“IF he comes to the door.” Buck shook his head. “And when have you ever approved a plan that simple? If it doesn’t require somebody to rappel through a skylight and plant charges or skydive through a funnel, or…some other weird-ass shit, you think it’s too simple.” He pointed down the hall. “Don’t make me pull the ‘wiser than my years’ card.”
Hatcher chuckled then nodded. “Fine. You and Stanton win this round.” Hatcher pointed at him. “But if Simon doesn’t try something stupid tonight, then first break of dawn, we go after him. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Buck reached for his own door. “You get some rest and we’ll hunt first thing in the morning.” He pushed the door open and eyed Hatcher as he turned and walked slowly toward his own room. When he disappeared through the door, Buck stepped into the room he shared with Skeeter and got a glare that he wasn’t expecting. “Hi honey, I’m home.”
“Tell me you didn’t chase after Hatcher when he took off.”
Buck grinned at her sheepishly. “Okay. I won’t tell you that.”
Skeeter’s eyes narrowed on him. “You’re supposed to be smarter than that.”
His grin widened. “According to Hatcher I’m wise beyond my years.”
She shook her head at him. “Not to me, you’re not.” She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Pull a stunt like that again and I’m liable to pinch your head off.”
Buck nodded slowly. “Okay. Then don’t look for me first thing in the morning.” He watched her face go slack for a moment. “We found where they’re hiding. We’re going to flush out Simon.”
She slowly smiled. “It’s about damned time he gets what he deserves.”
Broussard chewed nervously on his thumbnail as the printer spat out the results of the tests. He ripped the page from the machine and held it next to the previous printout. “I’ll be damned.”
“What?” Miller asked.
“You hit the nail on the head.” He handed him the dual printouts. “You’re either quite intuitive, or…” He trailed off.
Miller scanned the printouts and smiled. “Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.”
Broussard shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a moment.” He sat back and assessed the ship’s doctor. “What was your primary field of study before medical school?”
Miller handed him back the reports then sat down, rolling his sleeve up as he spoke. “Forensic biology.” He held his arm out. “Test me.”
Broussard gave him a confused look. “Why?”
“Why do you think? I want to know which variant pumps through my veins.” He pushed his arm closer. “Just be easy. I’m afraid of needles.”
Broussard raised a brow at him. “Really?”
“I can’t even draw blood. I always make a corpsman do it for me.” He closed his eyes and looked away while Broussard retrieved the necessary items. He wrapped a rubber strap around his upper arm while he prepared the needle.
“I’d like to find a way…” Broussard paused while he tapped at the large vein in the crook of the man’s arm, “to field test the variants.”
“Like a litmus test?”
“Mm-hmm.” Broussard sat back and pressed a cotton ball to the site. “All done.”
Miller’s eyes shot open and he stared at his arm. “Wow, you’re good. I never felt a thing.” He snatched a roll of tape, held one end in his teeth, tore off a strip and pressed a piece over the cotton ball. “How long?”
“For the results? Not long.”
“The field test.”
“Oh.” Broussard placed the small test tube in a centrifuge and shut the top. “I’m not even sure if a simple test could be developed. I was just dreaming aloud.”
Miller leaned back and stared into the corners. “But if it could be done…”
“Then we’d be able to tell right away which variant someone carried.” He turned worried eyes to him. “We could weed out those with violent tendencies. Hopefully, before they could harm somebody else.”
Miller gave him a solemn look. “What would we do with them?”
Broussard shrugged. “That’s above me. I don’t make those decisions.”
“But if you did…”
Broussard blew his breath out hard. “I don’t know. Incarcerate them?”
“Even if they hadn’t acted on those violent impulses?”
He glanced at him. “Have you seen our subject? If they have it, they’ll act on it.”
Miller shrugged. “You can’t be certain.”
Broussard sat forward and cupped his hands together. “Dr. McAlester was one of the nicest…most gentle people I’d ever met. Sheepish, even, in a lot of ways. Very much an introvert.”
Miller raised a brow. “And now he’s the exact opposite.”
“Almost as though he’d been lobotomized.”
Miller sat back and eyed him carefully. “And you’re aware of what a frontal lobotomy does to violent people?”
Broussard nodded. “But until we have more data, we can’t be certain that the mutated variant won’t make violent people even more violent.”
“True.” Miller rocked back and forth in his chair. “I think we need field data.”
Broussard snorted. “You’ll never convince the captain of that one, I assure you.”
Miller slowly came to his feet. “Never say never.”
Hank stepped out of the pharmacy and shook his head. “I’m not finding it.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” Charlie Winslow set down the radio he’d been messing with and gave Hank his full attention.
“Some medicine for Wally.” He pulled out his list and looked at the phonetically spelled medication. “He called it topimarate.”
“Topamax,” Charlie smiled. “My wife used to take that for migraines.”
“Okay.” Hank stuffed the paper back into his pocket. “I don’t suppose she has any left?”
His face hardened and he shook his head. “She passed away a few months before all of this went down.”
“I’m sorry.” Hank stepped up into the cab of the big flatbed truck. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” He gave him a sad smile. “I miss her every day, but I’m also thankful she didn’t have to deal with all of this.”
“I hear ya.” Hank started the truck and turned away. “There’s another pharmacy a couple of miles from here.”
Charlie tapped his shoulder. “There’s an Albertsons
