Five
The white CityRide auto returned Grace to her unit. Two bedrooms, a one-car garage, and a lawn large enough for children to play in awaited her. The exterior beamed golden with its collected sunlight.
The garage registered her biometric approach and opened for her.
It sat empty. No auto.
Because hers had been blown apart at the edge of the precinct’s pavilion.
She supposed the precinct would issue her a new auto for her personal use if she requested one. But she didn’t want it.
When she’d climbed into the CityRide, the hospital bracelet still on her wrist, her whole body had trembled. She had been convinced that somehow, whoever wanted her to die knew she was being discharged that day. Knew which CityRide she would get into and where to plant the device that would end her life.
