Belize

Chapter Six

Garcia went out into the hall and took a roundabout route to the central vault. He didn’t want to seem like he was in a hurry, and he certainly didn’t want to bring any attention to himself. His brief conversation with his assistant should help allay any concerns. Garcia should have sought out one of the other scientists on his own to put their fears at ease, but he’d been preoccupied. In a few minutes, the young man would pass the information along to his coworkers, and they would all think everything would be fine.

He went through it in his head once more. All he had to do was sign in with the guard on duty, retrieve some samples from the vault, along with one of the samples of the Progenitor, and then return to his office. Nobody would suspect anything, and no one would ever know the sample was gone before the lab got shut down. The sample would go in his desk for the time being, ready to be smuggled out of the lab at a convenient time. Things were sure to get rather hectic, with lots of people coming and going, and equipment being removed as the lab was closed, and Garcia was confident that he could sneak through the security checkpoint without a problem once they were busy dealing with other things.

The entrance to the main vault entrance had a large sign on the wall that read “Warning! Contagious Viral Samples! Authorized Employees Only!” in huge red letters. Garcia often thought that the warning was far too simplistic. It should have said something more along the lines of “Beyond This Door Lies The Most Deadly Disease Known To Man.”

Garcia went through the door and casually walked up to the guard desk. The guard on duty was a man named Luis. Like Garcia, he had worked at Umbrella for many years, and they knew each other fairly well. Garcia smiled and leaned slightly on the desk.

“Morning, Dr. Garcia,” Luis said as he handed over a clipboard with the sign-in sheet attached to it.

“Good morning,” Garcia replied. He took a pen out of his pocket and began to scrawl his signature. His hand did not shake this time, but he still felt physically stressed. His chest hurt and he felt a headache coming on. “How are things going today?”

“Pretty slow,” Luis said with a shrug. “I heard the boss is in a big meeting with some important people from the front office.”

Garcia grinned. It was funny how quickly information like that got passed around. Luis had probably only spoken to a handful of people today, as not many other employees were allowed to enter this area. Garcia wondered who had told him about the Americans.

“I think it’s just some people from another lab,” he said. He handed the sheet back over and returned the pen to his pocket. “I’m sure it’s nothing that important.”

Luis raised his eyebrows. “You think so? Well, I guess you know more about it than I do.” He gave Garcia the second sheet, which labeled what samples were being removed from the vault. “What are you picking up today?”

“We dropped off some RM-16 and RM-25 about two weeks ago,” Garcia replied as he filled it out. Luis would have no idea what those designations meant anyway, so it was a meaningless question. “I’ve decided to change our experiment timetable, so I’m bringing them back to the lab early. Actually, I just realized that I forgot to bring a cart with me.”

“There are some through the door. You can take one of them.”

“Thank you.”

Luis entered a code at his desk to open the vault door. There were actually two sets of doors, one leading to an outside antechamber, and the second which led into the vault itself. Garcia walked inside, favoring his leg as usual. The door closed behind him and he hesitated for only a moment before taking one of the metal carts and wheeling it through the other set of doors.

The vault was a long, rectangular room with floor-to-ceiling windows on either side. Behind the windows were shelves and shelves of glass cylinders that contained hundreds of different samples, viruses, enzymes, proteins, and a variety of other organic compounds. They were labeled with names like RH-97, MZ-41, and D-5-RT-17. There were so many that even Garcia didn’t know them all. Some of the more obscure samples had probably sat undisturbed in the vault for years.

Each side of the room had a computer module that controlled a robotic arm on the other side of the glass. Garcia pushed the cart over to it and typed in his employee code.

As his fingers typed in the command for the robotic arm, he felt his heart quicken. His hands were slick with sweat. He involuntarily glanced up toward the ceiling to the upper corners of the room.

What if there were security cameras in the vault room after all? They could have installed tiny cameras and he might not even know they were there. He knew that Saldivar had once told him offhand that the cameras only watched the outer room, but that had been a few years ago.

Garcia hit enter on the screen. The robotic arm hummed to life and swung upwards toward one of the higher racks of samples. If there was a security camera here, what would it see? It would see Garcia standing calmly at the computer, retrieving the samples he had signed out for. In the coming days, the lab was going to be in chaos, and Garcia doubted that anyone would be wasting time reviewing security footage. Nothing on the tape would incriminate him.

The arm clicked onto the sample labeled RM-16 and gently slid it out from a slot in the shelf. With a mechanical whir, it swung downwards and placed the sample on a moving tray. Once the arm was back in its original location, the tray descended below the shelves and dropped into a sealed chamber at about waist height. A row of lights blinked on to verify that the sample was secure, and then a section of the glass window opened like a door and the tray emerged out where Garcia could take it.

He picked up the sample vial. It was about the size of a can of soda, with three small discs inside that held the samples in stasis. Like this, they would stay viable for months or years, depending on the sample type. Garcia set the sample into a slot on the metal cart.

He returned to the computer screen. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, and he had to struggle to remain composed. If Luis suspected anything, he would surely call Saldivar or he might even refuse to let Garcia leave the vault area. If Garcia wanted to get the sample safely out of the vault, he had to look calm and relaxed. But every moment that passed made it harder for him to do just that.

