Chapter 45—Silence Is Golden
From the upper iron walkway above the huge loading room below, Mark counted the number of canisters that were carefully, gingerly placed into the truck. They were tightly secured to their spots, but he fretted about riding in the truck with that deadly cargo. Heather, Finster, and the employees assured him there was nothing to worry about, but he knew that one wrong bump could spell disaster.
I suppose I wouldn’t have to worry about Whyte or any of this anymore if I was killed, he thought wryly. A chilly wind swirled through the open doors. Mark shivered and stretched his jacket’s sleeves over his hands. Less than an hour to go until morning, when he hoped it would heat up a little. Either way, he couldn’t wait to be back at the office and out of the cold.
When the last batch of SN91 had been loaded, the truck door was closed and driven outside. Then the shutter door behind it was pulled down. The overseer rallied his employees to the center of the bottom floor, surrounded by the mixing machines, which were shutting down. “Everyone! Everyone!” he called over the intercom. “Mr. Rooke is on the phone. He wants to talk to all of us.”
Rooke’s voice crackled on the intercoms. “Good evening everyone. First and foremost, I would like to thank you all for a job well done. We have certainly met our quota in record time. So give yourselves a hand.” All the employees cheered and applauded. Finster and Mark clapped for them as well. Heather moved to leave, but Finster stayed to watch.
“Coming?” she asked.
“In a minute,” he said. She stopped by the walkway’s exit, holding the door open to a small hallway that led to two staircases leading down, one inside and one outside the factory. Mark stood beside her.
“It is rare to find hard workers as loyal and diligent as you,” Rooke continued. “To be honest, I was skeptical of producing a large quantity in the amount of time I ordered. But you people, and many others, have stuck with it, proving me wrong. That kind of hard work is the kind that should be championed. That kind of dedicated labor is what we should all strive for. You—yes, you, are a shining example of employees, which one should treasure.” The employees glanced at one another. Murmurs of raises and bonuses swept through the crowd.
Wham! Crash! Several people dressed in dark Kevlar and wielding guns kicked open the side doors and windows. “On the ground! Down! Down!” they ordered. They filed in, surrounding all the employees. “Team one, clear!”
One policeman climbed the walkway from a staircase at the other end and pointed a shotgun at Mark. “Hands up! Down on the ground!” He jerked his gun at Finster and Heather. “That means you, too! Down!”
“Ah,” Rooke said. “That sounds like the police. Earlier than I anticipated, but no matter. We’ll kill two birds with one stone.” Several pops resounded throughout the factory, followed by a chilling hiss. “I’ll wrap this up quickly. Although I do appreciate your loyalty, I’m afraid I value silence more these days.”
Mark saw the gas pouring swiftly out onto the main floor. It filled the room from the wall vents. We’ve got to leave now! His heart started to pound in panic. As soon as the gas began flowing out, Finster bashed open the door to the staircases. Heather fired at the officer and slipped through the exit. He fired back several rounds at them. Mark took the brunt of the bullets as he fled. Finster grabbed a chair and blocked off the door, trapping the officer on the walkway inside the main room.
Inside, people were panicking. The gas had reached them and several workers were clutching their necks. Police and factory worker alike stumbled around, their limbs failing. Some tried to crawl away before their bodies spasmed violently. Police radioed for help. The trio’s pursuing officer pressed his face against the door’s glass pane. Mark watched his head turn blue as he squeaked for help.
“SN91,” Heather said, identifying the gas by the symptoms of the victims below them. “Not the one we saw. Deadlier. That psycho killed everyone. I knew he had lost it!”
“No time to worry now,” Finster said. “Get in the truck. I’m sure more cops will be on us soon.”
Mark was glued to the door to the staircase that led to the walkway. Everyone was dead. Now and again, a muscle twitched on the main floor, but the SN91 had effectively killed every worker immediately. It was like the video they had watched, only nearly instantaneous. Rooke had declared his newest form to be the most potent to date, but this one—
“Hey, Mark! Move it!” Finster said. The gas was slipping through the door’s cracks. He grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him through the door to the outside staircase and to the truck, parked just outside the factory doors. Finster shoved him in the front seat next to Heather. Then Finster hopped into the driver’s seat and zoomed away from the factory. In the mirror, Mark thought he could pick out the SN91 wafting through the broken windows.
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Halfway Heroes Page 79
