Pavlov's Dogs (6 page)

At the podium, Dr. Crispin fiddled with the microphone until a loud click went through the improvised sound system. He was shaking his head and jabbering at Luke Jaden, who stood with his arms crossed, allowing the doctor’s words to wash over him.

That kind of resolve would definitely be an asset
, Donovan thought, taking in the silenced clash of wills. He thought furiously, trying to assimilate what little he knew of the security man, trying to figure out exactly what he could say to sway the man’s vote.

“Are you okay?” Holly Randall said beside him. She gave him a small smile. “A lot is happening on your first day, Doc. I hope your entire time on the island won’t be this way.”

“As do I,” Donovan said. “How will the maintenance department vote?”

Her smile grew. “We’re going to vote yes. The Dogs were designed for military applications, and this kind of proving ground can’t be manufactured.” She nodded. “Dr. Crispin is right. It’s time to let the Dogs off the leash.”

Donovan’s face paled even more. “But they’re untested. Yes, yes, I understand that this scenario seems like an ideal method to shake everything up and see if anything comes loose, but...” His voice drifted off as he noted more than one face turned up to listen. He bit down on the smile that wanted to sprout on his lips.

“They’re unproven in this application. I have no doubts as to the training of the men themselves, of course. Each of the Dogs is a top fighter. But the technology, as advanced a prototype as it is, is still just that. A prototype. I would love to see the Dogs pass this test with flying colors, and I feel absolutely horrible for all the people trapped on the mainland. But...” He ran his hands through his hair. “Do we really want to jeopardize all the years of hard work Dr. Crispin and my predecessor have put into the development of these Dogs?”

He turned to face the formation of genetically-enhanced soldiers. “Magnificent specimens, all of them. But if we send them out, and the technology fails any of them, in any way, that might invite disaster. The notion of a tightly-knit squad, or cohesive unit, is predicated on the principle that every member of the team will fulfill his or her job to the fullest.”

Dr. Crispin, at the podium, had stopped talking at Jaden and was watching Donovan, mouth open.

“As much as I wish we could help people on the mainland, I can’t imagine the potential loss we might incur if any aspect of the technology failed. People who have entrenched themselves, now brought out of hiding by the hope of rescue, might fall to these walking cadavers. We would lose all of them as well as the Dogs.
And
,” he said, putting a finger in the air for emphasis, “if any phase of the rescue mission goes awry, surely the wrath of the Federal Government would be swift and furious.”

He looked around the room.

“Think about that before you vote.”

KEN GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL, and it was all he could do to keep his hands there. They were itching to wrap themselves around a neck, anyone’s neck, just to make the questions stop. He stole a glance in the rearview mirror and wished he hadn’t left Jorge to ride on the trailer.

Not long after he had turned the Blazer around and retreated from the chaos on the highway, a convoy had grown behind him. First one car, then two, then five. He found himself wondering how everyone else was getting along, but then rolled his eyes.

You got to leave that at work
, he thought.

In the backseat of the Blazer, sitting in the middle, an older couple was praying quietly, and Ken could deal with that. The girl who had gotten in first, she was crying about her parents and her cat, and that, too, he could deal with.

The girl with the teeny-tiny dog, on the other hand, was starting to get under his skin.

Right. Under.

And the swarthy guy with the B.O. wasn’t helping, either.

“Oh my God,” the girl said again, petting her dog ferociously. “Where are you taking us? You can’t just hold us prisoner, or whatever.” Her eyes got big and her voice went up an octave. “Oh my God, are you taking us to be slaves in Mexico?”

“You never can tell,” the sweaty guy said. “Desperate men do—”

“Stop,” Ken interrupted. “Nobody forced you, any of you, into my car. If there’s someplace you want to go, I’m all ears, lady.”

She petted her dog even harder, and it began to yelp. “Sorry, Willow, I’m sorry.” The girl turned her big eyes on Ken. “See what you made me do? And, my God, you can’t just drop us off somewhere.” She waved a hand at the world outside the Blazer. “We don’t even know if it’s safe in the city!”

“Where are we going, mister?” the crying girl in the back asked. Ken looked at her in the rearview and caught a glimpse of the older couple, who were looking up at him with some kind of hope in their eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he blew it out and tried to clear his mind. He had to calm down, or there would be an
incident
. At this stage of his life, he could not afford another one of those, as much as some people might richly deserve one.

“We’ve already called the police. City, county, state. Right?”

Most of the people in the Blazer nodded.

“We all know the story now. Things are out of their control, and they’re waiting for backup.”

They hit a straight stretch of road, and Ken closed his eyes for a second.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially out of ideas. I welcome anything new.”

The sweaty man threw his hands up. “I can’t believe you. Just giving up.”

Ken glared at the man, and part of his brain, the same part that had so gleefully harried him about the man he’d run over earlier, now goaded him to do some more damage.

Just one hit
, it said.
He’s right there. A glorious elbow would put a wonderful exclamation point on things, wouldn’t it?

Ken looked forward, then into the mirror again.

“We’re pulling over,” he said.

The girl with the dog protested, and the smelly man just sneered. But Ken knew if he didn’t get off the road (and get them out of the car) an already bad day would get exponentially worse.

Putting his hazards on, he started slowing down and edging Big Bertha over to the right shoulder. A couple of cars from the procession zipped past him, but the rest slowed down with him and stopped on the side.

Taking care to turn the vehicle off and put the keys securely in his hip pocket, Ken got out and slammed the door behind him. A couple of other drivers got out of their cars, and Jorge, standing up in the tool trailer, was busily glaring daggers at him.

“Not right now,” Ken said on the way past.

