Ex-Purgatory, Peter Clines [top ten books of all time .txt] 📗

her chest. “They wanted to drop everything off before breakfast. I’m guessing rush hour is pretty nasty around here?”

Freedom gestured at the eight-lane street with his chin. “This is going to be pretty close to a parking lot in another hour. Didn’t mean you had to come, though, ma’am. The demonstration’s not until noon.”

Dr. Morris patted the crate in front of her. “Cerberus is still my baby,” she said. “I go where it goes.”

Freedom kept his face straight and managed not to grind his teeth. Another civilian who didn’t understand schedules. He glanced at the crates. “So this is it?”

“Yep. The Cerberus Battle Armor System.”

Freedom looked up and down the street. “Weren’t you a little worried leaving all this on the sidewalk, ma’am?”

“I didn’t leave it,” she said. “I’ve been with it the whole time.”

“I meant, weren’t you worried someone might take it?”

“Again,” she said, “sitting here the whole time. Plus, these are all a little too heavy for a snatch and grab.” She gestured at one of the cases, a two-foot cube, with her chin. Her arms seemed glued to her chest. “That’s the lightest one and it’s close to a hundred pounds.”

He studied her for a moment. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“I’m fine.”

“Because you seem a bit tense.”

“I’m fine, I just …” Dr. Morris took a deep, calming breath and forced her arms down to her sides. “Can we get inside? I don’t … I’d rather talk inside.”

The crates were about five feet from the recruiting office doorway. He glanced between the entrance and the pile a few times. “Is it just you?”

“The rest of my team should be showing up around ten. They’re still back at the hotel.” She followed his gaze. “I was told there’d be a hand truck,” she said.

“There may be,” he said. “Do you mind waiting a few more minutes while I check the back room?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Sure. No problem.”

After unlocking the door and deactivating the alarm, Freedom learned there was, indeed, a hand truck. He pushed two cases of flyers off it with his foot and wrestled it out through the office. She looked relieved to see him again, and even more relieved once she stepped inside.

It took just under half an hour for him to work the crates through the door and stack them in front of Taylor’s desk. Dr. Morris watched from just inside the door and gave instructions as he loaded and tilted the cases. He could tell she was trying not to snap at him when one of them bumped the door frame.

When he was done he let the door swing closed. Her shoulders relaxed a little when the latch clicked. “Better, ma’am?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m sorry for acting strange.”

“Quite all right.”

“I have agoraphobia,” she said. “It’s usually pretty mild, I just felt … I don’t know, really exposed out there. And I’m sorry if I messed up anything you had planned.”

“Beg your pardon, ma’am?”

She waved a hand at the cases stacked in the center of the office. “I pissed off a lot of people insisting on this trip, didn’t I?”

“I couldn’t say.”

She smirked. “Couldn’t or won’t?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’m sorry if I messed anything up. I know the Army loves schedules.”

Freedom almost laughed. Almost. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am,” he said, “why were you so insistent on coming out here?”

The smirk faded and Dr. Morris stared down at the crate. “I was pretty sure … I thought you’d need Cerberus here.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

She squared her shoulders and stared at him. “I remember what LA is like. I knew you’d need me here. Me and Cerberus.”

“Los Angeles isn’t as bad as some folks think,” he said. “It’s not a paradise, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was back in the seventies and eighties. Or so I’m told.” Freedom furrowed his brow and tried to remember all the information they’d sent him about Morris. “You’ve been out here to Los Angeles before?”

“August of 2009,” she said. “I flew in with the suit for …” Her voice trailed off. “My mind just went blank, sorry.”

“Not a problem.”

“I came here in 2009, on a military transport,” she said. It wasn’t so much directed at him as thinking aloud. “My team was on another plane, I was with Cerberus, and we were out here for …” Her face twisted in frustration.

They stood there for a moment in silence.

“If you’re settled for the moment, ma’am,” he interrupted, “I need to wash up before opening the office.” He gestured at his running clothes.

She gave him an absent nod.

Freedom stepped into the back, stripped off his T-shirt, and left it hanging in his locker. He spent ten minutes washing up in the small bathroom behind the office. One advantage of his shaved head was easy cleaning. When his run had been scrubbed off, he toweled off his face and chest and swiped some deodorant under his arms.

He set his towel aside, tugged a fresh tee over his head, and pulled on his coat. He checked his nametag and patches in the mirror and bit back the usual pang of regret at the sight of the single bar on his chest. A glance at the clock told him he had another twenty minutes before the office needed to open. Plenty of time to get Dr. Morris squared away and maybe still get caught up on—

Someone rapped on the front door.

He paused. It was early for someone looking to enlist, and all of the staff members had keys. Sometimes the homeless banged on the windows. Every now and then a car would kick up some gravel. But the noise had sounded much more deliberate.

“Ummm … Lieutenant,” called Dr. Morris. Another set of quick raps echoed on the glass of the front door.

He brushed himself down and stepped out into the office.

Across the room, the front door framed two figures. One was the man who had appeared at the office earlier in the week. The one who’d brought up Freedom’s demotion. The other figure