Halfway Heroes

Lydia was flying.

It was preposterous to find herself soaring beside the billowy, rolling clouds. She didn’t question how the snowy masses could be here at her fingertips. Some part of Lydia knew it was unreal, like a hallucinatory fever dream. But the how and why were discarded in favor of the experience of gaily flying along in the open expanse. She forgot herself amid the sea of white, while cool air nipped at her cheeks.

The wind whipped through Lydia’s short hair, blowing her silky chestnut bangs into her eyes and obscuring her view. That was perfectly fine with her, since the view below of the city through the thin, transparent clouds was much more interesting. She held her arms out in front, clenching her fists and reveling in the freedom and ecstasy of the sky. She was alone in the sky, a green dot in her clinging emerald suit. Clean, open air rushed past her willowy body, and the ivory sea of clouds matched the color of her fluttering cape. It was the best kind of relaxation she could imagine.

The rushing air batting her ears was broken by screams and gunfire in the sprawling business district of the city far below her. Lydia abandoned the sky and zoomed down. She flew between skyscrapers displaying company names. She zipped past businesses and corporations. The noises became lost in the cacophony of car horns, and the yells of bystanders drowned out the guns. She tuned out those sounds and focused solely on the gunfire ahead.

She increased her speed, soon locating the area of the commotion. It was a decent-sized bank, with impressive stone columns flanking its entrance. But what caught Lydia’s eye was the group out front. Several masked men armed with guns struggled to load bulging duffel bags into a black van. One member guarded the side of the vehicle. He fired at the doors of the bank, daring anyone to stop them. His partners hurriedly climbed in.

Lydia swooped down near the gunman still outside the van. She snatched the gun out of his hand, easily snapped it in two, and dusted the metal off her hands. The man, terrified, inched away from her and fell to the pavement as she hovered toward him. He put his hands in front of him and begged for mercy. No, no! Please!

By this time, his partners had spotted the floating girl. Though armed and larger than she was, they were just as scared as the man on the ground.

Oh no! It’s Lydia! one shouted. He thumped his fist on the driver’s back. Drive! Drive!

The van’s tires squealed as shrilly as the scream of the gunman left behind. He started to crawl away, but Lydia yanked him back by the collar of his jacket. Several police cars rushed by in pursuit of the escaping van, their sirens wailing. She wanted to follow and help out, but first she had to deal with the struggling man in her clutches.

She spied a nearby lamppost. She picked up the crook with one arm, holding him under her armpit like a vise, and flew over to the lamppost. She kicked it near the base, snapping it off. The wires inside crackled as the electricity inside escaped into the air. She threw the man onto the ground and quickly wrapped the post around him. The metal groaned as it bent around his torso.

That ought to hold you until the cops come. She grinned. Lydia ignored his curses and insults and took to the sky.

She found the fleeing vehicle soon enough. The thieves were already engaged in a shoot-out with the pursuing police cars. Lydia stayed high above, gliding slowly down toward the van. She hoped she could land unobserved on top of the vehicle.

A gunman’s well-placed bullet into the tire of the police car sent the two cops inside tumbling over one another. The vehicle skidded sideways, toward a handful of pedestrians, frozen in fear. Lydia zoomed down and planted her feet between the police car and several bystanders. She caught the backside of the car, halting its movement. The impact nearly knocked her over. Her fingers dug into the metal, crunching it like fleshy teeth. As she pushed against it, the car seemed to push right back. Girl and vehicle both screeched across the pavement.

When the car came to a complete stop, Lydia breathed a sigh of relief. The civilians exploded into cheers and applause, shouting her name at the top of their lungs while she checked on the two officers inside the vehicle. They assured her they were fine and thanked her. She accepted the gratitude of those she’d saved with a broad smile. No need to fear. I’ll always be here, she promised, throwing back her cape. Then she zipped into the sky.

She was flying low over the chase scene once again. More police cars had arrived and were gaining on the thieves. One of the robbers had thrown open the rear doors of the van to fire on the crowd. Lydia rushed in. She upper-cutted the thief in the chest, knocking him into the roof of the van. He wheezed as the air rushed out of him and fell unconsciously to the floor, leaving a large dent in the roof.

Get rid of her! the driver shouted. His remaining burglar trained his pistol on Lydia and fired, but she moved aside just in time. The bullet only grazed her suit. Lydia reached for the gun and struggled with the robber for it. She pulled him out of his seat and, locked together, they rolled across the floor, one on top of the other.

Still struggling, they fell out of the van and hit the pavement hard. The thief loosened his grip on the pistol and it flew from his hand. He struggled to push himself back up, but Lydia kicked his shaky arm, and he dropped back down to the warm asphalt. Police cars surrounded him in a matter of moments.

Lydia was already gone, on the tail of the last criminal.

The driver screamed when Lydia landed on the front of the van. He fumbled with a pistol of his own. Lydia punched through the windshield and snatched the gun. She tossed it aside and tore apart the rest of the windshield. Little shards of glass rained down on her, and the driver swerved the van from side to side in a vain attempt to throw her off. Then he began smashing into parked cars. But it was his calling her name that stopped Lydia from destroying the van.

