Authors: Jill Williamson
N
INE DOCTORS WERE NOW ON
the Farm. Before Dr. Goyer had come—and not counting Dr. Woman—Dr. Max had been Martyr’s favorite. Dr. Max taught math, as well as other subjects when the Jasons were younger. He was strict, as all the doctors were, but he made Martyr laugh. Plus, his skin fascinated Martyr. It was brown, like the dark gravy that sometimes came over mashed potatoes. Martyr had never seen anyone like him.
Martyr sat in the math classroom waiting for the clock to switch from 2:59 to 3:00, when he could attempt to talk privately with Dr. Max. He’d never made a personal request from a doctor until yesterday, when he asked Dr. Goyer to watch over Baby and Hummer. Today he would ask Dr. Max for an even bigger favor.
The clock buzzed. Three o’ clock. The door clicked, unlocked for the next five minutes by an automatic timer. The Jasons trailed up the aisle to place their math papers in the basket on Dr. Max’s desk, but Martyr stalled, slowly closing his book and writing his identification number at the top of his sheet. When he did stand, his vision spun and his stomach cramped. He gripped the back of his chair and waited for it to pass; the burn from Dr. Elliot’s EEZ had gone, but he was still nauseous and dizzy.
Martyr again took his time, staying at the very back of the group. When he reached the desk, he placed his math problems in the basket and lingered. A glance over his shoulder revealed Hummer still holding open the door, a job he assigned himself daily.
Martyr waved. “You go ahead, Hummer. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Hummer left and the door fell closed. Martyr turned back to Dr. Max’s desk.
Dr. Max looked up from his paperwork. “Can I do something for you?”
“I want to ask you a favor.”
“Shoot.”
Dr. Max’s dialogue sometimes confused Martyr. He often spoke in slang, as Dr. Sautin, the language arts teacher, said. Dr. Max folded his hands and leaned forward, apparently waiting for Martyr to speak.
“I expire in sixteen days.” Martyr hated the sound of those words. “I wonder, if you wouldn’t mind, maybe … do you think you could help to … I—”
“Just spit it out, boy.”
Martyr stared at the basket overflowing in all directions with math assignments. “I want to see the sky. Just a glimpse.” He glanced up, gauging the doctor’s reaction.
Dr. Max’s forehead wrinkled. “Oh, Martyr, my man, I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I can sneak you in some fast food and all, maybe even a book with some colored pictures of the sky, but I can’t take you above ground.” Dr. Max’s black eyebrows scrunched together. “I—It’s not … well, it’s not safe.”
“But I’ll be dead soon. Does it matter if I get infected?”
“It might. Are you willing to risk your purpose? What if you get infected and it makes you unable to provide the antidote? Or you infect everyone down here?”
“But the doctors go outside and you don’t infect us.”
“But we take the antidote.”
“Then give me the antidote, just enough for five minutes. One minute.” Martyr’s throat grew tight. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Please?”
“Naw. There’s no way. You liked that chocolate ice cream I brought last year, didn’t you? I can bring you a half gallon tomorrow. You can eat the whole thing yourself.”
Martyr’s eyes moistened, and Dr. Max’s face went out of focus. “Thank you.” He turned and jogged toward the door. His head tingled. Black spots swept across his eyes. He stumbled, crashed into a desk, and fell.
Dr. Max was at his side in seconds. “Martyr, buddy, you okay?” He clutched Martyr’s arm and helped him stand.
Marty jerked away, swallowed, and walked toward the door, careful not to move too fast.
“Martyr,” Dr. Max called.
Martyr pulled the door open and stepped into the hall. “Tomorrow, man,” Dr. Max yelled. “I’ll bring you some.”
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate his offer. Ice cream is
very
good,” Martyr told Dr. Goyer, swinging his foot against the side of the exam table. After Rolo dropped Martyr off, Dr. Goyer had removed the restraints, allowing Martyr to sit on the table like a real person. It was a very kind thing, to break the rules in such a way. “I shouldn’t have allowed myself to dream.”
“Well, I apologize, Martyr, for putting the idea in your head.”
“It’s not your fault, Dr. Goyer. I never expected to behave so foolishly at the end. I wanted to be brave.”
“You’re being very brave, son.”
Martyr cocked his head to the side. “Sun? The big star in the sky?”
