Melt Read online
MELT
The MELT Series
Book 1
By
JJ Pike
Mike Kraus
© 2019 Muonic Press Inc
www.muonic.com
www.MikeKrausBooks.com
[email protected]
www.facebook.com/MikeKrausBooks
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, without the permission in writing from the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
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MELT – Book 2
Available Here!
Chapter One
“I want real, live flowers in Angelina’s hair.” Alice ran her fingers through the child actor’s wild curls. “When the client sees this commercial, I want them to see this gorgeous, innocent child—her hair literally bursting with color and life—and be reminded that we at K&P Industries stand for the total restoration of the planet.”
Being on a film set wasn’t Alice’s usual day, but then this account wasn’t any old account. It was her job to get the Chinese to buy American waste again. If she didn’t, the US was in real danger of drowning in its own plastic. This ad campaign was their last chance to snag the biggest trash account on the planet and she—Alice Everlee, Senior Vice President and Head of Marketing for Klean & Pure Industries, Inc.—was in charge of making that happen.
She turned to Marlene, head of Hair and Makeup. “I’m thinking peonies. They’re big and bold and bright. What do you say?”
Marlene snorted. “Bad idea.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw her boss Jake stride onto the set. Her stomach did a couple of back flips. He was too early, Angelina wasn’t ready, and the film crew were still futzing with the lighting, but—praise be—he turned on his heels at the last minute and headed for the cameraman.
Marlene was still huffing and puffing and generally making her disapproval known. “Real flowers will wilt under the lights.”
Alice directed her attention back to the kid in the makeup chair. She had three inches of foundation caked on her face in an attempt to make her look natural. “I want the client to be immersed in an idyllic, bucolic dream. I want them to see her and immediately think of Nature with a capital N…”
“Trust me.” Marlene cut Alice off. “If you put peonies in her hair, they are going to shrivel and die and you’re going to send the message that we’re all doomed and ‘Nature with a capital N’ can take a running jump off a short pier.”
Alice put her hand on Marlene’s arm. “Help me out. I had my heart set on a crown of flowers. Like Beyoncé’s…”
Marlene lit up. “Lady! I am queen of the flower crown.” She dug through her enormous makeup and accessories trunk and emerged with a handful of plastic flowers.
The color drained from Alice’s face. The campaign to rid the world of plastic, brought to you by…plastic. It was the very definition of ironic. She glanced at her watch. Time is money, never more so than on a film set. She couldn’t waste another second. “Do it,” she said, “as long as you’re sure the flowers won’t read as plastic on film…”
Marlene snorted again, hair pins already in her mouth. Alice took that as a good sign. It was all going to work out. When it was all said and done, the kid was going to be a vision of loveliness; the very epitome of innocence.
The security doors on the far side of the studio swung open and a couple of lab rats—complete with starched white coats and pocket protectors—painstakingly wheeled a trolley onto the bustling set. From the way they were handling it, you’d have thought they were transporting spent nuclear rods or ballistic missiles, not a simple vial of anti-plastic. They rolled the cart slowly and deliberately, pausing at every fat, serpentine cable and lifting their precious cargo so nothing was jostled or jolted. The crew—from the grips, to the gaffer, right on down to the craft-services grunts—parted to let them by. Anti-plastic was shepherded onto the world stage in a bubble of hushed awe.
The research scientists at Klean & Pure, under Professor Christine Baxter’s guidance, had developed MELT, a compound that was set to revolutionize the world of waste management. They were going to rid the world of its impending “million-year plastic plague,” as they called it, and return the planet to its pristine, pre-plastic state.
Jake’s voice cut right through the hum and hustle of the set. “This shoot is going ahead. Today. End of story.”
Alice couldn’t hear the Professor’s answer. Something about “polyethylene” or “polypropylene.” One of the polys, anyway.
“The Board has voted.” Jake was not a man to be gainsaid. He didn’t deal with challenges well. His body language had shifted from “bark” to “bite.” The Professor was clearly pushing her luck to the limit.
“Stop!” Jake boomed. “The Board is satisfied. I’m satisfied. This is happening.”
Professor Baxter’s shoulders slumped. She scuttled after the boss, still talking.
“Stop. Right now. I am done talking about this. Your objections are noted. Baseless, but noted.”
Alice felt her stomach clench. She didn’t like it when the boss lost his cool. It generally meant heads would roll. In two short minutes, his tone had ratcheted up from an irritated “four” to an enraged “nine.”
