Greg Bear - Darwin's Children

She stood quietly as the patrol cars slowed and then nosed off with the van to see who would turn first into the private road.

“No snooping,” the old woman said. “You with the gas company?” The woman was forty feet away, nothing more than a frizz-headed silhouette. She had come out of the house very quietly as Mitch had transited the back of the long building. She was carrying a shotgun.

Mitch turned and looked up the right side of the long building, facing the back of the house. He had made his circuit and found no other entrance.

“Don’t be silly,” he called, trying to sound amiable. “I’m looking for my daughter.”

“We don’t have parties,” the woman said.

“Mother!” A man slammed open the screen door and stood beside her on the back porch. “Put that damned gun away. There are troopers out front.”

“Caught him,” the woman said. She pointed.

“Come right on up here. Let me see you. You with the troopers?”

“Emergency Action,” Mitch said.

“That’s not what he said,” the woman commented, lowering the shotgun.

The man took the gun away from her with a jerk and stepped back into the house. The woman stood staring at Mitch. “You come to get your daughter,” she murmured.

Mitch walked warily around her, then to the left, seeing the headlights of a car and a van at the end of the road behind their old truck.

“Damn it, you’ve parked all wrong,” the man shouted from inside the house. Mitch heard feet stamping on wooden floors, saw lights go on and off through the rooms, heard the door open on the front porch.

As Mitch came around the corner, a plump, active man in shorts stood on the porch between the pillars, hands up as if surrendering. “What are they up to?” the man muttered.

Mitch’s hopes were very low. He could not find Stella without making a lot of noise, and there was no way now he could imagine getting her away from the house even if he carried her. The woods behind the house and across a field looked thick. Bugs were humming and chirping all around him now that the rain had let up. The air smelled dusty and sweet with moisture and wet grass and dirt.

Kaye faced the main road and the newly arrived vehicles. Two men in two-tone gray uniforms got out of the patrol cars and walked toward her. The younger man cast a confused backward glance at the van.

“Did you call us, ma’am?” the older trooper asked. He was large, in his late forties, with a deep but crackling bull voice.

“Our daughter’s been kidnapped. She’s in there,” Kaye said.

“In the house?”

“We just got here. She called us and told us where to find her.”

The troopers regarded each other briefly, faces professionally blank, then turned toward the two figures emerging from the van: a tall, cadaverous male in a shiny black jumpsuit and a stocky female in plastic isolation whites. They slipped on gloves and face masks and approached the troopers.

“This is our jurisdiction, officers,” the thin man said. “We’re federal.”

“We have a kidnapping complaint,” the older trooper said.

“Ma’am, what’s your business here?” the woman asked Kaye.

“Show me your ID,” Kaye demanded.

“Look at the damned van. They aren’t cheap, you know,” said the thin man in the black jumpsuit, his voice haughty. “You the mother?”

The troopers stood back. The big one scowled at the thin man.

“You are here to pay bounty,” Kaye said, her voice scratchy. “I have no idea how many kids are here, but I know this is not legal. Not in this state.”

The big trooper stood his ground with arms folded. “That true?” he asked the woman in the plastic suit.

“We have jurisdiction. This is federal,” the tall man repeated. “Sherry,” he called out to his partner, “get the office.”

“Maryland plates,” the younger trooper observed.

Kaye studied the big trooper’s face. He was red-cheeked and his nose was a swollen network of broken veins, probably from rosacea, but it could also have been drink.

“Why are you outside of your county?” the big trooper asked the pair from the van.

“It’s federal; it’s official,” the stout little woman said defiantly. “You can’t stop us.”

“Take off that damned mask. I can’t understand you,” the big trooper said.

“It’s policy to leave the mask on, officer,” the woman announced formally. Her outfit rustled and squeaked as she walked. There was an air of disarray about the team that did not inspire confidence. The big trooper’s uniform was pressed and fit tightly over a strong frame going to fat. He looked sad and tired, but strong on self-discipline. Kaye thought he looked like an old football player. He was not impressed. He turned his attention back to Kaye. “Who called the state police, ma’am?”

“My husband. Someone snatched our daughter. She’s in that house.”

“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.