Stubin flashed his crooked teeth. “Everything dies, Josh.”
Josh wasn’t convinced. “One of them, Ajax, is the biggest guy I’ve ever seen. Has to be seven feet tall.”
“Human growth hormone experimentation. I’ve studied that. Very difficult to pull off. You said there are four of them?”
“Four that we know about. Ajax, Santiago, Taylor, and Bernie.”
“A Red-ops unit in Wisconsin. Amazing.”
Josh didn’t care for the note of admiration in Stubin’s voice. “You think terrorism is amazing?”
Stubin shifted, pushing Woof off to the side.
“You have to understand, Josh. Pure research doesn’t exist anymore. You need to have funding. There are the pharmaceutical companies, but they only dump money into drugs. Charities and philanthropists are trying to cure cancer and AIDS. The only group willing to pay for cutting-edge research is the military, and only if it is applicable to some aspect of warfare. But this research has farther-reaching applications. Think of a world without learning disabilities. Where brain disorders are things of the past. Where people could be programmed to know right from wrong and criminal impulses could be controlled.”
“And what about freedom of choice?” Fran asked.
Stubin leaned forward. “Do you really believe that freedom of choice exists? India still has a caste system. Most of the Middle East treats women as inferiors and those who practice other religions as enemies. China regulates how many children couples can have, genocide abounds in South America and Africa, Malaysia has a booming underage sex trade, and the list goes on and on. All around the world the people in power abuse it and human rights are ignored. But what if we were incapable of hurting our fellow man? What if our core impulse was to help each other rather than control each other? The human race is destructive. This research could fix it. Purify it.”
“I remember another historical figure trying to purify the human race,” Josh said. “It didn’t work out so well.”
Stubin sneered. “Hitler was a fool. You can’t breed perfection out of an imperfect species. Genetics are the problem, not the answer.”
Josh looked at Fran and saw she was thinking the same thing he was: Stubin had a few loose screws. But the army must have brought him here for a reason other than lectures.
“So what’s your function in this?” Josh asked.
“I’m here in an advisory capacity. But unless I can contact the military, my role here is pretty much useless. When I tried to get close, they shot at me.”
“And why did you bring the monkey?”
“If I leave Mathison home alone, he gets bored, drinks all the beer, and breaks things. Or maybe he does it out of revenge. When I teach him sign language someday, that’s the first thing I’ll ask him. Where are we going, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The roadblock won’t let us get to the hospital, so we’re visiting a local doctor to patch up Duncan and Fran.”
“Is the doctor nearby? I noticed we just turned onto Old Mason Road.”
Josh raised an eyebrow. “He lives off Old Mason, at the end of Duck Bill. Are you familiar with the area?”
“I memorized the maps while taking the helicopter here.”
“The helicopter. That was the explosion earlier?”
“Unfortunately. They landed at the Red-ops crash site. Apparently it had been booby-trapped.”
Josh had searched the crash site thoroughly but hadn’t seen any traps or explosives. He must have gotten lucky and not triggered any.
They drove for another ten minutes. Josh kept glancing over at Fran, checking on her, and twice he caught her looking back at him. If they got through this,
He turned off of Old Mason, onto a sand and gravel road surrounded by forest.
“This is Duck Bill?” Stubin asked. “Why hasn’t it been paved?”
“That comes up every few years at the town meeting. The residents here say they like their roads rustic and old-fashioned and want to keep them that way. I think it’s because they don’t like change.”
“Change is inevitable,” Stubin said. “You can’t ignore technology.”
“Ignoring it and choosing not to embrace it are two different things, I think,” Josh said. “Here we are.”
He parked the Roadmaster on the grass next to Doc Wainwright’s house and touched Fran’s shoulder. “I’m going to see if he’s home. Do you and Duncan want to come in with me?”
“Duncan’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him up.”
“Will you be okay?”
Fran met his eyes. “We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
Josh let his hand linger for longer than necessary, then nodded and exited the vehicle. The general practitioner lived in a ranch, on the west shore of Big Lake McDonald, surrounded by trees. His electricity seemed to be out, just like everyone else’s. Josh had visited him once at his office in town to have a large splinter removed from his palm. He found Wainwright’s bedside manner excellent and his skill with a scalpel and tweezers adequate at best. The quintessential country doctor.
He approached the front door warily, as if something might pop out at him at any moment. The woods—a source of tranquility for Josh as long as he could remember—no longer seemed safe or familiar. Josh stopped and studied a shadow on the porch, judged it to be a lawn chair, and continued onward. He knocked three times, waited, and knocked again.
“Doc? It’s Josh VanCamp, from the fire department. I have some people here that need medical attention.”
Josh waited and knocked once more. No sounds of life from inside the house. The doctor was either a heavy sleeper or he’d been lured into town by the promise of lottery riches. On impulse, Josh tried the doorknob. Unlocked, just like most houses in the Northwoods.
“I’m going to check if he’s home!” Josh shouted back to Fran.
He wondered whether she and Duncan would be okay with Dr. Stubin and decided to chance it. Even with everything that had happened to her, Fran seemed able to take care of herself just fine. When they were dating, Fran had told him she suffered from panic attacks. He’d even seen it happen once, during a Tilt-a-Whirl ride at a carnival he’d taken her and Duncan to. Fran froze up when the ride ended, and it took Josh and two carnies to pry her hands off the safety bar and remove her from the car. Perhaps she’d since conquered her demons.
Josh entered the house cautiously. He was breaking and entering, and if Wainwright was waiting in the darkness with a shotgun he’d have every right to blow Josh’s head off. But Josh was willing to risk it. Even if the doctor wasn’t in he probably had medical supplies. God only knew when they’d get Fran to a hospital. At the very least she needed antibiotics.
“Doc! You home? Anyone here?”
No answer.
He tried the light switch on the wall, which didn’t work, and made his way into the kitchen by feel. People kept flashlights in easy-to-reach places, like drawers, or atop the refrigerator. The latter is where Josh found a Maglite, one of the models that used half a dozen D batteries, making it a weapon, as well. He spotted Wainwright’s phone. A busy signal. Then he searched cabinets, discovering only dishes and canned goods.
Moving on, Josh located Wainwright’s office and quickly found a medical cabinet stuffed with equipment. Josh filled a pillowcase with free samples of Cipro, a vial of lidocaine hydrochloride, a can of aerosol antiseptic spray, two sealed syringes, some acetaminophen samples, forceps, hydrogen peroxide, and a sealed suture needle package.
Outside he heard Woof bark.
Not a friendly bark. A warning bark.
Something was happening. Something bad.
Josh rushed out of the office, through the front door, just in time to see the Roadmaster pulling away down
