Read 1. Just One Damned Thing After Another for Free Online Page B

Qualified historians had to complete a session every eighteen months and Security once a year. Always try to get lost in the crowd. Whenever anyone asked me which transport I was on, I said vaguely, ‘The other one.’
    So far, so good. Now I needed somewhere to hide for two and a half days. I planned to use the time studying for my pods exams, which followed immediately afterwards, so it couldn’t have worked out better. I started poking round in odd corners. Obviously, I wanted to avoid the main building, the Staff Block, and the public areas.
    I remembered the dark corridor opposite the Sick Bay lift and went for a wander one evening. The best bet was at the end, in the paint store. The badly lit room, cluttered and dusty with disuse, had a large, empty area at the back, cordoned off by yellow and black tape.
    A notice on the wall said:
    NO STORAGE IN THIS AREA.
    L. FARRELL (CTO)
    It wasn’t visible from the door, which made it ideal.
    I started stockpiling. Sleeping bag, water, chocolate, torch, batteries, pods revision notes, and backpack. Food I would get the night before, pack it all away, and hide the backpack in the store. So long as I kept quiet, I should be OK. After all, I would be revising. It was practically my duty to cheat.
    Talking to the others, they were strangely evasive about their own plans. I suspected they all had their contingencies stashed away around the countryside. I could only hope they weren’t planning something similar. It would be a bit of a bugger if no one at all got on the transports.
    I breakfasted ostentatiously in woodland camouflage gear, making sure I packed away enough to keep me going for the day, then slipped quietly away. Years of bunking off at school had finally paid off. I never thought I’d say this, but nothing you learn at school is ever wasted! In the toilets, I stood on the cistern, bundled my greens up into the false ceiling, and pulled out blacks, a cap, and a clipboard.
    I wandered slowly down the long corridor, consulting my clipboard, occasionally peering at a fire alarm point, and making a tick on my paperwork. I felt horribly vulnerable, but no one so much as looked at me. No one came racing down the corridor shouting my name, so presumably I’d not been missed at the transports, either.
    I strolled into the paint store and closed the door behind me. Retrieving my backpack and stuff from behind the cobwebbed tins of Battleship Grey at the back, I made my way to the empty corner.
    And a door opened in the middle of nowhere and Chief Farrell stepped out.
    It would be hard to say who was the most gobsmacked. I stood rooted to the spot, waiting for him to realise where I should be, compare it to where I actually was, and fire me on the spot.
    It didn’t happen. Long seconds ticked by with nothing happening and it slowly dawned on me that he looked as guilty as I felt. And where had he come from? He just appeared. There was nothing. Then there was an open door. Then he stepped out. And here he was. In the middle of the room. We stared at each other.
    ‘Miss Maxwell,’ he managed, eventually, ignoring the fact I appeared to be disguised as the unit’s IT officer.
    ‘Good morning, Chief,’ I said politely.
    What now? While we were grappling with this social crisis, I heard sudden voices in the corridor outside. Panic gripped me and I stared wildly around for somewhere to hide. He grabbed my arm.
    ‘Come with me. Door!’
    Four strides and I was inside a pod. I could tell that with my eyes shut. The smell was unmistakable. I looked around. This one was small. Maybe a single-seater. The layout was different, with the console on the left-hand wall. The colour was different – a boring beige instead of the standard grim grey. Everything was different, not least the fact it appeared, from the outside, to be invisible.
    I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t get me into even deeper trouble, so I shut up. I suspect something similar flitted through his