Memory Wipe (The Gene Thief Series Book 3 - Short Story)
Read Memory Wipe (The Gene Thief Series Book 3 - Short Story) Online
Authors: Jason Cole
Memory
Wipe
The Gene Thief Series
Book 3
By:
Jason Cole
Copyright © 2014
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Click here
to find out about new book releases, giveaways, and other fun stuff.
Feel free to reach out to me directly:
Email:
[email protected]
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/authorjasoncole
Book cover designed by Nicole @
www.anobrainart.com
“Ugh.” Kira rolled her head around to work out the stiffness from her neck, trying to awaken from a long slumber.
“Man, Tank. I don’t remember the last time I slept this long. Must be that extra security of having you around big boy.”
She reached her arm off the couch to pet him, but she felt the cold wooden floor instead. She opened up her eyes to see if he had moved to a different spot on the floor but she saw nothing.
“Tank?” There was a little mix of curiosity and concern in her voice.
She stopped moving to see if she could hear his big paws clunking around on the ground as she called them.
“Come here, boy.” She turned her head, pointing an ear towards the kitchen. Complete silence.
Usually he would be snoring, or crying for breakfast, but she heard none of that. A feeling started to arise inside of her. Worry and concern turned into panic and fear. There were no claw marks on the door and the windows were bolted shut. Kira was at a loss, unable to imagine where he could have gone, or how he could’ve gotten out.
She rubbed her chin as she thought, and she landed at the same conclusion. A frightening conclusion. Someone had taken Tank from her. She felt this weird feeling inside, her throat had a frog in it, and her eyes were getting watery. Not recognizing this feeling, it stressed her out even more. Tears? This was something she was used to seeing in other people, weaker people. Tears meant emotions out of control and that meant potential liabilities and vulnerabilities. Neither of these were traits she could afford as a gene thief.
The apartment had an eerie silence too it, the lack of Tank’s presence was unsettling. Already she missed that little whimper that woke her up in the morning with his big eyes looking up at her waiting to be fed. Who would do this? Who would dare do this? She didn’t have any answers yet but she knew one thing, they would be dealt with harshly. Tank was the only other living thing in this world that she loved, and no one would get away with taking him from her. Some people were going to regret their decisions.
She sat down on the barstool in the living room. She placed her head into her right palm and her left arm rested on the table. A paper rustled on the table under the weight of her arm. There was a letter on the table. Quickly unfolding it, she read inside.
We have your fat mutt and thanks to his insatiable hunger it was easier than we thought. One fuckin steak and he was walking with us as if we had raised him ourselves. He’s been crying so much that we had to put a muzzle on his face and lock him up. I hope you’re tougher than this bitch dog you got.
She had to take a break from reading. The rage inside of her was making the lines blur together. She could feel the pulse behind her eyes quickening, her hands turned into fists and grabbed fiercely onto the piece of paper. Her mind was already fantasizing what she would do to these lowlifes.
What scared her the most was that they were able to open her door, lure him out, and remain undetected. Never in her life had something like that happened before. No one could even walk down the hallway without her knowing. If someone was in the elevator, she knew it.
The only thing she could think of was that Tank offered her a comfort she had never felt before. With him around, things felt like they were okay. Life was in order, and he would protect her. Now it was time for her to protect him, and that was exactly what she intended to do.
Kira went down her mental list of diseases she could infect them with, genes she had accumulated that gave rise to some nasty symptoms. Bone degradation, over stimulation of nerves, insomnia, depression, schizophrenia, the list went on. She put the paper down and looked out the window, intertwined her fingers, and pondered. Kira didn’t consider herself the violent type, but she was willing to make an exception.
She settled down a bit and snapped back to reality. The severity of it all was kicking in. Someone found out who she was and wanted something from her. How is that possible? Could she use them to find out more about her past? Maybe they could lead her to discovering who she really was, where she came from, and how this all started.
This life she was handed, this illusion that she’s part of. It can’t go on like this forever. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and sighed. Things never seem to get any easier.
There is a gene that we wish to have in our possession. What this gene does is of no concern, so save your breath. The one thing we can tell you is that this gene will either save your dog or kill it. There is a patient in the local Memorial Hospital in room 317. This patient has the polymorphism that we need. Extract it, copy it, and bring it to us. Meet us at the back of the park behind the row of weeping willows at 6:00pm. Tank will remain alive for 24 hours. If we do not receive the gene by then, say goodbye.
Kira crumpled the paper and threw it onto the table disgusted by what she had read. Not only did they think they could get away with this, but they were trying to strong-arm her. Bullying her to get a copy of a gene was the quickest way to learn a painful lesson.
She looked at the back of the paper and saw the sequence of the gene that they wanted. The single nucleotide polymorphism changed an adenine to a cytosine. With her camera’s technology, she was able to enter the sequence, have it analyzed, and predict the effects of a mutation.
