L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

The twelve-minute drive took twenty. First they hit blue-collar traffic going home from their factory jobs, then a quick stop for a soda took way longer than it should have.

Finally he was driving down Willow Creek toward the company. He could feel himself starting to relax a little. It would be such a relief to put this genetic test idea completely to rest.

As soon as they turned onto the lane leading up to corporate headquarters, Rudker knew something was wrong. For starters, a white media van was driving in front of them. Up ahead he saw a group of people with picket signs milling around in front of the main office. Goddamn protestors. What the hell was it this time? Giving drugs to poor little mice? People who complained about using animals to test drugs, then took any kind of pharmaceutical when they were sick or in pain, were hypocrites. How else could they get compounds through development?

Damn this was annoying. Rudker had no intention of dealing with any of it. He had real business to take of. His PR person had better be out there handling it. It’s what she was paid to do.

They reached the turnoff to the main parking lot. “Keep going,” he told the cabbie.

As they passed, Rudker peered out the window. A young man with dreadlocks climbed on top of an old green VW van and stood to address the crowd. Someone passed a sign up to him. He held it over his head. Rudker could barely make out the words, but he thought it said: Chemicals Kill. The scene faded from his sight as the cab moved down the lane. He snorted at the stupidity of the message.

Cricket was pleased by the turnout. From the top of the van, he counted at least thirty people. Most were Love the Earth members but there were a few faces he didn’t recognize.

“Hey, Cricket, KRSL is here.” Troy, his friend and fellow earth protector, pointed at a white van coming down the long paved entry.

“Cool. Hand me my sign.”

Troy passed it up to him and Cricket held it high over his head. Sometimes drama was the only way to get people’s attention, especially the press. He had called Trina Waterman and spoke to her in person about the protest. She’d wished him luck and hung up. But now here she was. Or at least someone from her network was here. Cricket smiled. Must be another slow news day in Eugene.

He shouted, “No exceptions for polluters,” a few times and the small group joined him for another seven or so repetitions. He kept his eye on the van, only to see it stop and back out between the rows of cars. Once on the main entry road, it followed the taxi that had been behind it and was now headed for a back entrance.

Cricket was disappointed. The city council had voted two nights ago to allow Prolabs’ development to proceed. The bulldozers would resume immediately, and according to the building plans filed, the company was set to pour concrete in less than two weeks. Love the Earth would need a lot more public support than they currently had to stop it from happening. Otherwise, they would have to resort to sabotage.

The taxi reached the small auxiliary parking lot near the R amp;D building. “Let me off near the main door,” Rudker said abruptly. He paid the man and gave him a ten-dollar tip. Grabbing his shoulder bag, he’d hauled himself out of the cab. It irritated him that he would have to carry his bag back to his car in the main parking lot later, but it was better than facing the protestors.

Rudker checked his watch: 4:31. Peterson would still be here. A vehicle door slammed behind him. Rudker turned and saw that the media van had followed him back here. Damn. A blond little reporter tried to attract his attention. Rudker jogged for the R amp;D building.

When the van door slammed in the parking lot, Sula jumped so hard she smashed her knee on the underside of the desk. Unnerved, she shoved the drawer closed and bolted out of the chair. It was time to go.

Sula moved toward the door. As she reached it, she heard a faint click behind her, as if something had shifted or fallen. An odd little sound that she couldn’t ignore. She turned back and opened the drawer again. Lying on top of the green file folders-where nothing had been moments ago-was a CD case. Stuck to it were strips of scotch tape. It had been taped to the underside of the upper drawer and had fallen lose when she slammed the bottom drawer.

Heart still pounding, she grabbed the CD. If Warner had hidden it, it must be important. Sula wished like hell she had somewhere to put the disk. But neither her A-line black skirt nor her tailored button-up blouse had a pocket. She untucked her blouse, shoved the case under the waistband of her nylons, and started for the door again. As she grabbed the handle, she remembered the papers in the copier. Swearing under her breath, she turned back.

Moving quickly, Sula pulled the originals from the feeder tray and shoved them into the top drawer of the closest filing cabinet. She knew she should relock the cabinets, but her nerves would not let her stay a moment longer. She couldn’t even let herself stop and look at her watch. She snatched up the copies she’d made and bolted for the door.

In the hallway she turned left, intending to head back out the way she’d come in. Then she saw him and her heart missed a beat. Rudker was just inside the entrance and coming her way. For a split second, they made eye contact.

Sula spun around and strode in the other direction.

“Hey!” He called after her, but she kept going. She couldn’t be caught with the copied files. If not for the paperwork, she would have faced him. Running from the boss looked pretty bad, but it wasn’t necessarily grounds for termination. If she could only make it to the side exit.

A female voice came out of nowhere. “Stop. I want to talk to you.”

The busybody reporter caught up to Rudker and grabbed his arm. “I just want a short statement.” He shook her off and kept moving. That damn PR person had been standing in front of Warner’s office with a handful of paperwork. Now she was running from him. She had taken the papers from Warner’s files; he was sure of it.

“A shot of you running from the press will make great coverage for me and bad publicity for you,” the reporter yelled after him. Rudker hesitated. He saw Sula turn right at the end of the hall. Shit. There was a side door near the labs. Where would she go once she was outside? Across the courtyard to the corporate building? Through the parking lot? Rudker thought it might be better to head her off once she was outside the building.

He stopped and turned. The little newswoman was right in front of him and he nearly knocked her down. Her cameraman was huffing along right behind her.

“I’ll give you one short statement and you’ll leave me alone. And you can’t air any images of me walking away. Deal?” He didn’t know why the protestors were out front, but it didn’t matter. He knew what he would say.

“Deal.” She turned to the guy with the camera. “Ready?”

“Roll.”

She held out the microphone. Rudker smiled and said, “Making life-saving medicines is the greatest business in the world. Protesting against it demonstrates ignorance and a lack of compassion for people who are suffering.”

He closed his mouth and waited for the cameraman to get out of his away. When he did, Rudker pushed past both of them and ran out the main door. He didn’t see Sula in the courtyard, so he started around the side of the building.

Once outside, Sula’s instinct was to run to the front of the R amp;D lab, cross the courtyard, and scoot into main building where she could hide in the safety of her own office. She resisted the idea and turned right instead, running toward the back of the R amp;D building. From there, she had two choices: keep going up the hill into the trees or go right again and head for the auxiliary parking lot. Her instincts said trees. She loved the forest and always felt safe and happy there. She’d spent half her childhood hiking the hillside behind the family trailer.