(Iglesia is a serialized novel, published on Tuesdays and Saturdays at midnight ET, you can read all of the episodes by clicking on the tag.)
He passed like a summer storm. She watched him go ……..and then with a deep amusement at herself, she realized that while she had obeyed ‘orders’ and had kept walking no matter what her stride had decreased to the point where she was almost tripping over her own feet, trying to ‘keep walking’ as slowly as humanly possible.
She shook her head to clear it…but something of him lingered within her, deep within her. Next thing she knew she was practically skipping down the lane! And next thing after that came a thought of her husband. She stopped skipping and started shaking her head again.
At what was apparently the ‘end’ of the lane, Rogers was waiting for her. Behind a tree, in his ridiculous suit. But at least he wasn’t smirking. And for once, he wasn’t verbose.
“Please hurry!” was all he said, as he pulled on the tree and a hatch opened. She expected to turn down the service corridor. But instead he walked directly across it and opened yet another hatch. When she stepped through, it was snowing, a fierce wind was blowing, and her visibility was about six inches in front of her face. It didn’t occur to her to be cold.
“Aaaaah,” intoned Rogers, “much better!”
She looked around and guessed his location from his voice and took a swing at him, just for the hell of it. She could sort of feel it pass through him……., and then she felt him grab her hand and lead her along. She sighed, and followed. After a bit of walking, effortlessly but blindly, the blizzard cleared a bit and she could see that they were on a two lane blacktop…and before it closed in again she saw an old fashioned road sign. Bismarck 120 miles.
She figured this was some kind of heaven for sled dogs, abominable snowmen, Scandinavians…. or just plain loons. But then Rogers was pulling open another hatch and they were back in the service corridor. She still wasn’t cold, but she did take another swing at him, just on principle this time. He didn’t even bother to smirk, which pissed her off to no end.
“I want new clothes.”
She looked down at the remains of her modified burqha and then back up at him. He was looking at her over the yop of his stupid glasses.
“I want new clothes. Now.”
“Precisely what variety of garment are we speaking of, if you would be so kind?”
That stumped her for a moment. She figured there would be action coming up, but climate didn’t seem to matter much.
“Black spandex catsuit”