“I just need ten more days, Jake.” She didn’t give up.
“No can do.” Jake didn’t break his stride.
“Fine, a week?” Dr. Baxter marched in front of her boss, forcing him to stop and face her. “One week and we’ll have the kinks ironed out.”
Jake’s eyes bore into his chief scientist’s pleading face. If looks could kill, Professor Baxter would have been vaporized on the spot.
“MELT puts us firmly ahead of the competition,” he said, “but it won’t take those bozos over at Polyfuze or Blastoplasto long to get their own plastic-eating formulas to market. If we get MELT out there right now, we have a good chance of dominating the space. We can’t afford to lose another day.”
Baxter took a deep breath. “MELT is a complex compound, one with a broad mandate. It’s not like anything that’s come before. It doesn’t simply eat some plastics, boss. It devours them all.”
Baxter was right. MELT was a bona fide miracle. The plastic-eating microbial stew had an insatiable appetite. Give it a plastic bottle and it’d chomp its way through the lid, down the neck, and onto the body in seconds flat. Didn’t matter that the cap and bottle were made of different kinds of plastic, MELT ate them all.
Baxter’s voice was low, but urgent. “If we jump the gu
n, boss, it could go off and blast us all to smithereens.” She paused. “Sorry, mixed metaphor. What I mean is, MELT—as it is currently configured—is still volatile. It doesn’t always react how we expect, even with the stabilizing agent. We need to make more improvements before we let it out of a contained environment. If the agent breaks down, the results could be disastrous. It won’t take me long. I think I already know…”
Jake grabbed the Professor by the elbow and frog-marched her to a cubby behind the makeup station. “Hear me and understand this…” he hissed. “I am not sending the message that we have an issue.”
“It’s just…”
“Industrial espionage is alive and well in Manhattan, doctor. I am not—not, not, not—sending a message to our competitors that there’s anything but blue skies and peach pie at K&P. Are we understood?”
Alice could almost hear the air being sucked out of the Professor’s sails. “Jake, please…”
Jake strode out of the cubby and joined Alice, grinning, his voice now all syrupy sweetness. “We about ready to roll?”
“Boss, meet Angelina.” Alice smiled up at Jake, willing him to at least be kind to the kid. “Angelina came to us through an acting agency and we couldn’t be more delighted. She’s going to wow the buyers.”
Jake held his hand out for Angelina’s.
Angelina hesitated, checked in with Alice, then Marlene, then Alice again.
“Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” said Alice.
Angelina held out her tiny hand.
Jake bowed then kissed it. “Charmed. You’re perfect, little lady.”
Angelina blushed.
Jake turned and surveyed the set. “Not bad, Alice. Not bad at all.”
Alice grinned. The set looked magnificent. The Art Department had done a bang-up job of building the perfect rustic setting, then gone to town building her a “volcano of trash” spewing from the Earth. It was exactly what she wanted. No, more. It had drama. It had beauty. And it had a single, glass spritzer of MELT on a faux-marble plinth beside the landfill eruption.
“Let’s get this party started,” said Jake.
Alice nodded at the Assistant Director, who barked out the orders and set the crew in motion.
Alice steered Angelina to the X in the middle of the set, mouthing her lines with her as they went. “You’ll be wonderful,” she whispered as she helped her climb onto the stool and get settled. And she meant it. Today was turning out perfectly. Knock on wood.
“Three minutes,” shouted the AD.
Alice hustled behind the camera. It was all she could do not to cross her fingers for luck. She didn’t believe in luck. She believed in hard work and preparedness.
“Places, people.” The AD knew how to command a room. Everyone and everything in its place. Alice loved this moment. It had a kind of magic. It was so finely orchestrated. The lights went down, the players took their places, the army of behind-the-scenes people disappeared into the shadows, and her vision came to life.
Angelina held her finger on the spritzer of the vial of MELT. It all came down to this moment. This was where she showed the world the solution to its woes. Angelina would spray the plastic bottle and it would melt into nothingness. Problem solved.
“Give me patience…” It was Paul, the Director of Photography. Alice had worked with Paul before. He was a consummate professional. If he was ticked off about something, then they were in deep trouble. Paul hovered over the camera like a hawk waiting to plunge.
“Problem?” said Jake. Once again, his voice rose making the people around him stand to attention.
“It’s the memory card,” said Paul. “It’s…glitching.”
“Glitching how?” Alice swallowed hard. She couldn’t have things go wrong, not at this late hour. They practically had the ad in the can. “Paul?”