The camera was processing this information, and she waited anxiously. She was unable to even speculate what they could want this gene for, how they discovered this patient, and even more so how they discovered her. She would have to go about this very carefully. These were the first people Kira had ever encountered who knew something about her. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that they may know more about her than she knew about herself. It made her sick as she pondered this.
“Process complete.”
The camera projected a two line description of what the most likely outcome of this mutation was.
This SNP is likely to increase the proliferation of local dysplasia in Homo sapiens. The permeability of cell membranes will allow any cancerous cells to enter the blood stream at unparalleled rates.
Kira was staring at this description in disbelief. Nauseous, she felt like throwing up. Completely blindsided by this, she sat there frozen in time while her mind raced. So they want to steal this mutated gene so that they can somehow increase the rate of cancer progression in humans? Making it more deadly than ever before? Why the hell would any sane human want to do that?
Clearly she was dealing with some disturbed individuals. The only explanation was that they must be involved with a company that sells cancer treatment. Therapies, chemo, steroids, something. No other driving force could distort a human like money. That must be it. By causing the cancer to spread somehow, the result would be more hysteria. More people afraid than ever before, resulting in more extreme and more costly options.
This mission took on a whole new meaning. Not only did Kira need to save Tank, but now the welfare of the general public was in the picture. The poor people who were genuinely sick would be at risk of falling victim to these people. The pharmaceutical company pulling the strings was likely to be pushing laced their drugs as it was. So-called cancer drugs infused with a masterful mixture of chemicals intended to sustain each patient’s poor health. By suppressing an existing customer’s health and their spirits, they were able to continue cashing in on the situation. She had heard that their mission was to acquire wealth at any cost. In some cases, this meant putting people into such deep holes of debt that if they managed to live and survive cancer, that life was just as insufferable on the other side. The exorbitant cost of cancer treatments had reduced too many people to nothing, leaving them forced to live off what little government handouts were available. Kira could only begin to wonder how much worse the situation would be with this gene in their hands. The one thing worse than sustaining someone’s failing body was the ability to purposefully sabotage and cripple it.
This wasn’t the first time she had heard or thought about the cancer theory, but to deal with it first hand was surreal. Kira knew there was a fine line between a tin-hat conspiracy theory and exposing a well-kept secret. In the past, she never knew how to handle the different articles and stories related to the resistance of attaining a true cure for cancer. Now more than ever, they seemed believable, maybe even likely. This mission was capable of validating so many of these conspiracy theories. It pained her to realize just how hard these saboteurs to keep cancer alive.
Kira was ready to take on this mission. She was ready to call her own shots, make her own decisions, and know exactly who was on the receiving end of her actions. Action and reaction. She was in control for once, dictating her own outcome.
“Hang on, Tank. I’m coming boy. Just hang in there a little longer.” She felt the emotions brewing inside of her again. The storm was about to be unleashed. Stress, anxiety, and rage all mixed together inside of her. A dangerous concoction for anyone who came in close contact.
In the past, Kira was careful not to leave any footprints or evidence, but all bets were off. There were no limits to what she was willing to do to save Tank and those innocent people. She clenched her fists at the thought, slammed them against the table, and got up.
Making her way into the kitchen, she started to rummage through her vials. Hundreds of them, all different sizes, shapes and colors. Some carried life-saving antidotes and others were as lethal as a gunshot wound. She searched for the perfect weapon against these monsters.
As she read the label on each vial, she realized she would still need to complete their request. There was no doubt that they would check on the spot for the gene. A pseudogene wouldn’t suffice. It needed to be the exact sequence with the exact mutation. They would probably be able to tell if it was a synthetic derivative, so first things first. She needed to make her way to Memorial Hospital.
Room 317.
I don’t want to do this to you, but it’s for the greater good. Forgive me.
The thought of stealing a gene from a patient already suffering was excruciating. She imagined walking into the hospital room, the smell of the sanitized hallways shooting up her nose, the beeping monitors. It disgusted her. The guilt was already growing inside. Even if he or she would have no memories of it happening, it didn’t matter. She resented these people for making her steal biological information from someone who was at an all-time low in their life. She was losing control. Infuriated that they had managed to force her hand as the nature of the mission drove her deeper into the darkness.
Damn you, Tank. Where I was strong, you’ve made me weak.
It was pitch black out, her favorite. Kira made her way into the hospital through the loading dock, unseen. As she made her way into the hallway, all was quiet. At least this part would be straightforward.
She took the stairs up to the third floor, not making a sound, and keeping a keen ear out for any footsteps above or below. As she reached and entered the third floor, she was flooded with the monitors.
Beep, beep, beep. Each beep perfectly synchronized with a heartbeat. She started to feel woozy. Losing her balance for a second, she fell back into the stairwell and grabbed on to the cold steel of the railing. Hanging on with all her might, another memory flashback was threatening to steal her from reality. The sound of the monitors echoed in her ears. Louder and louder.
