Halfway Heroes, Page 4

Within the hour, the group had toured the rest of the offices and had arrived at the cafeteria via the central elevators. Once there, Retter turned them loose to stand in line for a specially prepared, “wholesome” meal, courtesy of the company.

  “This looks worse than the food at school!” Mark said when he sat down next to the girls and Richard, who had insisted on staying close to his field trip buddy.

  “Oh, shut up,” Dariela said, sighing with exasperation. Then she poked at her own food, digging a fork into what was, supposedly, mashed potatoes. She leaned over to Lydia. “This stuff does look awful.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Richard said, taking a bite and swallowing hard. “It’s a shame we won’t be visiting every place here.”

  “What do you mean?” Lydia asked. She thought the tour would encompass every part of the building.

  “Didn’t you hear Peter?” he said, earning a blank stare from her. “He said there were some areas that were off-limits. Like the storage room and some other areas near the back.”

  “Must’ve spaced out during that speech,” Lydia admitted. She turned to Dariela and noticed that her friend was regarding her with a mischievous glint in her eye. Lydia had an idea what she was already cooking up. “You want to go find those places, don’t you, Dar?” she asked, feeling a grin slide up her lips.

  “Sounds more interesting than a lot of the things we’ve seen so far,” Dariela pointed out. “We could hit the storage room. We have plenty of time. There’s still about another half hour for lunch. They won’t even know we’re gone. And a large chunk of the employees are at lunch, too. There’s no chance we’ll get caught.”

  “Wait, you can’t!” Richard said, terrified at the prospect. His protests fell on deaf ears. Dariela watched Lydia and waited for her answer.

  Lydia didn’t take time to weigh the decision. “Okay, let’s go. But we have to make it quick. I don’t want detention with Retter, of all people. I hear it’s miserable.” She checked the exit and found Retter, the chaperones, and Peter sitting at a table nearby, all busily engaged in their meals and discussions.

  She slipped from her seat as surreptitiously as she could and snatched up her camera from the table. Dariela stayed right behind her. They both walked casually to the door, heads pointed forward and not making eye contact with anyone. Lydia’s heart beat faster as they neared the door. Her hand was on the knob. They were almost out.

  “Where do you think you two are going?” Retter asked. She and Peter had just walked up together. Lydia exchanged a nervous glance with Dariela, but neither dared to face their teacher. Lydia chastised herself for thinking it would be that easy. “Well?”

  Dariela’s face suddenly lit up and she spun around to them. “The bathroom,” she said smoothly. “We really have to go.”

  “Oh!” Peter said, his face lighting up like it did on his tours. “It’s right around the corner! On your left.” He sliced his hand through the air while he gave directions. “I could show you if you want.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Lydia said, hurrying out the door with her friend.

  They rounded the corner and checked the lobby. It was devoid of all life save for the secretaries at the front, busily typing on computers or answering calls. Lydia led the way. They silently passed by the restrooms and headed for the other end of the lobby. It was eerie to Lydia how quiet and dead the entire place was during the lunch hour. She could only imagine how silent the lobby would be at night.

  They slipped by several laboratories, none catching their interest. All held the same stock tables and equipment they had already seen during their tour. Lydia was fearful that the squeak of their sneakers on the polished tiled floor might betray them, but no one noticed at all.

  It wasn’t until they reached the opposite end of the lobby that they found what had piqued their interest. Large yellow signs marked a pair of door as the storage room. Posted around the entry were a few signs warning nonemployees to stay out, and that those who entered use the utmost precaution when storing or retrieving whatever lay inside.

  But when Lydia examined the doors more closely, she was crestfallen at a key card reader tucked next to the door. “Look,” she said, pointing it out to Dariela. “Now what?”

  “Let’s see if there’s another way inside,” Dariela suggested. She took the lead and headed for the nearby exit. They emerged on the back lot, where transport trucks and cars were lined up unevenly here and there. To their left, one large transport truck was next to an open loading bay door. “Bingo,” Dariela said proudly.

  Two people burst through the exit behind them. Lydia spun. Mark ran up to them, bending over to catch his breath. Richard was right behind, flushed and shaking. “O-Okay, we found it. L-Let’s go back now!” he stuttered quietly, while checking for any sign of anyone following them.

  “No,” Mark said, straightening himself. “I say we’re going to go to that storage room. You got me curious.” He turned to the girls, hands squarely on his hips. “Looks like they found a way in.”

  “Go back. We don’t—” Dariela started, but stopped and dove for a large free-standing air conditioning unit. Lydia glanced to her right and saw the cause of her friend’s concern. A man dressed in a dark uniform was walking toward the front of the truck. She, along with the boys, sought shelter behind the unit.

