Halfway Heroes
Page 74
Mark had been trusted with plenty of information on the daily operations of Rooke Pharmaceuticals. But he didn’t expect to be privy to where they actually manufactured the SN91. Yet here he was in the car with Heather and Finster, parked in front of the stone-gray factory. He estimated they were close to forty miles outside of Golden Springs. In a valley in the middle of nowhere.
Rooke had ordered Heather and Finster to look more closely into the supplies one of the factories was shipping out, citing that recent reports were conflicting. The two had opted to bring Mark along for their inspection. The overseer of the factory met the three outside and guided them to his accountant’s office.
They walked along high-rise metal paths, far above the factory floor. Down below were vats of noxious, sickly colored ooze. Several of the employees wore facial masks as they operated heavy machinery. Mark wondered if he should be wearing one as well as he watched the heavy fumes spiral toward the roof.
“I don’t know what the problem with the numbers is,” the overseer was saying. “Louie usually checks them pretty thoroughly.” He opened the accountant’s door for them. “He’s gone home for the day, but feel free to look for yourselves.”
“We will,” Heather said. She and Finster dug through the various file cabinets and desk drawers, perusing the folders. Mark stayed on the walkway, gazing down at the machines. Right below the grate was a round bubbling container of pastel-pink liquid.
“It’s part of the brewing process,” the overseer said, noting Mark’s interest. “We have to heat the liquid to extremely hot temperatures. Would give you one nasty burn. Might melt your skin clean off, too. After it’s heated, we suck it through the pipes here.” His hand trailed the narrow rows of nearby pipes that reached the ceiling and scattered in all directions. “Send it to where it needs to go.”
“What is it anyway?” Mark asked.
The overseer grinned. “That’s probably a question you’re better off not asking.” Mark leaned over the edge. Heather called the overseer away. “Careful now. Don’t go falling in.”
Mark stared at the mixture below. It was like cake frosting, steadily churning round and round. One large bubble swelled up in the middle to the size of a balloon. When it popped, part of the goo reached Mark’s height. He leapt back, mindful of the overseer’s warning, but he collided against a pipe instead. A scalding hot pipe, which he read too late, was labeled “EXTREMELY HOT.”
He yelped, holding his pained upper arm. He lifted his shirt sleeve. His pasty skin had rapidly become a dark shade of red. Heather ran out of the office, looking at him. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Almost got that stuff on me.” He dropped his hand and turned his arm away from her. But he wasn’t fast enough to hide the burn. She pulled him around, saw the mark, noticed the pipe, and connected the dots.
As her eyes swelled in realization, Finster poked his head out of the office. “Hey. What’s all the racket?”
Heather searched Mark’s eyes. He knew that all was revealed to her. His secret was out. He would be disposed of and lose all he had. He would never be seen again. He—
“He almost got some of that stuff on him,” Heather said, jerking her head at the container below. “Nothing to worry about.”
“I told you to be careful,” the overseer said. Finster looked from Mark to Heather and then returned to his work.
“Close your mouth,” Heather said. Mark clamped his jaw shut but couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had covered for him. His life was indebted to her. She made no indication that anything had occurred. She examined his burn once more and tugged his shirt sleeve over the area, hiding it as best as possible.
Without a word, she rejoined Finster. Mark was left outside to wait until they finished. His panic gradually faded. He felt lighter not to have to hold that burden alone. He had a confidant for his secret. He stayed outside the office, watching the rest of the factory, giddy that he had avoided grave repercussions for his weakness. The rest of the time, he kept far away from the edge of the walkway.
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