She wondered briefly whether Jason had received her note. Even if he had, what could he do? He could hardly come down here and demand that she be released. She had to assume the worst. No help was coming. She was on her own. With that thought, a weight seemed to lift off her shoulders. She needed to take action, to fight back. She didn’t want to hurt anybody, but after the latest experiment and their callous indifference to her welfare, she was prepared to compromise on that objective.
The big question was how? A guard sat outside the room, and her every movement was monitored by the camera in the corner of the ceiling. The bathroom, however, had no surveillance measures, at least that’s what Rose had told her. How could she use that to her advantage? If she could lure the nurse inside and disable her, she could take the key card and unlock the door into the corridor. She would still need to find a way past the guard and somehow get out of the basement.
Her thoughts came crashing down with the realisation that even if she did escape, her son, Paul, would still be held captive. She had no idea where they were keeping him, but she assumed it was in some other part of the building. A vision of Paul as an adult, locked up in a room like this, flashed through her brain. She couldn’t allow that to happen, but even if she escaped from this room, the odds of finding him and freeing him were remote. Only one option remained. Once she was out of here, she would have to rely on the police to locate and release him.
If the attempt went wrong, they would undoubtedly use her son to punish her. That was a risk she would have to take. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer. The first problem was how to incapacitate the nurse.
Antimone picked up the tray. It wasn’t heavy enough to do any damage. She would have to find something else. Her eyes swept the room. Nothing obvious came to mind. She manoeuvred her legs over the side of the bed, eased herself into the wheelchair and propelled herself to the bathroom. Once inside, she closed the door behind her. Her gaze immediately settled on the shower chair, a white, plastic construction with aluminium legs. She reached out an arm and pulled the device towards her. The legs were screwed on, and she tried to twist one. At first, it didn’t move, but as she applied more pressure, the metallic tube turned with a screech. She detached it and swung it experimentally through the air: a little light, but adequate for the job.
Next, her mind turned to the guard. From the brief glimpses she had obtained when the nurse entered, he sat facing away from the door. The door opened into the room, so the chances were he would see her before she had the opportunity to hit him with the chair leg. She was confident that she could outpace him over a short distance but probably not for long enough to discover a way out. She needed a way to slow him down. Her first thought was the cutlery they provided with her food. A knife or a fork stabbed into the leg would more than likely have the desired effect. The main issue was that the nurse invariably took an inventory of the eating utensils after each meal and ensured that all were accounted for.
Her eyes slid across to the mirror above the sink. If she broke it, she could use one of the shards as a weapon. She would need to make a handle by wrapping the glass in some material. Toilet paper would do the trick if she used enough.
With a plan in place, the only remaining question was when to implement it. The nurse would arrive shortly to collect the breakfast tray. Antimone was glad that it was the older woman and not Rose. She would have felt bad about hurting Rose, but this nurse was both bad-tempered and insensitive, and she felt no such qualms about her.
“No time like the present,” Antimone muttered. She made sure the door was firmly closed then swung the metal tube at the mirror. A star-shaped depression formed at the point of impact, and a solitary crack ran from top to bottom, but no fragments split away. She drew back her arm and smashed the chair leg into the glass with more force. This time, several shards fell loose, some landing on the floor, others in the sink. She selected a jagged piece approximately six inches long from where it lay on the white tiles and carefully picked it up. Resting it on her lap, she propelled the wheelchair forwards, the wheels crunching as they rolled over the slivers of broken mirror.
She grabbed the end of the roll and kept pulling until she had detached the entire length. Next, she held the tip of the dagger-shaped piece of glass between two fingers of her left hand and wrapped the tissue paper around it with the right. Within a minute, she had transformed the fragment of mirror into a wicked-looking blade with a white handle. Antimone picked up the weapon and slashed it through the air experimentally. She opened the bathroom door a crack and waited for the nurse to return.
***
Fifteen minutes later, the electronic lock beeped. Antimone moved the wheelchair back so the door could open just over halfway before hitting the wheels. In her hand, she grasped the metal tube. The makeshift knife lay down the side of her seat.
“I’m in here,” she called. “Um, I’ve had a bit of an accident.” Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath came in short gasps.
“What’s that?” the nurse asked, moving closer.
Antimone said nothing, but raised the rod above her head. The door moved, scraping against the fragments of glass that lay scattered across the floor.
“What the hell’s going on here?” The nurse pushed the door open, her gaze focused downwards. The door bumped into the rubber tyre.
A head appeared in Antimone’s line of sight. “What–”
The question went unfinished as the metal tube swished through the air and smacked into the woman’s skull with a dull thud. Her eyes rolled up as she toppled backwards like a felled tree. She remained unmoving, her skirt hitched up exposing her white underwear.
Antimone scooted forwards, bending down to pull one of the nurse’s legs away before shutting the bathroom door. She was relieved to observe that the woman was still breathing, her chest rising and falling in slow steady movements. She rummaged in the left pocket of the woman’s uniform. Empty. She tried the right. Her fingers grasped the key card and slipped it free.