Lydia! Definitely not the driver’s voice. It was too hushed, too feminine, and seemed dipped in a vat of sarcasm. Yet it was coming from his mouth. He looked up at her, his mask covering his mouth. The voice emanating from him stayed the same. Lydia!

The van screeched to a halt and Lydia was flung out. She crashed into a hard, wooden wall. Gravity pried her off and she dropped to the sidewalk. The ground was surprisingly cool for such a warm day.

She yanked her head up, prepared to take on the last criminal, but realized that she was no longer in the middle of the city. The busy streets had become a full classroom; pedestrians and onlookers were now inattentive students; an oblivious teacher stood at a whiteboard; and the criminal she’d been chasing was now a girl matching her own height. Long purple velvety hair hid the girl’s face instead of a mask. Yet her voice was the same as that of the driver’s.

Lydia! she hissed. The girl whipped her head to the front to check that the teacher wasn’t looking at them. Dariela, fifteen, like Lydia, leaned in to her friend. About time you woke up. You were snoring so loud I thought Retter would hear you.

Lydia looked down at her desk and rubbed her hands across the cool smooth wood. Only a moment ago, it had been the coarse gray surface of the sidewalk.

A dream. It had just been a dream.

I didn’t get much sleep last night, Dar, Lydia said, blinking rapidly. Blurriness from her sleep lingered awhile longer. Had to study for a history test. She felt herself begin to nod off once more.

Lydia? Dariela? Retter asked, turning from the whiteboard to them. Do you have a question?

Er, no, Ms. Retter, Lydia said, sitting up and smiling as sweetly as she could. She tried to feign that she’d been awake the entire time. When Retter returned to her lesson and the students returned to ignoring her, Lydia slumped back down again.

Dariela already had her nose back in her textbook, but Lydia knew she wasn’t reading what Retter was teaching. That is, unless biology textbooks had decided to hold her friend’s attention. Lydia leaned closer to Dariela and spied bright colors and flashy action scenes. Lydia didn’t recognize the characters on the pages but knew it was a comic book.

I was flying, too, she nodded at one panel, where a hero was taking off into the sky. His arms were outstretched and his square jaw tightly set. A determined expression meant that he’d vanquish the current evil. In my dream, I mean.

Oh, good thing you clarified that. You almost had me, Dariela joked, flipping to the next page. I was about to ask you to fly me home. Maybe grab something to eat on the way there. Anyone who didn’t know her would be turned off by her snarky reply. Lydia only rolled her eyes and pushed her friend’s shoulder good-naturedly.

The school bell rang. It had the same effect on the students that a starting pistol has at a race. Everyone had already surreptitiously slid their books into their backpacks and zipped them up in time with Retter’s final end-of-day speech. But before the students could shove their way out the door and head home, the teacher called for their attention for one more moment.

Remember! The project due date will creep up on you sooner than you think. I hope you’ve started working on it by now. Also, I haven’t received some of your parental consent forms for our trip tomorrow, she said, holding up a piece of paper. She adjusted her glasses and read down the list. Cecilia, Dariela, Francis, Lydia, Mark, and Vivian. You six still need to turn your forms in to me by tomorrow.

Yeah, yeah. We got it, you old bag, Mark muttered, roughly pushing past everyone else to slide his short, stout frame to the door.

Let’s hope he’s not riding the bus, Dariela said, filing out with the rest of the crowd.

Yeah, Lydia agreed. Have you started the project?

Nope, Dariela said. My partner keeps dashing off before I get a chance to talk to him. What about you?

I went over to Bruce’s house yesterday, Lydia said. We planned it out. Kind of. We made plans to figure out what we’re doing.

Redundancy at its finest, Dariela said, laughing.

Unfortunately for the pair, when they reached the front of the school where the buses waited bumper to bumper like one long, large pencil, Mark clambered aboard ahead of them. The only open seat was right in front of his. The driver already had his familiar radio station tuned to two news anchors, chatting with each other about national and world news.

The girls dropped their backpacks onto the floor and took their seat. Mark immediately began kicking the seat, clicking his tongue as the bus waited to leave.

Man, the trip is going to be boring! he complained, crossing his arms. Lydia tried to ignore him, but when he kept digging his foot into the back of their seat, she almost told him off.

Dariela beat Lydia to the punch, quite literally. She leaned over the seat and pounded Mark’s legs. He instinctively curled away from her. Hey!

‘Hey!’ Dariela mimicked. That’s irritating. You don’t have to go tomorrow, you know. Stay at school. It’s not like the substitute will make you do anything.

And leave Rich and Bruce by themselves? Those guys couldn’t find their way out of the school without me, he laughed. He propped his feet back up onto the seat, forgetting all about the earlier hit from Dariela. He was swiftly reminded with another punch before she sat back down when the driver told her to.

So, are you going? Lydia asked her.

