“I agree,” Nate says. “I think it’s the girls. I’ve seen enough nests, Nick. Most of them had a weird lab room that looked a lot like this. And it was all about the girls, not some pipe dream about eternal life.”
“I’m the one who sent you there, Nate. I know what was in the fuckin’ nests.”
“So why are you so stuck on this longevity thing?”
I glance over at Wendy, just now noticing that she’s awfully quiet. Which means she’s thinking. I look back at Nick and throw up my hands. “Fine. It’s genetics. The Zero girls are the project, and Donovan’s rats—”
“Carter’s rats!” Indie objects.
“—are all part of it. So what are we gonna do about this?” I nudge my chin towards the cages filled with rotting rat corpses.
“Clean it up, I guess,” Nate says. “I’ll talk to Adam about it.”
That wasn’t what I meant, but I decide I’ve said enough for now. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that both Indie and Nathan have such a high level of cognitive dissonance going on, but I am.
Wendy, on the other hand… she’s biting her lip and staring off into space.
She’s not buying it. Maybe she doesn’t think I’m right about this, but she’s definitely cooking up a counteropinion in that mind of hers.
We’ll discuss it tonight, when Indie and Nathan aren’t around.
I turn and walk down the hallway, then veer off down another one. This place really was a print shop at one time because all the equipment is still here. And from the dust and general lack of decomposition, it hasn’t been empty for more than a couple of years, if that. The front, where the rat cages are, qualifies as a major disaster area, but the back still looks fresh enough that one might call in a cleaning service and reopen in a matter of days.
I go into an office, look around a little, find nothing, and move on to another one. I do not find anything interesting until I find a door leading to a basement filled with filing cabinets. One has to love the old-school method of paper files when you’re on the hunt for information. It’s so much easier—and more satisfying—to find solid tangible evidence of what you’re looking for.
Most of the cabinets contain legit records from the many decades this print shop was in service. But there are two cabinets at the end with the data from the rat cages. Plus a desk that, when searched, gives up clues.
“Nick?”
“I’m down here.”
Wendy comes down the basement stairs pushing her long hair out of her eyes as she scans the rooms and logs it all like a little data-collection robot. “What did you find?”
I hold up the file in my hand. “Rats.”
She lets out a long breath and walks over to me, taking a seat on the corner of the desk.
“Where’s Indie and Nate?”
“They went back upstairs to Donovan’s office. Indie’s convinced that’s where the answers are.”
“Not down here in Carter’s office where the actual mad-scientist shit lives?”
Wendy smiles and I smile back at her. “She’s in denial. It’s not fun, ya know. Facing your demons is scary.”
My smile drops. “No. I know that.”
“So.” She shrugs. “Don’t push her. Not yet.”
“But you’re OK with this?” I pan the file in my hand to indicate the room of questions and answers.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but ever since I woke up from that Merc mindfuck, I just know I don’t want to be there again.”
I put the file down and walk over to her. “You told me you were OK.”
“I am OK. It’s just… I got a little glimpse of my demons, ya know? I saw my denial, and my ignorance, and when I add up all the excuses I’ve come up with over the years just so I could avoid the messy truth, it’s… embarrassing. If this place has answers, I want them. I don’t actually care what the truth is, Nick. I just want to know it. Or at the very least, I want me and the truth to get a proper introduction.”
My smile creeps back up my face. “Well. You’re in luck then.” I hold up the folder. “There’s a little bit of truth in here.”
She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, takes a deep breath, and lets it out. “I’m ready. What’s it say?”
“It doesn’t really say anything. There are charts. Here, look.”
She takes the folder and scans the pages. “It’s a pedigree.”
“Yep.” I sigh. “It is.” I know this for sure, too. Because I saw one just like it a few hours ago on Adam’s boat.
Wendy picks up a second chart. “Oh. Yeah. Genetic crossings. Look.”
She’s pointing to a little chart. No names, though. Just numbers. Just like the ones in Adam’s stack of papers with my name on the envelope. “Rat crossings?”