Page 95 of Accidental Murder
Mice scurried back and forth. Every time a mouse passed through the yellow gate, an electric beam zapped it. Kayla gagged but kept watching. The mouse froze until the stun wore off and then tried an alternate route. Because of the overflow of mice, some were forced to return through the yellow gate to avoid being trampled. This was the first sign that something was amiss at Bledsoe.
Kayla forced herself to take a harder look. Some mice were deformed with enlarged heads or bulbous snouts. Others had overly splotchy skin. Some looked repellently bumpy. A handful of mice bashed themselves into the sides of their cages. Were they blind? The zap had to be the cause. Was it ionizing radiation?
Keep moving.
Halfway downC Wardshe paused by a metal door with no windows. Room 104. Within she heard shrieks. Distracted by thescreeches, she nearly missed picking up the sound of the janitor pushing her cleaning cart around the corner.
In the nick of time, Kayla pulled her cap lower on her head and, acting as if she belonged, ambled down the corridor. She peeked over her shoulder. The janitor removed a broom from her cart, unlocked the nearest door with a key attached to a cumbersome keyring, replaced the keyring on her supply cart, and stepped into the room.
Kayla hurried to the cart, nabbed the keys, and returned to the room imprisoning the shrieking creatures. When she located the key for room 104, she slotted it into the lock and twisted. She opened the door, slipped inside, and gasped.
The room was teeming with deformed monkeys. She couldn’t set them free, of course. She didn’t know what havoc such a release might cause. What she needed were activists with clout. Activists like Sara.
In her haste to flee the room, she collided with the janitor.
“Whoa!” the woman cried. “What’s your hurry? Hey, where’s your badge?”
Kayla backed up a few paces. “I must have lost it in the laundry room.”
“Couldn’t have. The laundry room is locked.”
“Yeah, why is that?” Kayla demanded with attitude.
The woman charged her, meaty hand extended. “Give me those keys. What’s your name?”
Kayla snatched a can of Lysol from the supply cart and sprayed it.
“Ayiii!” the janitor cried, and charged down the hall.
Adrenaline pumping, Kayla hustled in the opposite direction. She ended up in what she presumed would beD Wardbut wasn’t. It was a junction. A convergence of numerous hallways. She proceeded. Reached a dead-end fitted with a metal gate and secured with a padlock.I Ward.
Kayla tried one of the janitor’s keys.It didn’t work. She slotted in another. No go.
Footsteps slapped the tile floor. “Don’t move!” the janitor bellowed, heading straight for her. “Do. Not. Move.”
Kayla spotted a key marked simplyIand tried it. The gate opened. She raced through and slammed the gate with aclangseconds before the massive woman reached her. Ignoring the woman’s curses, Kayla noticed a door was ajar and sought refuge in the room.
What she saw shocked her even more than the shrieking monkeys.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Fourteen human patientswere lying on hospital-style beds, their mouths sealed shut. Wires connected to monitors were attached to their shaved heads. Counters filled with lab equipment circled the room. On a rolling cart beneath a window sat a defibrillator. Staging tables set with scalpels, syringes, and teeth guards were positioned between beds.
Kayla cringed. Were these the experimental subjects Sara had written about? Posters of DNA strands as well as pictures explaining Gregor Mendel’s experiments were affixed to the walls. A pair of porthole-windowed doors allowed access to the adjoining room. That explained how employees moved from room to room without using the halls.
Charts attached to clipboards dangled from the foot of each patient’s bed. Kayla lifted the chart of the closest patient and read:Diagnosis: Aggression. Below the diagnosis was a list of injection times and dates. Every hour on the hour, the patient had been injected withGenome DAO, whatever the hell that was. At the bottom of the form were signatures for both the patient and doctor.
Kayla reviewed another chart:Diagnosis: Cigarette smoker. The patient had been injected with theGenome NCS. Did that mean non-cigarette smoker?
A third patient’s chart read:Proclivity to amorality.
A fourth’s read:Predisposition to rebel.
Kayla could identify with the latter. Her diagnosis would say the same. She’d heard of bad habits being cured by shock therapy or medication, but why were the patients receiving injections of genomes? Was ionizing radiation or brain freezing part of the treatment? Sara had told David the process wasn’t ethical. Did injecting genomes represent a form of cloning or mind control?
Even if she could have taken photographs of the patients and charts, Kayla knew they wouldn’t be considered hard evidence. Plus the patients’ autographed releases would probably hold up in court. She started for the door but turned back when she heard a patient utter something unintelligible.
Kayla took note of the patient’s face and jammed her fist into her mouth to keep from screaming,No, no, no. It can’t be.
