Synbat (2 page)

Biotech Engineering

_3:05 A.M._
Stan sipped his coffee slowly. His thoughts centered on tomorrow's activities, or more accurately, as he again noted the digits on the wall clock, what he would be doing later today. He figured to catch a few hours of sleep after being relieved at six, and then head over to the Land Between the Lakes (LBL) and do some fishing. Lake Barkley, which marked the eastern boundary of the large LBL recreation area, was less than three miles west of Stan's present location. With the weather as wet and chilly as it was, he knew he'd have the lake to himself. He hoped the storm would have passed over by dawn and the fish would be biting.
As Stan was trying to decide on a fishing spot, the lights inside the building flickered briefly and then went out, replaced by the dim glow of the battery-powered backup lighting system. The video screens were dead, but the computer display still glowed. Stan leaned forward in the chair and stared at the words etched there in eerie black letters against the green background:

POWER OUTAGE / EMERGENCY POWER ON.

0:23 TO BACK UP BATTERY DEPLETION AND CONTAINMENT LIFE

SUPPORT SYSTEM FAILURE.

PRESS F1 FOR HELP.

What the hell did that mean? Stan wondered. He couldn't remember anything about a containment life support system in the instruction binder. The system had to be somewhere behind that locked double door, on the lower level that he suspected existed.
Stan frowned as he pondered the problem. He knew that he was supposed to call the top name on the alert roster. He looked at the list. Doctor Merrit's name was first. During Stan's numerous stints in the army as staff duty NCO, he had received more than his share of butt chewings from irate duty officers he had called up in the middle of the night, as per instructions. He knew the perils that such interruptions incurred for the caller.
Stan didn't like the idea of waking one of those doctors at two in the morning over a power outage. Especially Merrit. He'd met her several times when she had been working late, as she often did, and she seemed very odd. Cumberland Electric ought to have the lines back up soon, he figured. Maybe if he just followed the instructions on the screen, he could cover everything until that happened.
Stan glanced at the screen again. The time was down to 0:21. As he watched, the numbers changed to 0:20. Stan focused on the last line. He didn't know much about computers, but he could connect the F1 prompt with the key on the top of the keyboard. Stan punched the plastic button. The screen briefly cleared and then a new message appeared.

0:20 TO BACK UP BATTERY DEPLETION AND CONTAINMENT

LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM FAILURE. TO EXTEND LIFE SUPPORT

SYSTEM OPEN CUBES. ACCESS CUBE OPENING SEQUENCE BY

PRESSING F5.

When a job paid minimum wage, it got talent commensurate with the price. It didn't occur to Stan to ask himself exactly what "life" the life support system was supporting. It also didn't occur to him to question the computer's instructions. Stan automatically reached out a stubby finger and pressed F5.

0:19 TO BACK UP BATTERY DEPLETION AND

CONTAINMENT LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM FAILURE.

CUBE OPENING SEQUENCE ACCESSED.

OPEN CUBE ONE? (YES OR NO)

Stan's forefinger hunted over the keyboard and slowly answered the glowing question with three letters: YES.

0:19 TO BACK UP BATTERY DEPLETION AND CONTAINMENT

LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM FAILURE. CUBE OPENING SEQUENCE

ACCESSED. CUBE ONE OPENED. OPEN CUBE TWO? (YES OR NO)

Stan answered again: YES.
The screen briefly cleared and a new message appeared.

CUBES ACCESSED.

1:19 TO BACK UP BATTERY DEPLETION.

CUBE CONTAINMENT SYSTEM BREACHED.

INNER CONTAINMENT DOOR SECURE.

OUTER CONTAINMENT DOOR SECURE.

ACCESS CONTAINMENT OPENING SEQUENCE BY

PRESSING F5.

Stan looked at the screen in concern. He didn't like the sound of "cube containment system breached." Made it sound as though he had screwed up somehow. Still, whatever he had done had extended the time to battery depletion and system failure. That had to be good. Curious to see if there was anything else he was supposed to do, Stan pressed F5 again.

1:18 TO BACK UP BATTERY DEPLETION.

CONTAINMENT OPENING SEQUENCE ACCESSED.