I might, Dariela said, shrugging. She pulled out a notebook from her backpack and flipped it open. She shimmied a pencil out of the binder and thumbed through the pages, each covered in finely detailed, elaborate drawings that could’ve fit into the comic book she’d been reading earlier. She stopped at an incomplete sketch of a figure clutching a long rope and perched on a stone gargoyle.

To Lydia, the figures looking down on a dim city appeared to be its watchful guardians.

I’m going to try and get out of going to school altogether tomorrow, Dariela continued. A pharmaceutical company doesn’t really pique my interest. She took the pencil and began shading in sections here and there. If I can’t, then I guess I’ll have to go. Make sure you get your form signed. Dariela turned to her friend. If I do end up going, I don’t want to be stuck alone with him. She thumbed the seat behind her.

I’ll get it signed, Lydia said, staring out the window at the idle buses, waiting as stragglers arrived. Only one bus was exclusive to their school, as revealed by the stenciled CARVER HIGH SCHOOL on its side.

Please do. Don’t forget, alright?

You sound like my mom, Lydia laughed. I’ll text it to myself. Or you text it to me.

No, you’ll forget to check your phone. I know you will.

Lydia opened her own backpack and took out a black marker. Here, I’ll write it on my hand, then. She wrote Don’t forget in the center of her palm. Happy?

Very. Now I can nag you from afar. There’s also one difference between your mom and me. Dariela wagged a finger. My sanity is at stake. She leaned back, but then she spun around and hit Mark’s legs, which were digging into the seat again. What did I tell you? she yelled at him.

Alright! Alright! You— He swallowed his insult when he saw the glare she cast at him.

The driver turned up the radio, drowning out any further outbursts. The protests are expected to continue, one of the news anchors reported. Quotes one individual, ‘We won’t rest until he’s out of office.’ Over in Yemen, reports of a similar case of the SN91 disease that struck Spain only one month ago—

Lydia chuckled, pulling Dariela back down as the buses started to leave the school. Just ignore him. He’ll leave us alone if we leave him alone.

Lydia watched the landscape of tall buildings and traffic-filled streets pass by, like those in her dream. Her emerald eyes stared back at her in the reflection in the window, like a transparent spirit of the earth watching over its charge. They eventually left the skyscrapers and clogged roads behind in favor of suburban neighborhoods and cul-de-sacs near the city limits. The bus rushed past trees already starting to lose their fall leaves. A long range of the dust-colored Rockies speckled with the yellow of the turning birches sat in the distance, one of many tall ridges west of the city of Golden Springs, Colorado.

One by one, the bus emptied, until only a handful of passengers were left. Dariela disembarked soon after, smacking Mark one last time. She waved to Lydia as the bus drove away.

Don’t forget! she yelled at Lydia’s open window.

Lydia merely held up her open palm as the bus took off, soon delivering her to her own stop. She bid farewell to the driver and walked down the short road to her home, the baby-blue house halfway down Trenton Drive. She tripped lightly across the circled stepping-stones that her father had placed to keep everyone off the manicured grass.

Hey, hon, her mother said, from the kitchen table. How was your day? She had a folder brimming with papers open before her. She took off her glasses, looking relieved to take a break.

Good. How was yours? Lydia asked. She walked over and glanced at the numerous documents. Most were written in extremely fine print, with so much legal jargon that she couldn’t focus for more than a line or two. Others had numbers upon numbers, listed next to descriptions, such as monthly payment and driver coverage.

Good, her mother replied. But Lydia could tell she was exhausted. Her mother’s smile was a smidge too wide and her entire posture sagged. Susan has been working with this client. He caused a pretty bad pileup in town. Everyone’s fine, but the whole thing is a nightmare. So I’m helping with the paperwork.

Try not to stress out, Mom, Lydia said, kissing the top of her head. I’m going to go take a shower.

Alright, her mother said, returning to the file. We’re having stew tonight.

Okay, Lydia said, walking down the hall. She dropped her backpack in her room, feeling very tired despite her earlier nap in class. She gathered up a fresh set of clothes and headed to the bathroom. As she reached for a towel in one of the cupboards, she spied the black words on her hand.

Lydia decided that she’d wait until after her shower to have her parents sign the form. Maybe take a nap before doing that, too, she thought. She undressed and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water embrace her. She poured a dab of shampoo into her hair, lathering it up. Then she stood under the shower head. Lydia closed her eyes, reveling in the pleasure of the warm water as her mind drifted back to her earlier dream.

The streaming water had now become warm summer rain. It seemed like she was on the tallest building in the world, receiving nature’s bath. Lydia lulled in it, enjoying every drop. If she hadn’t been standing, she thought that she could fall asleep right then and there. It was so peaceful, so serene. Not a sound could be heard for miles. It was simply her and the rain.

But then she sensed a change. The falling drops picked up in intensity, hitting her faster. The large, fat globs had turned into sharp spears that pierced her skin. Each one sliced at her nerves with freezing fury, every new drop colder than the last. In the sky above, ominous clouds of all shapes and sizes swirled together to create a dark blanket for the city. Thunder clapped from far off, as if the black veil was laughing as it shot its cold bullets at her.