“What’re we doing?” a voice yelled from three cars back, and that started a flood of questions.

Ken sighed, thinking that perhaps he would be better off being angry in the Blazer.

Another driver stuck her head out her window, frizzy brown hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. “I heard the riots or whatever are everywhere. It’s all over the radio!”

“‘Outbreak’ is what they said,” another man agreed. “But nobody’s saying what
kind
of outbreak. No one really knows what the hell it is.”

Ken put his hands up and opened his mouth to speak, but a sound caught his attention, faint at first, but getting louder. He looked up, and an angular helicopter buzzed by overhead. It was black and had short wings bristling with armaments.

“Military,” Jorge said, showing up next to Ken. “Headed into the city.”

“But we were just there. You saw. We drove all the way from downtown, no problems.”

Jorge rocked his head at the rapidly shrinking chopper. “Oh, yeah. No problems.” He put his head back and blew a raspberry. “Sometimes, man...”

“Well, it’s what we know,” Ken said, his face darkening a bit. “It was all right when we left, right? Come on! It’s a nice place. There’s no reason to think it’s turned to anarchy or whatever in just over an hour.”

Ken turned to the cars on the side of the road. “I’m headed into the city,” he announced. “We might be able to find help or answers there. Who else is coming?”

Two cars edged onto the road and made neat turns, headed back the way they had come, except on the wrong side of the highway.

“They vote no,” Jorge said, ignoring the black look from Ken.

Everyone else got back into their cars and rolled up their windows. A couple of them had traded phone numbers and were chirping each other to test. Jorge wished he hadn’t dropped his phone earlier.

“You believe this?” he said. “I have no idea what my ex’s number is.”

“What do you want to call her for?” Ken asked, then felt stupid.

The kids.

“Ah, don’t worry about them,” he added. “You said she lives in a nice place now, right? Some kind of gated community?”

Jorge nodded.

“See there? It’ll be all right. Come on.”

As Ken walked back to the Blazer, a woman got out of a yellow Volkswagen Beetle and waved him over.

Pursing his lips, he turned and went toward her.

“Yes?” he said, hoping that the fatigue in his voice would put her off, knowing that it probably wouldn’t.

“I... think I might have a problem,” she said.

He noticed that she kept her arm stiff and pressed up against her side. Her sleeve was darker than the rest of her blouse, and the sides of her white shoes were red.

“One of those p-people pulled me out of my car, and—” she broke off, crying.

Ken’s stoic veneer cracked. “Hey, it’s okay. Let me see. I’ll help you.”

She held out her arm and rolled her sleeve back to show him. It was a nasty wound: deep, leaking blood and pus, red around the edges. Her breath came faster at the sight of it, as if she had forgotten how bad it was.

“He was just
there
, clawing at me,” she said through her teeth. “I went to hit him, and he just turned his head and...
bit
me. It hurts so
bad
.”

“Okay,” Ken said, frowning at how quickly the wound seemed to have become infected. “I have a first-aid kit in the Blazer. But don’t let anybody else see that, okay?”

“I don’t... think I can drive,” she said, growing paler by the minute.

Ken’s frown deepened. “Just stay right here,” he said, and then he went to retrieve the first-aid kit.

Jorge intercepted him on the way. “What’s her story?”

Ken threw a glance over his shoulder. The girl was just standing there, staring at her bloodstained shoes.

“Bite,” he said quietly. “One of those crazy people bit her. And I know this is stupid, but... I don’t want her to ride with us.”

Jorge’s eyes widened. “You can’t just
leave
her.”

“I won’t,” Ken said. “I’m not going to leave her. But, uh, I think she’ll have to ride in the back. On the trailer.” He grabbed the first-aid kit and turned to look at the girl. “Just in case.”

Jorge stood by the trailer and watched as Ken wrapped the girl’s injury and broke the news to her. There were some tears, but no more than were already flowing. She nodded and moved to the trailer.

Ken walked back to the Blazer, running his hands over his short hair and wondering when this day was planning on getting better. Jorge caught his eye and motioned him over.

“Two things,” he said, keeping his voice low. “One, I think it’s pretty messed up she’s got to ride out back. It’s like you’re afraid of the swine flu or something, and I think it’s stupid. We’re men. We can take this kind of thing. Her? She should be riding in the front seat.”

Ken started shaking his head before Jorge was done. “I know what you’re saying, Jorge, but I can’t take any chances.” His face clouded over. “Just like work, right? Safety first.”

“
Mierda
,” Jorge said. But he let it go.

“What was the second thing?”

Jorge rocked on his heels for a second. He looked from the girl on the tool trailer and back to Ken. “Don’t make me ride with her.”

After a second of stunned silence, Ken’s head went back and a terrific guffaw tore itself out of him. A few people glared at him, but he couldn’t help it. There was just so much steam building up, it had to vent somehow.

“I can’t believe you,” he said to Jorge. “Hah! Yeah, man. You can ride shotgun, like you always do.”

They turned back to the car, and Ken pointed at the sweaty man. “You,” he said. “It’s someone else’s turn to ride up front.” He hooked a thumb at the trailer. “Back there, big boy.”

A cross look came over the man’s face. “I’m not riding back there.”

Ken put his arms out, looking up and down the highway at the other cars. A lot of them were already rolling, except for a few who wanted to follow the Blazer. “Well you either hit the trailer or you hit the bricks. I don’t care, either way. Get out of my car.”

Grumbling, the fat man bumped the skinny girl with the dog out of the way and stomped back to the trailer. The young man who had squeezed into the back with the older couple followed the sweaty man for some reason, and another guy from the trailer traded his spot for the back seat. Ken ignored the musical chairs and climbed in the passenger side, closing his door.