Buck trotted ahead and opened the door, praying that somebody had already checked it and cleared any remains. He pushed the door open and was greeted with stale air. He glanced to Roger. “I don’t think anybody has been in this one.”
Roger nodded as he helped the man up the front stoop. “We’ve been relocating to this area. At least you’ll have some neighbors nearby.” He tried to sound chipper and hopeful, but he knew that if the man’s wife was dead, there was little hope.
The old man tugged at the shredded remains of his shirt and brushed the few stray hairs still clinging to his head over to the side. He absently tucked one tail of his torn shirt into the belt of his trousers and stepped deeper into the house. “Evelyn?” His voice cracked as he called out.
He slowly extended a hand and braced himself on a wall, his filthy hands smearing a brown stain on the ivory paint. “Evelyn, honey…I’m home.” He almost began to sob as he called out.
Roger looked at Buck and slowly shook his head. “Let’s get you someplace comfortable,” Roger said softly, leading him into the living room. “You must be exhausted after—”
“You don’t understand!” he barked, his jaw quivering. “I have to find her.”
Roger stepped back, afraid that he was about to become violent like the first woman he’d met. He gave Buck a slight shake of the head. “We’ll look around for you.”
Buck turned and went through the kitchen. He felt oddly like he shouldn’t be reading the little notes on the fridge. “Get Milk,” “Call Steven,” “Service Car.” He turned and went over the scattered mail on the counter. “I got nothing in here.”
Roger checked the little sewing room off of the dining room then turned for the stairs. “I’ll check up here. You watch our new friend and—” He froze, his eyes searching for the old man. “Oh, no.”
He ran for the stairs and stopped at the top. He could see into the master bedroom and the old man was sitting on the bed, weeping.
Roger rounded the top of the stairs and slowly made his way to where the old man sat. “We didn’t find anything down…” His voice trailed off.
His eyes fell on the woman’s remains, still tucked in bed.
The old man pulled the covers up tighter and patted where her shoulder would be. “I’m so sorry.” Roger was certain he wasn’t talking to him. “I tried to get back…I really did.” He sobbed as he slowly came to his feet. “I’m so sorry, Evie. I’m so sorry.”
Roger stood silently by, allowing the man his grief. He barely noticed Buck when he appeared by his side. “We should watch him,” Buck whispered.
Roger nodded slowly. “We will.”
Carol stripped her gloves and tossed them in the trash. “Good heavens, the smell!” She covered her nose and reached for the Vicks again.
“He’s hosing out her cell. Unfortunately the ventilation down here isn’t that grand,” Irene stated, reaching for the vent closest to the cells. “I know this is supposed to be return air, but wow. That is na-sty.”
Randy held the face mask in place as he shot water across the backside of the acrylic cell. “Dear god—I can taste it.” He stumbled out and dropped the hose, retching to the side. “How can they live like this?”
“They’re feral,” Broussard stated flatly. “They have no idea what they do.” He snuck a peak at the woman strapped to the table. “Do you, you poor, mindless thing?”
She growled and gnawed at the rubber ball in her mouth.
“It appears that she knows you’re talking to her,” Tammy replied.
“Only because I made eye contact.” Broussard turned away and faced Carol. “If I look at somebody else and declare that this thing on the table doesn’t have the sense god gave a gnat…” He glanced to Tammy who nodded.
“No reaction.”
He turned and faced Tammy. “And if she doesn’t cooperate, we’ll put a bullet in her head and bury her behind the facility.”
Tammy shook her head. “Still the same.”
“But if I turn and make eye contact…” He bent low and peered into her face. “Even if I tell her what a good girl she is and that she’s so pretty covered in her own fecal matter…”
The woman struggled against the restraints and snapped at him again. He stood up and sighed. “Either that or they’ve lost the ability to understand language.”
“Which is a distinct possibility,” Carol added. “We ran a brain scan earlier and look at this.” She pointed to the temporal lobe. “Her amygdala lit up like the Fourth of July with the slightest stimulation.”
Andre sighed. “The rest of the brain is basically asleep.” He rubbed at his chin as he watched the transition. “I almost wish we could insert a probe and wake it up.”
“So she’d be angry and capable of thought?” Carol clucked her tongue. “With the strength these people have, she just might figure out a way to get loose.”
Andre sighed and fell back in his chair. “I’m running out of ideas.”
She gave him a knowing glance. “Because you want to dope her with a psychedelic and your focus won’t shift from that idea.”
He nodded. “You’re right.” He leaned back in his chair and groaned. “But I can’t let the idea go because I think it’s a reasonable course.”
Carol sighed and set the scans down. “What would you do?”
He sat up and raised a brow at her. “I’d start with minimal doses and follow her reactions.” He sat forward and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. “I’d allow enough time for the drug to work through her system, then I’d step up the next dose. Slowly, of course, but…”
Carol stepped closer and gave him a steady stare. “If we can’t figure anything out in…” She trailed off, her eyes scanning the clock. “Give us thirty-six hours. If we are still
