The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 53

Half an hour later.

The black Maybach rolled over the puddles and parked outside Evergreen Memorial Park. Holding an umbrella, Garrison Foster walked slowly into the grounds, eventually stopping before a pristine white headstone.

The space in front of the grave was empty. Only the flattened, wet grass suggested someone had recently been there.

Garrison's heart sank. He scanned his surroundings, but the relentless rain only blurred his vision.

Just then, at the edge of the dark moss, a speck of stark white caught his eye.

Garrison stepped closer and crouched down. It was a pill.

A pill?

He bent to pick up the small white tablet. It was slightly swollen from the rain, its edges beginning to dissolve. It had no markings, no distinct shape. He brought it to his nose, but it had no discernible scent.

Yet, his instinct as a doctor told him this was no ordinary medication. It looked like... some kind of painkiller?

Suddenly, he remembered the white pill bottle sitting on Sloane's nightstand that morning. Was she taking medication? What kind of condition required these pills? And why would one be dropped here?

Garrison frowned. Silently, he carefully wrapped the damp pill in his handkerchief and slipped it into his pocket.

*

A few days later, in a coach's office at the Metropolitan Aquatics Center.

"Think about it again? You're the most experienced polar diver we have..." Quentin Hayes gripped the phone, his knuckles turning white, a trace of desperation in his voice.

An apologetic tone drifted through the receiver. "Coach, it's not that I don't want to help, but my wife is pregnant, and my mom's health isn't great. I really can't leave for six months right now..."

Quentin stared at her for two seconds before abruptly standing up. "What did you say? You want to go to Antarctica? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Hearing Sloane's confirmation, Quentin was overjoyed. Two weeks had passed, and he had assumed her silence was a polite rejection.

He never expected she would actually agree!

"Come in, have a seat!" Quentin hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette and gestured to the sofa opposite his desk. "Don't rush, let me explain the project to you in detail."

Quentin spread a map across the coffee table, his long fingers pointing to specific locations.

"Our mission is called 'Project Deep Ice.' The goal is to locate a specific phagocytic bacterium in Antarctica called 'The White Microbe.' Finding it means breaking the Western monopoly on this technology and ensuring a stable medical supply for our country. Don't underestimate this little microbe—it's supposedly the key to helping humanity cure cancer. Look here. We'll start from Argentina, push through the roaring storm bands of the Weddell Sea, navigate the ice, and finally reach The White Lake near the South Pole. Once there, we'll drill through the surface and extract ice core samples from the lake, which is buried nearly 2,600 feet deep..."