“Well, it sure looks closed now,” Wendy says.
Nathan jiggles the door handle. Then he presses his face to the glass, cupping his eyes to cut down on sun glare.
We all do the same. But there’s nothing to see.
“What is that?” Wendy asks. “A wall?”
“I dunno,” Indie says.
“I think it is,” I say. It doesn’t really look like a wall, it’s just black. Like… a black hole of emptiness. There aren’t even any shadows. There should be sunlight passing through the glass, but there isn’t.
“It’s not paint on the inside,” Wendy says.
No. It’s not. Because there’s depth to this blackness. But that’s what it kinda looks like.
“It’s a front,” I say. We all pull away from the glass and look at each other. “It’s a fake. There’s no print shop in there.”
“I just got done explaining that there was,” Nate says. Then he looks at the liquor store across the street. “I’ll be right back.”
He crosses, goes inside, and about a minute later, he comes back out shaking his head. “Liquor store guy says that store has been closed for about six months, but every now and then, he sees people poking around over there. And lights on inside at night sometimes.”
“Donovan?” Indie asks.
“Probably,” Nathan says. And then he does something weird. He kinda opens his mouth, like he’s gonna say more, but then changes his mind and shuts up.
His eyes find mine. Just for a brief second. He logs my suspicion and shoots me a look. One I interpret to mean, Later. He will talk to me about it later.
“Well,” I say, deciding to oblige him and not push the issue, “I guess we know where the secrets are.”
We break in.
Nathan wraps his t-shirt around his fist and punches a hole in the glass of the back door facing the alley. Indie gags. “Oh, my God, what is that smell?”
“Yeah.” Wendy covers the lower part of her face with her forearm. “That’s not ink and old books.”
“Smells like dead animals,” I say.
“And chemicals,” Indie offers. Then she gasps. “Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit what?” I ask.
“Dead animals? Oh, God.” She doesn’t wait for us, just pushes past Nate and follows a long, dark hallway that runs parallel to the outside wall of the building.
We follow her and when we get to the front, we see what that black wall was. Not a wall at all. Unless you consider a massive, industrial-sized set of small animal cages a wall. We were looking at the back. And it’s massive. Floor-to-ceiling. I add up the rows and columns, do a quick calculation, and come up with two hundred. Twenty rows across and ten columns down.
“What the fuck?” Nate whispers.
“Please tell me they are not all filled with dead rats.” Indie’s voice is a little too loud.
But they are.
Nate paces back and forth in front of the cages, frowning. “Why…” He must run out of words. Because that’s as far as he gets.
“Rats,” I say. “Why would Donovan—”
“Carter,” Indie cuts me off. “It wasn’t Donovan. This isn’t Donovan. It’s Carter.”
“O-kay.” I’m not gonna argue with her. But I have my doubts. “Why would Carter need two hundred rats? Anyone?”
“Longevity experiments,” Wendy says.
I point at my genius of a wife. “Ding, ding, ding.”
“What are you talking about?” Nate asks.
“The Company was doing experiments using rats,” I say. “They were looking for eternal life.”
“Oh, not this again.” Indie sighs. “It’s all bullshit.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Maybe?” Nate asks.
I shrug. “What is and isn’t bullshit isn’t the point.”
“Seems like a pretty good point to me,” Nate counters.
“Trust me,” I say. “It’s not the point. The point is… Well, the question is, did the Company think that they could achieve eternal life? Because belief is a powerful thing. If one believes in something, one goes looking for that something. And the answer to that question is yes. They very much did believe that eternal life was, if not possible, at the very least achievable.”
“How do you know that’s the answer?” Indie snarls.
“Because I’ve seen things, Indie. And Megan Machette was in on it.”
Indie is not convinced. “So? She wasn’t even a scientist from what I hear. Her father ran the lab.”
I put up both hands. “Fine. If you want to think this is all bullshit, be my guest. But again, your thoughts on it aren’t the point. The point is—did they think they could live forever?” Once again, Indie is ready to object, but I continue before she can. “No one cares what you think, Indie. But if they weren’t looking for the Fountain of Youth, then what’s your explanation for all this?” I pan my hand to the cages.
She stares at me for a moment, gives me a look I’m not able to decipher, then she shrugs. “Genetics, of course.”
“Genetics for…” I prompt her.
“Zero girls. That’s the point, Nick. Us.” She points to herself, then Wendy. “We’re the project.”