The Chemist

The lab setup was a quick process after so much practice. One of her glass flasks was chipped, but it looked like it was still usable. She pieced her rotary evaporator together and then laid out a few condensers and two stainless-steel vessels. She’d used almost all of her Survive, and the way this week was going, she would probably need more. She had plenty of D-phenylalanine, but she was disappointed when she checked on her opioid store. Less than she’d thought. Not enough to synthesize more Survive, and she had only one dose left.

She was still scowling at her lack of supplies when she heard Kevin calling up the stairs.

“Hey, Oleander. Ticktock.”

By the time she got through the front door, Kevin was already in the sedan, Daniel in the passenger seat. When Kevin spotted her hesitating on the porch, he held the horn down for one annoyingly long blast. She walked as slowly as possible to the car and climbed into the backseat with a frown – dog hair was going to get all over her.

They drove along the same slender dirt lane out through the gate and a few miles farther before turning onto an even less pronounced road that headed in a mostly westerly direction. This road was nothing more than two tire tracks worn into the grass. They followed it for about six or seven miles, she guessed. For the first few miles, she caught glimpses of the ranch’s fence line, but after that, they were too far west for her to see it anymore.

“Is this your land, too?”

“Yes, after passing through a few other names. This parcel is owned by a corporation that is not affiliated in any way with the parcel the ranch is on. I do know how to do this, you know.”

“Of course.”

The landscape started to change on her right. The yellow-white grass cut off at a strangely even border and beyond that, the ground turned to level, bare red dirt. When they started to wind back to the north toward that border, she was surprised to see that the red dirt was actually a riverbank. The water was the same color as the red bank, and it moved smoothly west, without rapids or obstacles. It was about forty feet across at the widest point she could see. She watched the flow of the water as they drove roughly parallel to it, fascinated by its existence here in the middle of the dry grassland. For all its smooth progress, the river seemed to be moving fairly quickly.

There was no fence this time. A crumbling-down barn, grayed by the sun, sat about fifty yards from the road, looking as if it had reached the end of its very long life and was only waiting for the right weather system to put it out of its misery. She’d seen hundreds just like it on their quick tour through Arkansas and Oklahoma.

It was nowhere near as nice as her milking barn.

Kevin turned toward it, driving right through the grass now; she couldn’t see any official road or pathway.

She waited in the running car while he jumped out to unlock the massive antique padlock and swing the doors open. Outside, in the brilliant light of the open, cloudless sky, it was impossible to see anything inside the murky interior. He was back quickly to drive the car into the darkness.

This time, the inside matched the outside’s promise. Dim light filtered through the slats of the barn to illuminate piles of corroded farm equipment, most of a rusted tractor, the shells of a few ancient cars, and a massive stack of dusty hay in the back, half covered with a tarp. Nothing worth stealing, or even examining more closely. If anyone bothered to break in here, the only valuable thing he would find was shade.

When the engine cut off, she thought she could just make out the rush of the river. They couldn’t be more than a couple hundred yards away from it.

“This will work,” she said. “I’ll stick my stuff in a corner and you can use this car when you head back.”

“Roger that.”

She piled her four rectangular duffels into a shadowy crevice, partially hidden behind a stack of spiderwebbed firewood. The webs were dusty.

Kevin was rummaging near a pile of blackened metal – maybe parts for another tractor – and came back with a tattered old tarp, which he spread over her bags.

“Nice touch,” she approved.

“It’s all in the presentation.”

“I guess you haven’t gotten around to fixing this place up yet,” Daniel commented, one hand on the closest car shell.

“I kind of like it how it is,” Kevin said. “Let me give you a tour. Just in case you need something while I’m gone. Which you won’t. But still.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Overpreparation is the key to success. It’s kind of my mantra.”

“Then you’ll love this,” Kevin said.

He walked to the half-tractor and bent down to fiddle with the lug nuts in the center of the huge flat tire.

“There’s a keypad behind this hubcap.” He spoke directly to Daniel. “The code is our birthday. Not too original, but I wanted you to be able to remember it easily. Same combination for the lock on the outside door.”

A second later, the entire front face of the tire swung outward – it wasn’t made of rubber, it was something stiffer and lighter, and it moved on hinges. Inside, an arsenal.

“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Batcave.”

She immediately spotted a SIG Sauer that matched the gun she’d briefly stolen from him. He really didn’t need two.

Kevin gave her a puzzled look. “Batman doesn’t use guns.”

“Whatever.”

Daniel was examining the hinges on the hidden door. “This is very clever. Did Arnie make it?”