OPEN INNER CONTAINMENT DOOR? (YES OR NO)

(LEVEL FOUR SECURITY CLEARANCE REQUIRED

TO CONTINUE FURTHER)

ENTER LEVEL FOUR SECURITY CODE WORD

Stan looked at the prompt and shook his head. It didn't say anything about opening the inner containment door to extend the life support system. Plus, even though he didn't know what a level four security clearance was, he was damn sure of one thing: Since no one had told him he had one, he assumed he didn't. He certainly didn't have a level four code word, which obviously meant that he wasn't supposed to open the inner containment door. Satisfied that he had done what he was supposed to do, Stan picked up his thermos to pour himself another cup of coffee and wait for the power company to get its act together.
* * * *

Route 139, South of Cadiz, Kentucky

_3:47 A.M._
Parson pointed over his shoulder. "There's got to be a place open in Cadiz. We need to go back."
Chico shook his head, pivoting in his seat to look at the other two men crouched in the back. "Yeah, right. Use your fucking brains, asshole. We go to some Minit Mart there at four in the morning and you can be damn sure the state troopers are going to be there right after us asking if anyone seen anything. And then them guys are going to be right on our ass. We got some people we got to see down in Dover before we can head for Mexico. We got to get that money, and we can't have the law thinking we're still in the area."
Hill slammed a fist into the back of Chico's seat, his eyes glaring in the dim light of the dashboard. "Then your fucking sister should have put some goddamn gas in the motherfucking gas tank."
Chico glared back as the van rolled down Route 139 at a steady forty-five miles an hour. "We steal us a car."
Hill snorted. "Oh, yeah. That's fucking great, man. We'd be better off going back to Cadiz."
"Naw, man," Chico argued. "They won't be able to make the connection with the van and a stolen car. We'll be all right."
Hill pointed out the window at the dark countryside. "Where the hell we gonna steal a car out in this place?"
"There!" Leslie spoke for the first time, anxious to try to contribute something positive. If they stole a car then they could get out of her life and she could go back to Nashville. She'd been silent ever since Hill had noted the gas needle flirting with empty, less than five minutes after they'd passed through the deserted streets of Cadiz.
The three convicts leaned forward as she braked the truck. The headlights came to a halt, illuminating the sign and the driveway that turned off beyond it.
* * * *

Biotech Engineering

_3:53 A.M._
Stan's attention was diverted from the glowing computer screen as a set of headlights carved into the darkness at the far end of the parking lot. About time the electric company got here, he thought as he hitched up his gun belt and strolled over to the front doors.
He frowned as the van pulled up next to his pickup truck and a man jumped out into the rain and started messing with his truck.
Stan unlocked the doors and stepped out under the front awning. "Hey! What are you doing?"
The voice startled Chico. The building had looked dark when they'd pulled in and he'd assumed that it was empty.
"Pull over to the building," he hissed at Leslie.
"Let's get out of here," she replied. Hill shoved her out of the driver's seat as Chico climbed in and picked up a tire iron.
"What'd you think you were doing?" Stan asked as they pulled up.
"Hey, man, I'm real sorry," Chico explained as he stepped out. "We're just about out of gas and, well, hey, there ain't no all-night stores on this road and I didn't want to run out before we got home."
Stan frowned, his eyes taking in the three disheveled men and the frightened woman. "You OK, miss?"
Leslie swallowed. "Yes, sir. I'm fine."
Stan stepped forward. "I got a can in the bed of my truck that I use for my boat. You can -- "
The tire iron crushed the right side of Stan's skull and he sank to his knees, his hand reflexively trying to go for his gun. Chico swung again and again, the iron splattering bone and blood onto the wet pavement. After fifteen blows, Chico stopped, his arms covered with gore and his face beaming with a smile below two blazing eyes.
"What the fuck you do that for?" Parson was blubbering as Hill got out and unbuckled the holster and gun from the inert body.
"Help me put him in the van," Hill ordered. Parson reluctantly grabbed the guard's arms and helped Hill hoist the body into the van, dumping it on the floor.
"Let's see what we got in here," Hill said as he ripped the key ring off Stan's belt. He hopped out of the van and headed for the door of the building. As he stepped inside, the bright white overhead lights flashed back on. Startled, he almost dropped the gun, then realized what had happened. Chico, tire iron still gripped tightly in his hand, and Parson joined him. Leslie stayed in the van, scrunched up in the passenger seat, staring behind her at the body.
"You stay there, woman!" Chico yelled as the glass doors swung shut.
The flash of the red warning light on top of the console, compounded by the strident beep of an alarm, drew their attention to the desk where Stan's last cup of coffee sat, half-finished. A new message scrolled up on the screen as they gathered around.

POWER RESTORED.

SYSTEM MALFUNCTION

INTERNAL ALERT/ INNER CONTAINMENT BREACHED.

