Flash Fiction

Not by My Hands

Competition Notes ▼

Daily Flash Fiction Challenge  (13+) Enter your story of 300 words or less. #896794 by Arakun the twisted raccoon

298/300 word - 3-word prompt: chain, glass, and square

“Fifty-nine minutes.” I mutter, looking at my watch.

That’s how long I have to secure the antivenom and get back to the compound. If I fail, Marcus dies. My brother is a pain in my ass, but he doesn’t deserve that fate. Unless it’s by my hands, which it’s not.

The security guard lies slumped in his chair. The sedative I’ve slipped into his coffee will have no lasting effects, but the egg on the back of his head from pistol-whipping him, will.

“Forty-three minutes.”

It took longer than expected to incapacitate the guard; time I do not have. I slip his access pass from around his neck. The aroma of cigarettes and sweat is pungent, making me gag as I untangling the chain from his collar.

On the far wall, a row of square monitors flicker. The grainy feed cycling between empty corridors and research suites. The technicians left at 18:00. Only the skeleton staff remain to monitor the test-subjects. It won’t be hard to avoid them.

The laboratory is at the end of the hallway to the left of the control room. A two-minute walk.

The access panel beeps as I swipe the pass across it, granting me access. The antidote vials are in the glass cabinet at the far end of the room. I only need one.

I tug on the handle.

“Damn it.”

It’s locked.

I pull harder, bending the metal clip. It snaps.

I grab the vial and bound out the door.

I reach the compound, out of breath and suck in a lung full of air.

“Eight minutes.”

I’ve cut it fine.

Marcus lies unconscious on the cot. His skin pale.

“Time to awake up,” I whisper and press the needle to his vein, releasing the liquid into his system. He’ll survive.