The Ghost Pattern

…40

Dr. Adenauer finished injecting the third rat with the compound, then picked up a second syringe, and gave the squirming little animal a second shot.

“This is the antidote,” he explained to the small group in attendance.

The group included Gary Davis, Marie-Elise Chevalier, Klaas Fortuin, and Wu Shen Teng. One-Eye was also observing, any attempt to keep him away or distracted having failed miserably, yielding only angry grunts from the taciturn gorilla.

Dr. Adenauer finished injecting the antidote, then marked the rat with a touch of methylene blue on its white coat, making it easy to identify from the others. Then he placed the rat in the same cage with the other two he had injected earlier.

Minutes passed in silence, while nothing remarkable happened in the rat cage. The test subjects behaved like normal rats, sniffing, chewing on the occasional speck of dirt, moving around in the cage, but ignoring one another.

Then suddenly one rat jumped at another, making a barely audible growl. It attacked the other animal fiercely, plunging its teeth in the other’s throat, while its front claws tore at the victim’s belly. The other rat fought back as hard as it could, tearing pieces of the attacker’s coat with its claws, gurgling sounds coming out of its throat as the attacker squeezed its jaws tighter, killing it. The rat bearing a blue mark on the back of its neck stood trembling in the corner of the cage, watching the fight with big, round, beady eyes.

Within seconds, the fight was over, leaving one dead rat in a pool of blood, another one heaving and dying from a deep laceration that had cut open its abdomen, and a third, alive, unharmed, but paralyzed with fear.

“May God forgive us all,” Dr. Chevalier said quietly, holding her hand over her mouth, as if to smother a scream of horror.

“He won’t,” Dr. Adenauer replied through clenched teeth.

“Great job,” One-Eye spoke. “I will tell my boss,” he added, then left the room.

They stared at the scene in front of them, unable to move or react. Dr. Adenauer picked up some gauze, soaked it in alcohol, and began cleaning the spray of blood that had stained the table around the cage.

“The dose was too concentrated,” Bogdanov spoke, startling everyone. He had entered the lab unheard and unseen, while they were only paying attention to the horrible aftermath of their test. “We want them aggressive, but not like this. We want control. We want the rage to appear natural; I’ve told you that. What are you going to do?”

He was actually waiting for an answer, making sure they understood they had to deliver.

Theo Adenauer cleared his throat, still choked after he’d watched the experiment, and offered a plan.

“We could try slow-release capsules next, to see if it’s the strength of the compound, or the delivery mechanism that allows the best control.”

“We need the compound aerosolized,” Bogdanov replied. “How are slow-release capsules going to help with that? Reduce the concentration and try again. What are you using?”

“SSREs,” Adenauer replied, surprised. It was the first time Bogdanov had asked any technical question about their work.

“Decrease the strength, but add some steroids, maybe it will help,” Bogdanov replied. “You’re supposed to know that. Is this rat the one injected with the antidote?” he asked, pointing at the survivor.

“Y — yes,” Adenauer hesitated, unsure where he was going with that.

“They need to attack the non-violent test subjects, not each other. Fix that.”

“How?” Adenauer asked, surprised at the request.

“You world-famous researchers figure it out. You have 24 hours, or else he starts dying,” Bogdanov replied, pointing toward the cot where Declan Mallory lay on his back. “I think I have already taken care of a few ribs, yes? Only 24 hours, that’s it. Then I continue breaking his bones, one at a time.”