Cashing in Your Dues

Heavy breaths aches against his rattling ribcage, his anxieties like ivy vines slithering up against the inside of his lungs and throat. Each breath was fire on the back of the fraught muscle. Breath in. Breath out. Breathe. His hands shook, his eyes darted. He’d managed to get it. Managed to sneak it past their noses. A small, victorious smile crept around his muzzle, just as quickly quashed. There was no time for smiles. Not until he left the research building and crossed county lines. Even then, they would pursue him. He rushed as quickly as he could, past the sterile white and consuming clarity of the lab glass, researchers and student doctors nodding and smiling politely as he passed them by. They wouldn’t know what he did, what he had in the briefcase that felt like an albatross clinging to his neck scruff. He had never been one for conspiracies, but GenEx had done it. They’d built an empire on mass deceit and they had enacted a truly evil plan. In his briefcase, Cash had stolen the test batch of what he knew would be a contagion for chemical warfare. He’d seen the testing. Subjects full of bulbous pustules, bursting into thousands of bloody chunks from exposure. Subjects driven mad with cannibalistic hunger, turned feral and feasting upon their own fleshmeat. He had to warn the press, the government, someone. He needed someone to listen so he wasn’t alone. Security cameras whirred in lazy arcs, but Cash knew they would turn on him soon. Every step he took felt like drowning in cement, every eyeline caught a new enemy to protect himself from. The halls melded together in their piercing whiteness, pristine serenity that kept genocide under wraps. He had made it to the foyer. He was nearly home safe, he thought.

        “Doctor Cash, where are you going?” The deep, dulcet tones of his supervisor, the Sun Bear, Dr. Kerribal. “Your shift doesn’t end for another half an hour, did you apply for leave? I can’t allow you off the premises, especially if you’ve been handling hazardous material. You know the drill. Let’s go scan your briefcase and put you through the detox, then we can let you leave, shall we?” Shit. “Dr. Kerribal, I’m really sorry but it’s urgent that I leave. I’ve already detoxed once today, surely secondary detox carries risks to physical health? I wouldn’t want adverse hypothermia, especially this close to a research breakthrough. The genetic cross-germination procedure needs my oversight or we could be playing with global catastrophe.”

       The bear merely grunted and waved him off. “Fine, but I still want that briefcase scanned. I’m not having hazardous material tracked out of my facility. We don’t want harm to befall the population because you thought detoxing would be more harm than good.” A sigh of relief quickly escaped as Cash made his own, making his way to the body scanners in the exit. His heart began to thump hard against his chest again. Each beat was a punch, his chest cavity was the bag. His arms and paws extended, lasers traced against his fur, mapping his physique and checking for contraband. The security guards motioned him forward. His eyes quickly caught the baggage check, as his briefcase went through. The security guards eyebrow shot up as Cash made it across the threshold. He spoke something into his radio, and as they both waited, the bag came through the other side, unalarmed, unchecked. Something was giving Cash hope. Or was it the familiar taste of despair? He couldn’t be sure. They wouldn’t let him out without a reason. He had a bad feeling about this, but he wasn’t going to look the escape horse in the mouth. He swiftly reached for the briefcase, and power walked his way out of the main building. The sky above was blue, the birds were chirping. Surely this was a sign he would be okay? He hoped so. His car created over the horizon, the hot asphalt waning and bubbling against the pounding heat of the sun above his head. Blipblip. He opened the car quickly, stuffing the briefcase in the backseat as inconspicuously as he could, hidden beneath a great mound of discarded coats and various other pieces of automobile detritus. The car started just as quickly as he’d sat down, and he was on his way down the road onto the highway. The traffic was heavy, rush hour waxing as quickly as it could, a hive mind of homegoers wanting nothing more than the dulcet fuzz of evening television. His eyes were glued to the road, each car crawling up the bridge. The nerves started to set in again. Was it rush hour? Or was it something else? Something GenEx had manufactured? He honked the horn, trying to spur the traffic into life. The sounds of car doors closing ricocheted into the air, and he pressed his eyes to the rear view mirror. A rhino stepped out of a van, followed quickly by his colleague, a boa constrictor. Maybe they were just going to walk into town, see what the problem was with the traffic? They walked, feeding paws and hands into their pockets. Nope, those were definitely not people checking on the traffic. He ducked down as low as he could, crawling toward the briefcase, grabbing it as quickly as he could. 

             “Mr Caaaaaaaash?” The rhino called, pulling a pistol with attacked silencer from within the pocket of his jacket. “We jusssssst want to talk, missssster Cash. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He could see them from the back window, they were close. From the back seat, he made his way as quietly as he could out of the left hand side of his car, briefcase cling to his chest for dear life. “Mister Casssssh? We juuuuust want to talk. Don’t make ussss angry, will you? We have witnessessss.”

