Getting Them Up
By S.B.K. Burns
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Getting Them Up - S.B.K. Burns
GETTING THEM UP
by
Susan Burns
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
Published by
TORRID BOOKS
www.torridbooks.com
An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC
Whiskey Creek Press
PO Box 51052
Casper, WY 82605-1052
Copyright Ó 2013 by Susan Burns
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN 978-1-61160-483-2
Credits
Cover Artist: Gemini Judson
Editor: Cherie Singer
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To my punny husband, Dr. James Scott Burns, who will not hear of any other name for this piece except A Reptile Dysfunction.
Chapter 1
East Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, near sunset.
We’d been searching for the mutant creatures since noon.
Neal fell onto our net and examined the catch, a collection of diverse critters from the estuary. No luck, Will, just a few pipers. Does True need any more over at Chordates?
Pipefish. Kin to the seahorse. Long and skinny like me. No,
I said, We can’t be fooling around here. Really need to confirm that—you know—new species.
Neal stood, brushed himself off, took a collapsible cone-shaped plankton net from the back pocket of his cargo pants. He tossed the net into the Bay’s tiny waves. Pulling the net behind him like a windsock, he waded along the beach and back. He lifted the net, removed its small glass collection jar, held it up to the waning westward sun.
Beautiful. I wish I’d been thinking about the phytoplankton sample of microscopic organisms he’d just salvaged from the Bay. Sadly, no. I’d been thinking of Neal, his silhouette standing out against the dwindling light of the setting sun. His broad shoulders. His muscular ass. Am I daft?
All too quickly, Neal screwed on a lid to the tiny jar and strode onto the beach, seemingly with purpose, his left eyelid twitching all the way.
Looks angry. Oh, no. Have I said or done anything to piss him off?
Look, William,
he said, getting into my personal space, there is no way your uncle will promote me to Research Scientist, and there’s only one spot open, so why can’t I just have fun out here, the way I want to, before my dream career comes to a tragic end?
Anger turned his irises so black, I had to avert my eyes. Never could look at Neal when he’s like this. I bowed my head and mumbled toward the sand, I gave it up.
What?
He slapped my shoulder to get my attention, then stared at me as if I belonged in a loony bin.
I was almost afraid to gaze into his disbelieving eyes. I said I gave up the position. I told my uncle I didn’t want it. Besides, I have too much going on, trying to figure out what our Extinction Squad is doing creating those little tentacled sea monsters. Before either of us takes a new job and does bigger and better things, we need to be sure we’ve destroyed the lot of them. If they get loose, well, you know what that means.
Neal’s deep brown doe-eyes and those thick eyelashes opened too wide. You told your uncle? Are you kidding? Not about the genetically altered squirts. He’d fire us for not instituting the safety protocols. This could be an environmental disaster of epic proportions. If any of those creatures got out of the lab—before we nuked ’em, that is.
Squirts. We had our own sort of eco language in the Extinction Squad. Squirts was short for sea squirts, genus Modula. They’re ascidians, the little sea monsters we discovered in the lab one day. Left to us by—who knows?
It’s not about the squirts.
Neal looked at me, nervous. About the job?
He’s six foot and—not that I’d know—considered extremely attractive. Whenever we’d meet girls on the job, they’d congregate around him. I wondered what it was like to be him, to be sought by women, to just stand there in the middle of them, with them crawling all over me.
Instead, I was skinny with knobby knees, and almost legally blind. Lucky, I guess, they invented special extended-wear lenses for people like me. Though I needed to do more to attract women than lose my dark-rimmed glasses when Neal was around.
As I watched my friend, thousands of unreadable expressions crossed his face. I thought of my one asset, my uncle, Richard Rotoveneer, not only our boss at Extinction, but also the head, some might say, Don of the World Health Organization’s Health Intelligence Agency, the HIA.
Neal placed his arm around my shoulder. I’m actually taller than he is, just a lot thinner. Now, you’ll get your chance,
I whispered into his ear.
He shook his head at the wonder of my selfless decision, his left eyelid twitching up a storm.
So.
I moved away from him, partly because this whole employment-opportunity-sacrifice thing embarrassed me. Why couldn’t I do something good for somebody without him making me feel all uncomfortable? I felt as if I were igniting like an ant under a sizzling beam of sunlight that burned down through an enormous magnifying lens.
I’d been awkward around Neal for other reasons I thought I was too hetero to admit. Why couldn’t I bring him this good news without him getting all chummy with me, acting as if there were this thing between us. And I don’t think it’s a guy thing. As I said, it made me