Darwin’s Children

“Are we talkin’ about virus children?” the trooper asked softly.

Kaye studied his expression, his dark eyes, the lines around his jowls. “Yes,” she said.

“How long you been living here?” the big trooper asked.

“In Spotsylvania County, almost four years,” Kaye said.

“Hiding out?”

“Living quietly.”

“Yeah,” the trooper said with somber resignation. “I hear that.” He swung around to the Emergency Action team. “You got paperwork?” He waved his hand at his partner. “Check out the house.”

“My husband is armed,” Kaye said, and pointed toward the house. “They kidnapped our child. Please, he won’t shoot at you. Let him surrender his gun.”

The big trooper unclipped his pistol with a swift motion of both hands. He squinted at the big pillared house, then saw Mitch and the old woman walking up the side yard.

His partner, younger by at least ten years, stooped and immediately drew his own pistol. “I hate this shit,” he said.

“Let us do our work,” the stout woman demanded. The mask slipped and she looked even more ridiculous.

“I haven’t seen any paperwork, and you are out of your jurisdiction,” the big trooper growled, keeping his eyes on the house. “I need to see EMAC documents authorizing this extraction.”

Neither responded at once. “We’re filling in for the Spotsylvania County team. They’re on another assignment,” the thin man admitted, some of his bravado gone.

“I know the ones,” the big trooper said. He looked sadly at Kaye. “They took my son four years ago. My wife and I haven’t seen our boy once, not once, since then. He is in Indiana now, outside Terre Haute.”

“You’re brave to still be together,” Kaye said, as if a spark had passed and they understood each other and their troubles.

The big trooper dropped his chin but still watched everyone with beady, alert eyes. “Don’t you know it,” he said. He waved his hand at his partner. “William, retrieve the father’s little pistol and let’s check the house. Let’s see what you all have got going here.”

Mitch slung his gun by its trigger guard on his pointing finger and held it high up in the air. He regretted carrying it at all now; he felt foolish, like an actor in a cop show. Still, the thought that Stella was inside the house or the long building or somewhere else on the property made him feel volatile and dangerous. Anything might provoke him, and that was frightening. The intensity of his devotion was like a blowtorch in his head, brilliant and blinding.

It had always been that way. There would never be any escape.

The younger trooper slogged across the wet grass in his boots.

The plump man in shorts finally decided to speak. “How can I help, officer?” he asked.

The younger trooper took Mitch’s gun and backed away. “Are you holding children on these premises?” he asked the man in shorts.

“We are,” the man said. “Strays and runaways. We protect them until the truck comes and takes them to where they can be taken care of. Where they belong.”

Mitch looked at the trooper from beneath lowered, bushy brows. He had always possessed what amounted to a single eyebrow over his eyes and with age, the woolly caterpillar of hair had thickened and gone wild. At the best of times, he looked formidable, even a little crazy. “Our daughter is not a runaway,” he said. “She was kidnapped.”

The big trooper approached with Kaye and the two collectors close behind. “Where are the children?” he asked.

“Round back,” said the man in shorts. “Sir, my name is Fred Trinket. I’m a longtime resident, and my mother has lived here all her life.”

“To hell with that,” the big trooper said. “Show us the kids, now.”

Something whickered over their heads like a big insect. They all looked up.

“Damn,” the younger trooper said, flinching and dropping his shoulders. “Sounds like federal surveillance.”

The big trooper drew himself up and circled his eyes warily around the dark skies. “I do not see a thing,” he said. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Leesburg (#ulink_dca99177-d372-5316-8860-2275e28fec24)

The arrival of the troopers did not please Rachel Browning.

“I think we should alert the Frederick County office,” she said. She blew her nose again. “And let’s get the state’s attorney general in on this. She’ll want to know what her people are up to.”

“There won’t be time,” Augustine said. “It’s Virginia, Rachel. They don’t like the feds telling them what to do. And the situation is highly irregular, even for an official kidnapping.”

Browning tilted her head to one side, jerking her gaze between Augustine and the displays. “I didn’t hear what the big guy said.” The Little Bird had backed off about fifty feet and was hovering. Its little fuel cell would be depleted soon, and it would have to return or be retrieved by the command vehicle.

“The trooper said his daughter was taken,” Augustine told her. “He is not likely to be sympathetic.”

“Shit,” Browning said. “You’re happy about this, aren’t you?”

Augustine did not smile, but his lips twitched.

“I will not take responsibility,” Browning insisted.

“Your own machines are recording everything,” Augustine said, pointing at the console. “Better whisk Little Bird out of there, and quickly, if you want to escape a district court spanking.”

“You’re as culpable as I am,” Browning said.

“I’ve never authorized bounty,” Augustine reminded her. “That’s your division.”

The phone on the desk wheedled.

“Whoops,” Augustine said. “Someone’s been tuning in.”

Browning answered. She covered the mouthpiece and looked up desperately at Augustine. “It’s the surgeon general,” she said, eyes wide.

Augustine expressed his sympathy with a lift of his brows and a sigh. Then he turned and walked toward the door. The rubber tip of his cane made squeaking noises on the hard floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Spotsylvania County (#ulink_f4dcc7fe-05eb-585f-ade1-205478b9e656)

Fred Trinket gently pushed his mother aside as he led the group around the right side of the house. Mitch hated this place, the plump man in khaki shorts, the collectors. His head was like a balloon filled with gasoline waiting to be torched off.

Kaye felt his anger like heat from a stove. She gripped his arm. If Stella was harmed, in any way, then…If their daughter was harmed, then…

She could not finish that sequence of thoughts.

“We’ve fed the runaways a chicken lunch, very nutritious,” Trinket explained. His face was like blotchy marble and he was sweating like a stuck pig. He was beginning to realize the big trooper did not like the way Trinket made money.