         The familiar sound of his heart in his ears, in chorus with the serpentine breathing of the boa hitman and his rhino thug. He had to think of some way to escape. Anything. The great grey sprawl of the freeway bridge provided no answers, unless…no. He couldn’t do something like jump, could he? He’d seen that in a bad action movie once. The hero survived after flipping the bird to his allies, yet…did he have any other choice? He didn’t think he would, but Death was nary the option to choose either. He stood up, almost a shade of confidence glinting from his figure before slumping into the posture of a man burdened by secrecy. “Hey boys, I’m sorry to interrupt our little game of cat and mouse, but I have a truck to catch.” Quick steps, cocking guns. They were definitely alert to his presence now. “Mr Caaaaaasssssh. Silly boy, silly. Hiding was never going to help you. Ssssssee, we only want to talk. It isss nice that you have ssseen reassson. Come to us, come back to GenEx and we will be civilisssssed.” The snake’s voice was smooth, undoubtedly similar to the smooth and moreish taste of his venom sliding down Cash’s throat. No, he wasn’t going to die here. Better to take the chance dying as a road stain than an agonising one gulping down throat bleach from the boa constrictor. “As tempting as that sounds, fellas, venom, excuse the pun, isn’t really my choice of poison. I’m more a brandy man.” He stepped back, arms outstretched. Onto the railing, another step. The traffic roared below, a great beast waiting with open maw to swallow him whole as casualty. But there was no time for fear. Trapped between a gun and hard asphalt, his only choice was down. 

           “Adieu, fellas! Good luck with your apocalypse-“ no words left his mouth, but the sudden gasp of wind slashing against his lungs. Lead rained from above, bullets whizzing past and into the asphalt below. Cars drove on, unaware of the great sailing meatbag that fell from the heavens, gracefully descending two layers deep into a mountain of trash bags. He was safe. Safe for now. The great grey sea of asphalt horizon stretched out before him, and for the first time today he felt like he could breathe. Never mind a hazardous workplace anymore. He had to make it back to his house. They’d follow him for sure, but he needed to alert the world to GenEx. He didn’t want to be a martyr. He had to survive, let the news get out so the people could form some resistance against the scourge of the big pharma that wanted his head on a pike. He was heading out of town, but if he went too far, it would be adios and motherfluffing bye-bye to any chance of success. He had to get out of the great trash heap at the next red light. The streets were familiar. Great intersections of mowed lawns and pristine houses littered the faceless suburbia. His house wasn’t far, he knew that much, but it was better to keep out of sight if he could. The sky above him dappled and purpled slowly into darkness as he worked his way out of the slimy grasp of the trash van, and over it’s bordering wall, hitting the asphalt with a hard roll that would be sure to leave a bruise later. Friendly waves from evening joggers as he narrowly avoided a collision, making his way quickly onto a side street. Face down, eyes on the cracking street paving below him. No one could see his face. No one could know it was him. Every car rev and glaring horn raised his heckles, as he instinctively hid his face.

           They most likely knew where he lived, and he could feel a cold presence behind him. Was it the wind? Or was he naïve? The black sedan that crawled in his peripheral vision declared otherwise. Keep calm. Breathe. Breathe. Don’t breathe, breathing too much! Cash started hyperventilating quietly, like a defeated victim of a fist fight, but fought to contain the noise to small gasps as he walked. He just had to be inconspicuous. Maybe if he whistled a jaunty time they’d go away? No, there wasn’t time for jokes, least of all self-deprecating sarcasm. His house was close, he could see the familiar family vans and abandoned taxi cabs that kept his compass centred. The city was a maze, but he’d found his exit. The sedan stopped at a red light, and he could almost feel it breathing on his, as if the automobile had the autonomy to reach across the road and snap him up whole, to chew him into tiny Cash chunks. He just had to keep moving. His house was in sight, the familiar brickwork and discarded lawnmower, reminders of distant promises to himself and many ex-somethings that he’d mow when he finished his research. He looked around. No sedan. He knew that it couldn’t be far. Quickly, he sprinted to his house, fumbling erratically for his keys. God, why did he have to buy so many key chains? His fumbling only sought to delay his progress. Shinkclinkclink. He fumbled for his key, and slotted it quickly into the lock with one fluid motion. With access to his house, he quickly made his way up the stairs, and into his office. His paws mashed at the computer, the Alpacintosh logo exploding brightly onto the screen. He didn’t have time to delay. Quickly, he brought up his email, colleague chats from professors abroad, ex-students. Anything he could get his hands on. “Dear all, we have a threat on our hands that will cause catastrophic upheaval to the world. GenEX is manufacturing samples of a bio-weapon they want to sell to the highest bidder. Spread the word. Do not let them tell you otherwise. We need to stop this, cut out GenEx root and stem. If you have any faith in the power of trust, believe that this is no hoax. Your lives, the lives of every other being on this planet is at stake. Please make the right decision and help me stop this.” He sent the message, the electronic whoosh and his sigh of relief equal and at the same time. 

     There was a crash downstairs. The sound of heavy objects breaking with force. “Mr Casssssh. It wasss foolisssh of you to outrun us. Your luck hasssss…run dry.”