EDGE OF DAY

CHAPTER EIGHT

The restaurant diner pumped out oxygenated air. Day slumped into a booth and put her forehead on the cool table.

Ed knocked her arms. "Sit up," he said as the humanoid waitress, a retro 2065 version, came over. It was a model where the mechanics were visible to the human eye. You could tell by the way the she blinked that she wasn't human. The barcode across the neck was unnecessary.

Exhausted, Day rubbed her calf muscles. When was the last time a human had to walk three miles cross-country? Her head spun and her legs ached. The lack of meds to dull the pain in her back wasn't helping either. She just wanted to lie down somewhere cool and sleep.

"Sit up, Day!" Ed said again. "The back of your t-shirt is covered in blood. She'll report you if she sees it."

Day swallowed and pushed herself up. Her mouth was dry, and it tasted metallic, like a morning after too much wine.

"Hello sweethearts," the waitress said. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I haven't had a customer to serve in twenty-two days. It's a wonder they don't shut us down. What can I get you?"

Day pulled the sleeve of her long t-shirt over her broken wrist monitor. How were they supposed to pay for anything?

"Water," she said.

"Water," Ed said, "fried eggs on toast, and a chocolate chip muffin."

Hadn't Ed broken his monitor too? Maybe he'd found a way to switch it back on.

"I'll have some toast and butter too please," Day said.

The waitress smiled and walked back to the counter. Soft music tingled out from the walls. The diner was semi-intelligent, even though it looked like it was right out of the dark ages.

"So, Ed," she said. "I'm sorry if I'm not taking this that well, but that's probably got something to do with discovering my life is a sham and almost getting blown to pieces." She smiled sarcastically. Nope. She couldn't do it. She'd started off trying to be nice and conciliatory but it seemed she'd totally lost the knack for it.

"You're fine," Ed said, keeping an eye on the window. Wow, that was the nicest thing he'd said to her since their lives had gone insane, although he wasn't looking at her.

"Is this our rendezvous point?"

"Here?" Ed looked a cross between amused and disgusted at the suggestion. "No. We've got to get you to Colorado Springs."

"But that's fifty miles away."

"Eighty," Ed corrected.

"Can't someone come and get us?"

"It's too risky."

For a moment he stopped watching outside and fully took her in. It was the first time he hadn't looked at her sideways since this had all started, and the full weight of his probing gaze made something deep inside her stir. As though Monday was somewhere below the surface, kicking, and screaming, and trying to burst through to take control.

Day wondered how well Ed had known Monday before she had her memories wiped and a flaky personality implanted. Day had all Monday's memories until the age of nineteen. What had Monday done in the last two years that would end in her agreeing to wipe her own mind to protect herself?

If Monday had picked Ed to be her boyfriend, and was on the run from Will, maybe Day didn't want to be Monday.

The waitress arrived with their water, toast, muffin and eggs. Ed dunked a chunk of bread into the runny egg yolk and stuffed it in his mouth. Even his manners were different now he wasn't pretending to be her film director boyfriend. Day sipped her water and forced herself to eat toast, though she felt more sick than hungry.