“Sure it does.”
Both men turned and stared at Sinner leaning against the wall. He held his bandages as he stumbled into the room and sat gingerly on the couch.
“How you figure?” Simon asked.
“They knew that we knew where they were. They had no choice but leave.” He shrugged with his good shoulder. “A place that big is too hard to tighten the defenses on.”
Simon began to pace again. “And you didn’t see anything that might point out where they went?”
Shooter shook his head. “Other than garbage and dead bodies, there was nothing. It’s like they were all geared up to split.”
Simon fell into the overstuffed recliner and nodded slowly. “So maybe they’re like us. They keep a go-bag and a ride standing by. They just move from place to place.” He looked to Sinner who shook his head again.
“Sorry boss. I didn’t see everything when I was there, but it looked like that place was a home to them. They aren’t the types to live out of a go-bag.”
Shooter nodded, “Agreed.” He turned to Simon. “I heard them talk about making it a community. You know, rebuild mankind, that sort of shit.”
Simon stifled a curse. “So they could be anywhere.” He threw his hands up then rubbed at his aching temples. “I need another drink.”
“They weren’t in any of the buildings close by,” Shooter offered. “I could stake out the place. If they come back, I can follow them.”
Simon shook his head. “If they stripped the place then they ain’t coming back.” He fished in the cushion of the chair and pulled out an empty pint bottle. With a grunt he tossed it across the room and was disappointed that it didn’t shatter.
Sinner laid back on the couch and propped his head on the arm. “We could search for them. This town ain’t that damned big.”
Simon shook his head again. “The more time we spend out there, the more we run the risk of running into Ragers. I don’t want them following us back here.”
Shooter sat up and eyed Simon carefully. “Does that mean we’re staying put?”
Simon sighed heavily and avoided his gaze. “It means we’re staying here until we find the Cagers and get our people back.” He scanned the room, looking for a bottle of anything. “After we pick them clean and leave their bodies for the infected, we pack up and hit the road again.”
Shooter’s shoulders fell and he nodded. “No chance of staying, huh?”
Simon gave him a sidelong stare. “Don’t tell me that the guy who hates crowds is buying into the whole ‘rebuilding mankind’ bullshit?”
Shooter shrugged. “It sounds better than going town to town scavenging.” He turned a solemn face to Simon. “It feels like we’re rifling through the trash cans for scraps.”
Simon snorted and motioned toward the windows. “That’s what the world is now. One giant trash can.” He came to his feet and stepped toward the garage door and the whisky he knew was out there. “And we’re the lucky sons of bitches who get to run it.”
“So, by exploiting these genes, we can control all of the variants?” Carol stared at the printout in her hand.
Broussard nodded. “The splicing will have to be careful. With the restriction enzymes we have available, we will have to take our best guesses at how best to accomplish our goal.”
She stepped back and eyed him carefully. “And what exactly do you think we can do?”
Broussard glanced around the room, hoping that the military hadn’t truly bugged the lab. “If we are fortunate, perhaps we can force all the variants to go dormant.”
Carol raised a brow. “Like…permanently dormant?”
“Oui.” Broussard leaned back in his seat and eyed her carefully. “Originally I had hoped to revert all of the infected back to the primordial variant; in this way, perhaps Dr. LaRue’s treatment would have worked.”
“But now?” she asked, her voice unable to hide the hope that she felt.
“Now…I think it may be possible to bring all of them under control.” He blew his breath out hard and raised his brows at her. “Possibly null each one.”
“So…a cure.”
He shrugged slightly. “I cannot call it a cure. But it would neuter the virus, rendering it asymptomatic. Like the herpes virus, non? Once you have it, you always have it. However, unlike the herpes virus which may resurface at any time, if we are careful here we may restore the infected to something akin to what they were before.”
“Wait, what do you mean? Something ‘akin’ to what they were before?”
“We cannot know the long term damage that they have suffered from the infection; at best, our results will vary from subject to subject.” He held a hand up to stop her then rolled his chair across the lab. “Look closely. This is from the one patient that showed improvement with Vivian’s treatment. Although he appeared ‘cured,’ if there was diagnostic testing performed, I have not seen the results.” He turned to her. “Did you?”
Carol shook her head. “No, but I did speak with him; the patient, that is.”
“Excellent. But without a baseline to how he was before, we cannot know whether his ‘personality’ was altered or…” He shrugged again. “But it is a beginning.”
Carol nodded, still stubbornly clinging to hope. “Then let’s get started.”
Broussard shook his head. “We lack fundamental supplies for gene splicing.” He gave her a sad grin. “And even if we had such equipment, how would we apply the treatment to the infected throughout the world?”
She fell back into her chair and fought the urge to cry. “Then why are we bothering? If we can’t use it then—”
“I didn’t say it couldn’t be used.” He patted her shoulder. “We can use the CRISPR method to recreate the virus; it is a most accurate procedure.” He shook his head. “But introducing that virus to an infected person…this
