Authors: Tabitha Rayne
“It’s no use, Katja. My hope for finding her is gone.”
“But why?” she wailed. “Nothing’s changed. You are doing the exact same thing in the exact same place that you always have.”
“No,” he whispered gently, lifting a strand of hair from her cheek, “I’m not.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me.” Katja’s voice was hard and she sat up straight, daring him to tell her.
“Well…” Marcus looked at the floor, knowing he was going to sound like a freak. “I have more than a physical connection with Deborah—we also connect spiritually.”
Katja rolled her eyes. “Yes, me and my love do too.”
“No, we have something called ultimate unity. Have you heard of it?”
Katja’s pose became even stiffer and she looked as though she was taking great care over how to answer. “No.”
“Well, it’s only a theory, really, but I was sure it would work.” He wrung his hands and began to pace the worn flooring. Going over how to phrase what he was about to say made it sound ludicrous and actually made him doubt his belief. “When we climax together, we meet on a spiritual plane.”
Katja just stared at him without replying.
“It’s like our spirits can join or meet up or whatever, I don’t know. It sounds stupid now.” Had it all been nonsense? Had he been clutching at straws, listening to some hippy mumbo-jumbo? “It worked when we were together. I thought we were strong enough to make it work remotely too. I thought if I could orgasm enough, I might catch one of hers in the ether of the meeting point.”
“And what did you hope would happen?” Katja’s eyes were cold and brooding.
“I thought she would tell me where she was and I could go and find her.”
“What?”
Marcus had never seen a person change so quickly.
Her eyes flashed deep black with anger. “That was your escape plan?” She rose from her knees and turned to leave.
“I’m just trying to find my love.”
“I thought you were working on logistics, plans, maps, storing food, supplies, tools, bedding. Oh my God. You’ve prepared nothing. I could have done the research and found out where she was. We do have access to newspapers and channels of gossip here, you know. Censored though they may be, it is a better chance than tripping out like a fucking loony.” She gripped her hair in frustration and let out a growl. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted all this time trusting in your plan. You’re just a fucking hippy fuck.” And with that, she stormed out.
Marcus felt like she’d kicked him in the stomach. She was right. He’d been so intent on his plan he hadn’t even considered whether there was any other way of locating Deborah. There were newspapers, of course. Not for the inmates, but he knew with all the good behavior points he’d racked up he could gain some sort of access to information. And Katja. She was an employee there. She would be able to find out anything.
He knew she’d supported him in his escape plans but he’d never been completely sure why. It wasn’t as if she was trapped there—she could leave at any time, so why was she so angry about
his
time being wasted? There must be more to this than she was letting on. But why had he never just asked her to help? Why had she never offered? Well, that was easy really—he had kept everything to himself, and she had no way of reading his mind.
Tiredness from the day gripped at him again and he went over to his bed and flopped down. Katja was right—it was time to start planning for real. Marcus closed his eyes and brought to mind the perimeter he’d studied on his outside breaks. He constructed a detailed 3-D map in his imagination and was glad that at least he had been preparing something, albeit at a subconscious level. He would study this place until he knew every brick; that way, when the time came, he would know exactly where to go.
He fought the darkness of sleep for a little while longer but lost the battle and surrendered into a fitful dream.
* * * *
Deborah was woken by a low rumbling noise outside. She jumped up quickly to see the sliver of dawn being obliterated by rolling toxin clouds. Quickly securing the window, she squinted through the glass, awaiting the battering of noxious rain. This was the first toxin storm she’d seen in a very long time and she shivered at the thought of people outside and exposed. Hazel and Birch blazed in her mind’s eye and she felt a pang of worry for them despite their betrayal.
With a crash, the rain began to lash at the window, rattling it on its fixings, and she fought the instinct to hide under the bed. She needed to see this, record the movements of the cloud at least for now in her memory. It was so ferocious, like an angry tidal wave of poison rampaging over the land. Lightning flashed in chaotic, jagged shafts, taking out branches and the remains of pylons abandoned years before.
