Tasìa's armpits smelled foul after the work detail; sweating, she tended to acquire the odor of sour milk. Even more so now that she endured the weekly treatment.

She hit the showers, and changed into sweats and a t-shirt before sitting down. Felicité gave her a lot to think about. The next week was going to be a busy one, a dangerous one.

Earlier, the Argentinian had led her to a second-floor break room. Through meshed glass esconced inside a wide window frame they could see the grounds of the complex laid out and outlined by a double set of fences five yards apart with spirals of barbed wire between them.

There were three feasible exits: the front doors of the main building, a back exit gate for patrol trucks and utility vehicles allowed to access the grounds of the IMCQ, and a loading dock connected to the main warehouse.

However, except for the front door entrance to the main building, the other two exits led deeper into the complex.

Tasìa suspired as she considered the problem this presented her. Then a call came over the intercom.

"Tasìa del Alma-Gris, report to the duty officer station."

It was Missi.

Tasìa got up; she kicked off her rubber shower shoes and slipped her tennis shoes back on. Este-Oeste was two cells down from her. The girl was reading the latest from her stack of murder books with her legs propped up against her cell wall.

She liked books about serial killers. Both true crime and fiction. There was no real record of violence in her rap sheet; She just had her taste.

She also sung as she read, in the English language, a song about an amigo's guitar in what Tasìa assumed to be a Texan country twang. Este-Oeste was the oddest duck in the facility.

Her good eye concentrated on the book. The other drifted off towards the ceiling, doing its own thing. Then it settled on Tasìa.

"I somehow knew I would be seeing you," Este-Oeste said under a thin smile.

Tasìa walked up towards her as the skinny girl put her book down, and she set down in the empty chair.

"Come on," Este-Oeste said, "let's get this over with so I can get back to reading."

"We could stay here," Tasìa said, as she grabbed a handful of the girl's hair, playfully. "I could give you a French braid."

"It would look pretty on me I truly admit, but totally wasted here. Missi is going to be upset if she has to hunt you down."

Tasìa followed the girl to the officer station.

Missi jerked her head up when she saw the two.

"Have a seat," Missi urged Tasìa.

The officer station chairs were not the plastic mold ones of the cells, but comfortable leather back swivel chairs. Tasìa had not felt anything that comfortable in several months. Even the inclines on the medical floors tended to be hard-surfaced.

Este-Oeste leaned against the door and stood dutifully. Undeterred by Missi's dirty looks.

"How are you feeling," Missi asked.

"Nothing different, except I have a feeling the chemo is weakening my inoculation. I see the Incubus in my dreams. I also see the Black-Eyed Ones asking to be let in. And the snake in the tree hissing telling me what it could do for me."

"How often," Missi asked, a taut frown on her lips.

Everyone in the Greater Quadra experienced the dreams, but the inoculation shot greatly dampened their frequency.

"Often enough to scare the hell out of me."

Folk tales said the Cull Spores could only manifest if one said 'yes' to the dreamed entities requests, but no one really knew for certain the veracity of that claim. It seemed almost fantasy, but it had been clearly proven in research studies that the spores targeted specific receptors in the brain related to sleep.

"I see," was all Missi could say in response.

She turned her head, and she stared straight at Este-Oeste.

"Marcìa, I need to speak to Tasìa alone."

The two inmates looked at one another wide-eyed. Este-Oeste was reluctant to leave. She stood her ground. Only the snitch, Ria, went into the officer's station alone.

"I realize," Missi began, "it is a violation of your precious etiquette, gentle ladies, but this is a serious matter I need to discuss.

"Marcìa, at this point you are disobeying an officer, no one is going to give you grief if you stand down if I threaten to write you up. See my hand? It is going to the red pen. All of those gawkers out there watching us through the window pane know what the red pen means.

"Now, my other hand is going for the box with the d9 forms in it. Please don't make me have to take it out. You have no idea how much I hate writing these damn things."

Marcìa stood straight as she gave one last look at Tasìa. She turned and quickly scooted out.

"Please shut the door," Missi asked Tasìa.

As she did so, Tasìa looked around to see who was gawking and watching.

"Hard to keep secrets in this place, Tasìa. Do you know how much grief you put me through? I didn't want to report your little escapade from yesterday." With her hands up emphatically, Missi continued. "I swear! I was going to let it ride."

Tasìa grimaced and completed Missi's sentence for her.

"But someone, an inmate, got word to the lieutenant before you did."

Missi nodded. Fucking Ria Javierra!

"Good guess, Tasìa. You know how things work around here. You know what goes on. I had to stay over for four hours on my own Goddamn time, writing out a report, and filling out forms. So much fun, it's a shame you couldn't have joined me."

"I'm sorry," Tasìa said scrunched over in her seat with her hands fiddling together.

Missi relaxed back in her chair. A frown pinched her whole face.

"I am too. They say you are on a bad trajectory."

"What?"

"That same someone whom we were just talking about, and I won't mention any name, informed the lieutenant that you have been hanging out with Felicité Paz of late. That girl is hot, and you put heat on yourself by association."

"She helped me out," Tasìa protested, growing animated. "I don't turn my back on people who offer me a hand."

Missi nodded her head and looked off into the distance.

"I understand, I truly do. I'm just letting you know the potential of the all too real shit hitting the proverbial fan."

"The chemo has got to stop, Missi. It is bullshit! It is not even the same procedure they administer to the other girls in Oncology who have been through it. I have been asking around; they all tell me my situation is fucked up."

"I know. Look at you. You look no more like a cancer patient than I do. But, you know what, Tasìa. There's not a goddamn thing I can do about it."

Tasìa wiped the tears out of her eyes, using her t-shirt collar.

"Look at your puss quivering, Tasìa. I hate seeing you like that." The tall guard with her brassy curls leaned forward to get closer in. "Do you know what you have to do, Tasìa?"

"What?"

"Survive. Get through this day. Then the next. And then the next. Until you outlast them. Do you think you have it in you?"

Missi's words came out with such sincerity in her tone, it gave Tasìa pause to think about what she said. Her body felt like an unbent steel rod even after three months of the treatment whatever the hell it was; she realized then she was still undefeated.

"Yes. I do."

"Good. Now get out of here -," Missi said with her head pointed to a group of gawkers, "- before they start making up shit about you."