Page 163 of Johnny

“Refugee camps. The one topic no one wants to talk about.”

“Exactly. And what’s the first thing they give to people when they start filling up refugee camps?”

She frowns. And it’s a deep, grave, sad frown. She whispers, “Medical attention.”

“And shots, right? Vaccines, maybe? Or antibiotics? But what if it’s not a vaccine or an antibiotic?

What if it’s something else?”

She looks down at her hands. Shakes her head a little. “Something else like what?”

“I dunno. You’re the scientist. What could be in those shots?”

She lets out a long breath of air. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not really a scientist. I’m just a

glorified lab tech. But if you’re insinuating that we have some kind of vector to deliver… I don’t

know. Gene splices, I guess. Then… no, Johnny. That’s a bunch of science fiction.”

“How did you change your rat?”

“That’s different. It’s a rat. Not a human. We don’t do things like that on humans because we’re a

lot more complicated than a rat.”

“We don’t do things like that?” I say. “Really? Then what the fuck were they doing with those

pregnant women in that lab, Megan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something illegal, right? Something they can’t do in the US for risk of exposure. And I mean in the

literal sense, obviously. Since that place had a biosecurity level four containment facility. I looked

that up while you were sleeping, by the way. I looked at a map. Only thirteen of those high-security labs even exist in the US. About an equal number in various European countries. Two in Africa. Two

in Australia. Half a dozen in Asia. But you know what country was missing on the map I saw?”

“The Bahamas?”

“The Bahamas. There’s no public record of a level four facility in the Bahamas. And we don’t

need to speculate that they were running trials on humans there. We saw it.”

“We don’t know what it was.”

“I have the data. We could look. You might recognize something.”

“Oh, God. Now?” She sighs and I can tell she’s exhausted. But beyond that, this is too much right

now. It’s overload. It’s heavy. It’s… sad. For so many reasons, but mostly because like it or not,

whatever they’re doing, we’re both a part of it.

“No. We don’t have to look now.” I sit up in bed, pull my pants back up, then grab her shorts and

toss them to her. “But I do want you to look at something else. Put those on and come with me.”