WHERE THEY FALL, page 16
He used a wall-mounted radio to contact Stephen, who was down in the growth chamber with Alana. They both appeared in Area B minutes later, excited by Lachlan’s findings.
“See,” Stephen said, nodding with enthusiasm. “I told you he would be the right man.”
Alana pursed her lips, and then forced a smile. “Well done, Harvey.” Although she offered a compliment, resentment soured her tone. As the error in coding was hers alone, Alana felt both relieved that progress was being made, but disappointed in her own mistakes.
“I think if we can make this cellular binding less volatile it may have a flow on effect,” Harvey said. “It may even assist with the intolerance the subjects are facing to the painkillers. Perhaps the liver and kidney are failing because of these errors in metabolism.”
“We can’t wait to find out,” Stephen said. “How long until we can rewrite the code and begin growth with the new formula?”
“I can’t say,” Lachlan replied. “A day. Maybe two?”
“Fantastic,” Stephen and Alana said in unison. They both smiled. Lachlan Harvey smiled back. It triggered something inside of him. Guilt. Remorse. Self-loathing.
Why am I smiling? He thought to himself. I’m a fucking prisoner. We’re making people. Don’t lose sight of the truth.
Alana placed her hand on Lachlan’s forearm. She looked at him with gratitude. Beneath the fierce façade, Lachlan sensed kindness in her narrowed eyes for the first time. “Well done, Harvey. Keep up the good work.”
So immersed in coding, the rest of the afternoon flew by and before Lachlan realised six pm approached and a siren sounded for dinner. The project had energised him. He had always been a stickler for success. Despite the questionable moral implications, he wanted to succeed. He rubbed his eyes and stared from cell to cell, in his own weird way, making sure the subjects were still there. Two days earlier, when he had first sighted the subjects, naked and alone in their cells, the nauseating weight of concern had crippled him. Now, as he looked at them, his heart rate didn’t falter. He almost possessed a sense of pride. His stare lingered on Sigma, one of the female subjects. He studied her impeccable breasts as she sat on the bare concrete with perfect posture, pushing them forward. He admired the scientific ingenuity. His eyes gravitated toward her groin, fixating on her pubic hair.
“Stop it,” he said aloud and turned away, a sense of shame forcing his face to flush. He knew it was wrong, yet in only two days he felt attached to the success of the program. He left the control room and made his way to the mess hall with an internal conflict rising within.
Lachlan entered the mess hall. Mercenaries, doctors, maintenance staff, and subjects filled the room. Casual conversation carried across the hall. Lachlan lined up and grabbed a plastic tray. He filled it with thick Turkish bread, roast vegetables and steaming slices of roast pork.
As he walked between tables, he noticed Epsilon sitting alone at a steel table near the centre of the hall. She looked different from the night before. A raised, red rash covered her left arm and spread up her neck, spanning like crow’s feet up her jaw. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Harvey stopped beside her.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Epsilon looked up. She smiled as recognition swept over her gaze. “Oh, hey. Yes, nothing is bothering me. Why?”
Lachlan pointed to Epsilon’s arm. “That rash doesn’t look so good.”
Epsilon looked at her arm, as if only noticing the hive-like blotches for the first time. “Oh, it’s not uncommon. It’s a side effect to some of the treatment.”
Twinges of guilt formed knots in Harvey’s guts. If his moral compass had become skewed by his fixation on solving the coding kinks, seeing Epsilon’s reaction grounded him. The project was wrong. Full stop. He couldn’t agree with it. He wouldn’t let himself become invested.
He sighed. His thoughts were twisted, conflicted. He wanted to help the project so he could go home. But playing god would have severe consequences. He stared at Epsilon and forced a smile.
“So, this has happened before?”
“Yes. It goes away after a day or two.”
“Does it hurt?”
Epsilon smiled. Her teeth were flawlessly straight. “I guess so. I’m not really sure.”
Lachlan stood beside her. “You’re not sure if it hurts? What does that mean?”
