Lab Rat part 49

Posted: March 5, 2011 in Fiction, Test Subject

“Where we going?” She asks. She pulls out a clipboard with a sheaf of paperwork. She starts scribbling things down as I feed her the address to the lab. I’ve got to get there ahead of Parish and the government. I pull my phone out of my pocket. It’s worthless now. The instant I call anyone on it, Johnson and his cronies will know where to find me. If I call Taryn on it – well, even I’m not that dumb. I open the back of the phone and take out the data card. I drop it on the floor. I’ll need to get a new one. Again. I sigh heavily. I might as well get some sleep. A moving car is the safest place I’ve been since I burned that guy to death in the alley. I lean back and close my eyes. I feel the exhaustion of the last day dragging at me, but the ride is bumpy. I keep hitting my head on the window when the driver takes a turn. I sit up again. Whatever. I’ll find somewhere to sleep after I know Taryn’s safe. I crack open one of the drinks from the gas station and take a long drink.

I think about what I’ve learned from Johnson. I’ll have to ask what lead to the doc splitting from the D.O.D. at some point. I’m also suddenly curious how she’s bankrolling this whole setup. Money from the patents? That’s got to be at least part of it. I mean, the injector is pretty readily recognizable as a medical device. Sure, most aren’t riveted on or armored like mine is, but then most of the time it’s used for painkillers and insulin and such. It’s not likely that the money is dirty. I mean, she hasn’t asked me to rob any banks. She killed the last guy for using her tech to commit a crime. I shake my head. This isn’t the time to speculate on that. I should be trying to work out a plan to get Taryn and myself out of the center of this shit storm I’ve whipped up.

Eventually we pull up to the lab. I dig out my paycard for the joyless woman, and watch as she runs it. Almost forty eight dollars. I think I’m being screwed. No matter. I’ll write it off come tax time. Business expense. Yeah right. As if I ever did the itemized deduction thing. I take my card back and look around as the cab drives off. I’m back in the smog choked industrial zone in front of the drab grey building with no markings or windows. I check up and down the street. No sign of anyone. That’s encouraging. I slip through the entrance and punch my code into the keypad in the stuffy front room. The temperature controlled air and the smell of burnt plastic puff in my face as the door opens. I close it behind me.

My sleeping habits are getting worse. I manage to fall asleep at two AM at the earliest these days. The other day, I was up until six. Not good for my sanity. It’s apparently plenty good for my creativity though; I’ve been writing like a madman. Every time I get stuck, I just stare at the ceiling and watch the paint swirls turn into pictures. Whatever works, right?

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