  Lydia peeked out of their hiding spot and watched the man climb up into the passenger seat. He was joined by the driver, who started up the truck. “Looks like there are only two of them,” Lydia relayed to the others. “They’re about to leave.”

  “Okay. We’ll rush in when they do,” Dariela said. “Tell us when.”

  “Let’s go back,” Richard said, pleading in vain.

  “No,” Lydia said, stubbornly shaking her head. “We’re not going back. Besides, we’re close now.”

  The men chatted for a few moments, jerking thumbs at their cargo. Then the driver pulled the truck out. Lydia beckoned everyone to follow her as she dashed out and toward the opening. The four teenagers scrambled inside, breathing easier now. They glanced around the storage room. It was larger than they’d expected. Boxes upon boxes were stacked high, leaning precariously. The room was comparable to a wooden city, devised by some child obsessed with building blocks.

  Lydia had little chance to take it in because the truck had stopped. She spun around and saw the passenger door opening and a man step out. “Hide!” she hissed, yanking Dariela along behind a row of elongated crates. Mark and Richard disappeared behind other wooden boxes. The man smacked a button on the inner wall next to the opening, which closed the storage room’s door. It clicked and clacked all the way down, resounding with a large booming thump! when it touched the floor.

  With the sunlight gone, the only source of light hung from small lamps far above the group. There was just enough light for Lydia to see the crates around her. When she stood from behind the box, she found many crates, the labels detailing what was inside, who had stored it, and where it should go.

  “Come on,” Dariela nudged her. “Let’s look around.”

  “All right,” she said. “But remember, we don’t have much time.”

  They split up, each taking their own aisles. Many of the crates were sealed tightly with screws and nails. A few unsecured ones contained only computers or cardboard boxes filled with data, notes, and other information about experiments performed. Certainly none of the volatile or interesting items Lydia had thought she might see. She read the top of one stack of papers, but didn’t disturb the contents of the box. It was a dry report with a long preamble explaining how the data inside held new knowledge in the fight against skeletal and muscular diseases and muscular atrophy.

  Lydia was replacing the lid on the box when Mark jumped out from behind one of the crates, frightening her so much that she dropped the lid. He laughed and pointed at her, holding his jiggling gut. Lydia shoved him in a fit of frustration and knocked him into the wall of boxes.

  “That’s no way to treat your p
artner,” he huffed, returning her push. She slammed into the crate she’d been peering into. The shelves on which it sat rocked slightly.

  Lydia fell to the concrete floor, dropping her camera and catching the weight of her body on her hands. Her head shot up and she glared at Mark, but he was no longer paying attention to her. He had retreated several paces and was staring up. Lydia followed his gaze and gaped as a crate on the tip-top shelf danced wildly back and forth. It leaned toward her and then sailed through the air, down, down. Mark stood in place and watched it crash next to Lydia. With a resounding crack, it splintered apart.

  Lydia had covered her head, shielding herself from the broken wood, grateful it hadn’t fallen on her. Almost immediately, she sensed sticky ooze covering her arms, head, and body. She lifted her head. Her olive skin was drenched in pinkish-purple goo that bubbled and seeped from the box, mixing with other colorful liquids that blended with the purple goo. She felt its coolness soak into her pores. It had an odorous, burning smell that singed her nostrils.

  She stood and tried to wipe off the ooze on her face and arms with her T-shirt, but it had already been sucked into her body as if her skin was a sponge. Her clothes were already soaked with it, the white fabric of her shirt slowly giving way to purple. Lydia turned to Mark, who continued to stand there uselessly. “Help me!” she pleaded, furiously rubbing at the gunk. “Help me!”

  Then came pain. Horrible, wrenching pain. Lydia forgot all about Mark’s ineptness and fell to her knees. Her entire body was wracked with a throbbing that coursed through her body. Through her agony, she studied her hands and arms. Her skin bubbled into lumps that pushed upward, forming small mountains sticking up through her shirt, pants, and all along her limbs. Indeed, it seemed like her insides were growing too large for her body, and were trying to rip through to breathe freely. She fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Her fingers curled, bent, straightened, and her body jerked and twisted spasmodically. The scorching smell intensified. Lydia didn’t know whether it came from the liquid or if her whole body had caught fire.

  “Help!” she choked out, her skin still soaking in the goo beneath her. She barely realized that Dariela had rushed up to her, shoving Mark to the side.

  He knocked over a wobbly crate of his own. It exploded into fragmented pieces and bathed him in a similar purple liquid mixed with a green concoction. He cried and tried futilely to clean himself. “Rich!” he called. “Rich, help me!”

  Lydia wasn’t sure if Richard ever came. All she remembered was Dariela hovering over her, telling her that everything would be fine. Lydia’s vision swam before fading to nothingness.