“Oh, no. S-U-N,
sun
, is the big star in the sky. S-O-N, son, is kind of a nickname. It’s what people sometimes call their male children or other boys.”
Some adults who lived outside had children who were not created the way Martyr had been. The doctors talked very little about this subject. Maybe Dr. Goyer would tell Martyr something he did not know if he asked the right questions. He may not be able to see the sky, but learning new things still thrilled him.
“Tell me about your daughter. How did you come to own her?”
Dr. Goyer chuckled. “I don’t think of it as owning her. I raise her, much in the way the doctors raise you. I teach her things, take care of her, love her.”
“But she was not made?”
“Well, of course she was made.”
“How?”
Dr. Goyer reddened. “Does it matter how?”
“I want to know the difference.” All Martyr knew about how the Jasons were made was that they arrived as infants from the Gunnolf facility.
“Let’s talk about something else as this is probably our last day together. It’s doubtful you’ll be assigned marks with me again since I’m not a teacher.”
“You might not lead a class, but you are the best teacher, in my opinion, because you answer truthfully. Tell me what it’s like to live outside.”
Dr. Goyer rubbed his face. “I’ll tell you as much as I can, but if I think it is going to break the rules, I’ll stop, okay?”
Martyr nodded.
Dr. Goyer began to tell Martyr of the sky and the birds and something called
airplanes
that flew through it, and the
rainbows
and clouds that sometimes appeared in it. He spoke of the land covered in green grass and trees and how a strange blowing,
wind
, made them dance, of the rivers that gurgled and lakes that sat still, the mountains that climbed to the sky and jagged
canyons
that cut
into the earth. He spoke of seasons, where the same land looked different, how water drops from the sky called
rain
made the sky dark and flakes of ice called
snow
covered everything in a white blanket. Martyr soaked in every word, asking questions whenever Dr. Goyer paused for breath.
The clock on Dr. Goyer’s desk buzzed at five o’ clock.
Martyr asked another question, before Dr. Goyer could call Rolo to escort him downstairs. “Do you believe I will get infected if I went outside for one minute?”
Dr. Goyer rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I … I doubt it. But don’t go telling Dr. Kane I said that, or I’ll end up having marks with Dr. Elliot.”
Martyr laughed. “You wouldn’t like that, trust me.”
“Do you feel better today?”
“Somewhat. I haven’t vomited, but I’m very dizzy, especially if I move too fast. I’ve fallen down twice so far.”
“I’m sorry Dr. Elliot caused that.”
“Yes.” Martyr pursed his lips, then figured he had nothing to lose by asking. “Dr. Goyer, would you take me outside?”
Dr. Goyer sucked in a deep breath. “Martyr. I— No. I can’t.”
It was no use. Martyr would not see sky before he expired. He should be thankful for Dr. Goyer’s talks and the ice cream Dr. Max would bring. It was more than some received.
Martyr could not bear to look Dr. Goyer in the eyes, so his gaze fell to the doctor’s desk. Piles of papers cluttered the surface. Martyr had never seen such disorganization. His eyes stopped on a keycard sitting on the front corner. He chanced a glance at Dr. Goyer and noticed a tear dripping down the man’s cheek. Dr. Goyer removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
While he felt compassion for Dr. Goyer and wanted to comfort him in some way—and find out what was causing the doctor to cry—Martyr’s eyes shot back to the keycard. His mind whirred with possible scenarios to get the card without being caught.
Even marks with Dr. Elliot would be worth it
.
Dr. Goyer pressed his intercom and spoke with a somewhat strained voice. “This is Dr. Goyer. Could you send Robert up?”
“Sure thing, doctor.”
“Let’s get you strapped back down before he gets here.” Dr. Goyer rose and walked to the exam table, stopping at Martyr’s side. “I enjoyed our time together, Martyr. I’m glad I got to know you.”
Martyr did not like good-byes. Good-byes were forever. Dr. Woman. The J:1s and J:2s.
Now it was his turn.
Though he hated any kind of deceit, he could see no other option to get what he wanted. Closing his eyes, he remembered yesterday’s pain and willed it back. He groaned, gagged, and shook, trying to look convincing. He clamped a hand over his mouth and moaned.