Lydia’s eyes snapped open and she realized that the shower water had grown extremely cold. Her mother was pounding at the door. Lydia! Thump, thump! Lydia! You’ve been in there for half an hour! Did you waste all the hot water again?

Lydia twisted the knob as far toward the hot end as it would go. Cold water continued to pour out. She picked up the soap bar, scrubbing her hands, feet, and body frantically. When she was satisfied that every inch of her had been vigorously cleaned, she stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself. She snatched up her clothes and opened the door.

All done! Lydia said, sliding past her mother’s glare and heading for her room. Lydia breathed easier once she shut herself in her bedroom. She dressed quickly, flopped onto the bed, and closed her eyes, wanting to catch a few winks before dinner.

Chapter 2—Lab Tour

So? Dariela plopped down into the seat beside Lydia, an expectant look on her face. It was enough to shake Lydia from her sleepy stupor.

Lydia had been having such an enjoyable rest, too. Heaven knew how that was possible, what with the early hour the students had to wake and ready themselves to catch the bus. She figured they earned a little extra shut-eye on their way to school. The monotonous tone of the morning news anchor on the radio had been a wonderful channel to dreamland. But Dariela’s jolt had snatched Lydia away, leaving only the two of them awake on the bus as it traveled during its early morning run.

So? Lydia said, yawning and stretching to loosen some kinks in her back. So what?

The form, Dariela said. The one I reminded you of yesterday. Did you get it signed? Please tell me you did, because I decided to go.

Lydia’s eyes popped open, and the blurry fog in the corners of her vision receded rapidly. She examined her hand. Traces of black marker stains, barely forming the two words she’d written prominently on it, mocked her. She dug through her backpack and produced a crumpled piece of paper, detailing the school trip and what it would entail. The line requesting parental signature was blank. Her heart sank.

Oh, no, she said with a moan. She looked at her hand again, recalling her shower and how vigorously she’d scrubbed her hands. She silently scolded herself for forgetting and dropped the paper on her lap. Great. Guess I can’t go.

As the bus arrived at the next stop, Dariela snatched the form and held up a pen. Here, let me use your back, she said, gesturing for Lydia to turn around. She did so and felt her friend dig the pen into her back, looping it around a couple of times.

What are you doing? Lydia asked, craning her head over her shoulder.

Done, Dariela said, proudly handing her the form back. Not bad, if I do say so myself.

Lydia ran her eyes over the paper. She stopped when she noticed the blank space had been filled with cursive handwriting. It was scarily accurate to her mother’s own signature, right down to the oval left in the D’s corner. Lydia gaped at it. Dariela smirked and leaned over to admire her handiwork.

My pen’s not good for only drawing. I’ve had to do the same when I forgot to get my dad’s signature. Gotten pretty good at it, she said, boasting and sticking out her chest. Good thing your mom’s isn’t too hard to copy.

Thanks, Lydia said, sliding the form into her backpack and breathing a little easier.

Someone tut-tutted from above. Lydia glanced up to find a mass of blond hair hanging down, brushing against her own darker hair. Smiling, blue-gray eyes leered at them. Forgery, Ms. Mauer? Mark said, wagging an accusing finger at Dariela, with a sly grin. Maybe Ms. Retter would be interested to hear about that.

Maybe you’d like to live today, Dariela threatened. She held a hard-curled fist to Mark’s face, forcing him back into his seat. Would you like that?

He nodded rapidly and she sat back down. She rolled her eyes when he tried to retain some of his dignity by kicking her seat, but Lydia held her friend’s arm down. The bus pulled in front of the school and circled around slowly to the rear. Lydia relaxed and caught snatches of the news over the loud exhaust.

The degenerative virus known as SN91 has been confirmed to be running rampant in Yemen, an elderly news anchor said. Spain has reached out for support, offering to help contain the virus. Unlike their European counterpart, no one responsible for its release has been identified. No group has claimed responsibility as of this moment, but reports are still coming in. A spokesperson for Rooke Pharmaceuticals says that the company has doubled their efforts in seeking a remedy after this recent attack.

Lydia was yanked from her rest when the bus jolted to a stop, its engine puttering idly with several other school buses at the school. She grumbled under her breath and stood up, shouldering her backpack and stumbling sleepily off the bus. The girls skipped their first class, heading to Retter’s room. When all their classmates had gathered together and all the consent forms had been collected, Retter and the chaperones loaded everyone onto the designated field trip buses.

The ride to the outskirts of the city seemed short to Lydia. She and her classmates stepped off the bus after the chaperones. Everyone! Gather ’round now! Gather ’round! Retter said, corralling her classes on the pavement outside the bus. Already Retter’s face was haggard—more so than usual. Her frantic, worried eyes were trying, and failing, to keep track of every student, check every face, and count and recount everybody in case she miscounted. Lydia decided that Retter’s age really showed when she was out of the classroom.

