300 Minutes of Danger

by Jack Heath

  14:30‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ the poisoner said. ‘Is it in the backyard?’

  Nassim had only meant to tell the truth—that he didn’t have the bloodstone, had never had it, had never heard of it before now—but he saw an opportunity. If he could get outside, he could call for help and be heard. He might even be able to make a run for it, flag down a car and get to a hospital.

  Would fifteen minutes be long enough for them to test his blood, figure out what was in his system and synthesise an antitoxin? He could only hope so.

  14:15‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Buried by the gate.’

  The poisoner walked out the door and started to climb down the staircase. Nassim followed him. ‘I’ve told you where it is,’ he said. ‘Give me the antidote.’

  The poisoner had picked up the briefcase and was waiting at the back door. ‘After you dig up the bloodstone.’

  12:55 ‘I might not last that long. My legs hurt.’ This was true. A cold stiffness had spread from Nassim’s toes to his knees, making it hard to walk. The world was starting to seem too bright. Part of him had been hoping this was all a prank and that there was no nerve agent in his body. Not anymore. He could feel it dribbling into his cells and numbing them.

  The poisoner seemed unmoved. ‘You should have thought of that before you stalled me,’ he said.

  The doorbell rang.

  They both turned to look towards the front foyer.

  ‘Ignore it,’ the poisoner said.

  The bell rang again. Someone thumped on the door itself and shouted, ‘Open up. Police.’

  12:30By the time Nassim looked back at the poisoner, a gun was pointed at his face.

  It was a small black thing, well-used but also well-polished, with a suppressor screwed onto the barrel. Nassim wondered if the cops outside would hear the shot.

  ‘Get rid of them,’ the poisoner said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘You’ll think of something.’

  More banging. ‘Open up!’

  12:00‘Coming!’ Nassim shouted.

  ‘If they don’t leave, I will,’ the poisoner warned. ‘And I’ll take the antitoxin with me. Your pupils are dilated. You don’t have much time left.’

  Nassim ran around the corner to the foyer. He could see a silhouette behind the frosted glass door. Just one cop. Not enough to overpower the poisoner. Not enough to save him.

  Nassim opened the door. ‘Can I help you, officer?’

  The woman looked him up and down with bored brown eyes. Droplets of rain clustered at the corners of her cap. She wasn’t much taller than Nassim. A gun was holstered on her hip, which didn’t make him feel any safer. A patrol car was parked across the street, lights whirling. Nassim couldn’t see if anyone was inside.

  11:20‘Nassim al Parat?’ she said.

  Nassim wondered how she knew his name. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘I’m Constable Angela White,’ the cop said. ‘Is your mother home?’

  ‘No.’ Someone must have traced the call to his mother’s mobile account. ‘She and Dad are out. Has something happened?’

  ‘We’re not sure. Where did they say they were going?’

  ‘To the shopping centre. Dad needs a new raincoat.’

  11:00‘Uh-huh.’ White peered over his shoulder. ‘Can I come in?’

  There was no time to get to a hospital now. Nassim’s only hope was the antitoxin in the poisoner’s briefcase.

  He held the door a little more tightly. ‘Mum and Dad don’t like people in their house when they’re not here.’

  ‘It’ll just be a minute.’

  ‘Do you have a warrant?’

  10:45White’s eyebrows shot up under her hat.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t.’

  Nassim shrugged helplessly. ‘I can give you Dad’s number. You could call him and ask to speak to Mum.’

  ‘Why can’t I call your mother?’

  Uh-oh. ‘You could try. But her mobile is hardly ever switched on.’

  ‘I see.’

  White’s face blurred. Nassim blinked, struggling to focus. He could feel a sheen of sweat clinging to his palms and forehead.

  10:00‘Since I’m here,’ White said, ‘let me show you a picture.’

  She lifted up the papers on her clipboard and pulled a photo out from underneath. The picture showed a man walking out of a bank. He had a beard and wore a baseball cap and aviator sunglasses, but it was unquestionably the poisoner.

  Was he one of the men this ‘Kim’ had seen walking out of the bank? Or had he gone there first to check out the security?

  ‘Have you seen this man?’ White asked.

