Free Toxic by Stéphane Desienne Page A

facilities.”
    The science of the destruction suggested dozens of different ways of arriving at the same result. Whatever one the humans had used, Oleg was telling the truth. They wouldn't find anything here. Deception filled Jave's thoughts. Regardless, they continued the visit and explored the lower levels. All around, they strode along hallways and rooms which were equally black, lacking any clues. The Primark sighed in exasperation multiple times. After an hour of fruitless searching, he called for the end of the search. “We're going back up.”
    One of the mercenaries rose up to Naakrit's height. “We need to set a new itinerary.”
    The drone posted at the entrance displayed the image of hurried infected creatures around the entrance to the subway. Naakrit turned towards Oleg. “Is there another exit?”
    He shook his head energetically. This attitude reminded Jave of the moment before he had gotten angry during the questioning. Of course, he had feigned it, but he had benefited from the Russian's petrifying fear.
    “Oleg... You're not cooperating,” he threatened.
    The emissary pointed at this vibroblade. “This exit, where is it?”
    “It's an emergency exit. We could reach it in the case of an emergency from each floor. Well, in theory at least. I've never taken it.”
    “Why didn't the scientists use it to escape from death?”
    “I don't know.”
    With his black hands, he pointed to the far end of the hallway. The mercenaries unblocked the entrance. Like everything conceived by humans, it was made to their morphology. They evolved in confined spaces, with people annoying one another in narrow concrete stairwells. They made a mistake by letting Oleg go first. While they were going along with difficulty, he took advantage of the situation to give them the slip. When they realized that he had disappeared, Naakrit fumed. “I'm going to find that vermin and hang him on the processing chain myself!”
    When they got to the top of the underground, they came hurtling into a warehouse which opened onto the river. Before them were hundreds of burst-open crates. Debris and other materials spattered the ground leading to the pier. In the distance, the current carried plants.
    “Interesting,” Jave declared.

“W e're not going to Rio.”
    To these hastily hidden words, Elaine responded with a helpless smile. “I’m afraid we aren't.”
    Dewei leaned his head on his dog-eared notebook. In his tiny hands, his pencil darkened the lines with frenzy.
We're going back north
.
    Elaine gave him a questioning look and then shrugged her shoulders. Communication was being established between them bit by bit. He went back to scribbling.
He changed his mind.
    He was talking about the Colombian.
    She then turned towards Hector, who was still seated at the helm, shotgun placed in an obvious position to remind people of who was in charge.
Had he heard her arguments?
They wouldn't have time to cross the Gulf with bags of chips and a few bottles of water.
For sure, junkies could survive with less per day
, she told herself. They arrived constantly at Jackson Memorial, easy to recognize due to their waxy complexion which contrasted with their blood-shot eyes. Their gaunt flesh was a testimony to the bad treatment that they gave their bodies. The Colombian didn't use drugs. On the contrary, he had a full body. If he didn't use but had a drug stash on board, that wasn't her business after all. What did it matter now?
    On the other side, Bruce walked towards the railing and unbuckled his belt. “We can't go to the shitter... but I've got to piss.”
    Alva smiled. “You at least, you're lucky. You can pull your member out. Me and the nurse, what do we do now? Close up our ass or put a cork in it?”
    “Ah, that feels good!” responded Bruce.
    The bitter tone of the singer, voluntarily audible, seemed like some sort of disguised message for Hector, who disappeared in the cockpit. He came back with a blue basin which he slid along