Robin Cook - Fever

“Shit!” cried Brezo as he felt the corrosive chemical singe his skin. He knew he had to get his leg into water as soon as possible. Angelo pulled Brezo’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him and, as if in a three-legged race, the two men hurried back toward the entrance of Recycle, Ltd.

Charles scrambled to his feet and bolted for the two planks over the old sluice. Wally made a grab for Charles but missed him, and in the process slipped and fell to his hands and knees. Belying his bulk, he was back on his feet in an instant. Charles thundered over the planks forgetting his previous nervousness at crossing. He thought about pushing the planks into the sluice but Wally was too close behind.

Fearful of being thrown into the chemical lagoon, Charles ran as fast as possible, but the going was difficult. First he had to climb through the discarded machinery, then run across the snow-covered, littered lot until he got to the hurricane fence. Wally was hindered by the same objects but, used to working out, he made better time.

Charles started up the fence but unfortunately he’d picked a spot between two uprights. The lack of support, particularly near the top, made the climbing more difficult.

Wally Crabb reached the fence and began shaking it violently. Charles had all he could do to hold on, much less continue climbing. Then Wally reached up and grabbed Charles’s right foot. Charles tried to kick free but Wally had a good hold and he merely put his weight on it.

The force overrode Charles’s grasp, and he tumbled off the fence, directly on top of Wally. Desperately Charles searched beneath the snow for some object with which he could defend himself. He came up with an old shoe. He flung it at Wally, and although it missed its mark, it gave Charles a chance to stand and flee along the fence toward the river. For Charles, the situation was like being inside a cage with a raging animal.

Running in the snow along the fence was next to impossible. The crust sometimes supported Charles’s weight, other times it didn’t, and there was no way to tell before taking a step. Under the snow was a wide assortment of debris ranging from fresh garbage to wayward rubber tires and metal scrap that kept trapping him. Fearful he was going to be caught any moment, Charles glanced over his shoulder. One look was enough to ascertain that the obstacle course was equally difficult for Wally and Charles reached the river bank first.

His descent to the water was a marginally controlled fall. With his hands out at his sides like outriggers on a canoe, Charles slipped and slid down the embankment, coming to a jarring halt where the ice had buckled at the river’s edge. Avoiding the patch of open water, Charles scrambled out onto the ice, and tried to keep his balance. Wally came down the embankment with a bit more care and consequently lost some ground. Charles was around the portion of the fence that extended out from shore and starting back up the embankment when Wally reached the river’s edge.

Almost at the top of the embankment, Charles’s feet suddenly slid out from under him. Panic-stricken, his hands grasped for a hold. At the last second he caught a small bush and halted his backward movement. He tried to scramble back up but could not get any traction. Wally had already gained the shore and started up toward Charles, closing the short distance between them.

Wally reached up to grab Charles’s leg. He was inches away when he seemed to switch to slow motion. His legs stiffened but it was no use. Slowly at first, then rapidly, he slid backwards.

With renewed effort, Charles tried to climb the last five feet. By jamming his toes against the embankment he discovered he could create crude footholds. In this way, he inched upwards and threw his upper body over the edge. He pulled his feet up, then raised himself on his hands and knees. In so doing, he felt rocks and pieces of brick under the snow. He kicked them loose and picked up a handful. Wally had begun a new assault on the embankment and at that moment was only five feet away.

Cocking his arm back, Charles threw the stones. One hit Wally on the point of the shoulder and he grunted in pain. He grabbed the area with his opposite hand only to slip back down the embankment. Quickly Charles kicked loose additional stones and threw them down at Wally, who put his arms over his head and retreated out onto the ice.

Charles fled back toward the row of deserted mill buildings, intending to run around the end of the first building and get to the Pinto, which was parked a hundred yards back. But as he started in that direction, he saw several flashlights coming around the opposite end of the hurricane fence. They swung in his direction, momentarily blinding him, and he knew he’d been spotted. He had no choice. He ran directly for the empty building.

Dashing through a doorless opening Charles was quickly engulfed by impenetrable darkness. With his arms swinging in exploratory arcs he inched forward, encountering a wall. As if in a maze, he stumbled along the wall until he came to a door. Bending down and searching the floor, he found some rubble, which he tossed through the opening. It hit yet another wall and fell back to the floor. Without letting go of the doorjamb, Charles reached out in the darkness. His fingertips touched the wall that he’d hit with the rubble. He let go of the doorframe and walked along this new wall.

Hearing shouts behind him, Charles felt a surge of panic. He had to find a place to hide. He was convinced that these Recycle people were crazy and that they were planning to kill him. Charles was certain they had hoped to force him into the chemical lagoon, hoping perhaps to make it appear as an accident. He was, after all, a trespasser who could conceivably slip into that cesspool in the dark. And if they were willing to dump poisons into a public river, morality was not high on their priority list.

Charles came to a corner in the wall he was following. He strained to see but he couldn’t even detect his own hand moving in front of his face. Bending down, he gathered a few pebbles and tossed them around the corner to see how far away the next wall was. He waited for the sound of the stone to hit a wall, then a floor. There was neither. After a long delay, Charles heard the distant splash of water. He shrank back. Somewhere immediately in front of him was a void, perhaps an old elevator shaft.

Guessing that he was in a hallway, Charles threw some pebbles perpendicular to the wall he’d been following. The stones hit immediately, and stretching out in the darkness, Charles felt the opposite wall.

With his foot Charles began to kick loose plaster ahead of him to be sure that he’d pass the shaft. It worked, and he slowly moved ahead, gaining a certain amount of confidence. He had no way of judging the distance he’d traveled, but he felt it was significant. Then his hand touched another doorjamb. Feeling ahead, his other hand grasped a wooden door, open about a foot. The knob was missing. Charles pushed and the door reluctantly opened, restricted by debris on the floor. With great care Charles inched into the room, feeling ahead with his right foot, and smelling a foul, musty odor. He encountered a bale of material, then realized it was an old, rotting rug.

Behind him he heard someone yell into the cavernous interior. “We want to talk to you, Charles Martel.” The sound echoed in the blackness. Then he heard heavy footsteps and voices talking among themselves. With a surge of new fear, he let go of the door and started across the room, his hands sweeping around in front of him, hoping to find some hiding place. Almost immediately he tripped over another rug, then hit up against a low, metal object. He felt along the top of it, deciding it was a cabinet of sorts that had been tipped over. Stepping around it, he ducked down among a pile of smelly rags. He burrowed beneath the rags as best he could, feeling some movement of little feet. He hoped it was mice he’d disturbed and not something larger.