Ed Villein's Arc

Chapter 8 of 12

Ed drives to the maintenance shed at 0600, two hours before his shift starts. He needs to review the documents one more time, memorize the dosage calculations he wrote in the margins. The chemical formula has to be exact—too little and nothing happens, too much and someone might notice the taste. The padlock hangs broken from the hasp. A crowbar lies in the dirt next to it, rust-orange and discarded like someone didn't care who found it. Muddy boot prints lead from the chemical drums to the shed door. Ed's chest tightens. He pulls the door open. Paper covers the concrete floor. Laboratory log pages torn from their binding, memo copies with executive signatures, his handwritten notes with dosage calculations—all of it scattered like someone dumped the box and kicked it around. The utility box he'd moved everything from sits empty in the corner, lid pried open. Twenty-three documents. He'd counted them four times. Now they're evidence that someone knows what he's been doing. Ed kneels and starts gathering pages, hands moving fast. He can't leave this here. Some of the notes have his handwriting, his calculations, the tank location in Building C. If security finds this, they'll know it wasn't random curiosity. They'll know he's planning something. He stuffs papers into his jacket, under his shirt, anywhere they'll fit. The boot prints lead back toward the main building. Someone from inside. Someone who knows what to look for. His plan just became a race against whoever got here first.