He entered the request for a new sample. This one was labeled PR-01. It was the designation for the standard form of the Progenitor. In truth, there were dozens of different variants and versions, and he could have taken almost any one of them. But if he was going to go through with this, he wanted to get the original virus.

The computer beeped and the robotic arm once again swung across the glass to retrieve the sample. Garcia felt beads of sweat running down his back. What if the computer somehow kept a record of the selections? Could they go back through the computer’s history and find out who requested which samples? Garcia realized that he had no idea. He really didn’t know much about the computer security system at all.

It was too late to change now. The arm took PR-01 and moved back to the sliding tray. Garcia felt like someone was reaching into his body and squeezing his throat. He was beyond the line of no return. The Progenitor clicked into the tray and it lowered down into the removal chamber.

He wiped his hand on his lab coat and took out a small sticker label he had printed in his office. When the door opened up and the tray emerged, he picked up the sample and carefully turned his body toward the cart. He pressed the sticker in his palm over the other sticker on the vial, the one showing the sample name. The new sticker said RM-25. Garcia looked at it as he set the sample down on the cart. It was just a little bit crooked, but Luis wouldn’t notice.

He swallowed and reached up to wipe his forehead with his sleeve. He had the virus. Now all he had to do was leave the vault area and make it back to his lab. No one would suspect anything. But the pressure of committing such a crime suddenly weighed on him heavily, like a huge anchor tied around his neck. Again, it was too late to turn back now. He couldn’t very well put the Progenitor back and get another sample. If he wasted any more time, Luis might begin to get concerned.

He opened the door and pushed the cart through. Keeping his eyes forward and ignoring the painful pounding in his chest, he walked through the anteroom and through the other set of doors. He wanted to sit down and catch his breath, but he couldn’t stop now. Once he got past Luis and returned to his office, he would be able to rest. It would only be a few minutes, but it felt like it would last a lifetime.

Luis glanced up from his computer screen and gave a short wave. “Have a good one, Dr. Garcia.”

“Yes,” Garcia managed to say, “You too.” The effort of speaking was almost too much for him. It felt like there were heavy iron weights strapped to his legs. His normal limp was badly exaggerated now. Without the cart to lean on, he might have collapsed. But he pushed it forward through the main doors and back into the hallway, forcing himself onward.

The walk back to his office was torture. His chest ached and his breath came in short, painful gasps. He was sure that his face was red with exertion, and he prayed that he didn’t pass anyone in the hall. Twice he came close, but each time the other person walked into a doorway or otherwise was preoccupied and didn’t pay attention to him. Each step was harder than the last. The pressure on his chest increased until it felt like his entire torso was being crushed in a vise.

He could barely think straight. It was hard to believe that performing his very first criminal act would effect him so much. His personal sense of right and wrong was so powerful that betraying his employer and committing a crime practically crippled him.

Passing through the lab in his condition was out of the question. His underlings would surely see that something was wrong, and he couldn’t have them going for help or bringing unwanted attention. Instead, he wheeled the cart down another hallway to some of the secondary offices where they did performance reviews and other short-term managerial work. Garcia knew they would be empty at the moment, probably used to store extra office supplies.

Once he got there, he could rest for a little while. He just had to sit and catch his breath and calm down from the stress of taking the Progenitor. The overwhelming guilt was getting to him, that was all. He was scared of being caught. But once he was safe in the office, away from prying eyes, he could get his head in order and go about the rest of his day without worry. The hard part was over, now he could relax and take a break.

There was no one around when he reached the offices. He slumped against the wall and fumbled with the doorknob. He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen. He door swung open and he pushed the cart inside, barely able to remain on his feet.

The small temporary office had a small couch against the wall, and Garcia wanted to fall into it and lay there for awhile. He got through the door and tried to turn to close the door, but his leg buckled and he fell into it, struggling to stay upright. The door swung shut and Garcia pulled himself up with his last ounce of strength.

Finally, the truth began to dawn on him. The terrible pains in his chest weren’t the result of stress or guilt. He was so focused on taking the Progenitor that he had ignored the obvious.

It was a heart attack. He was having a heart attack.

Garcia staggered away from the door. There was a phone on the desk. He had to call for help. It was only a few steps away. He just had to reach it.

He took one step and could no longer stand. His chest constricted in agony, as if he’d been stabbed in the heart with a burning blade. He tumbled sideways, one arm frantically grabbing for something to grab onto to keep him upright.

The only thing to grab was the metal cart. His body slammed into it and it immediately flipped over, crashing to the floor beside him with a loud metallic bang.

He shuddered, trying to suck in air. His eyes desperately scanned the floor, hoping he could pull himself along to the desk and call security. All thoughts of the Progenitor left him. He didn’t care about his job or his career anymore, all that mattered was the terrible agony in his chest and the creeping blackness at the edges of his vision.

He looked at his arm. Blood dotted the sleeves of his white lab coat. Barely aware of what was happening, he turned his arm over and saw jagged shards of glass sticking out of his forearm. One of the samples in the cart had fallen out and been shattered underneath it. Garcia didn’t even realize he’d been cut.

As the virus swept into his bloodstream, he cursed his terrible luck. He cursed himself for his stupidity and his greed.

But no, this wasn’t his fault. Umbrella was to blame for what he had done. He spent his last conscious moments cursing Umbrella for what they had forced him to do.

<--Previous Chapter|Next Chapter-->