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CHAPTER SIX
Midmorning Sunday
Ganet crouched on the hospital bed, running her gaze along the railing, considering the best place to scramble over it. When she was at her usual peak of good health, rock climbing was one of her prides. With the way her muscles were feeling—as insubstantial as cotton candy—she was afraid she might tumble straight to the floor.
At last, Ganet decided on the gap between the back and side railings and crawled down the mattress to reach it. Holding the rail as tightly as she'd held the cable when she'd climbed Half Dome, she lowered herself off the bed. The change of position dropped her blood pressure enough to make her vision start to blur. When her feet reached the chilly floor, she continued clinging until the fog had cleared from her brain.
So far, so good.
Ganet spied the pile of clothes the funny old man had mentioned waiting for her on the opposite side of the room. If she could make it to that chair, she could sit while she dressed.
With her hands straight out in case she fell, Ganet staggered across the room, grabbed the clothing then collapsed on the seat. After she caught her breath, she examined the jeans. Then she grimaced.
Shoot. These must belong to Saba. And while Ganet prided herself on her slender figure, the waistline on the jeans showed that her counterpart was downright skinny. With a succession of wiggles and tugs that left her dizzy, she struggled into them.
When she held up the bra, Ganet smirked. I don't mind being bigger in that department. Luckily, it was an odd front-hooking style that didn't require a lot of energy to put on.
The sweater was different—so large and bulky that Ganet wondered whether it belonged to Saba's husband. When she looked at the label and saw "Small," she lifted her eyebrows. Then she remembered Saba's retro 80's hair. The sweater had to be vintage, too—one of those crazy, oversized monstrosities meant to make their wearers look like little girls playing dress-up.
By the time Ganet had clothed herself, right down to wedging her feet into the tight-but-wearable striped-denim shoes, she realized her exertions had gotten her blood pumping. Once she'd drunk some warm water from the bathroom tap, she'd be ready to take on the world—or at least find a phone and call someone to come get her.
Five Minutes Later
When Ganet saw the hallway outside her room and the large number of doors ranged down it, she wondered whether emergency personnel had helicoptered her from the mountains to one of Idaho's larger towns. Then she passed a housekeeping cart with a massive laundry bag labeled "Wayward Pines Community Hospital" and realized they hadn't. Probably, the facility had been built to accommodate all the out-of-state workers on the big secret project Roger and Tim had mentioned. A peek through each open door she passed showed empty rooms, confirming their story the project had been discontinued.
By the time the hall reached a t-turn, Ganet felt fuzzy again. In one direction, she saw double doors leading, no doubt, to a front desk and a lobby. In the opposite direction was a single door marked "Fire Exit."
Do I want to meet up with Nurse Pam again?
Raising her chin, Ganet headed toward the smaller door.
A Minute After That
When Ganet reached the street, she began to doubt gas station Tim's assertion that Wayward Pines was dying. The town looked more like a ski resort than a mysterious project that had fallen apart. As she walked up the Main Street sidewalk toward the center of town, she wondered why she'd never heard of such a cute little vacation spot. She passed a cottage turned into a restaurant with tables crowding a brick patio strung with party lights. Too bad it wasn't yet open for her to use the phone. A block further, the storefronts had the look of an Alpine village. She passed a toy store called "Wooden Treasures" with hand-carved rocking horses and music boxes in the window, then a jewelry shop displaying one-of-a-kind necklaces and a clothing boutique full of retro styles Saba would love.
Last night, I must have entered town by some back way. This is definitely not the section of Main Street I drove through before.
By the end of the block, the crisp mountain air was clearing Ganet's head though her legs still felt wobbly. She smiled at the first couple she saw—prelude to asking for directions—but their expressions remained the same, neither happy nor sad, more like blank. Their gazes slid away from hers and they walked on but, when she turned her head to look back, she found them staring.
Feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, Ganet folded her arms and quickened her pace. Those two were certainly less friendly than her gas station pals in Bierce had been. Probably from Los Angeles like she was.
The next person she passed and the next and the next acted the same—looking but not reacting, seeing but avoiding contact. When she reached the lamppost at the end of the block, she leaned against it. The thought struck her that they were treating her as though she might be a threat.
Good grief! A black face can't be that alien and scary here, can it?
Then Ganet saw a sign up the next block just past a hotel, "The Steaming Bean," that had to be a coffee place—a good bet for finding a telephone. With new resolve, she resumed walking. But when her glance through the front window was met with the same mix of watchfulness and avoidance, she pushed on.
What am I going to do now?
Glancing up, she saw a sign reading "The Biergarten." Just when she was vacillating about whether to brave more unfriendly stares, a waitress poked her head around the front door and grinned. "Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air? Come on in. Welcome to our little town."