Antimone reversed and pulled the door back. The nurse’s prostrate form would be visible to the camera if anybody was watching, but she didn’t have the strength to drag the woman out of the way. She would just have to hope that nobody was paying close attention to the image. She edged past the woman’s legs and re-entered the main part of the room, dragging the door closed behind her.
Forcing herself not to glance up at the camera, Antimone approached the door leading out. She placed the card against the reader, grabbed the handle and eased it towards her. A crack opened onto the corridor beyond. She reached down the side of the wheelchair and closed her fingers around the improvised dagger.
“All done then?” a male voice asked as the door swung open.
Antimone surged forwards and plunged the mirror fragment into the seated man’s leg. The guard screamed and clutched at the shard protruding from his thigh. Antimone accelerated away. From behind came a groan of agony followed by the tinkle of falling glass. A second or two later the crackle of a radio and a man’s urgent voice echoed down the corridor, the words unintelligible as they rolled into each other.
Antimone rounded the corner and spotted the elevator doors ten metres ahead. Powerful strokes sent her racing forwards before she slammed her hands down on the wheels to bring the wheelchair to a juddering halt. The heat from the friction stung her palms, but she forced the pain out of her mind. She stabbed a finger at the call button, and the doors slid apart.
The sound of multiple running feet bore down on her. Antimone jerked forwards. The footsteps were louder, closer. A shout. “She’s in the lift.”
A bright red light emanated from a control panel on the wall. “Where are the buttons?” Antimone smacked her hand against the metal. “Come on, damn you. Move.”
The floor vibrated. Antimone whirled around. A green coated doctor stood beside her clutching an injection gun. Several more people crowded in behind him. He took a step forward and stretched towards her. She tried
to bat his hand away, but he avoided the attempt with ease. A short hiss, a sting on the side of her neck.
“No,” she said. “I can’t go back to …”
Chapter 52
Friday 14th January 2033
Jason’s mother had departed half an hour earlier. True to her word, over the course of the previous evening, she had grilled him once again. She had made him promise that he would report any attempt by Floyd to make contact. That was one promise he was about to break less than twelve hours later.
Jason turned on the computer and started up the web browser. He navigated to the YouTube website and entered the text ‘Deathly Daze’ in the search window. He selected the topmost result, the video for a song of the same name. Within seconds, a thrashing beat emanated from the speakers. He muted the sound and scrolled down to the comments.
“I can’t believe people listen to this shit,” he muttered.
He reached out a finger and flicked the screen up several times before stopping.
“Here we go,” he said to himself. “Running Man 1234.”
Beneath the username, a string of nine digits preceded the words, ‘Just because you’re paranoid it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.’ More digits followed the note.
Jason smiled. The message didn’t seem to relate to the content in any way, but judging by most of the other comments, that wasn’t unusual. He grabbed a pen from the desk and wrote down the two sets of numbers that surrounded the comment. Next, he created a new username and left his own message in reply. ‘Keep wearing the tin hat. 1523129132220.’
When he had talked to Floyd by phone the previous day, they had settled upon this method to exchange information. The last three numbers of the first sequence in the original message were the identity of a left luggage box at Northstowe railway station. The first six provided the unlock code in reverse order. The second set of digits also in reverse order was the number to Floyd’s new mobile. Floyd had not been best pleased when he had been forced to dispose of his old phone, knowing that the police would be able to back-track the call made by Jason. Jason had mentioned that he already possessed a pair of new unregistered phones. His reply provided Floyd with the number of one of those phones, once again with the digits reversed. Floyd had instructed him to make contact only in case of emergency.
He glanced at his watch. Seven thirty in the morning. Plenty of time to get to the station before school started. He didn’t know what was in the locker, but it had to be related to the deal he had struck with Floyd. At first, the man had been incredulous when Jason informed him that Antimone was still alive. After Jason had eventually convinced him that he was telling the truth, he had agreed to help Jason get Antimone out of the hospital if Jason did a favour in return. The locker contents were part of the price. Floyd had described in general terms what he intended to do and had told him that detailed instructions would be provided when he picked up the package. He had reassured Jason that nobody would get hurt as a result of his actions.
Jason consumed a hasty breakfast and hurried out of the house. He didn’t notice the man watching from the silver vehicle parked at the side of the road.
***
Jason entered the bustling station. He couldn’t help but gaze up as he did every time he came here. The domed, latticed ceiling made the building look like the interior of a Zeppelin. A row of spotlights ran down the centre of the roof, lending it an otherworldly appearance. Northstowe station was a highlight of the new town and was highly regarded by architects the world over.
Jason forced his eyes down. People streamed through the entrance, most of them heading to the platform for the Cambridge train. The buzz of the crowds echoed around the vast interior. Several passengers bumped into him as he read the signs, trying to identify where to go. After a few seconds of searching, he eventually spotted a wall covered in a grid pattern of metal doors of varying sizes. He retrieved the piece of paper from his coat. The lockers were ordered numerically, and it didn’t take Jason long to locate the one he required. It was at waist level and big enough to accommodate a small suitcase. Once again he consulted his notes and tapped out the remaining six digits on the small keypad.
