,” Gus interrupts. “I told her to take the day off for my retirement party, because you said—”

  “Oh, just stop talking altogether.” Dr. Wang wipes her sweaty brow with the back of her wrist. “Silvia, start organizing the carts and bring me some suture.”

  I hang up my light jacket. “What kind?”

  Dr. Wang doesn’t answer. Her face pales to a sickly color. She shudders involuntarily, her instruments falling to the floor with a metallic clatter. Her gloved hands grab at her abdomen.

  “I’m going to be sick.” She races down the hall toward the bathroom.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I ask, crossing the room to Gus’s side.

  His eyes widen. “Some people simply weren’t meant for this job.” He can’t hide a smirk.

  “What are you smiling about?” I poke his arm. “What’s going on?”

  “Fine. I’ll tell you,” Gus whispers. “I’m poisoning her.”

  ou’re what?” I glance toward the camera aimed a different direction than usual. “Did you really just say what I think you said?”

  Gus scoffs. “It’s not like I’m trying to kill her. I only need her incapacitated.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what you’re poisoning her with?” I’m standing so close that I’m practically on top of him. I don’t want anyone to hear us.

  He chuckles. “I knew you’d be interested. Iris root. I ground it up and put it in that foul-smelling tea she’s always sucking down. She didn’t even notice. Until now.”

  “Iris root?” I glance around, so sure someone—a Suit, maybe—will barge in at any moment.

  “Yes. It causes severe, but not life-threatening, gastrointestinal distress.” Gus continues to work, his face a calm mask of dedication and duty. “I’ve done other things, as well, such as muffling the microphone and aiming the camera on her table to best show her inability to perform her job. Don’t worry; you and I remain out of view. But be sure to help her when you can, so that those who are watching see how concerned you are about her well-being.”