Dr. Goyer raced for the cupboard under the sink, crouched, and opened the door.
Martyr slid off the table and snatched the keycard, tucking it into the waistband of his pants before jumping back on the exam table. He lay back and took deep breaths, heart pounding.
The cupboard slammed and Dr. Goyer appeared at his side with the plastic tub. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Martyr said. “Lying down helped.” His whole body trembled and burned—not from Dr. Elliott’s poison. From the lie.
“You scared me half to death.” Dr. Goyer set the tub on his desk, then fastened the restraints.
A wave of remorse seeped into Martyr’s heart. He hoped Dr. Goyer wouldn’t get into trouble because Martyr had taken his keycard. “Thank you, Dr. Goyer. You’ve been very kind.”
“You’re welcome, son.”
Martyr felt another stab of guilt race through him.
The lab door flew open and Rolo entered. He removed the restraints and led Martyr out of Dr. Goyer’s lab.
“Good-bye, Martyr,” Dr. Goyer called, voice raspy.
“Good-bye.”
Rolo led Martyr down the stairwell to level two and out into the hallway. He shoved Martyr’s shoulder, and the force knocked the keycard a little lower. “Get yourself to dinner.”
Martyr walked carefully so that the keycard would not fall out of his waistband. He went to the cafeteria, plotting when he would make his move.
Martyr looked down at the bumpy gray cardboard tray in his hands, searching for color. Tonight’s meal consisted of creamy pasta over chicken, along with cauliflower, a roll, and a small box of milk. He carried his tray across the cafeteria. Five white-and-black tables stretched across the open eating area, each seating a different section. Almost everything was white, black, or gray on the Farm.
Tonight, Martyr hoped to see blue.
The fifteen boys in Section Five were aged fourteen to seventeen. Their table was farthest away, near the wall of mirrors, where Baby was already seated.
Martyr slid onto the bench beside Baby, trying to act as if nothing were different, despite the stolen keycard tucked into his waistband. The deception made him hot all over.
He forced a big smile to Baby. “Hungry?”
Baby stuffed a handful of cauliflower into his mouth. His blotchy cheeks puffed out, and he bobbed his unusually large head from side to side as he chewed.
The bright lights hanging from the ceiling glared off Baby’s head. The sixteen-year-old J:4s had been groomed that morning, and Baby’s head and chin were clean-shaven, his nails clipped short, and he should smell fresh. Martyr wasn’t going to risk taking a whiff in case the groomers had cheated him of soap. Everyone knew Baby couldn’t complain.
Martyr winced at the fresh bruise shading his friend’s neck. Iron Man could have killed Baby this morning if Martyr hadn’t found Johnson. And it would have been Martyr’s fault, just like last time.
He had tried so hard to protect the ones who couldn’t protect themselves—but he’d be gone soon. Maybe tonight. He hoped Dr. Goyer would be able to keep Baby and the others safe.
Fido darted forward and snatched the milk off Baby’s tray.
Baby clutched his ears and wailed, rocking back and forth on the bench.
Martyr jumped to his feet. “Put it back.”
Fido’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. He panted while staring at Martyr with wild eyes, and reached for Baby’s bread.
Martyr slid over the tabletop and grabbed Fido’s arm. “No.” He yanked the milk free and set it back on the tray.
Fido growled and swiped for the milk again, but Martyr caught him by the wrist and squeezed, digging in with his fingernails, thankful J:3s weren’t groomed until Thursdays.
“Fido!” Rolo lumbered between the tables and slapped his stick against his palm. His bulging body jiggled beneath his tight, gray uniform. “You causing trouble, boy?”
Martyr quickly let go and sat down. He reached across the table and pulled his tray in front of him.
Rolo smacked Fido’s knee with his stick. Fido wailed. “That’s right. Howl, you mongrel!” Rolo prodded Fido in the back. “Now, get back to your seat before I chain you to it.”
Fido slunk away, glowering at Martyr as he settled at the end of the table. Martyr turned back to Baby, who had stifled his cry by sticking his thumb in his mouth, though he still rocked on the bench.
Martyr patted his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s gone now. Eat up.”
Baby’s big brown eyes flickered to Martyr’s. He grinned around the thumb in his mouth.
Baby would only be saved if he managed to get placed in Section One. But for tonight, Martyr would do all he could to please his friend. Who knew if he would even survive the toxic air to see Baby again?
