BZRK: Apocalypse (BZRK 3)

In crèches concealed in locations in several cities across North America, Europe, and Asia, DNA stew was bathed in various enzymes before receiving three micro-doses of drugs and a final jolt of electricity.

Forty-eight thousand biots—three for each of the sixteen thousand DNA signatures—came to life.

Only fifteen thousand, eight hundred and four people (a number had died since their fateful visit to a medical testing lab) saw windows open in their minds.

Of those, fewer than a third understood what it meant.

They generated more than three thousand terrified calls to 911 in the U.S. and 999 in the UK and 112 in the European Union.

“That’s the first tranche,” Lear said. To the pilot, she said, “Okay, we can go now.”

Bug Man did not want to ask. He risked making her angry, and in this new world, where his life belonged to her, he did not want to do that. But he couldn’t help himself.

“My mum?”

“By now she’s thinking, ‘Blimey, what’s that then?’ ” Lear said, switching to an exaggerated British accent. “There’s windows in me head, innit?”

Bug Man’s throat convulsed. Tears came to his eyes, impossible to stop.

“Best to move on, Buggy,” Lear said. “Get over it. Look at me. My father died tonight, and do I seem all weepy? Hey, have you decided what color teeth you want?”

“What?”

“The teeth. The teeth!” She pointed at her own. “How about green? I like green.”

As the jet taxied the acid rolled toward forty-eight thousand biots.

“Hah, there we go, yeah,” Lear said. “Now we’re going to play.”

“We know her name now. Lystra Reid,” Plath said.

Anya typed it in. Instantly the computer monitor lit up with links and photos.

“I’ve seen her before.” Wilkes frowned, then snapped her fingers. “Nijinsky. She was there when Jin died.”

“Lear. She’s thirtysomething, born in Bogalusa, Louisiana. Parents not listed. Schools, nope. That’s about it except for later business stuff. She owns a lot of medical testing labs.”

“That would make sense,” Anya said.

Vincent, seemingly exhausted by his earlier conversation, remained silent.

“That’s probably how she met my father. And it’s how she got DNA samples.”

“She will have millions of them,” Anya said.

Plath looked at the best photograph of Lystra Reid. What was there in that pretty face to betray the existence of an evil, disturbed mind? Nothing. The eyes were clear, the expression open, the mouth smiling.

Plath remembered what Stern had told her. That Lear had used burner phones but without masking the callback number. One had been purchased in Tierra del Fuego. The other in New Zealand, she could not recall the city. But both had been connected to Antarctica.

“Search ‘Lystra Reid’ and Antarctica,” she told Anya.

That earned a raised eyebrow, but the search caused a long, slow exhale. Lystra Reid had purchased a company called Cathexis.

“Pull up any articles on Cathexis Inc.,” Plath instructed.

The four of them read silently. Wilkes moved her lips. Plath felt a new pang as just for a moment she thought to turn, look over her shoulder, and ask Noah what he thought.

But there was no Noah. No Noah, no Nijinsky, no Mr. Stern, and only a partial Vincent.