The Collective

Chapter Eight

I dropped into a chair. I stared at the Orange Man.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Something on your mind?"

"You don't look like a hacker." The Orange man was tan under all the orange. He had callouses on his hands, and cuts in varying degrees of healing all up and down his forearms. I could see every, single muscle in his legs. He didn't look like he spent every, waking moment in front of a computer.

He stared at me. "You don't look like a spy." He turned back to the monitors.

Touché.

Orange Man laughed uncomfortably. "I free climb, when I need a break from all this." He swept his hand across the monitors.

"Are you..." I pointed in the direction of Max, unsure of what I needed to ask, or if I really wanted to know.

"No, I bugged out a few years ago." He shrugged, growling at the text rolling across the screen. "Something about this isn't right. Who's Alex? Max? Hey, Max?!"

I shook my head. "Alex was his girlfriend. She died." That was the cover. That was the story. And, in a way, Alex did die. She wouldn't recognize me.

"Are you sure? There's at least fifteen letters here. The last one is barely a week old. They have the most security. Was it an op? Max!" He shouted.

I leapt up, knocking the chair into the desks. "Please! Please, don't call Max. I'm Alex. I'm supposed to be in hiding. Surprise." I did jazz hands.

Orange Man's eyes widened. He nodded slowly. "I thought you looked familiar. This is gonna take a long time. There's rooms down that hall, and to the right. There's a kitchen, if you just keep going straight through. You're welcome to whatever's in there."

I nodded. I wrapped my arm around my ribs. I slowly made my way down the hall. These people needed to invest in some better lighting. It was sporadic at best. I could barely keep track of the ground in front of me. Maybe a new coat of paint, too? Everything looked the same.

"Annie." Max's voice floated down the long, dark tunnel.

I followed it against my better judgment. The narrow tunnel sloped downwards. It opened into another huge room. The deafening chatter stopped the moment I walked in. I winced against the bright lights. I avoided people's attempts to make eye contact. I didn't want to talk to anyone.

Max waved from a table across the room. He had a paper napkin tucked into his shirt. Barbeque sauce smeared from one side of his face to the other. His arms, from wrists, to elbows, were coated in the sticky, red mess.

He started to reach for me but stopped halfway. He gestured to the table, which was bowing under the weight of all the food. "Grab a plate. Food's amazing." He tucked into his ribs.

Several people slid away to make room for me on the bench. I sat stiffly. I didn't start avoiding huge groups of people until after Ethan. I liked feeling like I was apart of something. I enjoyed talking to people and getting to know them, but there was the small issue of friend and foe trying to murder me lately. There were too many people in here to run from.

A woman with hair graying at the edges passed me an empty plate. "Here, you look famished." She sat down. "I'm Poppy."

"Annie." I took the plate. It'd been close to a day since I'd eaten last. Food probably wouldn't kill me. I looked at the rolls. They were the same ones from the diner, butter glistening on the perfectly golden tops.

Poppy smiled. "Ethan's Annie?"

I swallowed the bread. It settled like a brick in my stomach. I'd managed to not think about him, lying on the ground, blood oozing from his leg...