Dyes of some kind. Dye the children’s hair and perhaps injecting dye into their eyes?
He reached the other door. It had a bar lock similar to the opposing door, and as Dean removed the bar he could hear whimpering from within the room. Whimpering from more than one voice, mingled with the low hum of a hard-fuel-driven generator. What it was powering, he couldn’t imagine. Neither did he want to imagine what was whimpering.
He would find out soon enough.
Laying the bar up against the wall, Dean carefully opened the door.
The room beyond was well lit by fluorescent tubes powered by the generator. Old tech equipment with digital displays and flashing lights stood against one wall, flanked by the generator. Cables and thinner wires ran from the equipment toward two beds that were against the opposite wall. The whimpering came from the beds.
The two beds stood side by side, old hospital beds with Perspex sides raised above mattress level, obviously rescued from the remains of the city above ground. The Perspex was scored and scarred, which made it difficult for Dean to see what was lying on the beds, whimpering pitifully.
Apprehensive, and feeling the bile of anticipation rise in his throat, Dean advanced toward the beds.
When he was able to see over the Perspex, he wished he hadn’t bothered.
How the creatures in the beds had been conceived and birthed he couldn’t begin to imagine, but it certainly hadn’t been a natural process. They were children, but only just. The heads were too large for the stunted and twisted bodies, with overly large foreheads to which clung wisps of hair. Both had small torsos, with shortened arms and only vestigial fingers. The legs were withered. They looked almost identical, like twins or clones. They were pincushions for a number of tubes that fed liquid into them, then extracted it. They were the results of an ongoing and not particularly successful experiment.
But they were still human beings, and their eyes showed constant pain.
The bile rose in Dean’s throat, choking him. He tried not to make any noise as the creatures looked at him with fearful eyes, and yet begged for pity. He couldn’t face them any longer.
Dean turned on his heel to leave, but was brought up short by the figure looming in the doorway. Silently, and with an infinite stealth, his pursuer had encroached on the room. Harvey.
The sec chief stood easily, hand on hip, scratching his head. Neither hand was anywhere near the snub-nosed Colt Magnum Carry that was his chosen blaster. This was snug to his hip in its combat holster. “Well, son, looks like you’ve really blown it this time. You should have been more careful, like your pa. If you ever stumble on something, you don’t pry and you don’t snoop. That way you might actually get to stay alive.”
Dean was aware of his Browning Hi-Power. He could feel its shape and weight. Could he outdraw the sec man? Certainly, his body weight was much more poised and alert, whereas Harvey seemed much too relaxed.
Uncannily, it was as though the sec man could read his thoughts. Without moving a muscle, except to lower the hand that had been scratching his head, Harvey said, “Now, you see you could try and draw, mebbe risk beating me. But if you do, then you’ve awakened the whole ville, and have to answer why you’ve chilled the sec chief. And that wouldn’t be easy, ’cause my Jenna, well, she can wrap that old fool Alien around her pinkie.”
Dean made no move, but neither did he relax. His adrenaline was racing, and time seemed to be moving at half speed as he frantically searched for a way out. His eyes searched past the sec chief to the room beyond. It seemed empty.
“You’re right,” Dean said simply. “I’d have to be triple stupe to try and chill you. But on the other hand, you’d have to be more than that to chill me. You know there’d be trouble if I went missing.”
“You forget that you’re on my territory, boy. Your father and his few rad-blasted scum against the whole of Raw? What kind of odds are those?”