Epsilon looked around the room, as if for the first time, noticing the armed mercenaries standing against the walls. She lowered her voice. “Well, for one, I’m not sure I understand the meaning of hurt the way you might. I’m also so used to what you may consider hurt that I guess I’ve adapted to it. Numb perhaps.”
Lachlan sat beside her. A guard on the far side of the hall took a few paces towards them and stopped. Residents of Project Alpha seemed to sit where they chose, but given Lachlan Harvey’s unorthodox arrival, someone had clearly instructed the guards to keep tabs on him.
“Don’t you think that’s fucked up?” Lachlan asked in a whisper.
Epsilon shrugged. “I don’t know that word. Fucked up?”
“Wrong! Don’t you think it’s wrong that you’re conditioned to feel pain?”
Epsilon stared at Lachlan with a blank look, unsure of how to respond.
“If you could, would you leave this place?”
“What place? Project Alpha?”
“Yes, this underground prison they have us all locked in.”
“There is more? There is somewhere else?”
Lachlan shook his head. “Holy shit. You’ve never seen outside of Project Alpha, have you?”
“Again, outside is a word I’m not familiar with.”
Lachlan placed his hand on Epsilon’s. At first she flinched, but sensing the warm comfort in his eyes, she eased back. The lingering guard took another step closer.
“Epsilon, there is more. So much more. One day I’m going to get you out of here,” he whispered. “I’m getting you all out.”
“No contact with the subjects,” the guard called from across the table. Several diners turned their heads to see whom the guard addressed. Lachlan Harvey raised both hands in the air in a gesture of defence.
“Okay, okay. I get it. No touching…”
Lachlan turned to see Alana stare at him from across the hall. He felt his face redden, his heart rate rise. He shoved a forkful of pork into his mouth and glared at his plate, watching Alana approach through his peripheral vision.
Don’t upset the balance.
“Good evening, Epsilon, Mr Harvey,” Alana said with false sincerity. “May I have a word with you in private Epsilon?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Follow me. Now…”
Epsilon’s eyes met Lachlan’s as she stood. Bluer than the tidal lagoons of the South Pacific, they radiated hope, compassion and the embodiment of innocence. He held his gaze on hers until she broke it, turned, and left the mess hall.
Lachlan finished his meal alone. His thoughts plagued him. He felt powerless and disgustingly powerful at the same time. Although ashamed of his involvement in the sinister program, he couldn’t stop thinking about how to improve the formulas.
I’m a monster, just like the rest of them.
Alana returned soon after Lachlan emptied his plate. She walked toward Lachlan with wide, wild eyes. Lachlan froze. Fire burned in her gaze. “Don’t make a habit of getting too close to the subjects,” Alana said. “Remember your place and do your best to remember theirs. From now on, I don’t want you alone with them. For our own reasons, there is much that we have sheltered them from. Because of your careless conversation, I have sent Epsilon to C5.”
“C5? Population control? As in the end of the line?”
“Yes, Mr Harvey. Your thoughtless conversation about the outside has just cost Epsilon her life. Don’t be a hero in here. Don’t cloud their minds with things they don’t need to know. It won’t do anyone any favours.”
“I’m sorry, please. She doesn’t need to die. Not like this.”
“Get a grip, Lachlan. We have already established that they’re born to die. We will just make more with your improved formula. But with that being said, I want her to be the last subject we send to C5 prematurely because of your loose lips. Understood?”
Lachlan looked at Alana. His chin trembled. “You’re a sociopath,” he said.
“I’m much worse than that,” Alana whispered as she turned to walk away. “Consider that as strike one, Lachlan. People in here don’t get two strikes.”
TWENTY-SIX
Cole sat on his black leather sofa with a beer in one hand and a bowl of crisps in the other.
By the time Cole got Jenny home, showered, and in bed, it was far past her bedtime. She had stumbled up the stairwell in a state of exhaustion and fallen asleep within seconds. Cole kissed her on the forehead and closed her bedroom door, avoiding the dream catcher getting stuck as he did, and went downstairs to switch off his busy mind.
