She’d kicked a man so hard yesterday, the three-inch heel had ripped off the leather. After running a finger along the rim to spread the sticky ooze, she put her foot high against the chrome wall and pushed. She’d have to hold the position until the glue dried, but waterproof boots were necessary where she was headed, and these were a rare pair. Refuge had forests, lakes, and marshes full of fresh water. She planned to be the first to take a dip. Gritting her teeth, she held herself up between the cot and the wall like a gymnast stretched taut on the high bars. “Practicing your yoga?” Drifter stood in the doorway, chewing a piece of old gum. He’d used up the last package two years ago and kept this final wad as a reminder. He pulled it from his teeth with a grin and tucked it into a corner of his pocket for later. “Shut up, Drifter. If you’d come with me in the first place, then I wouldn’t have needed to fight, and I wouldn’t have broken this heel.” Men in the twenty-seventh century disappointed her, Drifter included.