Thankfully for their teacher, one of the chaperones stepped up to assist her, proving that the flashy gentlemanly grin he sported wasn’t his only talent. Everyone! Please calm down! he said over the crowd, cupping his hands to his lips. Please calm down and listen to Ms. Retter!

Thank you, Harold, Retter said, graciously nodding to him. Dariela pushed and shoved through the students to Lydia’s side. Retter turned to her classes, taking on a stern tone as she addressed them. Now, I want all of you to remember that we are guests at Rooke Pharmaceuticals today. While they have been kind enough to allow us to tour their biology laboratories, they will not tolerate any mischief. Neither will I.

Oh, I’m scared, Mark said, chortling somewhere behind Lydia with his friends. What’s she going to do? Beat us with her cane?

That means, Retter continued, directing her gaze toward Mark, that if I find out that anyone has entered an area they shouldn’t, has left their field trip buddy, or, so help me, coated the floor with soap again to make people fall, they will receive detention. Detention at the very least, I might add. She cast a knowing glance at Lydia and Dariela, before delivering the same look to others in the crowd.

I told her that wasn’t me, Dariela said, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. That’s Mark’s style to open up the school year with a sad prank like that.

Yeah. You’d use Vaseline, Lydia said. Slicker and harder to see.

Now you’re talking!

Retter retrieved a piece of paper from the pocket of her maroon blazer and adjusted her glasses. When I call out your names, pair up with your partner. Afterward, you will be assigned a chaperone. Baker and Jennings, pair up. Locke and Reeds.

While she drolled on, Lydia crossed her fingers, hoping that she and Dariela would be together. Unfortunately, when Retter finally called Lydia’s name, she found herself as Mark’s buddy. Dariela had been assigned to Richard, a high-strung boy who, Lydia was sure, wouldn’t be able to move if he was any tenser. Mark lamented his pairing as much as Lydia did and complained loudly about it.

Some day this is turning out to be, he said, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

I’m not any happier about it than you are, Lydia said. But if you won’t bother me, I won’t bother you. Deal?

He eyed her up and down, and nodded stiffly. Then he turned to talk with Bruce while Retter finished reading off the names. When the groups were divvied up among the chaperones, Lydia found that she was in the same group as Dariela, so Lydia and Dariela were able to stay close together. They followed the mass group into the foyer.

What’s with the camera? Dariela asked, pointing at a black bag slung over Lydia’s shoulder. It was her personal camera, a treasured device that she’d saved for with every bit of income earned from chores, odd jobs, and birthday money for over a year. Lydia took it out of the padded bag and assembled it. The school paper ask you to take pictures again?

Yeah, Lydia said, checking the focus button. She snapped a test picture. "Guess they ran out of stories. They’re so persistent. But this is the last one I’m agreeing to do until they put me on the paper, or pay me, or something."

The entire group was greeted by a middle-aged man waiting for them in the foyer.

Hello, he said, sporting the largest artificial smile that Lydia had ever seen. I’m Peter and I’ll be your guide at Rooke Pharmaceuticals today. He’d certainly dressed the part of the friendly guide, ready to dole out information. His nametag was pinned with a sense of pride on his bright-blue jacket, and Lydia noticed that he’d taken time to carefully pleat his slacks. She’d barely ironed her white shirt and jeans that morning and was very sure that Dariela hadn’t even bothered, choosing to throw on whatever clothes were around and allow her black-hooded jacket to cover up the mess.

I see a lot of faces out there, ready to learn about the wonders of biology, Peter continued, leaning in too close for comfort, Lydia thought, to the poor people up front.

Five seconds and I already don’t like this guy, Dariela whispered. Lydia privately agreed, but she continued to listen anyway.

We are leading the pack in biological research, whether in discovering new medications to combat disease or in understanding the delicate intricacies of the human body. We are constantly shooting for the stars and beyond by delving into the inner chambers of ourselves, he said, laughing. Peter swept his arms to an open pair of sliding glass doors behind him. He led the group through them and into the expansive lobby.

The room instantly made Lydia feel very small, like she was a cell in an actual human bloodstream. Strangely enough, there was a model blood cell in the center with a directory printed in white on a black background. A few of the people on the ground floor were dressed similarly to Peter. Others, like the security guards positioned at certain doors and hallways, wore gunmetal gray. At the top of the spiral staircase nearby, she saw only a few men and women in white coats, who she assumed were scientists. The lobby split the entire inner area in half, as if the actual labs on the sides were buildings within buildings, with a few glass-covered hallways connecting one side to the other on the second floor. Two large columns stood like dark stalks in the middle, fooling people into thinking they were holding up the entire roof. Each column housed large elevators.

Peter guided everyone to a reception desk, where they were handed company pamphlets. This includes a map of the top and bottom floors, Peter said, still grinning from ear to ear. Lydia wondered if his mouth might stretch far enough to connect at the back of his head. There’s also a short history of the company, but I’ll be going very in-depth on our tour. Now, everyone, this way.

They entered the right-hand building through large double doors. Peter spun on his heels and paced backward to face them as they continued to walk. Here at Rooke Pharmaceuticals we are committed to providing the highest quality in medicine.

