Fractured Bonds - Part 5.

I am cycling on a dirt road. Alone. Camie and Connor invited me today to the cinema, but I lied that I was feeling a bit under the weather and I anyways had some chores to do. In turn, to my parents, I said that I accepted the invitation. The factory is situated 5 kms away, times two, that’s a total of 10 kms and I should be home by 10 PM. I am furiously pedalling, not even checking for possible obstacles. The farmers are nice in Hopkinsivlle, but they tend to forget to clean up after themselves, so the roads nearby crops may have rakes or gardening gloves.

Finally, I spot a high fence with barbed wire on top. Before the fence there is a wide ditch. They clearly try to hinder anyone unwanted from entering. Or exiting; at this point, I am unsure what I will be faced with. Approximately 35 feet in the distance, there is a huge building. It certainly holds the image of a factory; a modern one, nonetheless! The windows are covered, there is a helipad on the roof and there is absolutely no sign of the happy logo that is displayed on every single one of their products. One would expect at least a sandwich board at the entrance, but instead, there are two guard rooms and a heavy iron gate. What are they up to?

I leave my bike hidden in a bush and sneak towards – what seems like – the back of the facility. I stay hidden in the ditches, hoping that no motion sensing cameras would notice my presence. I see a group of people in leather jackets, chatting and smoking. They have guns and fanny packs. In the flash of a memory, I can recall that they took out the needles from those. However, I am too far to eavesdrop and more proximity would mean a higher risk of getting caught, a jeopardy I cannot be faced with now.

As I try to change my position in order to acquire useful information, I see two men walking hurriedly towards the group. One of them is wearing a sandy colored coat and thick leather gloves. He looks older than his companion; his hair is greying, he has glasses and something is shining on his wrist. I am sure it is not a watch, it seems more like a communication device which I had seen in spy movies. The other man is younger and has the look of a scientist with his white lab coat. There is a ring on every single one of his fingers, as if to hinder his movements. Between his black curls are a handful of white locks. Peculiar.

The young fella is excitedly explaining something to the group of leather-jacket-wearing men and points towards the building. The men nod and some of them rush in the shown direction. Minutes later, a bloodcurdling shriek cuts the air. The scientist winces, meanwhile the old guy smiles as if he is enjoying the sound. Then, he turns on his heels and departs towards the facility. The scientist remains frozen and suddenly looks in my direction. I gasp and quickly duck, hoping that my presence goes unnoticed. On my elbows, I slowly start to slide back towards the bush where my bike was left.

After a quarter of an hour, I reach the place. As I swing my leg in an attempt to sit on my bike, a card falls off the wheel. I pick it up and without even looking back, I rapidly pedal away. I only take the card out when I am out of breath and have to stop for a break.

On the silver card, the following is written with golden letters: “genetiX – Innovative mutation technologies.” Despite the numerous wrinkles that were caused by the haste I shoved it in my pocket, the writing is still readable and, despite the warm evening, I shiver.

Balázs-Blénessi-Pataki Kincső   XI. R