‘Don’t you leave this room, Blaine Colton!’
‘Whatever!’ Blaine snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. As an abrupt excuse for a wave, he swiped his hand towards the woman opposite him. ‘Catch you at the next “science freak-boy” appointment.’
‘Clearly you do not understand!’ Dr Melissa Hartfield’s eyes probed him with the sharpness of a biopsy needle. ‘According to current law, all experimental material such as this must be contained within the facility, particularly GMOs. And those not approved—’
‘Genetically modified organisms?’ Blaine held up the jacket and backed towards the door. ‘Not my problem, Doc. Besides, you don’t own me.’
She held up a form and tapped one of the points. ‘Actually, as I was just explaining, technically you belong to this research institute. Not that you heard a word I said while you were browsing social media sites on your phone.’
Heat crept up Blaine’s neck and over his face. He’d kept the iPhone near his knee and hadn’t thought she’d seen it from the other side of her desk. ‘Well, I didn’t sign that form, my parents did!’
‘Until you’re of legal age, you can’t reverse that authority without contesting it in a court of law.’
‘And that’s next month. Hard luck, lady. I’m out of here!’
The sound of the slamming door echoed through the corridor. Blaine’s heart lurched in his chest with each stride. His new joggers squeaked their own rhythm against the impervious, laboratory-grade linoleum.
Taking his iPhone from his pocket, he started texting his mum. Hearing other footsteps much heavier than his own, he glanced over his shoulder. Two large men in security uniforms were jogging towards him.
‘Mr Colton, why don’t you make this easy?’
Blaine’s gait stalled and he gripped his jacket tighter. They were comparative giants. Yet in his new life he had discovered himself to be wiry and fast. ‘Bite me, Baldy!’
Having spent most of his years incapable of feeling the power of his muscles, adrenaline hit him like a shot of speed. He bolted towards the exit. The corridors were strangely deserted. That worked to his advantage.
With freedom in sight, Blaine skidded to a stop as Dr Hartfield pushed through a side door and blocked his path. She held one hand behind her back. ‘Blaine, I tried to explain your recent test results.’
Blaine slipped his phone into his pocket and pretended to listen, all the while inching to a better position to side-step her.
‘They show the unprecedented success of your gene therapy was not complementation of the mutated regions in your nuclear and mitochondrial genomes, as predicted, but the result of integration.’
He glanced over his shoulder. The security guards were walking now, but closing in.
‘In my opinion, as this institute’s Biosafety Committee Chair, the procedure wasn’t approved by the appropriate regulating body. And I’m responsible for managing such indiscretions, including illegal GMOs.’
Again Blaine looked from her to the guards. ‘I don’t care about your “indiscretions”. The therapy was thirty-five months ago. History! I just want to get out of here and go home.’
She produced what looked like an auto-injector. Instinct kicked in. Darting nearer the wall, Blaine dropped his shoulder to barge her aside.
The collision nearly toppled him over. But at least she’s down. He righted himself and regained his momentum.
Footsteps thudded behind him as he tore down the corridor. The guards were charging, grunting like slow, clumsy bulls. He was at the door when he felt a fistful of his shirt grabbed from behind. A huge arm reached over his shoulder, spun him around and pushed him back into the corridor. He struggled as Dr Hartfield strode towards him. She gripped his wrist and plunged the auto-injector towards his arm. The sting whacked him sideways. A wave of nausea coursed through his body.
He looked to his upper arm and caught a hazy glimpse of the auto-injector, now delivering its venom. His jacket slid from his arm to the floor with a plop. It was like he’d been submerged in a giant tub of honey.
Still he struggled. ‘Stop! You can’t do this!’
The thugs had him pinned. Dr Hartfield shook her head. ‘We can, Blaine. If you’d been listening, you’d know that.’ Her words wafted like jarring noises through his mind. ‘Blaine, you’re the illegal GMO!’
Illegal ... GMO ... me ...?
‘Take him to the observation room.’