He had done very little to change their family home after Lizzie passed away, and in fact had kept their bedroom unchanged. Much of her clothing still hung in the walk-in wardrobe. He kept telling himself he would donate some of it to charity but never seemed to bring himself to part with it.
Jenny’s bedroom and the spare room for the second child they never had were situated up a small flight of carpeted stairs. A mezzanine overlooked the entrance hall of their modest family home, serving as a second lounge area outside Jenny’s room. She often sat up there to read books or scroll on her tablet when she wanted space.
Cole’s bedroom was downstairs at the front of the house. His king-sized bed seemed excessive for him alone, but like Lizzie’s clothing, he couldn’t bring himself to downsize, feeling like he would remove a part of the memory of his wife if he did.
The TV flashed a series of ads before him. It was on, but he wasn’t watching. Instead, he continued to run the Harvey case through his mind. He couldn’t shake Holland’s impeccable timing. Being there thirty minutes after they had taken the Alpha Numerix mail. Of course, it could be coincidence, but perhaps it couldn’t be. Cole had never been the guy to get paranoid, but he couldn’t shake an unsettling feeling. Holland’s demeanour was off.
He took a swig, placed his beer on a foam coaster on the coffee table, and then pulled out his iPhone. Opening up the maps app, Cole started digitally navigating his way through Elizabeth, a satellite-city-come-northern-suburb of Adelaide. He located the post office and studied the surrounding streets.
Three light taps pulled him from his phone screen. He looked around, not sure if he fabricated the sound. Then his phone pinged. A text from Blake.
You up? I’m out the front.
Cole looked at the time. 10:03. He pounced upright, spilling the bowl of chips across the grey tiles. He knew Blake’s routine better than anyone. If she had her way, she was in bed by ten, allowing her to wake at five am to train. Something wasn’t right if she was at his door at this time of night. He slid on his thongs and hurried down the hall. The porch sensor light glowed on the other side of the frosted hallway window. Cole saw the silhouette of a body through the narrow frame.
He pulled the door open. “G’day, Rach. What’re you doing he—Jesus Christ! What happened to you?”
Blake stood on the front porch with a cast on her right wrist and a sling elevating her arm across her chest. Gravel rash and grazing covered her chin and much of the right side of her face. Swelling had already ballooned her jaw out, her lower lip comically large. Her Lycra bike shorts hung tattered on her right side, an aggravated graze running from her hip to her knee.
“Can I come in or are you going to stare at me like I’m an extra for the Walking Dead?”
Cole reached out and placed his hand on what he guessed was Blake’s functioning shoulder. “Yeah, sorry, Rach, come on in. Jesus! I take it you fell off your bike?”
Blake limped inside and Cole pulled the door closed behind her. She smelt like disinfectant wipes. The smell synonymous with the hospital emergency room clung to her clothing as she hobbled down the hall. Blake had always liked the Cole family home. Compared to her small inner-city apartment, she found its homely warmth comforting. Calming.
“I’ve always said that riding through the city is dangerous,” Cole said. “You should get yourself a Ranger. You don’t see me hobbling around with a broken, bloody wrist. Wait, is it broken?”
“Cam, just stop talking for one second. Can we sit first? My leg is killing me.”
“Sure. Sorry, I’m just playing. You want a beer?”
Blake took a moment to answer. She was a calorie counter. She had probably reached her daily quota, but the circumstances allowed her to break the rules. “Yeah, sure. Screw it.”
Cole headed for the open-plan kitchen while Blake lowered herself down onto the black leather. She let out a pained whimper as she bent her knee; the grazing being stretched as she sat.
“Shit, that hurts,” she said.
“Perhaps you don’t need a beer. Maybe you need a few shots?”
Blake looked at her partner, unsure if he was serious. She rolled her eyes but didn’t reply.
Cole cracked a beer, placed it in a stubby holder and handed it to Blake. She took it and guzzled hungrily.
“Cam. I didn’t have an accident,” Blake said.
