Pavlov's Dogs (21 page)

Keeping his plastic-wrap gloves on for last, Ken managed to pull everything off and wad it all into the trashcan, all without making contact with the blood. He had taken a class once on decontamination techniques. It had worked wonders for the asbestos job, but he had never thought it would be useful in real life.

Ken went to the mirror and immediately paled. He felt it happen, the heat in his face draining away as if blood flow had just switched off. The pallor of his cheek made the bright-red drop stand out even brighter.

Ken rushed into one of the stalls and dropped to his knees, splashing his face in a bowl. The toilets were one of the group’s only sources of drinkable water, aside from the hope of falling rain. He hated to ruin any of it, but...

He fished under the stall door and grabbed a sock, which he used to scrub his cheek.

Not too hard
, he thought.
Can’t rub it raw
.

The thought piqued a sudden gag reflex, and Ken hunched over the ceramic pot. His whole torso clenched as he tried not to puke. The reflex was so intense it wrung a squeak from the back of his throat.

Then he was breathing hard and spitting—he hadn’t puked.

He wished he had.

In the silence, it became painfully aware to him that the moans from the other room had been silenced.

After a few seconds, Kelly poked her head in. “Ken?”

His eyelids trembled as he hovered over the water, which he knew was trembling too—he could feel it, everything trembling. Was it coming from him? Was it coming
for
him? Was a drop on the skin enough? His stomach gave a wrench again as he thought about it.

“Ken, we really need to get going.”

In the echoing acoustics of the bathroom tile, he could hear his people shouting from down by the barricade, and then he could hear the things outside again, pounding to be let in. The commotion earlier, and the sound of the axe striking concrete, must have roused them.

The axe had struck concrete over and over.

Wouldn’t be much longer now.

“Kelly,” Ken said, “did you... cover them up?”

“Ken, please—”

“Did you cover them up?!”

“Yes, of course. We were very respectful. The pastor even said a few words.”

Ken nodded, even though Kelly couldn’t see him. He swallowed one last mouthful of thick, viscous saliva and said, “I’ll be right out.”

He knew he was alone again when the pounding and constant moans quieted back down—the door had swung shut.

Finally Ken opened his eyes.

He could see his own silhouette reflecting in the toilet, staring right back at him.

In the water, he also saw a little diffused ribbon of pink.

The blood spot from his cheek.

Ken met his own eyes in the water, but his reflection’s eyes were different, alien, just gleaming slivers where the incoming sun highlighted the whites. It stared back at him without intelligence, a mocking glimpse of a possible future.

One last time, Ken’s body seized up. The sob was dull yet sharp, and it speared him from neck to gut. But it barely made it out of his mouth.

Ken pushed himself up from the toilet, took one last deep breath, and left the restroom to go help. It was his job, after all. Just another employee.

THREE THETA DOGS paced around the barracks in Alpha McLoughlin’s wake, talking amongst themselves in low voices. McLoughlin had heard news from quarantine. Something had been found during the screening of the Dogs, but he hadn’t heard what it was, or whether it was Kristos or Samson. The six Sigmas milled aimlessly in the middle area. Alpha Mac turned suddenly, and all the Dogs stopped to look at him.

“What?
What?
I don’t know what’s happening now. Nobody does.” He gritted his teeth. “Why are you still following me?”

The Thetas looked at each other. Hayte and Rose looked to Landis, who sighed. He hated being the spokesperson, especially when Mac was in such a foul mood.

“We heard about the memorial for Dr. Crispin. And we were kind of wondering, you know, if we could do something of our own. For Dunne.”

McLoughlin’s face lost some of its harsh lines.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, of course. When the rest of the pack gets back from the screening, we’ll talk about it.”

His face reddened a bit. Kristos and Samson had yet to return from the screening, and word had gotten back there was something wrong. But they were always finding something wrong. Without fail. The neurotech interns meant well, but they were using prototype equipment on next-generation biosystems. There was no real training program for it. The techs always found something in their scans, and it was never anything. McLoughlin shook his head.

Open jaw, insert paw.

One of the Sigmas straightened and walked over. The man had tattooed the number 37 between his eyebrows. All Sigmas had a number, stenciled on their uniforms in place of their names.

They understood that their value in operations was low. Instead of letting it crush their spirits, they took it as a badge of honor; every war needs its foot soldiers. So one day they had snuck off the island, and the next day they returned with the tattoos: the numbers on their foreheads; and on their backs, MORITURI TE SALUTAMOS.

McLoughlin hadn’t found it in his heart to punish them for it. Dr. Crispin had felt otherwise.

Sigma 37 stopped in front of Alpha McLoughlin and came to attention, standing ramrod straight, thumbs down along the seams of his BDUs, his shoulders thrown back and his feet together. “Respectfully request permission to speak freely, sir.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, McLoughlin noted the Thetas had turned to listen.

“Go ahead, 37.”

“Thank you, sir. We, meaning the Sigmas, have waited for a long time for an opportunity to pull our own weight, sir. We were in training with Theta Dunne. He had ideas on how we should work together, since we’re not as strong or fast as the Thetas. A modified pack attack.”

The Alpha looked over at the Thetas, who were smiling.

“If there is another rescue op, sir, we would like to ride along. We were waiting for Dunne to make the suggestion for us, so we could stage a demonstration, but...”

“I understand,” McLoughlin said.

“Thank you, sir. With Theta Kaiser in the brig and Dunne KIA, we are ready to do our part.”

“When the rest of the Dogs are back, we’ll talk about that too. Dismissed.”

Sigma 37 threw up a crisp salute, which McLoughlin returned. Smiling.

