Please Do Not Taunt the Octopus by Mira Grant Read Free Book Online Page A

if you’re going to flinch every time I come into a room, you need some calm. You can also talk to Tom about the many restorative benefits of marijuana. As long as you’re not stoned when you’re supposed to be working, I don’t care. This isn’t the CDC.”
    The shadow of her guilt moved across her face so fast that I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t already been watching for it. Not-Daisy wasn’t going to be one of my long-term employees; I could already tell, just from the way she reacted to things—or didn’t react to them. It was for the best, really. People as high-strung as she was didn’t do well in a lab like mine, where losing control for a minute could result in your life coming to a swift, sticky end. She’d be better off with the CDC, where she would do her research from behind six layers of security, and never need to see how the sausage was made.
    “I just didn’t expect you, is all, Dr. Abbey,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m so jumpy. The octopus thing this morning really threw me off.”
    “Barney does what Barney wants,” I said. “Just wait until what he wants is to sneak into your quarters in the middle of the night and turn the light on and off for an hour. He’s a big adventure in tolerance. What’s the situation with our guest?”
    “No change,” said not-Daisy. She sounded relieved to be back on something that resembled familiar ground. She knew how to watch an unconscious woman remain unconscious. That was fairly normal CDC fare.
    “Good.” I motioned for her to get up. “Go on. Back to whatever you were doing when I had you pulled for this duty. Scrub something, or culture something, or whatever it is they have you assigned to this week. I can watch her sleep.”
    Not-Daisy stood—a little too quickly—and started for the door. I let her get halfway there before I cleared my throat. She froze. Smart girl.
    “I don’t recommend trying to send any e-mail right now, however. We’re on high alert, thanks to this woman’s presence, and it’s entirely possible that an innocent e-mail to a friend or family member could get flagged as something that it wasn’t. A coded transmission to the CDC, for example. I know they’d be very interested in our guest. And I know I’d be very interested in finding out what someone could have said that would activate that flag. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” she said, barely above a whisper.
    “Good. Because while I don’t pay enough for absolute loyalty, I am very, very dedicated to security. It’s what separates us from the animals. Enjoy your assignments, Zelda. We’re glad to have you working with us here.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” she repeated, and scurried out of the room without looking back.
    “She isn’t going to last the month, Joe,” I said, settling into the seat she had so recently vacated. The one-way window into the observation room gave me a perfect view of the bed where our mystery woman slept. An IV was connected to her right arm, held in place with pieces of surgical tape. The needle was the size we always used, but she was emaciated enough that it looked like it was going all the way through her arm. I didn’t envy whoever Tom had deputized to get her IV started—although knowing Tom, he had probably done it himself. He didn’t like leaving things to chance.
    A catheter snaked out from under the blanket. As her body was rehydrated, involuntary urination became a risk, and no one wanted to clean that up. Luckily, she was starved enough that there was no need to really worry about other waste products. Can’t shit if you don’t eat. And other inspirational proverbs that were never going to catch on.
    She looked peaceful, lying there on her back with her eyes closed. Someone had wiped most of the dirt from her face, revealing pale skin with an almost purplish undertone. There were freckles on the bridge of her nose. That seemed incredibly sad to me, for some reason. Whoever she was, whoever she had