  ‘No,’ Nassim said, too quickly.

  09:25White held the photo closer. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No. I mean, yes. I’m sure.’

  ‘No problem. If you do see him, don’t approach him. Call us immediately, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Nassim said. ‘Sure.’

  09:00‘Let me show you one more picture.’

  Nassim gritted his teeth. He didn’t have time for this.

  The cop wrote something down on the back of the photograph and held it up. She had written: IS HE HERE?

  Nassim froze. White clearly knew much more than she was letting on. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t think she could help.

  ‘Have you seen this person?’ White asked.

  08:10Nassim had hesitated for too long. He had to tell the truth. He nodded.

  White turned around and signalled to the patrol car across the street. ‘Well, never mind,’ she said loudly. ‘It was worth a try. As I said, if you do think you spot either of those people, give us a call. Before I go, can I come in for a glass of water?’

  07:45The poisoner would just shoot her, and maybe Nassim too.

  ‘No,’ Nassim said. ‘Sorry, but I’ve answered your questions. I think you should move on.’

  He closed the door before she had the chance to object.

  He found the poisoner in exactly the same position—feet firmly planted, gun up. Not even the expression on his face had changed.

  07:30‘You called the cops,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ Nassim said. ‘They had a picture. Someone must have seen you nearby.’

  ‘No-one saw me. You did this.’

  Nassim wanted to scream. ‘I got rid of her, just like you asked! Give me the antidote!’

  ‘No.’

  Nassim was a short kid. In primary school, other boys had often stolen his things—his library book, his pencil case, his glasses. The boy would pretend to offer the item back, but whenever Nassim reached for it the boy would laugh and hold it up high, just out of his reach.

  07:00He had learned that the easiest way to get the item back was to create a diversion. To start a sentence he had no intention of finishing.

  ‘Listen.’ He made eye contact with the poisoner. ‘You have to—’

  Then he grabbed for the gun.

  The poisoner was quick but not quick enough. Nassim snatched the gun out of his grip. He had no idea how to use it, so instead he hurled it into the far corner of the room.

  06:40When the poisoner turned to chase it, Nassim kicked the briefcase out of his hand.

  06:00The briefcase fell to the floor and popped open.

  It was empty.

  The poisoner was laughing. ‘Not bad, Kim. If things were different, I might hire you.’

  ‘Where’s the antitoxin?’ Nassim demanded.

  ‘Not in there. Like I said, you’ll get it when I have the bloodstone.’

  Nassim was about to reply when a jittery red dot appeared on the poisoner’s forehead. The beam from a laser pointer.

  05:40It took Nassim a moment to put all the ramifications together.

  There must be a police sniper outside the window.

  And only the poisoner knew where the antitoxin to the poison was.

  If he was killed—

  05:30‘Down!’ Nassim screamed. He crash-tackled the poisoner who stumbled back
in surprise. A gunshot rang out. Glass smashed. A bullet whined through the air above Nassim’s head and thunked into the wall, showering them both with plaster.

  Wood splintered as someone kicked in the front door. Police boots thudded towards the living room.

  The poisoner was already scrambling to the back door. Another shot punched through the wall.

  05:00‘Don’t shoot!’ Nassim cried. But the chances of being heard above the cacophony were minimal. He could hardly hear himself over the ringing in his ears.

  No sooner had the poisoner disappeared through the back door than Constable White was standing over Nassim, decked out in body armour and surrounded by other cops.

  ‘Which way did he go?’ she demanded.

  ‘Don’t kill him!’ Nassim tried to say, but his tongue was thick and heavy. His lips were stiff.

  ‘Which way?’

  04:05Nassim couldn’t speak anymore. He pointed at the back door.

  Just as White was about to run after him, another cop burst in through the back door, dressed in full riot gear—jackboots, flak jacket, helmet.

  ‘The backyard is clear,’ he said, his voice muffled by the helmet. ‘He got away.’

  03:30No! Nassim tried to scream, but all that came up his throat was a groan. How could the poisoner have gotten away?

  ‘Get back out there,’ White demanded. ‘Search the whole street!’

  She ran towards the front door, leaving Nassim alone with the other cop.