He halted in front of a framed photograph. Its faded color made it look dated, resembling an oil painting rather than an actual photograph. In the center was a middle-aged gentleman, his thin lips curving into a kind smile, which accentuated the forming wrinkles around his jowls and hid his beady, black eyes. He had a distinguished touch of gray about his temple and was staring straight back at Lydia, as if studying her.

May I present our founder, Mr. Leonard Rooke, Peter said, waving his arm at the photo. Decades ago, Mr. Rooke resigned from his position at the local hospital and earned a degree in Business Management to add to his impressive MD. Studying business practices and taking advice from the best, Mr. Rooke opened his own pharmaceutical company right here in pleasant Golden Springs, when it was only a budding town. He was dedicated to providing medicine at lower costs than the competitors of the time. A kindhearted but shrewd businessman, Mr. Rooke eventually expanded his company’s reach into all aspects of medicine. That includes, but is not limited to, research, manufacturing, and outpatient clinics. He gave so much to this community, and helped expand Golden Springs into the city it is today by providing jobs and giving many donations. As he always said, ‘We are meant to help others first, ourselves last.’

Peter began walking backward, facing the group and maintaining eye contact. As you can tell, the company name doesn’t even begin to cover what we encompass today. But it reminds us of our origin. Although Mr. Rooke retired long ago and has withdrawn into seclusion, we keep his memory, drive, and spirit alive.

On Lydia’s right, she saw a room with crystal-clear glass walls that stretched to the tall ceiling. Workers walked back and forth between lab tables. They were covered in plastic eyewear, long gowns, and gloves. Some carried trays of pink, blue, green, or transparent liquid bubbling in beakers. A few stopped in their work to wave at Peter and the classes. Lydia lifted her camera and took a couple of quick pictures.

We don’t do much manufacturing in this facility today, like in the past, Peter explained. We’ve reallocated that task to our factories spread out across the country. Or sometimes to our facilities in other sections of the world. Here we focus on research and testing. Right now, our top lab personnel are delving into the inner workings of the human body. Specifically, what its limits can be pushed to.

What does that mean? Mark asked, an edge of irritability to his voice.

We. .. ll, Peter said, drawing out the word. He looked from side to side and leaned in close, like he was deciding to tell a secret that he shouldn’t. What they do in there, he said in a hushed voice, is to experiment in various areas of human biology in many exciting ways. Like muscle growth, increasing bone strength to withstand shock damage, or trying to recover and increase hearing loss.

At the mention of muscle growth, Mark looked at his own flabby arms. Lydia saw him flex slightly when Peter continued their walk, pointing out another research area. Dariela walked up behind Mark and muttered in his ear. Forget it. Even science can’t help your muscles. Or lack thereof.

And it can’t stop you from looking masculine, Mark said. Lydia held Dariela’s arm back before she could hit him, as they entered another area.

Just ignore him, Lydia said, walking beside her. He’s a lying jerk. Besides, don’t do anything while Retter’s watching.

Their teacher had stayed at the rear of the group, watching everyone very closely. Her frown would’ve been menacing if she herself hadn’t seemed like she was barely making it through the tour. Lydia decided that Retter was definitely not one for school field trips.

If you look over to your left, you’ll see more testing, Peter said. Lydia gazed into another large room and saw several lab technicians watching others dressed in athletic attire running on treadmills or doing some other form of exercise. The white coats were nodding to one another, scribbling on clipboards while Lydia captured some photos.

In this next room, our hardworking men and women are researching blood diseases, Peter said, throwing his arm to the right. Most lab personnel in the room hovered over microscopes, finely adjusting them. Every once in a while they would tear their eyes away to write something and then glue themselves right back to staring through the lenses.

We’re always searching for new ways to combat diseases, which you’ll see upstairs. But here, and there, he said, waving his hand in opposite directions, our scientists pour their heart and soul and brains into finding the elusive cures for Hepatitis B and C, HIV, and many others.

But B already has a vaccine, Dariela pointed out.

What a quick girl you are! Peter exclaimed, patting the top of her head. Lydia nearly burst out laughing at the deadly glare Dariela aimed at Peter, although he seemed not to notice. Yes, there is. But we want to find a way to cure those who have already contracted it, rather than just to prevent it. He paused, his goofy grin countered only by her chilling frown, before he continued leading everyone to the end of the hall.

If he does that again, I’ll break his arm, Dariela promised.

Chapter 3—Accidental Push

The rest of Rooke Pharmaceutical’s bottom floor held similar labs. Lab technicians passed in and out of rooms, some stopping to wave at the group, as Peter excitedly detailed each and every kind of ongoing research in the rooms. Lydia was so overwhelmed by all the different parts of the body that he ticked off that she expected there to even be an area researching the possibilities of what fingers could achieve. But she’d gotten enough good shots that she believed would satisfy the newspaper. Some of the employees were kind enough to pose for the photographs. Many were camera-shy and busied themselves with their work.