The door beeped, and a red light illuminated. Jason frowned and studied the string of numbers. He cursed as he realised that he had forgotten to reverse the digits. He tried again. This time, a green light showed. The door swung open to reveal a padded, brown envelope propped up against the side. He grabbed the package and thrust it into his rucksack. This was not the time or the place to inspect the contents. He hurried across the busy concourse and exited into the frigid January air. After the noise and activity of the station, it seemed oddly quiet outside.
Hitching the rucksack higher on his back, Jason set off along the pavement in the direction of his school. A man in a black overcoat hurried after him.
Chapter 53
Friday 14th January 2033
Rose Griffin yawned and stretched out her arms. She hated the dark, dreary days of winter. She had always promised herself that one day she would move to warmer climes. Maybe that time was now. She had handed in her notice at the end of her shift at six o’clock that morning. In a month’s time, she would be free of Ilithyia Biotechnology and ready to start a new life. Maybe they’d even let her leave earlier. It seemed that Rosalind Baxter would be all too glad to see the back of her.
Australia sounded attractive. She had overheard some of the other nurses talking about it. There was a shortage of trained medical staff, and the climate was vastly superior to that of grey, old England. She resolved to give the month’s notice on the small flat she rented in a two storey block on the outskirts of Northstowe. Over a third of her monthly earnings went towards the rent. That was another thing about Australia – the cost of living was apparently far lower.
She peered blearily at the bedside clock. Just after eleven o’clock. No wonder she felt tired. Normally after a night shift she wouldn’t wake until at least two o’clock in the afternoon. Something rustled in the corner. She hadn’t forgotten to close the window, had she? The climate control maintained a steady temperature, but she liked to let some fresh air into the room for a minute or two before turning in. She wouldn’t be able to sleep if the curtains were flapping in the breeze.
With a groan and eyes still half closed, she flung back the covers and slipped her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers. She inhaled through her nose. A musty tang tickled the edge of her senses. She sniffed again, trying to identify the incongruous scent. It reminded her of tomcat urine, but just the faintest trace. She wondered whether it was just the remnants of a dream playing with her sense of smell. Frowning, she glanced at the curtains. Not the slightest ripple of movement.
A figure burst from the other side of the bed. Before she had time to react, a hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream, but the strong fingers blocked her airflow. A hiss. A cold sensation running rapidly down from her neck. Dizziness clouding her mind. The man’s voice.
“You’re not going to call for help, are you?”
Rose shook her head. Terror enveloped her, but it was as if somebody else had occupied her body.
“You’re going to get dressed now.” The tone was calm, persuasive.
She switched on the light, closing her eyes briefly against the sudden brightness. As they adjusted, her gaze settled on the man who had by now moved to block the door. He seemed familiar, but her addled mind struggled to place him. A burst of clarity. Grolby, the Head of Security at Ilithyia.
“Hurry up, we’re going out,” he said, maintaining the same resonant timbre.
She stretched out robotically, grabbed the blue uniform she had discarded on the chest of drawers earlier that morning and pulled it on over her T-shirt.
“Put some shoes on,” the man said.
Rose slipped her feet into the flat-soled black shoes she wore for work.
“Before we go out, you’re going to tell me what you gave the boy when you met in the car park.�
�
“A note.”
“Who was the note from?”
“The girl in the basement.”
“What did it say?”
A look of anguish crossed Rose’s face. “I can’t remember the exact words.”
“Don’t worry about that,” the man said soothingly. “Just give me the general gist of it.”
“She asked him to get her out.”
“Good. Did you tell anybody else?”
“No.”
“Right, here’s what you’re going to do.” He spoke to her in a low voice, explaining what he wanted and emphasising several points. Rose’s breathing came ragged and harsh until he told her to breathe more slowly. Outwardly she appeared to be calm, but a vein throbbed rapidly at her temple.
“Do you understand all that?” he asked.
Rose nodded, her eyes darting frantically around the room.
“Okay, I want you to go now. You’re going to follow my instructions, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, a quaver in her voice.
She descended the stairs and undid the lock. Grolby looked on from the top step. She pulled the door open and stepped out without closing it behind her. She began walking, wearing no coat, only her thin nurse’s uniform.
By the time she arrived at the railway station, her skin was turning blue from the cold. She was shivering uncontrollably, and several passengers threw her worried glances. One man asked whether she was alright, but Rose ignored him. She held her phone to the reader as she proceeded through the gates and onto the platform. She walked until she reached the end of the concrete strip then turned and advanced until her feet straddled the yellow line a metre from the edge.
A high-pitched screeching sound preceded the rattle of an approaching train. Rose took a step forwards, her whole body trembling. The twin lights of the locomotive rounded the bend. Rose’s head shook rapidly from side to side. The driver was now clearly visible through the windshield.
Decimation: The Girl Who Survived Page 21