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Authors: Suzanne Weyn
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engaged.”
Kayla Marie, who has a lifelong interest in art, has just been named the youth director of Tattoo Generation’s Public Murals Program. She will be in charge of designing and overseeing the painting of murals that depict the convenience and desirability of having a bar code tattoo.
“It is so fulfilling to finally be able to use my art,” Kayla Marie says.
The next day, Kayla left Dusa standing by the famous St. Louis arch so she could meet her contact. He’d give Dusa records of people who were dead, to be used in making fake bar codes.
Kayla walked down by the Mississippi, past a row of seaside restaurants. She shifted her pack on her shoulder. In it was an e-chip Dusa had entrusted to her. “It’s got info on Drakians all over the county,” Dusa had revealed as she’d slipped it into Kayla’s bag. “I don’t want to be carrying it when I meet this guy, just in case he isn’t who he says he is.”
Steamships came into the harbor. For a fee they took tourists for rides on the river. This might be a good time to test the fake bar code she wore to discover if it contained a bank account. She got in line, and to her pleased surprise, her fake rang through with the correct amount for her admittance. Her name rang up as Rose Wahmann.
When she got to the entrance gate, the attendant reached for her backpack. “You’ll need to check that for security reasons,” he said.
Kayla remembered the e-chip. It would make her feel safer if she kept that with her. “Let me justtake out my wallet first,” she requested, working the buckles of the pack.
She was reaching into the bag when someone shoved her forcefully from behind. The impact came on the same spot where she’d been hit in Washington. It caused a searing pain to run down her back, dropping her to her knees.
“Hey!” the attendant shouted at the figure who dashed past Kayla. “She has your bag!”
Kayla stood up and took off at full speed in pursuit of the fleeing figure. Despite the pain in her back, she knew she couldn’t lose the e-chip. Whether this was a straightforward mugging or something more deliberate she didn’t know, but she couldn’t let that e-chip get to the wrong people.
She grew closer to the running figure as they raced along the riverside walkway. It was a female in a red hooded sweatshirt and the silver stretch jeans that had come into style. The hood was raised, obscuring the thief’s face and hair.
The thief raced off the walkway, hopping a chain-link fence. Kayla wasn’t sure she could be as agile but spotted a break in the fence several feet farther up. Running through the opening gave her a slight advantage since she was able to close in diagonally on the thief.
She continued to pursue the thief onto a narrow street filled with antique shops and hardware stores. The restored storefronts looked as thoughthey were from early in the past century. The girl ducked into an alley, and Kayla followed her in. A flash of the red hood was all she glimpsed as the thief rounded the corner at the end of the alley. Starting to pant heavily, Kayla kept on her trail.
When she emerged from the alley she saw a hint of red dart into a doorway three buildings up on a quiet block of dilapidated, run-down tenements. Kayla continued up the block to the building.
Sucking in gulps of air, she stared at the building with its boarded-up windows. How brave did she feel? She shook off the question. There was no choice but to get that bag back.
She pulled open the splintered purple front door. Inside, the hall was dark, lit only with the filtered sunlight from a filthy side window beside the peeling door. A hideous smell assaulted her, and she saw that some animal had relieved itself in the corner.
Cautiously, she climbed the steep, narrow stairway. In the halls, doors had been removed from their hinges and apartments were empty. The handle of a broken hammer lay on the floor on the first landing, and she stooped to pick it up
Kayla Marie, who has a lifelong interest in art, has just been named the youth director of Tattoo Generation’s Public Murals Program. She will be in charge of designing and overseeing the painting of murals that depict the convenience and desirability of having a bar code tattoo.
“It is so fulfilling to finally be able to use my art,” Kayla Marie says.
The next day, Kayla left Dusa standing by the famous St. Louis arch so she could meet her contact. He’d give Dusa records of people who were dead, to be used in making fake bar codes.
Kayla walked down by the Mississippi, past a row of seaside restaurants. She shifted her pack on her shoulder. In it was an e-chip Dusa had entrusted to her. “It’s got info on Drakians all over the county,” Dusa had revealed as she’d slipped it into Kayla’s bag. “I don’t want to be carrying it when I meet this guy, just in case he isn’t who he says he is.”
Steamships came into the harbor. For a fee they took tourists for rides on the river. This might be a good time to test the fake bar code she wore to discover if it contained a bank account. She got in line, and to her pleased surprise, her fake rang through with the correct amount for her admittance. Her name rang up as Rose Wahmann.
When she got to the entrance gate, the attendant reached for her backpack. “You’ll need to check that for security reasons,” he said.
Kayla remembered the e-chip. It would make her feel safer if she kept that with her. “Let me justtake out my wallet first,” she requested, working the buckles of the pack.
She was reaching into the bag when someone shoved her forcefully from behind. The impact came on the same spot where she’d been hit in Washington. It caused a searing pain to run down her back, dropping her to her knees.
“Hey!” the attendant shouted at the figure who dashed past Kayla. “She has your bag!”
Kayla stood up and took off at full speed in pursuit of the fleeing figure. Despite the pain in her back, she knew she couldn’t lose the e-chip. Whether this was a straightforward mugging or something more deliberate she didn’t know, but she couldn’t let that e-chip get to the wrong people.
She grew closer to the running figure as they raced along the riverside walkway. It was a female in a red hooded sweatshirt and the silver stretch jeans that had come into style. The hood was raised, obscuring the thief’s face and hair.
The thief raced off the walkway, hopping a chain-link fence. Kayla wasn’t sure she could be as agile but spotted a break in the fence several feet farther up. Running through the opening gave her a slight advantage since she was able to close in diagonally on the thief.
She continued to pursue the thief onto a narrow street filled with antique shops and hardware stores. The restored storefronts looked as thoughthey were from early in the past century. The girl ducked into an alley, and Kayla followed her in. A flash of the red hood was all she glimpsed as the thief rounded the corner at the end of the alley. Starting to pant heavily, Kayla kept on her trail.
When she emerged from the alley she saw a hint of red dart into a doorway three buildings up on a quiet block of dilapidated, run-down tenements. Kayla continued up the block to the building.
Sucking in gulps of air, she stared at the building with its boarded-up windows. How brave did she feel? She shook off the question. There was no choice but to get that bag back.
She pulled open the splintered purple front door. Inside, the hall was dark, lit only with the filtered sunlight from a filthy side window beside the peeling door. A hideous smell assaulted her, and she saw that some animal had relieved itself in the corner.
Cautiously, she climbed the steep, narrow stairway. In the halls, doors had been removed from their hinges and apartments were empty. The handle of a broken hammer lay on the floor on the first landing, and she stooped to pick it up
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