  ‘This isn’t over, Kim,’ the cop said.

  03:00By the time Nassim realised that the cop was wearing street clothes under his flak jacket, he was gone. The back door swung shut.

  Nassim tried to stand, but he couldn’t. He crawled over to the door instead. When he pulled it open, he couldn’t see the poisoner. Just an abandoned coat and some shoes on the back deck.

  He dragged himself over and stuffed his hands into the pockets of the coat. He found a phone. Some keys. Ammunition.

  There was no antitoxin.

  Nassim’s lungs felt increasingly tight. His brain throbbed as though it were too big for his head.

  02:35Maybe there had never been an antitoxin. Perhaps the poisoner had just dropped the nerve agent into Nassim’s drink and used the empty briefcase to trick him into thinking he could save himself.

  And yet …

  02:00I’m a man of my word.

  It seemed foolish to trust a killer. But had the poisoner ever actually said the antitoxin was in the briefcase? Nassim tried to think back. No. He had merely let Nassim assume that.

  So if there was an antitoxin, and it wasn’t in the briefcase or the pockets of the poisoner’s coat, where could it be?

  01:40Nassim tried to think back to when the poisoner had first arrived at the house, when he was still pretending to be a TV repairman—

  And suddenly he had it.

  He hauled his numb body back into the house. His knees wouldn’t bend. He felt as helpless as a newborn baby.

  He crawled over to the television, spilt ginger beer soaking his shirt and torn trousers. The television was still slightly crooked from when the poisoner had been fiddling with it.

  01:15Nassim dragged himself around behind it. He rolled sideways far enough to see the back of the TV—

  There it was. An inhaler, like the kind he had for his asthma, taped to the plastic amongst the cables.

  00:55Nassim reached up with a trembling arm. It took him three attempts to grab the inhaler. By the time he eventually peeled it off the back of the TV, he couldn’t breathe anymore.

  He tried to pop the cap off the inhaler but his fingers wouldn’t obey him. His whole body was shutting down. The world was a blur. He could hardly see what he was doing.

  I’m too late, he thought. It’s over.

  Then Constable White walked in and saw Nassim sprawled out on the floor.

  00:30‘Nassim?’ she said. ‘Are you OK?’

  Nassim couldn’t reply. He was paralysed.

  White ran over. She looked at the inhaler in his hand. ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

  Come on! Nassim thought. Figure it out!

  00:10White didn’t waste any more time asking questions. She popped the cap off the inhaler and jammed it between Nassim’s lips.

  The last thing Nassim heard before he blacked out was a soft, beautiful hiss.

  00:00

  SPACE RACE

  30:00 Pop.

  The sound was barely audible over the humming instruments.

  ‘What was that?’ Jessie Pavel asked.

  Commander Washington looked over at her. ‘What was what?’

  ‘It sounded like this.’ Jessie made a popping noise with her lips.

  29:40‘We’ve just tilted seven degrees. Part of the spaceship which was in the shade is now in the sun. You may have heard the hull expanding.’

  ‘It didn’t do that last time we changed course.’

  Washington checked the luminous screen. ‘We’ve got exactly one atmosphere of air pressure. Temperature 18.2—normal. O2 isn’t dropping, CO2 isn’t rising. Fuel level steady, solar cells charged. Speed unchanged—8,000 kilometres per hour. Whatever you heard, it can wait.’

  29:10Washington was a big man with a bald patch and a heavy brow. His expression was neutral. No sign that he resented having to look after her. But Jessie knew he did.

  ‘I ran twenty kilometres every day for eight years,’ she had overheard him telling a mechanic. ‘I ate nothing but brown rice, lentils and boiled chicken. I studied astrophysics, chemistry and advanced mathematics. And now this girl waltzes in, with barely three months of training, thinking she can be an astronaut?’

  28:50I can, Jessie wanted to say. StarTours tested every kid in the country to find the perfect candidate. Me.

  But arguing wouldn’t convince him. It would only make the journey awkward. Icarus was a two-compartment shuttle. No room to avoid each other. So Jessie walked quietly away, leaving the astronaut she admired most to trash her reputation in peace.

