At eight thirty, the treadmill slowed. Her hour was up. Emma walked for a little over ten minutes to cool down. Her calves and thighs ached faintly, but it was manageable.
The genetic serum's strength was still there. Her body simply wasn't conditioned enough to use all of it. Before, half an hour of running would have flattened her.
Now she was only a little tired. Apparently, pushing her limits was how she would find out what this body could really do.
When the treadmill stopped completely, Emma stepped off. "What happened to you?" Lucky lay sprawled on the floor like a dead dog. She picked it up by the loose skin at its neck and lifted it in front of her.
It panted heavily, clearly exhausted.
She set it aside and moved on to the next machine. The whole morning went to training. Tired at last, she lay on a mat, her clothes soaked with sweat.
She could have wrung out her underwear.
Lucky ran over and licked the sweat from her chin.
"That feels good." Her whole body felt better. More importantly, it was full of strength.
After four hours of exercise, the soreness had disappeared and her body felt lighter. She toweled off her face and neck, then ran a hot bath. Time to wash away the sweat.
Lucky pressed against the closed bathroom door, scratching with both paws. When Emma didn't come out, it settled beside the door and waited quietly.
She soaked with a face mask on. Afterward, she dried her hair and threw her sweaty clothes into the washing machine.
Lucky circled her, calling excitedly, and tried to climb her pant leg. She tucked it under one arm. It turned to lick her neck.
She took iced coffee and BBQ skewers from her space. The ice hadn't changed at all, and the skewers still smelled hot and spicy. Lucky jumped onto the couch, wagging its tail, eyes fixed on the meat.
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"Yours is right here." She put bones, dried fish, canned food, and two eggs in Lucky's bowl.
Even after finishing, it kept staring at the skewers in her hand. Emma wiped its almost-dripping drool with a tissue. "Here."
Its tail swished as it ate—then it spat the mouthful straight back out and raced to its water bowl, gulping frantically.
"Ha! That's what you get for being greedy." Watching it wilt from the spice, she took a small piece of ice from her space. "Come here."
Lucky licked it delicately until the burning on its tongue eased.
Messages kept chiming. Emma put down her iced coffee and opened the Crown Heights residents' group chat.
A-601: Look outside, everyone.
E-202: Already saw it. It's getting darker and darker.
B-1101: You're making a fuss over nothing. Even if it rains, it won't last long.
D-1602: I hope it pours. So hard we can't go out. I could use a break.
...
Everyone had something to say. Emma muted the chat and sat quietly in the bay window. Lucky burrowed into her lap and looked outside with her.
Time crept by, but the taut wire inside her never slackened. As if it sensed her unease, Lucky pressed its little body against hers.
At four that afternoon, fat drops struck the glass. It had begun.
Emma got up, shut the bathroom window, and checked that every other room's windows were tightly closed. Thank goodness she'd installed soundproof glass. The rain striking it was barely audible.
The downpour grew heavier. People in the street could barely keep their eyes open under the dense rain. Windshield wipers became useless. Crashes, horns, and drivers' curses rose from the road.
She looked down through her binoculars but could make out only a few blurred figures running through the storm.
It rained for two hours without a pause. Instead of easing, it grew worse, a vast flood pouring down from above.
After preparing Lucky's dinner, she picked a few peppers and tomatoes from her space and took out some beef. With all her seasonings ready, she opened her phone.
"Beef stew. Beef stew. Here it is." She set her tablet to one side and followed the recipe. Soon, the bottom scorched. Still edible, though.
It was her first attempt at cooking a meal, and it showed. At least everything was cooked through. The flavor left a lot to be desired, but Lucky was an appreciative audience. They ate half each.
If she rationed all the prepared meals in her space, they should last six or seven years. Surely that was enough time to turn herself into a great cook.
Afterward, they stretched out on the couch. She took some fruit from her space, put a little on Lucky's ceramic plate, and started a period drama to pass the time.
At normal speed, each episode ran for over an hour. After two, she switched off her phone. The fruit was gone. Lucky slept curled beside her.
Emma rose and looked outside. Everything had blurred. Even the two neighboring buildings had faded to vague outlines.
The temperature seemed to have dropped sharply. It was getting cold.