Deadly Cure by Chris Harris (read this if TXT) 📕

Fourth of November

The building was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by grassy fields, and a single road that cut the field in two carried on for half a mile before arriving at what seemed like a toll booth. But there was no payment at this toll booth; merely the flashing of an Identity Card which confirmed that the individual worked within the building. From the main road, the building was unnoticeable, the tall bushes that lined it made sure of that. Not showing up on any maps, the road and the building was that of paramount and extremely high security.

People in white lab coats waited to get into the building. Kyle Gregson was waiting in line, Identity Card in his hand; they needed to be swiped before the employee could enter the building. The queue slowly shortened, and Kyle was at the front at last. He swiped his card on the chip reader and waited for the red light to disappear. With a beep, the red light turned off and was shortly replaced with a green light, meaning that the door would be unlocked for all of twenty seconds. Kyle stepped forwards and pushed open the heavy-duty steel doors: maximum security doors, allowing no one to see what was happening inside.

The walls within the building were white, which contrasted with the brown brickwork observed from the outside. To the casual observer, it looked almost like a mansion. Other men and women worked at workstations throughout the building, most sporting goggles and latex gloves. Upon the work stations sat microscopes and Bunsen burners as well as assorted test tubes in various racks, filled with various coloured liquids, some with solids suspended in them.  The laboratory was generally busy, with people getting safety equipment and weaving their way to their workstations, which were surrounded by transparent plastic, to contain any experiments that went wrong. Each workstation had a door, which could only be opened by someone with an official Identity Card.

Kyle made his way to his way to his workstation, grabbing goggles and gloves on the way. He swiped his card, and the workstation door unlocked with a quiet clunk. Kyle stepped through the door, pulling it shut behind him, before pressing the small bump in the plastic to lock the door. He walked over to his workstation and observed the test tubes, before pulling one out of the rack. It was filled with a green liquid. He put a small amount of liquid on a specimen plate, before placing it under the microscope. He looked through the eyeglass.

The door opened behind him, startling him. He turned and saw Henry O’Neil, the man in charge of the research project all of the scientists have been collaborating on.  “Kyle,” he said his voice strangely raspy for a man of his size. A tall man, Henry stood at about three inches higher than Kyle’s relatively small, thin frame. “Any change in the sample?”

“None at all,” Kyle said, “the serum is good to go.”

“Good.” Henry agreed, “All of the others have had the same results.”

“So, noone reported decay at all over the last month?” Kyle asked, surprised.

“Nope.” Henry answered, “I pre-emptively told Parliament last night that we have the serum ready for animal testing, and somehow the press got hold of it.”

Henry led Kyle out of the work station, pressing the bump in the plastic to unlock the door once more. Kyle followed Henry to his office. Unlocking the door, Henry went inside, gesturing Kyle to enter.  Most of the office space was taken up by a desk with a laptop sitting in the centre of it, with an in tray on the right. Aside the edges of the room were bookshelves, containing many scientific journals, all of which were up-to-date. The other bookshelves contained fiction novels, primarily science fiction; Henry liked to read in his breaks. At the very back of the office, behind the swivel chair that Henry lowered himself into, was a fireproof, waterproof safe which had been tested and classed as “uncrackable”.

Henry took a newspaper out of the in tray and handed it to Kyle. “Here. Look.”

Kyle glanced at the masthead, which stated that the newspaper was The Independent. The headline plastered across the front page shouted to readers: “PARLIAMENT CLAIMS CANCER CURE”.

“How do they know?” Kyle asked, “You didn’t tell many MPs, right?”

“Only told the Health Minister, who probably told everyone else.” Henry said bitterly.

The phone began to ring.

Kyle stared at it before Henry snatched it up with a short, sharp “Hello.”

Kyle looked on as his manager delivered a string of “uh-huh”s and finally a “Yeah sure, right away.” He slammed the phone down.

“Who was that?” Kyle asked warily, noticing how red his manager’s face had gone.

“The BBC.” Henry stammered.

“How did they get our number?” Kyle asked indignantly.

“You know journalists,” Henry said, “Probably hacked some MP’s phone or something.”

“Maybe...” said Kyle thoughtfully.

“There’s a helicopter out there!” A voice came from the other side of the building.

“Bloody hell, that was quick.” Henry muttered, leaping out of his chair. Kyle followed, both of them jogging at quite a speed.

Kyle looked out of the window. The helicopter looked like an ordinary helicopter, like those used in flying lessons. The BBC logo was emblazoned on the sides of the helicopter. “They can’t have got here that fast, surely.” Kyle said loudly.

“You’d think...” Henry muttered.

A door on the helicopter opened and a humanoid shape emerged from within, carrying a large tubular object. “The hell is that?” someone muttered.

“That’s an RPG!” yelled Henry, panicking; his years fighting in Iraq had honed his senses, and he knew about weapons. “Run!”