’

“Which one is it?” Donovan asked, walking quickly to keep up with the younger, taller intern. Summer Chan opened the door for him and he breezed through, ignoring her answer. They were already there, he would see for himself.

He stopped short of the doorway into the Dogs’ examination room. There was dark blood everywhere, and he wasn’t sure whose it was. Kristos stood behind Samson with his arm snaked around the Beta’s neck, struggling to lock in a rear naked choke. Samson, streaked with blood, was snarling at Scott and Gary as they cowered behind an instrument cart. Both Dogs were still in human form, straining against each other. Donovan took all this in, then crouched down to get a better look at the red marks on Samson’s leg.

“Is that a bite?”

“We think so,” said Summer Chan, brushing her blond hair out of her face, smearing a bit of the blood across her forehead. “We haven’t been able to get close enough to tell. As soon as we tried to check it—”

“It’s a bite,” Kristos snarled out. “I can smell it.”

“Well,” Donovan said, rubbing his temples with his forefingers, “he’ll have to be quarantined, obviously.”

“Great!” Kristos shouted. “That’s just great. Now how about some tranquilizer over here?”

Gary and Scott both turned and dove for the red plastic cube on the wall, tangling limbs as they reached for the handle. “Let go!” Scott yelled as they both stumbled to the side.

“Boys,” Summer muttered. She skipped over and knocked them both out of the way, then ripped the box open. Inside lay a matte-black pistol. She turned with it, leveling the barrel at the struggling Dogs. With a slight trembling in her hands, she put her thumb on the firing stud on the top of the gun.

“This has to go in the neck,” she said. “Your systems are so good at keeping out—”

“I don’t care!” Kristos yelled.

“Fine. But you’ll have to move your arm.”

“Bullshit,” Kristos said through gritted teeth. “I move my arm and you’re a dead woman.”

“Well, there’s no other way!”

Kristos heaved back on Samson, who was still reaching out, looking to grab anyone foolish enough to come close. Reason was gone from his eyes.

“We better do it before the Change hits him,” Kristos said.

“That is a good idea,” Donovan added.

Summer yelled, “Then move your arm—move it!”

Pulling back on the Beta Dog with all his might, Kristos arched himself backwards, and when he couldn’t go any farther, he counted down.

“Three. Two.”

Samson roared.

“One!”

Kristos let go of the Beta, who lunged forward. The muscles in his arms started to ripple as he began the Change, and Summer Chan dropped to one knee, aiming the gun.

Pock!

A little dart buried itself in Samson’s neck as he plowed forward. Summer curled into a ball, and the Beta Dog’s knees hit her. He fell, smacking his face on the bloody cement. His breath came in rasps, and the Change reversed, hair and extra cells shedding all over the floor. The bite on his leg festered and bled.

“Now what?” Kristos said.

Donovan snapped his fingers. “Pick him up. I know where we have to go. And someone sterilize this mess!” He turned. “You, Chan.”

“Yes, sir?” the intern said from the floor.

He smiled with warmth. “Good work. Clean yourself up and go get Alpha McLoughlin. Tell him to gather the Dogs and meet me by the sparring cage.”

’

As he waited for the Dogs to show, Donovan paced outside the fenced-in area, tapping his chin and cursing Crispin’s memory.
You contrary bastard. If you’d left me the termination codes, I could do this myself.

He stared down at Samson’s form, watching the midsection rise and fall with the Dog’s heavy breathing. The tranquilizer had worked immediately, but no one knew for sure how long it would last, because it had only been used on a Sigma before. Metabolic rates varied with each Dog’s strength level, and sooner or later, the sedative would be out of the Beta’s system.

Plus, there’s the virus.

The sound of running feet turned Donovan around, and he smothered the smile that wanted to sprout on his face. His tools couldn’t know the spirit in which they were being used.

Putting a dour look on his face, he stepped forward to greet Alpha McLoughlin.

“I’m sorry for you to have to find out this way,” he said, extending a hand to the big man. McLoughlin brushed past the new project director and locked his fingers in the fence of the sparring cage.

“How long has he had it?”

Donovan stepped up next to McLoughlin. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that. On your last operation, the Dog Pack pulled back before any engagement with the zombies at North Regional, isn’t that right?”

McLoughlin scowled. “That’s right. But when we got to the marina, Samson cleared the pier. God
damn
it!” He hit the fence. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“He can’t hear you,” Donovan said.

“Tranqs?”

Donovan nodded. “He became irrational in the exam room, and if Theta Kristos hadn’t been there to hold him back, who knows?” He sidled in closer to the Alpha. “I know this is all very sudden, but a decision has to be made. Now.”

Alpha McLoughlin looked down at Donovan. “What are you planning, Doctor? He’s isolated. That much is certain. Dr. Crispin factored in our abilities when he built the sparring cage.” He bunched his hand into a fist and hit one of the beams that supported the fence. “Even me. In full Change, on amphetamines and adrenaline, there’s no way I could get out of this cage.”

Rubbing his temples again, Donovan closed his eyes. “I understand that. I do. The thing is, Alpha, we have a population of survivors who have also just been screened, and they’ve been split yet again. A great many of them have gone into extra quarantine, and we can’t be seen
favoring
the Dogs.

“Samson is a special case. This may sound callous to you, but as a scientist, I would like to study him as the bite takes effect.”

McLoughlin’s face clouded over.

“But I’m not going to favor him. I can’t.” Donovan looked back over his shoulder at the large quarantine area, just within sight of the sparring cage. “These people are us now. They are us. And we have to apply everything equally. Samson is effectively quarantined, yes, but we sent all the others into the kennels underground. Samson will have to be in isolation there, too.”