Sara Reinke - Backwoods

“The Bronx, yeah.” She glanced over her shoulder almost as if uneasy, or if she feared being overheard. “Between you and me, this is the strangest assignment I’ve ever had.”

“Why?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Because we’re all reservists here—National Guard, not full time Army. I’m usually deployed with a maintenance battalion. This set up is a hodge-podge of different units, different companies, different regiments. I didn’t know any of these guys up until we got here. And there’s only twenty-four of us here. Well, sixteen now that they sent Lieutenant Carter and all of Alpha squad home.”

“Is that unusual?” Andrew asked.

“When I was in Iraq, I was part of a five-hundred man battalion,” she said. “My platoon had more manpower than this operation. Yeah, I’d say it’s very unusual.”

She clapped him affably on the shoulder, then turned to walk away.

“Hey, Santoro,” he said, and she paused, glancing at him, her expression curious. “I’m sorry about earlier, what I said when you came by my room. I just…It was a long time ago, but it was really hard on my family, what happened to Beth. I really don’t like to talk about it.”

Santoro nodded once. “Fair enough. I shouldn’t have tried to joke with you about it. I’m sorry, too.”

They both stood there, the silence growing prolonged and pronounced, as if they waited for something. “Well,” she said at length. “Guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Yeah.” He watched her leave, thinking again that it wasn’t so bad, being on her good side. “See you.”

Andrew stood alone by the back doors as the sounds of Santoro’s footsteps had faded down the corridor. Just as he moved to head for the stairwell, a blur of sudden movement out of the corner of his gaze drew his attention to the doors, the courtyard beyond.

What the…?

He could see a small figure crossing the lawn outside, marking a slow but steady bisecting line across the courtyard. He caught a glimpse of long, dark, disheveled hair and bare feet beneath the long hem of a nightgown. Alice Moore.

What’s she doing? For an uncertain moment, he glanced over his shoulder toward the hall behind him, at the end of which were the stairs leading up to Dr. Moore’s apartment. Suzette had told him Alice wasn’t allowed to go anywhere on her own, but he saw no sign of Suzette, Moore or anyone else out in the yard with the girl.

“Shit,” he muttered. Shoving the door open with both hands, Andrew ran out onto the sidewalk. “Alice!”

If she heard him calling to her, she didn’t stop, didn’t turn around or even pause. Maintaining her bee-line across the yard, she walked ahead of him, and she had enough of a lead that he had to sprint to catch up. As he approached, he could have sworn he heard her counting, whispering with each step.

“Hey.” He caught her by the shoulder, winded. “Hold up. What are you doing?”

She looked up at him. “I’m walking.”

Still trying to catch his breath, Andrew laughed. “Yeah. I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I meant what are you doing outside by yourself?”

“Then why didn’t you ask that?”

He shook his head, wishing all at once that he’d chosen the lady over the tiger and had gone upstairs to get Suzette.

Alice turned around, started walking again.

“Wait.” He hurried after her. “Where are you going?”

Her path led them to her father’s laboratory building, its featureless white stone façade bathed in the stark, pale glow of security lights. Fearless, she went straight to the main entrance, an entry alcove in which a polarized glass and steel door had been recessed. Without a pause, she reached up, typed a quick series of numbers into the key pad.

“What are you doing?” he asked in wide-eyed alarm as she opened the door. O’Malley had called this place the house of pain, and all at once, he didn’t really want to find out why. As she walked inside, he reached for her, fumbled with her sleeve, then missed. The door started to swing shut behind her with a hiss of pneumatics. He hadn’t taken note of the pass code and realized if it shut between them, he’d be locked outside.

“Shit.” Catching the door with his hand within inches of it closing fully, he drew it open again and ducked inside after Alice.

“What are you doing?” he whispered again. “Alice, wait. Stop. You’re not supposed to be in here.”

She was already on the move ahead of him. “Neither are you,” she replied without sparing him a glance.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. She had him there.

As Andrew trailed the girl along the brightly lit corridors, their footsteps marked a whispered cadence against the glossy tiled floors. Everything looked white-washed, stark and sterile. The air felt sharp and cold, smelling distinctly of antiseptics and bleach. He looked all around, wide-eyed as they passed by closed doors, all barred with individual key pad locks, all bearing a variety of brightly colored alert labels in prominent view.

CAUTION: BIOHAZARD, some read, additionally emblazoned with three interlocking circles forming a triangular shape against a neon orange background. Perhaps more ominous were the ones that read CANCER HAZARD and BIOSAFETY LEVEL 2 .

“What the hell does your dad do here?” he whispered. It was a good thing he hadn’t really expected an answer from Alice, because she didn’t offer one.

She paused outside a pair of automatic doors, and punched in a pass code. The doors obligingly swung inward, and Andrew followed her hesitantly across the threshold. Inside, beneath that sterile, sanitary smell was the distinctive odor of musk and ammonia he associated with a zoo. One side of the room contained with animal cages, like oversized dog carriers, white plastic with chrome gates, stacked in neat columns and lined up in tidy rows. On the other side stood a peculiar phalanx of tall red chemical tanks connected to a network of pipes that branched up to the ceiling. CARBON DIOXIDE, the black-on-gold labels read on each.

“For in case there’s a fire,” Alice explained, noticing his attention. He glanced at her, curious, and she said, “It’s so water from a sprinkler system won’t mess up Daddy’s equipment. See?” She pointed behind him and mounted beside the doorway, he saw a bright blue box. “There’s oxygen, too. Little portable tanks, a mask. They’re in all the rooms. Daddy said it’s an ocean standard.”

It took him a minute to decipher and he laughed. “Not ocean. OSHA. It stands for Occupational Safety and Health Administration.”

Alice studied him for a moment, then walked away. “Daddy says it’s just another bunch of bureaucratic bullshit.”

“He’s probably right on that one,” Andrew murmured. As he followed Alice across the room, the animals inside the cages began to stir, a sudden din of scrabbling feet and curious chirrups.

Monkeys, he realized as several of them suddenly pressed their faces against the gates, clutching at the cage bars with tiny, human-like hands.

Suzette had told him that Dr. Moore’s house in Massachusetts had been firebombed. They think it might have been a group of animal rights zealots, she’d said. PACA, I think they’re called. People Against Cruelty to Animals.

Is this why? he wondered. Whatever Moore’s working on, he’s been experimenting on animals?

The chattering from the monkeys grew louder and more insistent as Alice walked across the room and approached one of the larger crates. Before he could fully grasp what she was doing, never mind stop her, she’d reached for a key pad near the cage’s gate.