The staff flocked towards the door as a shape emerged from the helicopter, chasing towards the building. Some staff got out of the building before the explosion. Windows imploded, throwing glass everywhere. Kyle raised his arms to protect himself; others weren’t so lucky as the shards cut into them, sending blood flying across the room. Fragments of the tiled floor flew up to greet the workers, throwing clouds of dust into Kyle’s eyes, obscuring his vision. Through the blurred vision, he saw the top of the doorway collapse as the ceiling started to cave in. Although his vision was blurred, he heard Henry’s voice yell “Get down!”

Another explosion rocked the room and Kyle fell to the floor, smashing his nose on the remaining tiles. The workstations imploded now, the transparent plastic being jarred out of its brackets by the sheer force of the RPG’s impact. Test tubes and burettes fell from their racks and became jagged shards on the ground, spilling various chemicals, which bubbled and hissed as compounds that were not meant to meet met. Fragments of potassium (necessary for the function of cells themselves) met water spillages. The potassium began to burn, radiating enough heat to burn the very molecules of hydrogen, conjuring a lilac flame into existence.

The whirring of the helicopter’s blades grew louder as Kyle stood and wiped his eyes. His nose sat at an angle and was coated in a shell of blood; some dry, some running down his face, staining paths from his nostrils to his lips. Over the ringing in his ear he heard his name being called and a man standing above him, proffering his hand. Kyle reached for the hand as the lilac flame began to grow in both size and heat. The man pulled him up, Kyle’s legs straining as he did so. Standing unsupported, Kyle’s leg buckled briefly before he grabbed one of the few intact desks remaining. He steadied himself, before wiping the dust from his eyes. Henry came into view in front of him, as did the carnage before him; scientists lay on the ground, covered in blood, dust and glass. A few moved, but most didn’t. Whether they were dead or merely unconscious, Kyle couldn’t tell. The lilac flame had engulfed one scientist already, and was still growing. Kyle began to limp out of the room, before looking back. “Henry?”

Henry stood still in the middle of the room. “I’ve got to go back.” He said shakily.

“No, you can’t!” Kyle protested, voice cracking in his pain.

“The cure is too valuable. I’ve got to try, dammit!” Henry responded as the ceiling began to crack around him. “Run, Kyle!”

Henry turned back to his office and Kyle watched for all but a second, before walking towards him. “I’m not gonna leave you to die…” he muttered. A loud crack penetrated his hearing, and he jumped back as the ceiling collapsed in front of him. Tonnes of stone and plaster rained down in front of him as he looked on in shock. “Henry!” he called desperately.

No response.

Kyle looked around. The helicopter was still getting larger and larger, closer and closer, and the roar of the rotor blades was deafening now. He began to limp out of the room again, using desks, chairs and fallen ceiling for support. Each step was painful and a cold sensation filled his right ankle. I’m going into shock he thought. When he reached the doorway, he stopped. Where the doorway’s top had collapsed, it had blocked most of the doorway itself, but had succeeded in toppling the high-security door from its hinges. Slowly, Kyle lifted his right leg over the pile of rubble, using the doorway as a support. He felt his foot make contact on the other side of the pile and began to lift his other foot over. He heard a rumble, and he fell to the ground, his hand still clasped around part of the steel doorframe which had just collapsed. Pain ran through his crotch; the fall had twisted his leg. He got to his feet again and listened. All was quiet. They’ve landed!

He braced himself for the pain and ran down the corridor, using the wall as a support. The lights crackled above him, showering him in sparks which tingled and stung. His ankle made it difficult to run in a straight line, and he had to use both hands to support himself with both sides of the corridor if he began to slip or fall. Eventually he reached the main doors. Unharmed by the attack, they stood solid in their rightful place-obviously the attack was only on the lab itself. And if so, they didn’t want anyone to escape.

Unfamiliar voices echoed down the corridor. Kyle’s eyes widened in fear as he frantically searched himself for his Identity Card. No sign in his jean pockets, nor in his breast pocket. His deep lab-coat pockets took longer to search; it could’ve been hid between notes. He looked behind him quickly. No-one was coming. Yet. He flicked through his notes, dropping most of them on the floor. He moved a note on the effect of the cure on a test subject, which fluttered to the ground. Beneath the note, Kyle saw his own eyes staring back at him; his Identity Card. He swiped it, and the doors opened. He scanned the area, finding no sign of trouble. The guards still sat at their posts in their booth as the building smoked and burned. He ran over to the booth, waving his arms in an attempt to get their attention. It was fruitless. Blood stained their chests; what was left of them. Helpless, Kyle turned to see the building burn with a lilac flame as the helicopter blades roared once more, disappearing behind the smoke.

Kyle stumbled forwards, unable to comprehend what had happened, before he fell into darkness.