Page 40 of Stout Bear

Moments later, the waitress returned with Laney’s salad, setting it on the table. She took a bite, chewing slowly as she considered what she’d heard. Laney stabbed another piece of lettuce with her fork. She wondered how quickly livestock could show symptoms from contaminated water.

Laney paid her bill and left a tip. She gathered her notebook and headed straight back to the Bright Institute. She had to do something about this before anyone else got hurt.

Laney organizedeach sample on a stainless-steel counter in the lab, labeling them meticulously. A passing lab assistant gave her a quick nod of greeting but kept walking, sensing her concentration. Tension coiled in her stomach. Memories of the fiasco at her old job fueled her resolve not to be dismissed this time. Laney readied her laptop, pulling up baseline data from the earlier test results.

“New sample from the brewery… let’s see if these microbes are doing what they claim,” Laney said to herself. Her gut had always told her something was off about the BioClean system.

Laney zoomed in on microscopic slides, carefully photographing each stage of the microbial reaction under the microscope. The computer screen displayed swirling, morphing microbial colonies, each dot labeled with digital pointers for size and shape.

She noticed unusual clusters forming around the chemical compounds she’d found in the original samples. The images showed the microbes bonding with another unknown substance, forming spiky clusters.

“You’re not cleaning… you’re mutating.” Laney said under her breath. She tapped a pen against the printed microscope images. “Look at that. They’re forming more toxic byproducts instead of neutralizing them.”

Her heart sank. The BioClean microbes did the opposite of what was advertised—they actively increased toxicity. Indignation flared—did Flint do this intentionally, or was it a design flaw?

She lined up lab reports from the first day the BioClean system went online to present day, mapping the progression of contamination spikes. Stacks of paper fanned across her workstation, each with timestamped results in neat rows.

Realization dawned that someone must be introducing chemicals precisely to feed these microbes. She experienced a jolt of anger. This sabotage appeared orchestrated to look harmless at first until it was too late to fix easily.

She felt vindicated yet horrified. Her worst suspicions were confirmed. Laney arranged her findings into a neatly typed summary, including charts and timeline graphs for clarity. She highlighted the correlation between the microbes’ introduction and the increase in mutated toxins. On the last page, she wrote her final note, the one that cemented her theory of orchestrated sabotage.

“Someone must be dumping chemicals to feed these microbes. And the rigged BioClean unit ensures they thrive. The water is being sabotaged from both ends,” Laney read aloud as she typed the last line.

She knew confronting Flint could be dangerous. She steeled herself, preparing to contact the authorities. Laney gathered the printed report, carefully placing it in a protective folder. The lab lights flickered as the janitorial staff began shutting down overhead fixtures, one by one. She called Ivy Bright’s office, leaving a voicemail about her imminent findings and the suspicions.

“Ivy, it’s Laney. It’s time we alert the town council about the water contamination. Maybe they can pressure the county to finally act.”

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Laney steppedinto the packed town hall, carefully carrying her laptop for her presentation. Rows of chairs filled the hall, townspeople squeezed together, a low rumble of conversation echoing off the wooden walls. She scanned the crowd, seeing local shop owners, farmers, Max, Ivy Bright representing the Bright Institute, and other Fate Mountain residents.

A dais sat at the front, where council members shuffled papers and checked microphones. The overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the meeting space, intensifying the feeling of scrutiny and tension.

“Next on the agenda: contamination concerns regarding Fate Mountain’s water supply,” the Council Chairperson said into the mic.

Taking a deep breath, Laney made her way to the council table, uncertain of how they would receive her findings. “Thank you, council members, for allowing me to speak. I have critical evidence to share,” Laney said, her heart pounding.

Laney connected her laptop to the projector, displaying chemical charts and microbial images from her analysis. The projector’s bright beam illuminated color-coded graphs, swirling microbe slides, and timelines of contamination spikes.

She briefly explained her testing methods, highlighting how the BioClean microbes mutated to form more toxic compounds. Her voice started off shaky but gained clarity with each point she uncovered on the slides. A hush settled over the audience, each face reflecting growing concern or stunned disbelief. The council members exchanged wary looks at Laney’s revelations.

“Here you can see the contamination skyrockets once BioClean is introduced—these microbes bond with dumped chemicals to create even worse toxins,” Laney said, pointing at the graph.

“I can confirm that the Bright Institute has already sent Ms. Collins’ chemical signature report from the aquifer to the county. But they have yet to respond due to it being an unidentified compound,” Ivy added.

Flint Calder stood abruptly from the front row, smoothing his impeccable suit. He strode to the makeshift podium, calmly adjusting the microphone as the crowd murmured. Flint’s confident grin and tailored appearance exuded authority. Without waiting for a formal invitation, he launched into a rebuttal. Tension thickened as he directed a pointed stare at Laney.

“Fascinating charts, Ms. Collins,” Flint said. He glanced around. “Your supervisor confirmed that your lab results have already been sent to the county. But you have yet to identify the chemical compound. If the county hasn’t considered this a crisis, why should we.” He stared at her before going on.

“You have a history of crying wolf, don’t you? You lost a job because you overreacted to a minor water issue? Are you sure you aren’t just trying to get brownie points with the full-blooded shifters at the Bright Institute?”

Laney’s stomach churned. The crowd’s attention shifted from her data to her face. Her pulse accelerated, recalling her humiliating past exit from her previous job and the half-shifter stigma she had always battled.

A ripple of whispers spread among the audience: local business owners frowned, farmers exchanged doubtful looks. Council members leaned forward, uncertain who to believe.

“Ms. Collins, is it true you were dismissed for overreacting at your last job?” a council member asked, frowning.

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