  She understood Washington’s bitterness. Soon she would be the youngest person to ever visit the Genesis III Space Station. StarTours would make a fortune if they could prove that space travel was safe for children, so they had sent her on a huge promotional tour. Right now, hundreds of people were watching interviews with her down on Earth. Washington, the one who had to do most of the actual work, was rarely mentioned.

  28:30Down on Earth. It was a strange thought. They were only 160 kilometres up—half the distance from her house to the StarTours training base—but she’d never felt so far from home.

  ‘You should suit up, Pavel,’ Washington said. ‘We’ll be docking with the Genesis III in twenty minutes, assuming there’s no space junk.’

  28:15Jessie floated through the control room to the tiny circular window and peered out. Floating didn’t feel like floating—it felt like falling. But she had gotten used to the nausea. In training, one of her tasks had been to assemble a wooden puzzle inside a jet as it plummeted from the upper atmosphere towards the ground. The pieces kept bouncing off her fingers and drifting away, but at least she kept her breakfast down. The other astronauts called this jet ‘the vomit comet’.

  Through three thick panes of transparent polymer she could see Earth, massive and blue above them. But she couldn’t see the space station.

  27:30‘It’s on the other side of the world at the moment,’ Washington said, as if reading her mind. ‘But it’ll be visible soon. It does a full circle—’

  ‘Every ten minutes. I know.’ Jessie pushed off the window and flew through the air. It still amazed her that Genesis III could travel around the whole world—more than 41,000 kilometres—in the time it took her to walk to her local supermarket.

  ‘Eleven minutes,’ Washington corrected. ‘Get that suit on.’

  Jessie was already wearing her space suit, which somehow felt heavy even in zero-gravity. But her helmet was fixed to the wall by a velcro strip. Once she attached it to her suit and engag
ed the seal, it would take a couple of minutes for the pressure to equalise.

  27:05She grabbed the helmet and pulled.

  It wouldn’t come off the wall.

  Jessie frowned. The velcro shouldn’t be that strong. And it looked like the visor, not the adhesive strip, was stuck to the wall.

  Another helmet hung next to it, but Washington would need that one. Jessie bent down and peered up through the neck of the stuck helmet—

  And saw stars.

  She gasped. ‘Commander!’

  26:25‘Listening.’ Washington was tapping some numbers into a touchscreen.

  Jessie’s heartbeat was deafening in her ears. ‘Something’s punctured the hull!’

  Washington’s head swivelled around immediately. ‘That’s impossible. The atmospheric pressure—’

  26:10‘This helmet is plugging the leak,’ Jessie said. ‘The negative pressure must have sucked it there. I don’t know how long the seal will hold.’

  Now that she was closer, she could hear a soft hissing, like a venomous snake. They were losing air.

  Washington unbuckled his five-point harness. ‘Put the other helmet on.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Just do it.’

  Jessie grabbed the other helmet and pulled it on. The clamps snapped down onto her suit. Before launch she had cut her hair short so it didn’t get tangled in the mechanism. Her ears popped as the pressure began to equalise.

  Washington launched himself over. He took a look up into the neck of the stuck helmet and swore. He wrenched a patch kit out of a pocket on his space suit.

  ‘That was designed to repair holes in a suit,’ Jessie said. ‘Not the ship.’

  25:00The microphone in his collar picked up his voice and transmitted it to the speakers in Jessie’s helmet: ‘I know. It’ll buy us some time. Get into the storage compartment. Close the door behind you.’

  ‘You don’t have a helmet. I should fix the leak.’

  ‘You don’t have the training.’ Washington was already squeezing resin out of a tube, fixing the helmet to the wall. ‘Get in there. That’s an order!’

  Jessie launched off the hull towards the storage compartment.

  24:40She almost made it.

  There was a dull rip she heard even through her helmet, and then silence. Sound waves were made of variations in air pressure—no air meant no noise. Jessie found herself falling backwards. Pens, water bottles and other assorted debris hurtled past her, sucked towards the breach. Warning lights were flashing all over the control room, but she couldn’t hear any of the alarms. All she could hear was her own terrified breaths bouncing around the inside of her helmet.