Dr. Trina Jacobs pressed her thumb to the scanner on the wall and waited for an affirmative beep. The door to her lab slid open, and she stepped inside.
“Save us, Dr. Jacobs!” A jumble of voices cried out to her—men, women, and children. “Help us! Please…”
Trina gritted her teeth and kept moving across the room. She heard those plaintive cries every time she stepped into her lab, because the director believed the recorded message would motivate her to complete her task at top speed. She’d been on the job for almost a month, and the sound of those voices still made her feel sick to her stomach.
She signed on to her computer and retrieved the results from yesterday’s tests. Her most recent attempt at an antidote had been too strong—it blocked the effects of all the known poisons, but killed human cells in the process. Another failure.
“It can’t be done. He’s asking the impossible,” she muttered. “No wonder they gave up trying to cure the common cold. Too many variables.”
“Your attitude is unacceptable, Dr. Jacobs. Everyone in this country is counting on you.” Dr. Lowell Stratford’s face appeared on her computer screen. The director was always listening in. Butting in. I gotta stop talking to myself.
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