“Don’t worry, children,” he grunted. “My biological healing system … is now working together with an advanced stem cell response. I’m able to reposition my severed fingertip” — he moved it back into place and pressed it to his stub, with a pained expression — “or, even more miraculously, were you willing to stay with me for the next several days, you could actually watch a new one grow right back in its place.”
“Whoa” was all I could say. Dylan looked unmoved by the whole thing. Guess people sprouting new limbs was common where he came from.
A moment later the doctor held up his left hand and wiggled all five fingers — intact. This guy was seriously starting to worry me, and I began to back slowly toward the door, ready to leap out of the way if he lunged at me with a needle. Or a meat cleaver.
Angel looked excited, and I frowned. Typical yin-yang response from us.
“Okay, I think I get it,” I said. “I also get that it all seems a little too good to be true.”
“What makes you say that?” the doctor asked, examining his healed finger with satisfaction.
“Well … that must be some pretty super-mega-powerful body chemistry happening there. If it can kill a virus in a single explosion … could it, say, accidentally kill you? Or could you accidentally grow an ear instead of a fingertip? How about a claw?”
The doctor waved his hand impatiently. “Of course there are bugs that need to be worked out. Certainly, overactive autoimmune response can be a tricky business, among other challenges. We’re working on that, but in the meantime we have the pharmacology to counteract the side effects. My point is that once those bugs are solved, a world of possibilities opens up.”
And a world of unpredictable chaos, I thought.
“After the apocalypse, we could all be living like cavemen again,” the doctor said. “We could be hunted by huge mutant carnivores, things we can’t even imagine now. We need every weapon, shield, and protection in our arsenal. And here’s the important thing, Max. Remember this if you remember nothing else: We must be our own weapons.”
His eyes were focused intently on me. I’ll just ask now: What is it about my persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a magnet?
“We will have to survive on our own strengths. You can fly. You and the flock have gifts. Dylan here is also gifted, and in some ways different from you. But this kind of healing ability will be the difference between life and death in the near future.”
“Wow,” I said. Traditionally, I would have come up with something snappy and/or scathing here, but I have to tell you, this guy unnerved me.
Because, in a crazy way, what he was saying made some degree of sense.
“It’s … really impressive,” I said. “But I don’t see what it has to do with me, with us.”
Dr. G-H straightened. “I asked you here to discuss a possible alliance between us — a partnership, if you will: your flock and my companies, me, and Dylan. With your natural abilities and the powers of science I’m unleashing, we can, in essence, ensure the survival of humankind.”
“We would be allies?” Angel asked.
“No,” I told her, giving her a warning look that she ignored. Again, I started to make my way toward the door.
“You six are the most successful recombinant-DNA life-forms ever created,” Dr. G-H went on earnestly. “until now.” He motioned proudly to Dylan, who had the decency to look embarrassed. “My companies are producing some of the most cutting-edge, daring science in the world today. Together, we could actually achieve your mission — to save the world.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face him. Okay, he had insider info.
“Sorry. Thanks for asking. But the flock works alone.” I was acutely aware of Dylan’s steady gaze, his tightly coiled tension as he watched the doctor. “Thanks for the great breakfast,” I added. “I’m really impressed with your science and all. But I don’t think we’re the right partners for you.”
That was probably the most diplomatic, least obnoxious reply I’d ever given anyone in my whole life.
“This isn’t good-bye, Max.” The doctor’s voice followed me as I exited the tent. “And that isn’t your final answer.”
17
DID I EVER TELL you how much I hate needles? Bad childhood memories. It’s a lab-escapee thing. The meat cleaver was a mere annoyance in comparison.
My mind was still reeling as I slogged through the sand back to our camp. I kept a death grip on Angel’s hand as she trotted beside me to keep up. The African sun beat down on us, and for
the first time, the heat felt crushing to me.
I really wanted to help the CSM and the refugees here, but my Mother Teresa aspirations were crumbling fast. This place was suddenly way too dangerous for us. Angel’s dire prediction, what the Voice had said about Dylan, Chu and the disappearing refugees in the middle of the night, and now Dr. Hans’s obsessive fondness for wielding knives and needles full of pathogens had all combined to turn this trip into a nightmare.
We had to get out of there and far away from Dr. Cleaver. ASAP.
“What did you think about Dylan?” Angel asked.