He shoveled the cauliflower off his tray and onto Baby’s.
Baby grunted with glee.
A
BBY AND
K
YLEE SAT AT
the end of an empty table in the cafeteria. Kylee’s friends had yet to arrive. Abby eyed the pile of noodles on her tray, feeling like she should bag it for evidence. She looked up from the tomato and bean nightmare. “What’s this supposed to be?”
“Sign said
cowboy mac
.” Kylee spit her wad of gum into a napkin and opened her milk carton. “So where do you live?”
“On Alpine, right off Dawson Road, in the woods behind that Salmon Laundromat.”
Kylee’s eyes lit up. “I don’t live that far from you. Think I could come over sometime to study? I could use help in calculus.”
“Sure.” Abby fought the urge to squeal at the prospect of a friend. “My dad’s never home.”
“Neither is my mom. She’s working on her PhD.”
Abby tore back the foil lid on her juice cup. “In what?”
“Something about science. Biology, I think.”
Abby slumped in awe. “That is
so
cool. I can’t wait to meet her.” Abby’s mom never had an interest in science, except to debate Dad’s ethics.
Kylee lowered her gaze, and her silky black hair, which usually sat in a bell-like curve above her shoulders, slumped with her. “Like I said, she’s never home.”
Abby could relate. “You can come over anytime.”
Kylee sipped her milk and flashed a dimpled smile. “This is such an answer to prayer. I’m so glad you moved here.”
Abby grinned. Pro number three for Kylee Wallace. “You go to church?”
“Fishhook Community Church. My brother is the youth pastor there.”
“You have brothers and sisters?”
“Just Scott. He’s twenty-six. He and his wife are expecting their first baby in May, which means I’m going to be an aunt.”
“How fun! I never liked being an only child.”
“It’s been hard since Scott moved out, but at least he didn’t go far. Dad left when I was seven. He never came back.”
Abby ate a bite of pasta. Were there no unbroken families left in the world? Maybe Kylee’s brother, his wife, and their child-to-be would fare better. “I’d like to visit your church sometime. I really miss my youth group. We went on a trip to Philly right before—”
“Hey, friend.” JD slid onto the bench beside Abby and draped a heavy arm around her neck. His overpowering cologne tickled her nose, making her wonder how he was able to keep sneaking up on her.
She shrugged off his arm. “JD, you know Kylee?”
He barely glanced across the table. “Sure. Listen, Abby. There’s a basketball game tonight. I don’t play or anything, but it’s fun to watch. You game,
friend
?”
If I don’t look at him, his brown eyes and dazzling smile can’t tempt me
. She focused on Kylee, who had gone stiff, eyes bulging. “Can’t. Kylee and I are going to hit the books, right, Kylee?”
Kylee hadn’t managed to avoid JD’s charms. The girl sat straight across from him, staring, lips still pursed around the straw sticking out of her milk container.
Abby kicked her under the table. “Kylee?”
Kylee jolted. The straw flicked free from her lips and a few drops of milk dribbled down her chin. “Huh?”
“We’re going to study at my place tonight,
right
?”
Kylee squeaked out, “Calculus.”
JD’s hand found Abby’s shoulder again, and he massaged it as he stood. “Maybe next time, then. Later, Abby.”
He strode to the lunch line and cut in where some jocks were standing. Abby blinked away from him to focus on Kylee. The girl still hadn’t cleaned off her chin.
“Kylee.” Abby offered her napkin and tapped her own chin. “You’ve got some milk…”
Kylee snatched the napkin and wiped her chin. “Did JD just ask you out?”
“I guess. I turned him down once. I don’t know why he won’t give up.”
Kylee snorted then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I am such a dork. Did I actually drool in his presence?”
“I think you just had a faulty straw.”
A smile spread across Kylee’s face. “You know, I don’t usually go for white boys—Mom would kill me—but I think I’d face the wrath for JD Kane.”
Abby wrinkled her nose. “Really? But he’s so cocky. Plus, he tried to kiss me yesterday. Yesterday, Kylee. He’d only known me for twenty-four hours, less if you only count the time we’ve actually talked.” Abby shook her head. “Not that I’m looking, but I want a guy who is my friend first and—”
Kylee grabbed Abby’s wrist. “Back up, girl. He tried to kiss you?”
