“Yes. ” Volker’s voice was tiny.
Goat whispered, “Oh … holy mother of shit…”
“Are you saying that Gibbon is free?” Trout demanded.
“Free?” echoed Volker. “No…”
Trout started to relax, but then the doctor added, “It’s much, much worse than his being free. ”
With a snarl, Trout grabbed Volker, hauled him halfway out of the chair and did a fast pat-down to find the pistol he knew Volker carried. It was a heavy nine millimeter, and he tore the pocket open to retrieve it and flung the doctor back down. Volker made a swipe for the pistol, but Trout slapped his hand away and retreated a step. He stared down at Volker with contempt.
“So the plan was to dump this shit in our laps and then eat your gun? You fucking coward. ”
“No,” Volker protested, “I told you … I called my handler. The authorities already know about this. They are taking care of it. ”
“Taking care of it? Really? A serial killer infected with—Christ, what do I even call this thing? A zombie parasite?—is free in my home town and you think a call to your bosses and a confession to a couple of reporters is enough to balance the scales here?”
“No, I…”
Goat leaned forward. “Doc … if this gets out, if Gibbon is out there among people … what’s the risk of infection?”
“I thought I made that clear. ”
Trout racked the slide and put the barrel against Volker’s kneecap. “Make it clearer. ”
Volker’s eyes flared with terror. “Please … the parasites were reengineered for survival and proliferation. Outside of a containment unit such as a coffin, they will drive the host to find and infect other hosts. ”
“Why?” demanded Goat. “Why would you engineer it to do that?”
“Understand,” said the doctor, mopping tears from his cheeks, “when the Lucifer research was active, it was intended as a bioweapon. Something that could be introduced into an enemy population—a military base or some isolated encampment—and then we would sit back and let the parasites do their work. It would spread through host aggression, and the vastly accelerated life cycle would make each newly infected person a disease vector within minutes. Then military in protective suits could clean up the infected with flame units and acquire the physical assets. ”
Trout narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘host aggression’?”
Volker’s hands gripped the arms of the chair so fiercely that the doctor’s fingernails tore scratches in the fabric. “This is a serum transfer pathogen,” he said in a ghostly voice. “It lives in any body fluid. Blood and sputum would be rife with newly hatched larvae. The logic inherent in parasites would cause the host to transfer the larvae through the most efficient possible means. Spitting into the eyes, nose, or mouth of a target host would work well. The parasites would be absorbed through the mucus membranes. But the most efficient and direct way to guarantee infection would be to forcibly introduce the parasites directly into the bloodstream. ”
“‘Forcibly,’” echoed Goat.
Volker nodded. “Through a bite. ”
Trout backed away like he’d been slapped. “Goat … oh, shit!”
“What?” asked Goat.
“This morning … at the mortuary. The cops were there…” He pointed the gun at Volker. “What time did you talk to Gibbon?”
Volker flinched. “Half an hour ago. ”
“Fuck. So the cops were there putting that sick son of a bitch in cuffs. ”
“No,” admitted Volker. “Gibbon had already … left … the mortuary. ”
“Whoa,” cut in Goat. “What’s that supposed to mean? That pause. What happened at the mortuary? What did Gibbon tell you?”
Volker sniffed and clutched his handkerchief in one bony fist. “He told me that he … woke up … at the mortuary in Stebbins. ”
Woke up. The two words hung in the air, throbbing with ugly meaning.
“What about the mortician? Lee Hartnup?” asked Trout, lowering the gun.