“Tell that to your face.”
“Cam! Stop being a clown and listen! Someone ran me off the road, okay? It wasn’t an accident. Whoever did it, did it on purpose.”
“Jesus. Who were they? Wait, why?”
Blake repositioned herself. She winced through clenched teeth. “It was them, Cam. Alpha Numerix…”
Cole stopped pacing and sat beside Blake. “That’s impossible. How could it be them?”
“I’m pretty sure they followed me. They waited until I was on that little lane between Flinders and Collins with the organic coffee place, and then they slammed into me. They didn’t stop. I think they were sending a message… or trying to kill me.”
“What makes you so sure it was Alpha Numerix and not just some drunk drongo swerving across the road?”
“Cam, it was a black Ford transit. Tinted windows. South Australian plates.”
“Shit!” He swigged his beer. “This is big, Rach. I told you this was big!”
“Yeah, but how could they have known? You sent that email earlier. I bloody well knew you shouldn’t have. Ruffling their feathers put me in hospital.”
Shame washed over Cole’s face. “I’m sorry, Rach. I didn’t know that they would come hunt us down. If I knew I would put you in harm’s way, I wouldn’t have done it.”
Blake forced a smile through seeping lips. “Somehow I don’t believe you, Cam. You always do what you want, when you want.”
“What if it wasn’t the email?” Cole asked.
“What else could it be?”
“Maybe us snooping at the post office. It could be Holland.”
“Holland?”
“Yes, slimy old untrustworthy Holland!”
“Holland is an Inspector with the Victoria Police Department. He’s not a kidnapper. He doesn’t orchestrate the violent road accidents of his own detectives…”
“I’ve been thinking, right?” Cole didn’t acknowledge Blake’s statement. He carried on with his own narrative. “If it were me, even if I was taking you off the case, I would have let you open the mail. I would have let you know if there were leads. It seemed off. It’s like he didn’t want us to know anything more.”
“Doesn’t make him a kidnapper, Cam. Doesn’t mean he’s part of some international shell corporation doing God-knows-what.”
“No, you’re right. But then something struck me as odd. And I know that there are coincidences, but not one after the other after the other. Do you remember when Holland took leave this year? Where did he go?”
Blake’s eyes widened. Her mouth cracked. “Hong Kong?”
“That’s right. And last year, you might not remember, he went to a supposed cyber-crime convention and training program. Do you remember where that was? Adelaide! If I was being a detective and trying to connect the dots, he is right there in the middle of it all, Rach.”
Realisation and acceptance hit Blake at the same time. She swigged her beer and placed it back on the table. She shook her head. “It just can’t be. I don’t believe it.”
“You don’t believe it or you don’t want to believe it?”
“Well, both I guess. So what now?”
“Right now, we get some rest. First thing in the morning, we go past Holland’s office. I mean like six am. Before he would get there. We find that mail. I guarantee he’s hiding it. From there, we use whatever it is he’s hiding to find Lachlan Harvey.”
“You really want to go up against our boss, Cam?”
Cole placed his hand on Blake’s. “It’s the right thing to do. If he’s in on it, we gotta bring him down.”
Blake nodded. Her facial expression didn’t match the gesture.
“But first, we need to get you cleaned up. You want to just shower and crash here? Plenty of Lizzie’s clothes you can throw on. Clean sheets on the spare bed.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of scared to shower. The grazing is going to sting like a bitch.”
“Yep. You look like someone’s dragged you through a cheese grater. But hey, I’m glad you’re okay.”
Cole helped Blake off the couch. They wrapped her cast in a garbage bag to keep it waterproof and made their way to Cole’s ensuite. Most of his house was respectably clean, but Blake noticed facial hair clippings on the ensuite floor and dried droplets of urine on the toilet bowl, the seat up.
“You can tell it’s a bloke’s bathroom.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”
Blake smiled. “It’s all good. I’ve seen worse.”
“You need a hand, or are you okay?”
“Well, getting my top off is going to be hard… and painful. Maybe if you could just…”