Deborah counted, trying to give a timescale to the storm; perhaps she could calculate the speed later. Seven, eight, nine… On ten, a huge bolt of lightning ripped through the thick outer wall of the prison, illuminating the destruction as it went. Deborah’s heart raced with fear and excitement but also the thrill of the prison walls being breached. If only she could get out of her cell, she would have made a run for it.
Then suddenly, with a dead silence, the cloud passed and was gone. She unlatched the window to reveal an atmosphere thick with static and laden with a heavy mist. These storms were rare. Rare but so dramatic. Deborah had only experienced one once before, when she was at school. It had had a profound effect on her. After witnessing the devastation it had caused, she had made it her goal to find a way to battle these poisons and win.
Knowing this opportunity might not come again, she jumped down and grabbed her glass of water from the bedside cabinet, throwing the liquid to the floor while picking up the notebook. Pushing the window open as wide as she could, she pressed her body out while the frame cut into her neck, shoulders, and chest. Reaching into the charged air, she scooped blindly with her cup, trying to squeeze her other hand through the gap quickly enough to trap the treasure inside with the notebook. Pinned to the window frame, every muscle tensed, she slowly tried to ease herself back in without breaking the makeshift seal on her sample. She was shaking with tension when she made it back into the room safely and sat on the bed shivering. If all the scientists and labs were gone, this might be the only working sample now.
The cell door rattled and swung open as Jane came to collect her for her day’s work.
“Still in your nightie, lazybones?” She chuckled and Deborah smiled back, still clutching the notebook to the glass.
“Um, I was a little preoccupied. Didn’t you see the cloud?”
“Yeah...well, no. I only heard it. Scares me too much. I hid in the shaft.”
Deborah’s ears pricked. Shaft? She stored the word away, making sure to mark it with a red flag for further investigation.
“Your hair’s all sticking up too—you look mad.”
“Thanks, Jane. Must be the static from the storm.” Her arms were cramping from holding the home-made sample beaker so tight and Deborah didn’t want to trust Jane to take it while she got dressed. “Can you do me a favor and bring my tunic and stuff? I can’t put this down.”
“What is it?” Jane asked, picking up the requested clothing and eying the jar suspiciously.
“It’s a sample of the noxious cloud. I’m going to see what’s in it once and for all.”
“No, the book.”
Deborah hesitated for a moment, fighting the instinct to snatch it off the glass and away from sight. “Oh, that’s just some notes I sneaked up here to keep working on a few bits and bobs.” It was an effort for her to keep her pitch even.
“You know you’re not supposed to read after sundown.” Jane looked stern and Deborah wanted to laugh through her nerves.
“Come on, you won’t tell, will you?” She looked sideways at the big woman, hoping to make her feel trusted, as if she were part of a secret gang. To her surprise, Jane remained steadfast.
“Not this time, Doctor Regan.” The use of her formal title jolted Deborah, as did the cold tone when Jane continued. “But if you ever do it again, I’ll take it away for good.”
Deborah was knocked off balance by the complete change in Jane.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Really, I’m sorry.” She was convinced the book was going to be taken away and searched—Jane was probably under orders to confiscate any illicit literature.
“What’s the governor going to do to me if your eyesight goes from reading in the dark? We ain’t got no access to those fancy glasses here, you know.”
She gave a great, giggly sigh of relief. “You’re right, Jane. It wouldn’t do at all for me to become short-sighted through my stupidity. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Good.” Jane’s temper turned back to normal and in an instant she was helping Deborah to her feet and guiding her down to the lab.
* * * *
Carefully placing the cloud-filled glass upside down on the workbench, Deborah hoped to God the notebook had stayed firmly in place. It looked just like a clear, empty glass—no noxious green vapor swirled angrily inside, or even the cotton candy fluff she’d imagined angels lazing on as a child. Just a disappointing nothingness. Balancing some heavier books on top, she went to look for a glove box.
