Ed Villein's Arc

Chapter 11 of 12

Ed checks his watch. Eleven forty-five. Fifteen minutes until his lunch break starts. He empties a trash bin near the loading dock, then walks past Building C. The chemical tank sits inside, right where he found it weeks ago. No one guards the door. No cameras on this side of the fence. At noon, he walks straight to Building C with a flask in his pocket and a clipboard in his hand. A supply rack sits outside, canvas tarps covering equipment no one bothers to move. He pulls his badge across the reader. The lock clicks. Inside, fluorescent lights flicker over rows of storage shelves. The tank waits in the back corner, yellow warning tape wrapped around its base. He unscrews the valve and fills the flask in thirty seconds. The liquid is clear, odorless. He caps it tight and slips it back in his pocket. He locks the door behind him and walks toward the loading dock. A dolly rolls past, its steel cage loaded with sealed containers marked with hazard symbols. A worker in a hard hat guides it toward a truck. Ed keeps his head down and his pace steady. No one looks at him. No one asks questions. The flask presses cold against his hip. He reaches the tent and checks the time. Twelve eighteen. The catering cart sits where he left it that morning. He opens the hidden compartment and sets the flask inside, then closes it and walks away. The chemical is in place. Tonight, when they pour the coffee, he'll be ready. His hands don't shake. His breath stays even. The decision is made, and there's no turning back now.