SECURE IMMEDIA

With the message still appearing, Chico swung the tire iron, smashing it into the screen. He pounded until the noise of the alarm stopped and the computer terminal was in shambles.
"See if there's anything we can use," Hill ordered, hitching the gun belt up to his belly, the weight of the pistol as comforting to him as the steel of the tire iron was to Chico. They went through the double doors into the main corridor. The sign on the door didn't indicate what was beyond, but did strongly suggest that whatever was in there was significant: WARNING: RESTRICTED ACCESS AREA. LEVEL FOUR CLEARANCE REQUIRED.
"What you think they got down there?" Hill asked out loud.
Chico's eyes still had a glazed look. "Let's check it out, man. Must be important. Maybe something we can sell."
Hill flipped through the keys until he came to the one labeled seventeen, matching the number above the lock on the side of the doors. He slipped in the key and turned it. The doors slid open, revealing a large freight elevator. Entering the elevator with Chico, he looked at the control panel. There were only two buttons: 1 and B.
"You coming?" Hill looked at Parson, who was still standing in the hallway.
"No, man. I'll check out these offices."
Hill looked the fat man in the eye. "Listen, motherfucker. You got any ideas of splitting with Chico's sister, you just better forget it. We'll track your ass down and blow your fucking brains out. You're in with us now. You killed that guard just as much as Chico did. Murder one, motherfucker. You got me?"
Parson nodded weakly. "Yeah, man, I understand."
Hill pushed B and the doors glided shut in front of him. The men felt their body weight lighten briefly, then settle as the elevator came to a halt. The doors parted open and they were facing a short corridor, ending in another set of sliding doors. Going up to the door, Hill read the number off the keyhole to the right: 18.
Hill slid in the appropriate key and turned it. The powered doors slid open and he stepped in, Chico right behind him. The room was dark. Hill's hand fumbled along the wall on the left before hitting the light switches.
As the fluorescent lights flickered on, the two men could see that they were in some sort of medical room. Two large tables covered with white sheets, with high-powered lamps looming over them, dominated the center of the room. Carts of sophisticated-looking machines ringed the walls.
Several doors led off to the side. Directly across from them, another set of double doors loomed. Unlike the other doors, these were solidly built of stainless steel. Squinting, Hill read the message painted on them: DANGER: OUTER CONTAINMENT DOOR. ENSURE INNER CONTAINMENT SECURE BEFORE OPENING.
Hill was checking out the medical equipment and cabinets of pharmaceuticals, judging their marketability, when he heard a noise from behind the far doors. It sounded as if someone had dropped some equipment.
Hill froze and pulled out the gun. "Anybody here?"
His words faded into the walls. Hill rubbed his forehead and considered the situation. Both men jumped as someone pounded on the doors. Hill edged up, signaling for Chico to move to the other side.
"Who's there?" he yelled.
He was answered with silence. The number above the keyhole on the control box to the right of the doors read 26. Hill found the corresponding key and slipped it in. He paused before turning it. For the first time, he felt fear. Some primeval sixth sense sent small tendrils of uneasiness through his stomach and tickled the hair on the back of his neck.
Fuck, ain't nothing to be afraid of, Hill decided. Not with Mister .38 in my hand. And there's no way I'm gonna show fear in front of Chico. He's one loco dude. Might as well turn the key and check it out.
"What the hell!" he muttered as the doors slid smoothly open. A short corridor, five feet long, appeared before him. The room beyond was strewn with equipment and papers. He stepped over the threshold between the open doors, Chico behind him.
Hill noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned left, but much too slowly. Hill was still futilely trying to bring his gun to bear when he felt something ice-cold rip into his gut. As the tear spread up to his chest, the coldness was followed by searing hot pain.
Hill still couldn't make out what tore into him as he was propelled onto his back, gun forgotten. His hands clasped his belly, fingers encountering something soft and wet. His unbelieving eyes saw intestines bulging against his hands.
That tableau stayed frozen for the long heartbeat of a second. A shadow loomed over Hill's right side and he could hear Chico screaming, as if from a very long distance away. Hill's own scream died in his throat as his trachea and carotid arteries were severed. Lying in a pool of his own blood, his last breath wheezed out of his slashed flesh.
Upstairs, Parson heard nothing. He was sitting at the security console, his hands trembling as he tried to figure out what to do. He was in for it now, he knew. Murder one. The big chair. Those dumb motherfuckers, he wanted to scream. The two had been idiots from the start  --  Chico's sister not having enough gas and Chico wasting the old man even though he said he'd give them some fuel.
Parson heard the doors to the elevator open behind him and spun around. He blinked and stared for a fatally long second, not believing what he was seeing. Then he screamed and leapt to his feet. He raced for the front door, but the figure jumped onto him from behind, the impact slamming Parson against the thick glass.
At the sound of Parson's scream, Leslie looked up from the guard's body. She watched the chase across the lobby with detachment, as if it were being played out on a movie screen.
The blood pulsing from Parson's cut throat splattered against the inside of the glass door, marking it with a cascade of bright crimson. Leslie finally reacted, jumping into the driver's seat and cranking the engine. The doors to the building were being opened and _they_ were coming out. She pressed down on the gas pedal and tore out of the parking lot, the wheels almost losing traction on the wet pavement.
One of them almost caught up with her as the van roared onto Route 139, but she lost it as she turned left and desperately stomped on the accelerator. Low gas and the body on the floor behind her were forgotten as her eyes locked on the road ahead.