Trapped in an Everglades sanctuary by her husband and former mentor, a widowed serum specialist turns a lethal cobra attack against her killers in a high-stakes survival battle.
Mark’s tremors were more pronounced now, his body arching with silent spasms. Harrison watched him, his face a mask of primal terror. He’d barely registered the backup notification, his mind consumed with his son’s imminent death.
“What now?” Harrison rasped, his voice hoarse. “You have the ledger. Give him the antivenom!”
I pulled a small, rugged satellite phone from my pocket, one designed for deep-swamp communications. It had a discreet streaming function I’d jury-rigged weeks ago, a paranoia project in case things went south. I tapped a pre-set contact: Brenda Vance-Loomis, Gulf Stream News.
“No,” I said, my thumb hovering over the ‘stream live’ button. “Not yet.”
Harrison’s eyes widened. “What are you doing with that phone?” he demanded, a flicker of his old arrogance returning, trying to mask his fear. “Who are you calling?”
“I’m not calling anyone, Harrison,” I said, a grim satisfaction settling in my chest. “I’m broadcasting.”
With a final press, the phone’s screen flickered, showing a small red ‘LIVE’ indicator. Below it, a counter started: “Viewers: 1.” Then “15.” Then “300.”
“This is Dr. Evelyn Garrett, live from the Okeechobee Herpetological Preserve,” I stated, holding the phone steady, panning it slightly to include the struggling Mark and the frantic Harrison, then back to the financial ledger scrolling on the wall screen. “My husband, Mark Adler, and his father, Dr. Harrison Adler, just attempted to murder me in this king cobra pit.”
Harrison gasped, spinning to face me, his face contorted with rage. “You little psychopath! Turn that off!” He lunged, but I stepped back, keeping the phone pointed.
“This data,” I continued, pointing the phone at the terminal, “shows how Dr. Harrison Adler systematically bankrupted my sister Maya’s bio-tech lab. Over twelve million dollars in grant funds diverted, patent applications sabotaged, all to clear the way for their own bio-pharma land grab.”
The viewer count skyrocketed: “1,500.” “3,000.” Comments started scrolling beneath the live feed, a torrent of outrage and disbelief.
“You forced Maya’s lab into default, Harrison,” I pressed, my voice steady. “You knew the explosion was coming. You planned it.”
Harrison, still trying to grasp the magnitude of what I was doing, stumbled backward. “That’s a lie! Maya’s death was an accident! A tragic accident!”
“Was it?” I countered, zooming the camera onto his face. “Or was it the only way to silence her, to seize her serum research once she got too close to your dirty land deals?”
Mark let out another choked moan, his body twitching again, closer to the cobra’s previous strike zone. The sight of his son’s suffering broke Harrison.
He threw his hands up, his voice cracking, “Alright! Alright! It was… it was becoming a problem! Her research was interfering with our plans! She wouldn’t sell! We needed the land for the new facility, the one worth twelve million dollars! You think I wanted her dead? I just wanted her out of the way!”
The admission hung in the air, captured live, timestamped, and broadcast to thousands of horrified viewers. Harrison’s face, twisted with panic and guilt, was plastered across untold screens. The viewer count shot past ten thousand. Brenda Vance-Loomis herself was tweeting about it.
“He’s dying, Evie,” Harrison whimpered, collapsing to his knees beside Mark, tears streaming down his face. “Please, the antivenom. I’ve told them everything. Just save my son.”
I looked at the raw venom in the syringe, then at Mark’s rapidly deteriorating state. His pulse was weak, his skin clammy. The immediate threat of the cobra was gone, replaced by the slow, inexorable march of a potent neurotoxin.
I knew the stakes. My leverage was fleeting, dependent on Mark’s survival. And now, the entire world was watching.
“I have the dose, Harrison,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, but amplified by the live feed. “But this chamber isn’t secure. And I’m not giving it to you where your hired goons can rush me the moment Mark is stabilized. Where is the safe room? The one with the original sample archives?”
Harrison, desperate, pointed a trembling finger at a heavy, blast-proof door across the room. “There. To your left. It’s fully armored. Pressure sealed.”
“Good,” I said, my gaze hardening. “We’re going in there. And we’re taking the antivenom with us.”
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