There had been no mention of fingers when they arrived at the stairs at last. Lydia was already drained from listening to Peter and from traversing the lengthy hallway. But the group pushed her forward and up the stairs.

This guy’s cheerfulness is grating on my nerves, Mark said, huffing and puffing while he climbed the spiral staircase.

Well, I’ll be! Dariela said in mock surprise. We actually agree on something for once!

Maybe we’ll get a break soon, Lydia suggested, suppressing a yawn. There was a clock on the ground floor that told her an hour had already passed. One more to go until noon, she told herself.

Sorry about this, everyone, but the elevators at the ends of these halls are on the fritz, Peter explained as they climbed. He’d already bounded to the top and stood bent over, patting his knees and urging them on. Come along, then! There’s so much to see!

The second floor was vastly different from the first. The rooms were smaller, more contained, and held normal wooden doors and brick walls rather than thick glass. There were many offices, each one holding a plate showing a name, followed by an impressive degree.

As you may have noticed, this is where our offices are located. Some very prestigious names are here. You may recognize some of them, Peter said, taking the opportunity to show off another level of his company knowledge. Here’s one. He paused by a door, holding his hand underneath the name on it. One of our most esteemed researchers, Dr. Kirby Jenkins, is in charge of a fantastic team here at Rooke Pharmaceuticals. He has brought his renowned research on genetic mutation to us. One of our many leaders, paving the way toward a brighter future holding wondrous possibilities. He led them along the hallway.

Speaking of fascinating possibilities, here’s one for all of you now, he said, spinning around toward them and halting at a door. To Lydia, it was an ordinary polished door, like the dozens they had already passed. Peter opened it, ushering them into a small, compact laboratory, where a beaming woman met the class.

Why, hello there, she greeted them. You must be the Carver High School group, right? A few of the students nodded and she clapped her hands together. Welcome, then. Have you already told them what we do here, Peter?

No, Dr. Hillen, he said, retreating to the back of the room and taking an observatory stance. I thought I’d leave that to you.

Thank you, she said, turning to face the students. She was much calmer than the younger tour guide, but appeared no less enthused by their visit. Lydia already preferred her to Peter.

Here, we, she began, pointing to herself and the two other employees standing to the side, who nodded and smiled at the group, experiment with controlling cell mutation. Hopefully, isolating and preventing incidents like unnatural cell growth and division.

Isn’t that cancer? Lydia asked. Hushed murmurs bounded throughout the group, and nervous looks were directed at the equipment on display. The group stayed away from the microscope slip covers in particular, already stained with samples and nestled in boxes on one table.

Yes, it is, Hillen said. But all of these samples are long dead, and they were benign mutations that caused no harm to begin with. We don’t work with live samples, or cancerous ones, in this room. So there is no danger. She pointed to a microscope on the nearby table. Without touching the microscopes themselves, you may take a look at the samples.

Despite the room’s size, there were many tables crammed into it, and plenty of microscopes already set up with varying slides. Lydia approached one, along with Dariela and Mark. Her slide was a mass of dark and light blobs of colors. She couldn’t decipher the muscle cells that Hillen told her she was looking at. Still, Lydia tried her best as technicians walked around, answering questions and describing what the different slides featured.

I can’t see anything, Lydia finally whispered to Dariela. Dar! What do you see? All I got is red and white splotches.

Well, I have some blue here, Dariela said, checking again for any cells. In three seconds she gave up trying the find them and lifted her head from the microscope. We could make a flag.

All this reminds me of is burned camera film, Lydia said. I thought we’d get to see something more exciting than this.

Oh, shut up, Mark hissed, his whining tone prevalent. At least we don’t have to do those stupid worksheets on what we see, and describe what the functions of these cells are.

At that moment, Retter strode by their stations, a stack of papers in hand. She placed one paper beside each student. Lydia picked it up, her eyes reading the bold printed directions at the top, instructing her to describe what parts of the cell she could see, those that she couldn’t, and to explain the function of each one.

She looked up to find Dariela already casting a dirty look at Mark. Lydia joined in, causing him to shrink away from the two girls. You had to open your big mouth, didn’t you? Lydia spat out.

* * *

Within the hour, the group had toured the rest of the offices and had arrived at the cafeteria via the central elevators. Once there, Retter turned them loose to stand in line for a specially prepared, wholesome meal, courtesy of the company.

This looks worse than the food at school! Mark said when he sat down next to the girls and Richard, who had insisted on staying close to his field trip buddy.

Oh, shut up, Dariela said, sighing with exasperation. Then she poked at her own food, digging a fork into what was, supposedly, mashed potatoes. She leaned over to Lydia. This stuff does look awful.

It’s not so bad, Richard said, taking a bite and swallowing hard. It’s a shame we won’t be visiting every place here.

What do you mean? Lydia asked. She thought the tour would encompass every part of the building.

Didn’t you hear Peter? he said, earning a blank stare from her. He said there were some areas that were off-limits. Like the storage room and some other areas near the back.