How would she even be able to analyze the components of the cloud with the basic equipment in this lab? Her old place of work had been lacking state-of-the-art technology, but this was absurd. She resolved to do as best she could with litmus paper and instinct as she flung open yet another cupboard, expecting it to be empty of anything useful. There it was—shabby, worn, but not cracked. A glove box. She went to work cleaning and putting all the testing things inside.
Creating a vacuum would dilute the gas but it was all she could do. It had probably been contaminated already from contact with the book and saliva residue on the cup which she now carefully, with shaking hands, placed into the chamber. Everything was set. She opened the small airlock and began squeezing the rubber bulb to expel the air inside the tank. Deborah had no way of knowing when the vacuum was complete, so just pumped until her hand became stiff and achy.
With trembling fingers, she placed her arms inside the long, black rubber gloves which were her contact with the internal tank. It was exciting. If only she was at her real lab with technicians and testing rooms. Her mind boggled at how much she’d taken for granted. She had merely been a theorist, with the luxury of playing with ideas and sending samples down to the techs for further examination. She didn’t actually know how to be a real scientist, in charge of the entire process. Smiling with determination, she reminded herself that she must have known a thing or two to become such a threat to society.
Carefully, she eased the notebook from the glass. The black leather had paled slightly where it had been used as the lid—a circle of charcoal gray adorned the cover and Deborah liked this addition to its history. The cloud was responsible for all of this—it might as well brand the notebook that, she believed, was the key to its demise. She took a swab of the discolored patch and rubbed it onto the page of litmus paper. Acid. The cloud must have dispersed through the micro atmosphere of the tank as every page of the litmus pad was slowly changing.
So toxic
, thought Deborah as the pages blackened.
The notebook!
Flicking through the pages, she thought she saw the letters begin to fade before her very eyes. In a blind panic, she pulled her hands out of the tank and flung it to the ground, watching the smashed shards skate and scatter across the lab floor. She grabbed at the book, catching a sliver of glass in her palm and cutting deep. Squeezing her hand tight to keep the blood from damaging the notebook further, she flicked the pages, terrified the words would be gone. When she saw the handwriting remained intact, relief washed through her.
She didn’t care about the cloud. She could see that now. It didn’t matter what was in it. There was no way for her to analyze it properly so she would have to go with what she knew.
Taking a Petri dish from the freezer unit, Deborah placed it on her workbench and opened her book.
Chapter 20
“It’s no good.” Deborah stormed into the governor’s office without waiting for permission. “I can’t do research into arousal in a room like that.”
She slammed her hands on the woman’s desk, wincing a little as the cut on her palm split open again. The governor slowly placed her pen on the paper in front of her.
“I see, inmate 222.” She carefully pushed her glasses up her nose and met Deborah’s stare. “But I don’t think you should be charging in here like a thing possessed when you are trying to gain favor with me, do you?”
Deborah flushed. She was frustrated and angry. She’d been trying for days to get a reaction from the lazy sperm samples but nothing could bring on her excitement or motivation. She’d sat, dry and sore from rubbing herself, while the samples died off.
“Where is the stuff I asked for? Where is my new equipment? And where is my fucking assistant?” She banged the desk once more and the governor eyed her with patronizing amusement.
“Interesting choice of words, don’t you think?”
“What?”
“Your ‘fucking assistant’.” She placed her palms on the desk and rose, pushing her chair back. Deborah held her ground and they were level, breath meeting breath over the paperwork. “Isn’t that what you need to get your experiments working?” The governor’s voice was low and seductive. “An assistant you can fuck until you get what you require?”
Still standing firm, Deborah forced herself to be defiant even though a chill of electricity ran down her spine. This woman wanted her! She knew there’d been chemistry before but she’d tricked herself into believing it was her imagination running riot.
Suddenly, the governor moved forward and lifted a knee up on the desk, leaning in to catch Deborah’s lips in hers. It was soft, delicate and barely there, but her nerves rose to sublime attention. The woman broke away to hitch her skirt up over her thighs as she climbed fully up before Deborah.