Beep beep beep.
The stairwell disappeared, and she was suspended in darkness.
Beep beep beep
A little girl appeared, lying in a bed at home. A monitor was beside her, a mother and father sat quietly in the corner. Another little girl was just outside the door in the hallway with her ear held towards the room.
She heard the mother whisper, “You think she’s going to make it through the night?” Her voice was shaky, she looked exhausted.
The husband was no better, and he replied, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
By the looks on their faces, these parents had been to war and back. They appeared to be in their late 20s, early 30s with some signs of advanced aging. Wrinkles by their eyes from crying, night after night.
The little girl in the hallway sat there motionless, trying not to make her presence known. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. It had been bottled up for too long. She burst out into tears.
The parents looked at each other, confirming they heard what they thought they heard. They shot up from their chairs and rushed over to the hallway. As they pulled the door open, they saw the little girl with her arms wrapped around her knees, and her head tucked in.
The mother knelt down and started to rub the little girls back.
“Honey, we’ve known for a while that this was going to happen. Sissy is going to a better place. She won’t be in pain or tired anymore.”
The little girl looked up, her face was soaked with tears. She said, “I know, but I’m still going to miss her. Who else am I going to build forts with?”
The parents couldn’t take it anymore. They were trying to be strong for the girl and keep it together, but her words broke them. Any semblance of strength and poise was demolished. All three of them sat there on the hard wooden floor, hysterically crying- a painfully therapeutic moment for each of them.
A cold sensation was in Kira’s hand, her fingers had pins and needles. As she looked down, she saw the railing of the stairwell in her grasp. She had returned, although her mind was still consumed by the images. The little girl in the bed unconscious, the distraught family. What does it all mean? There was no one to bridge the gaps or answer the questions for her.
Tank popped into her mind. This triggered her to snap back into the moment. She couldn’t afford to lose him because she was trying to piece another puzzle together. She would save this memory like all the others and deal with it some other time. Nothing mattered more than saving him right now.
She opened up the door to the hallway, the beeping flooding her sensory system all over, but she focused this time. Stepping in, she saw she was at 321, just three rooms away. She silently made her way over to the room as if she was floating a few inches off the ground.
The door was already open. There were no visitors inside. It was almost too easy. The guilt she had felt before was returning as she looked at the frail teenager in bed. His body atrophied and withered, his eyes closed, and his skin pale. He seemed just moments away from taking his last breath. Was this what this genetic mutation caused? His cancer seemed to have progressed exponentially due to the nucleotide change, and that was the outcome they wanted.
She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and put a chair under the doorknob. Kira took her backpack off and started to pull out the necessary vials. She put a gel on the bottom of his toe to numb it. This would avoid waking him up. She pricked it and drew a droplet of blood onto the glass slide. As the camera sequenced and mapped out his genome, she sat there staring at him, trying to imagine what was going through his mind, if anything at all. She thought of the countless other individuals who would suffer a similar fate if these people got away with all of this. If she had her way, they would endure a fate much worse.
Process complete.
The gene had been located, the chromosome, and start and stop locations.
She walked over to the side of the bed and put her hand on his shoulder. This could have just as easily been her.
A single tear worked its way down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She put the vial back in her bag, backed up the camera, and disappeared. On her way back to her apartment, all she could think about was Tank and how he was doing.
A part of her was nervous that if she tried anything sneaky, they might kill him on the spot. The sole source of joy in her life, and now it was all riding on her willingness to hand over a gene to corruption and greed. What were her options?
At the very least, she had to deliver the gene. Tank's life and her life depended on it.
There was a faint sound from hanging blue curtains near the window. It sounded as if a mouse had bravely scurried across the floor with the lights on. Kira snapped her vision towards the curtains but saw nothing. The bottom of them were swaying ever so slightly. Probably just a small rat or something.
When I get you back home, I’m going to give you the biggest steak you ever had boy.
Again with the tears. She couldn’t help herself. That dog had a grip on her heart, she couldn’t shake free. What if she had ignored the whimper that day in the park? What if these people didn’t have anything to hold her hostage with? Kira was beginning to wonder if Tank would be a perpetual liability.
Then she thought about the morning that he woke her up licking her face. Even if he was liability, it didn’t matter. She would give up the world for him.
I’m coming for you, big boy.
Kira walked back out into the hallway, making her escape from the hospital. Sight unseen, everything was as easy as she anticipated. It was a calm night in the hospital, the muffled voices of staff producing a relaxing white noise. As she entered the stairwell and looked down to the ground level, she saw the top of a hooded figure exiting. Their feet floating along the floor made an identical sound to the shuffling she heard in the patient’s room.
Is someone following me?