Paul’s assistant cameraman, a small man with a ferrety face that belied the fact that he was the absolute best AC in the biz, stepped up and did whatever magic an AC was supposed to do in a crisis, while Paul scowled and paced and swore. He nodded and stepped back into the shadows.
Paul sighed, loud and long. “False alarm, we’re good.”
The AD made her call, the clapper board clapped, “Action!” was called, but Angelina froze. All eyes were on her. Alice nodded at her, smiling with as much encouragement as she could muster.
They were all waiting on an 8-year old. Art imitates life, which imitates art. To the max.
Angelina spritzed.
Alice held her breath.
The plastic bottle on the top of the trash volcano did just what it was supposed to do, what she’d seen a hundred-thousand bottles in the lab do. It melted. Then the one below it melted. Then the one below that. It was a flowing cascade of marvelousness. Alice wanted to clap and cheer and scoop Angelina up in her arms and tell her what a good girl she was, but she knew better than to make a peep. Until the AD yelled “Cut!” she needed to hold her breath.
MELT kept on keeping on. Alice’s heart was in her throat. Their prayers were being answered. They really were going to be the heroes of the hour. MELT would rid the world of plastic and her children and grandchildren really would live in a better world.
Angelina screamed. It was a heart-stopping sound that froze Alice to the spot and turned all eyes from the camera to the small girl perched on the stool.
“It burns!” Angelina scratched at her face, which had turned an ugly shade of puce. “Get it off! Get it off!” Angelina clawed at her flower crown.
Alice raced towards the child, her heart in her mouth and her brain doing triple time. She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. The little girl seemed to be dripping, but with what? Alice scanned the ceiling for a clue. A burst pipe or a leaking toilet on an upper floor? There was nothing. The liquification of Angelina’s crown of flowers had taken on a life of its own. Alice looked on, helpless, as the monstrous tangle of fuchsias, pinks, and greens melted and dripped down Angelina’s face.
“Get it off!” She screamed again, tears mixing with the cascade of liquid plastic.
Alice blanked. This didn’t make a lick of sense.
“Make it stop!” screamed Angelina. Another petal morphed and dripped, burning a line into her cheek.
The dissolving plastic dripped onto the little girl’s dress. The lapels, then the sleeves, then the skirt began to disintegrate.
What the hell was going on? Was Angelina wearing something that interacted with their plastic-busting formula? Was it a bad batch? What? Alice racked her brains for an answer. None came.
The world dropped into a slow-motion version of hell. Alice heard Professor Baxter call for the decontamination team and watched in horror as the massive, hulking, suited men charged the terrified child and doused her with gallons of emulsified goo.
Angelina never stopped screaming. Not when they peeled her once-beautiful dress from her blistering skin, or when they dug her charm bracelet from her wrist, or when they yanked the crown of ugly plastic flowers from her peeling skull. She thrashed and yelled as the medical team tried to sedate her and hustle her out the doors on a stretcher.
The world snapped back into focus. Jake was screaming at Baxter, who was barking at her lab techs, who were jabbering about contaminants. None of them were watching the set. Alice turned in time to see the trash volcano collapse in on itself. Then the floor opened, the hole widened, and Alice understood. Her worst nightmare had come to life.
She pulled up her hubby’s number on her phone, her hands shaking, her blouse drenched in sweat.
“Hey, honey!” Bill burbled, “did you see the video I sent of Midge and Pippylonglegs? Midge has taught that goat of hers to dance!”
“Bill.” Alice cut him short. “Mutant Pineapple.”
“You’re joking?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Now?”
“Right now. Don’t ask. Don’t look back. I’ll meet you all there.” She dialed off. They’d developed their code back when they were in c
ollege. It had seemed silly, but it had stuck around. She never in a million years thought they’d ever use it. “Mutant Pineapple” meant “head for the hills.” Literally. They had a cabin deep in the woods, cut off from civilization, and way, way off the grid.
She turned and examined the hole in the floor. No doubt about it. It was growing. She needed to cordon off the building and get to the lab. Whatever had happened was spreading and she had to find out who was responsible—hopefully before it was too late.
Chapter Two
“No!” Midge didn’t do well when woken before she woke herself. She took after her mother in that regard. She was surly and resistant and not in the least inclined to do as she was told. But Bill couldn’t indulge her. Not this time. He steered her out of bed, through the front door, and down the steps before she slumped to his feet, thumb in her mouth and favorite blankie under her arm.