Abby related JD’s near-assault at the trophy case.
“Wow,” Kylee said. “I’d always imagined he’d be more … romantic than that.”
“Sorry to kill the dream.”
“You’re still lucky, even if you don’t like him,” Kylee said. “At least you got asked out by someone—a cute someone. There’s such a shortage of cute guys around here, Danny Chung is starting to look good.”
AP English Mr. Chung? Abby grimaced, but Kylee was on a roll.
“And don’t even get me started on the lack of ethnicity. How many other black kids do you see at this school?”
Abby’s lips parted. Was that a rhetorical question? There wasn’t another person with anything close to the dark chocolate complexion of her friend, but she glanced around the cafeteria and caught sight of Mr. Chung in line at the vending machine. He had kind of a cute, John Cho-Hikaru Sulu thing going on, but it was hard to guess his age.
“I rest my case,” Kylee said, stabbing her Tater Tots with her fork.
“Two more years and you and Mr. Chung will be legal. He looks really young.”
“He’s twenty-six. Graduated with Scott.”
Abby had been joking, but Kylee’s information took her by surprise. “Really? It must be weird to teach at your own high school.”
“Danny even played football here. Got a scholarship to Oregon State but wasn’t good enough for pro. When Coach Reimers retired, Fishhook High hired Danny to teach and coach.”
“So the old coach taught English?”
“No. Mr. Lester taught English then.”
“Bio II, Mr. Lester?” Abby could not imagine Mr. Lester talking about the lyrical prose of F. Scott Fitzgerald without tying it to formaldehyde.
Kylee’s black lashes flicked from side to side, and she lowered her voice. “You really want to hear the soap opera that is Fishhook High?”
Intrigued, Abby said, “Please.”
Kylee took a deep breath. “Corrine Markley taught biology quite a few years ago. Mr. Lester wanted the job, but they needed him in the English department. Anyway, Mrs. Markley didn’t show up one day. No one knew where she was, and her husband
reported her missing. The cops even questioned him but had to let him go for lack of evidence. Scott and Danny thought Mr. Lester knocked her off for the biology position. And sure enough, next year Mr. Lester was head of the science department.”
A missing biology teacher. A chill tingled up Abby’s spine. “Did they ever find her?”
“Nope. She vanished. No body, no crime. Scott had a few of her classes when he was in school, and he was really depressed when the cops gave up on the search. He said it was because she was a great teacher, but I think he had a thing for her. This was way before he married Aliza, of course.”
“How long ago?”
“I was in sixth grade when she disappeared, and Scott was just out of college. And I remember Danny was subbing in the valley, looking for a fulltime job. The school hired him that fall to coach and fill Mr. Lester’s English spot.”
Welcome to
CSI: Fishhook
. If Abby could find the public library, she could look up the old newspapers, read the official story. The cops probably had done all they could, and the case
was
pretty old, but still. In a town like this, they probably couldn’t afford the best forensics specialists. Not that Abby had enough training to do any good, but her mind was suffering from lack of academic stimuli. It might be fun to look up the case and build some theories. And possibly find out what really happened to Corrine Markley.
“In your role as genetic counselors, you’ll investigate an inherited disease and prepare a PowerPoint presentation for a client who has just been diagnosed.”
Now this was the kind of assignment she got back at George Washington High School, and Mr. Lester was the kind of teacher she was used to. He was wearing a white lab coat. Big pro for Mr. Lester. Abby liked that he took science seriously.
She really hoped he wasn’t a murderer.
He draped an arm over the tall cane-like faucet of the sink on his marble desk. “Your presentation should provide medical
information to help your client live a long and healthy life. Things like”—he walked to the whiteboard and began to write—”symptoms, causes, diagnosis, treatment, prognosis, and pedigree.” He put down the marker. “I also want to see the impact of the disease on the victim, their family, and society. Make sure you create a Punnett square to predict possible genetic outcomes for the patient’s offspring.”
Abby’s mind spun through the genetic disease possibilities. Cystic Fibrosis? She’d always been fascinated with little Emmy, who had lived in their apartment building back in DC. A freshman guy in her PE class here had hemophilia. He’d gotten a bloody nose playing volleyball yesterday and an ambulance had taken him to the hospital.
