Page 6 of Perfect Pursuit

“P-p-punch, Unca E,” Austyn’s words, as disjointed as they are, barely let me understand her.

I’m grateful as fuck when Fallon moans.

Fury replaces my initial disappointment in the two young women before me. Instead, the analytics training the Navy paid too much money to hone in me kicks in. “Is anyone else sick?”

“Y-yeah.” I absorb Austyn’s words before she leans over and hugs the bucket. Nothing comes up, but the sound causes a chain reaction in Fallon, who just dry heaves in place. I take careful note of their demeanor. They’re both sweating, stains easily visible along the sides of their dresses and where the dresses catch in varying locations. Their eyes are glassy. They’re both disoriented.

I swap out their buckets for individual bowls. A sneaking suspicion is rising inside me, but I don’t want to make a big deal of it.

Yet.

Neither realize what I’m doing when I bag some of their conjoined vomit in a ziplock after slipping my hands into sterile gloves. Then I text a number I never thought I’d ever be using again.

Ethan:

I think my niece was dosed w/GHB. I need some testing done.

Agency:

Fuck. Do you have the samples?

Ethan:

Yes

Agency:

Closest drop off?

Ethan:

Airport. Austin.

Agency:

Vomit, urine, or blood?

Ethan:

Vomit

Agency:

I’ll have the agent test on site.

Agency:

How certain are you?

Ethan:

Over 95%. May be other victims.

Agency:

Someone will meet you there in thirty.

Ethan:

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