each other…
A little later, three chairs sticky-taped together and her flashlight wedged into her jeans, she wriggled through the opening. It was so tight she wondered if it'd been designed for an arthrobot. Tugging her torch free, she shone it round, disappointed it didn't reveal the cavernous space she'd imagined. She put the flashlight down, hesitating at the hollow sound it made, and rapped the dusty ceiling. It sounded awfully thin. Carefully, then, she pulled herself fully up into the dark space and tested the 'floor'.
It bent, with a cracking noise.
Biting her lip, she sat up, her head brushing yet another ceiling. She picked her light back up and shone it around, flashing on wooden beams that criss-crossed the floor into the distance. At least the beams looked very strong.
She crawled deeper in, exploring, careful to keep her weight on the solid timbers. Her hands got very dirty very quickly.
It was so dusty up here. She should have… have… have…
She wriggled and scrinched her upper lip, but no matter how she tried she couldn't hold back the sneeze. Despite pinching her nose shut she exploded.
Crack.
Oh, no! Dismayed, she pulled her foot back from where she'd accidentally shoved it straight through the ceiling, then froze, cringing as she waited for someone below to shout up at her.
After a while, though, when nothing happened, she looked down through the hole she'd made into the room underneath her. Most of the pieces of ceiling tile, she was able to fold back into place from up here; but on the floor directly beneath her lay one large and irregular section of plastic. The space below her seemed to be just an empty, dusty office – though not as dusty as the space around her.
She chewed her lip. Sooner or later, someone would go in there, find the broken piece, look up, and realise she had a secret way of moving around inside the building. And stop her.
She sighed. She was sure Miss X, in The eXtro Agency, didn't have these kinds of problems. Now she'd have to crawl all the way back, find out which office it was – maybe even break in – then get the broken piece, clean up around it, then climb back up here and glue it back into place.
Her shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. Sometimes, exploring could be a lot of work. Turning around, very carefully, she made her way back to the opening. Her chair-tower swayed excitingly as she climbed down, but she'd done such a good job of taping it together that it hardly came apart at all.
Later, eyeing the partly-mended hole with satisfaction by torchlight, she considered how her painting and craft stuff was really coming in handy. Maybe there was other stuff she could get her new Uncle to get her, too? That way, she could gradually make up her own spy kit. She'd need mirrors, and glue, and paperclips for picking locks, and matches, and…
She continued happily drawing up her mental list of what she'd need as she crawled painstakingly back the way she'd come.
Her shin was stinging, too. She must've cut it when her foot went through the roof. She should probably get some anti septic cream – ’coz septics were bad. She could add it to her spy kit. And band-aids, too: then she could do her own first aid.
She sneezed again, just as violently, as she hummed her way back.
And maybe get some face-masks, too. She could tell Uncle she wanted them so she could play doctor, or something.
In the end, it took her three weeks to get into the dusty office. It was much harder to pick a lock than in the movies, no matter how many vids she watched on the net that claimed to show how to do it. She finally gave up and found some rope, and went in through the ceiling instead.
But she kept practicing on the old padlock she'd found, refusing to give up her dream of lock-picking entirely.
Chapter 7
Almost every day, Sara went out hunting alone, alert to every sound. On gloomy days, sometimes, she
A little later, three chairs sticky-taped together and her flashlight wedged into her jeans, she wriggled through the opening. It was so tight she wondered if it'd been designed for an arthrobot. Tugging her torch free, she shone it round, disappointed it didn't reveal the cavernous space she'd imagined. She put the flashlight down, hesitating at the hollow sound it made, and rapped the dusty ceiling. It sounded awfully thin. Carefully, then, she pulled herself fully up into the dark space and tested the 'floor'.
It bent, with a cracking noise.
Biting her lip, she sat up, her head brushing yet another ceiling. She picked her light back up and shone it around, flashing on wooden beams that criss-crossed the floor into the distance. At least the beams looked very strong.
She crawled deeper in, exploring, careful to keep her weight on the solid timbers. Her hands got very dirty very quickly.
It was so dusty up here. She should have… have… have…
She wriggled and scrinched her upper lip, but no matter how she tried she couldn't hold back the sneeze. Despite pinching her nose shut she exploded.
Crack.
Oh, no! Dismayed, she pulled her foot back from where she'd accidentally shoved it straight through the ceiling, then froze, cringing as she waited for someone below to shout up at her.
After a while, though, when nothing happened, she looked down through the hole she'd made into the room underneath her. Most of the pieces of ceiling tile, she was able to fold back into place from up here; but on the floor directly beneath her lay one large and irregular section of plastic. The space below her seemed to be just an empty, dusty office – though not as dusty as the space around her.
She chewed her lip. Sooner or later, someone would go in there, find the broken piece, look up, and realise she had a secret way of moving around inside the building. And stop her.
She sighed. She was sure Miss X, in The eXtro Agency, didn't have these kinds of problems. Now she'd have to crawl all the way back, find out which office it was – maybe even break in – then get the broken piece, clean up around it, then climb back up here and glue it back into place.
Her shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. Sometimes, exploring could be a lot of work. Turning around, very carefully, she made her way back to the opening. Her chair-tower swayed excitingly as she climbed down, but she'd done such a good job of taping it together that it hardly came apart at all.
Later, eyeing the partly-mended hole with satisfaction by torchlight, she considered how her painting and craft stuff was really coming in handy. Maybe there was other stuff she could get her new Uncle to get her, too? That way, she could gradually make up her own spy kit. She'd need mirrors, and glue, and paperclips for picking locks, and matches, and…
She continued happily drawing up her mental list of what she'd need as she crawled painstakingly back the way she'd come.
Her shin was stinging, too. She must've cut it when her foot went through the roof. She should probably get some anti septic cream – ’coz septics were bad. She could add it to her spy kit. And band-aids, too: then she could do her own first aid.
She sneezed again, just as violently, as she hummed her way back.
And maybe get some face-masks, too. She could tell Uncle she wanted them so she could play doctor, or something.
In the end, it took her three weeks to get into the dusty office. It was much harder to pick a lock than in the movies, no matter how many vids she watched on the net that claimed to show how to do it. She finally gave up and found some rope, and went in through the ceiling instead.
But she kept practicing on the old padlock she'd found, refusing to give up her dream of lock-picking entirely.
Chapter 7
Almost every day, Sara went out hunting alone, alert to every sound. On gloomy days, sometimes, she