Warren Murphy: Unnatural Selection

"You've got two hundred acres here," Burt's neighbor, Owen Grude, had drawled. Among other things, Grude drilled wells for a living. "Lubec's known for our water. Shouldn't be a problem finding another source around here."

It turned out his neighbor was right. Owen found water on the first try. Not only that, it was the sweetest water either of them had ever tasted.

Owen sent a sample away for testing. The lab confirmed that it was purest water in a state filled with pure water.

"You should bottle this," Owen Grude suggested when he brought the test results to Burt Solare's rural home.

"Why?" Burt asked. "In case of drought?"

"To sell," Owen had replied. "City folks'd pay a pretty penny for water this pure."

"You mean like a business," Burt said levelly.

Owen nodded. "Could be good for us both. I see you wandering around here, nothing to do. A man should do something."

"I'm not sure, Owen," Burt said warily. "How big are we talking?"

"Small operation. Couple of fellas. You won't even have to do much, unless you want to. But like I said, you don't have much to do now. Aren't you bored?"

Like many people in that part of the country, Owen Grude was a lot more savvy than he let on. In his quiet, backwoods way he had cut to Burt Solare's heart.

The truth was, Burt was bored. He was more fit than he had ever been in his life, but with nothing to occupy his days he was beginning to feel as if he were stagnating.

Owen's suggestion came at a time of perfect weakness. It didn't take much convincing. That very afternoon, Burt Solare accepted his new partner's proposal. After that, everything happened in a blur.

There were trucks and buildings-at Burt's insistence, confined to the woods on the other side of his land. Owen had underestimated the number of people they would need to hire. The employees numbered in the dozens at the Lubec plant alone. Soon the cacophony of the outer world began to intrude on Burt's rural life.

Within two years, Lubec Springs water blanketed the East Coast. In five it had exploded nationally. The next year the tidal wave spilled into the international market.

By the time his fiftieth birthday rolled around, the solitary existence Burt had longed for was long gone. Rather than remain the silent partner he had hoped, Burt had taken an active role in the growth of the business. The success of Lubec Springs was largely due to the advertising skills he had developed in New York. But, as had happened in New York, Burt's health suffered in inverse proportion to the health of his business.

He was fifty-five now. Rich several times over.

And with a gnawing wound in his gut that refused to surrender to all the medications he poured into it. For Burt it was finally enough.

For the second time in his life, he was going to chuck it all. He'd sell his home, his land and his interest in Lubec Springs. He would move farther up into the wilds of Maine, and if success came sniffing at his door this time, he'd shoot it, bury it and move to Canada. Hell, he'd take a dogsled to the North Pole if he had to. This time enough was absolutely, unequivocally enough.

The decision had been made a few days before. It was now just a matter of summoning the strength to tell Owen.

When he had first moved up to Lubec more than a decade earlier, the only twisting path through these woods was his own long driveway. Now a half mile from his house was an electronically controlled gate. On the other side was another road, this one paved.

During the week, trucks drove back and forth along that isolated path. Fortunately it was Saturday. The sounds of wretched civilization would not return until Monday.

Burt slipped around the gate that separated his private property from that of his business.

Someone had sneaked in during the night again. Green-and-pink paper from the local copy center had been nailed to dozens of the trees. A picture of a curled blob that looked like a bumpy comma was in the center of each page. Below were the letters S.O.L. The papers rattled in the breeze.

When Burt saw the papers, he shook his head in disgust. His hand searched for his burning belly. Amid all the fluttering papers beside the paved road was a small sign. It read simply Lubec Springs. "May you burn to the ground and your ashes scatter to the four winds," Burt grumbled at the sign. Feeling the fire in his belly, he headed up the road to the bottling plant.

SINCE ITS FOUNDING a decade before, the single-story Lubec Springs bottling plant had expanded from a small wooden shed to a sprawling complex nestled amid the lonely pines.

The main plant was a cinder-block affair that had been erected hurriedly several years previously. Tucked around back, barely visible from the road, a few Lubec Springs trucks sat idle near concrete loading platforms.

Jutting from the front of the larger building was a clapboard addition that housed the main offices.

A car was parked out front. With a frown, Burt noted the out-of-state license plate. He had told Owen this meeting was business-related. Burt hoped his partner had sense enough not to bring guests to the plant. The last thing he wanted was to wait another day to tell Owen he was calling it quits.

Wearily he climbed the three wide steps and pushed open the front door. Walking down to the offices from the reception area, he found Owen behind his desk. The cofounder of Lubec Springs was not alone.

"Oh," Burt said, irritated. One hand gripped the door frame. "Owen, we had a meeting, remember?" Burt glanced at the three strangers in the room. Two were men in their late thirties or early forties. The third was a woman. When he saw her, Burt's irritation bled away.

She was gorgeous. The woman's hair was as black as a raven's wings. Her eyes were quick and sharp. Her skin was cream. She stood with a confident grace that announced to the world she owned whatever room she was in.

As the woman fixed him with a cold stare, Burt gulped.

"I, uh... Sorry. We can do this later, Owen."

"No," Owen insisted. "You said you had something important to tell me." His voice was a deep growl. It sounded strange. Stronger than normal. Burt tore his eyes away from the woman.

Owen was stepping out from around his desk. He was even walking differently. Owen Grude was forty pounds overweight. He usually stomped and wheezed when he walked. But this day he seemed to glide. The other two men fell in behind him.

"No," Burt insisted, suddenly clenching his molars with fresh pain. His ulcer was flaring again. "It can wait. You have company. We can talk tomorrow. Nice to meet you," he said, nodding to the woman.

Silent until now, the woman seemed distracted by the men. A hint of disapproval creased her brow. "Please wait, Mr. Solare," she said to Burt.

In the doorway Burt paused. "Yes?"

"This is so awkward," she said with a cool smile that indicated it was anything but awkward. "Mr. Grude wasn't sure how to tell you this himself, so I'm just going to tell you. He has signed his fifty percent of Lubec Springs over to me. I'm your new partner."

For a moment Burt didn't know what to say. The pain in his belly was forgotten. "Owen?" he asked, confused.

His partner just stood there, brow hanging low over sharp eyes. Burt had eaten supper at Owen's house enough over the past ten years to know that look. Owen got that same look when he was drooling over a plate of pork chops.

"Your water is very pure," the woman announced. Owen and the other two men snorted softly-pulling in soft, inquisitive breaths. Like animals sniffing prey.

"That's true," Burt Solare said slowly. "Okay, Owen, what is all this?"

"Business, Burt," Owen said. "Thanks to you, we're in every convenience store and supermarket in the country."

As he spoke, his nostrils flared, sniffing the air. He circled around Burt.