She snapped out of her thoughts as chairs scraped the floor and students began moving around the room. Mr. Lester must have dismissed them to find a partner. She stood and scanned the classroom for a lone student but saw only pairs.
“I guess that leaves you and me,” a deep voice said.
Abby swung around to see JD sitting in the once-vacant seat beside her.
Of course
. “I’m not working with you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
She stammered, “I … There’s no … Just because.”
He grinned and opened his notebook to a clean sheet of paper. She fell back into her chair and propped her cheek on her fist. He’d better not mess this up.
She hadn’t bothered to take note of JD’s outfit today, but now she couldn’t help but notice. He wore a blue sweater over a white turtleneck. The colors popped over the black marble tabletop. He pushed the sleeves up over his sculpted forearms and leaned back in his chair, looking like something out of
GQ
.
Abby twisted her lips. Too bad he had no IQ.
She snickered at her private joke then caught a whiff of his cologne. Her snicker morphed into a cough that morphed into, “What do you want to do the project on?”
JD leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “How about, how long it will take you to forgive me?”
“It’s not a statistics project, JD. It’s biology. Biogenetics, technically.” Instead of looking chastised, JD seemed amused. “Look, my grade is important to me. I’m a straight-A student. So if you’re not going to help, you can find yourself another lab partner.”
His eyebrows rose in innocent protest. “I’m a straight-A student too, remember? Valedictorian?”
“Right. Well, are you interested in any disease in particular? Because if you’re not, I—”
“Lupus.”
“Really?” Abby blinked, surprised how quickly he’d spat out the word. “Do you know someone with lupus?”
JD frowned. “You think that’ll get us extra credit?”
“I doubt it, but if we could interview someone—”
He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone.” He straightened in his chair, scratched his neck, cleared his throat, and fidgeted until he crossed his arms back over his chest.
O-kay. Talk about your tells. Wonder boy was exhibiting some serious lying symptoms.
And under her penetrating gaze, JD’s ears pinked. “I don’t really care what we do.”
“Lupus is fine with me. I don’t know all that much about it.” Which was a major pro. She’d finally have something to focus her energy on.
He loosened up again and delivered a smile that could thaw the deepest freeze. “Why don’t you come to my house later and we could—”
She shot him a scowl.
“—study.” His smile drooped. “Or not.” Then he laughed, the dopiest laugh Abby had ever heard. Much worse than Kylee’s snort.
Good grief. Jock boy’s geek was showing.
Abby hung out at the school library for a few hours after school, looking for books on lupus. There weren’t many. They also didn’t keep any newspapers past four years old. She checked out the couple
books they did have then took the scenic route home, driving past Jason Farms.
She pulled her BMW into the parking lot and eased into an empty space between a Lexus and a Land Rover. Nice cars; Jason Farms must pay well. She bit her lip and tapped her gloved fingers on the steering wheel, staring at the dark opening in the barn where one of the big doors was propped open with a mound of snow.
Maybe they were working on something to do with cloning fruit or vegetables. Something to help the FDA? She turned off the engine and the cab chilled almost instantly without the fan blowing heat in her face. Not exactly ideal weather for growing vegetation. She pulled her hood strings tight around her chin, wrenched open the door, and walked toward the barn.
Just a quick peek.
Her breath puffed out in front like exhaust. Her nylon bomber jacket rustled with every swing of her arms or turn of her head. She stepped through the large entry onto a concrete floor and pushed off her hood to get a better look around. The floor was entirely concrete, the barn itself vast and empty except for stacks of mildewed hay bales. A wide, steel vault door stood to her left, a keycard slot perched on the wall beside it.
High security. Not your everyday barn.
Further down the wall that held the mysterious vault door were several aluminum storage cabinets. Abby opened one. Oddly enough, they weren’t locked.
The first revealed nothing but canned cauliflower. Weird. The second cabinet was filled with cartons of dried goods: instant mashed potatoes, boxes of pasta, napkins, and plastic spoons.
The next held nothing but diapers in all sizes. Lots and lots of diapers.
Perhaps they had chimps behind that Fort Knox door. Her toes clenched in the bottom of her boots. Had Dad gone from one unethical lab to another? Jason Farms sure looked like it had something to hide.