Must’ve spaced out during that speech, Lydia admitted. She turned to Dariela and noticed that her friend was regarding her with a mischievous glint in her eye. Lydia had an idea what she was already cooking up. You want to go find those places, don’t you, Dar? she asked, feeling a grin slide up her lips.

Sounds more interesting than a lot of the things we’ve seen so far, Dariela pointed out. We could hit the storage room. We have plenty of time. There’s still about another half hour for lunch. They won’t even know we’re gone. And a large chunk of the employees are at lunch, too. There’s no chance we’ll get caught.

Wait, you can’t! Richard said, terrified at the prospect. His protests fell on deaf ears. Dariela watched Lydia and waited for her answer.

Lydia didn’t take time to weigh the decision. Okay, let’s go. But we have to make it quick. I don’t want detention with Retter, of all people. I hear it’s miserable. She checked the exit and found Retter, the chaperones, and Peter sitting at a table nearby, all busily engaged in their meals and discussions.

She slipped from her seat as surreptitiously as she could and snatched up her camera from the table. Dariela stayed right behind her. They both walked casually to the door, heads pointed forward and not making eye contact with anyone. Lydia’s heart beat faster as they neared the door. Her hand was on the knob. They were almost out.

Where do you think you two are going? Retter asked. She and Peter had just walked up together. Lydia exchanged a nervous glance with Dariela, but neither dared to face their teacher. Lydia chastised herself for thinking it would be that easy. Well?

Dariela’s face suddenly lit up and she spun around to them. The bathroom, she said smoothly. We really have to go.

Oh! Peter said, his face lighting up like it did on his tours. It’s right around the corner! On your left. He sliced his hand through the air while he gave directions. I could show you if you want.

No, that’s fine, Lydia said, hurrying out the door with her friend.

They rounded the corner and checked the lobby. It was devoid of all life save for the secretaries at the front, busily typing on computers or answering calls. Lydia led the way. They silently passed by the restrooms and headed for the other end of the lobby. It was eerie to Lydia how quiet and dead the entire place was during the lunch hour. She could only imagine how silent the lobby would be at night.

They slipped by several laboratories, none catching their interest. All held the same stock tables and equipment they had already seen during their tour. Lydia was fearful that the squeak of their sneakers on the polished tiled floor might betray them, but no one noticed at all.

It wasn’t until they reached the opposite end of the lobby that they found what had piqued their interest. Large yellow signs marked a pair of door as the storage room. Posted around the entry were a few signs warning nonemployees to stay out, and that those who entered use the utmost precaution when storing or retrieving whatever lay inside.

But when Lydia examined the doors more closely, she was crestfallen at a key card reader tucked next to the door. Look, she said, pointing it out to Dariela. Now what?

Let’s see if there’s another way inside, Dariela suggested. She took the lead and headed for the nearby exit. They emerged on the back lot, where transport trucks and cars were lined up unevenly here and there. To their left, one large transport truck was next to an open loading bay door. Bingo, Dariela said proudly.

Two people burst through the exit behind them. Lydia spun. Mark ran up to them, bending over to catch his breath. Richard was right behind, flushed and shaking. O-Okay, we found it. L-Let’s go back now! he stuttered quietly, while checking for any sign of anyone following them.

No, Mark said, straightening himself. I say we’re going to go to that storage room. You got me curious. He turned to the girls, hands squarely on his hips. Looks like they found a way in.

Go back. We don’t— Dariela started, but stopped and dove for a large free-standing air conditioning unit. Lydia glanced to her right and saw the cause of her friend’s concern. A man dressed in a dark uniform was walking toward the front of the truck. She, along with the boys, sought shelter behind the unit.

Lydia peeked out of their hiding spot and watched the man climb up into the passenger seat. He was joined by the driver, who started up the truck. Looks like there are only two of them, Lydia relayed to the others. They’re about to leave.

Okay. We’ll rush in when they do, Dariela said. Tell us when.

Let’s go back, Richard said, pleading in vain.

No, Lydia said, stubbornly shaking her head. We’re not going back. Besides, we’re close now.

The men chatted for a few moments, jerking thumbs at their cargo. Then the driver pulled the truck out. Lydia beckoned everyone to follow her as she dashed out and toward the opening. The four teenagers scrambled inside, breathing easier now. They glanced around the storage room. It was larger than they’d expected. Boxes upon boxes were stacked high, leaning precariously. The room was comparable to a wooden city, devised by some child obsessed with building blocks.

Lydia had little chance to take it in because the truck had stopped. She spun around and saw the passenger door opening and a man step out. Hide! she hissed, yanking Dariela along behind a row of elongated crates. Mark and Richard disappeared behind other wooden boxes. The man smacked a button on the inner wall next to the opening, which closed the storage room’s door. It clicked and clacked all the way down, resounding with a large booming thump! when it touched the floor.

With the sunlight gone, the only source of light hung from small lamps far above the group. There was just enough light for Lydia to see the crates around her. When she stood from behind the box, she found many crates, the labels detailing what was inside, who had stored it, and where it should go.

Come on, Dariela nudged her. "Let’s