bleeding.
Shit.
Chapter Eight
----
“I CAUSED ALL this? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Reynolds asked.
I dragged my gaze off his leg to see that he was looking at me as if I’d sprouted horns. “You poisoned my town, is what that’s supposed to mean. Do you know how many people have died?” I gestured at the slathering things crowding the edge of the roof next door. “Or worse?”
“My husband had nothing to do with this,” the woman said, but she didn’t look at me, she looked at him, a question in her eyes. Like she already knew it was possible.
I noticed Mrs. Applegate and my Mom hustling the little guy, Curtiss, who must’ve been about five years old, out of earshot.
“Suz thinks it was the potato chips, Mr. Reynolds” Chuck told him.
“What potato chips? I don’t know what you’re–”
Before he finished, I’d dug the crumpled bag I considered evidence from my pocket, and held it up in a fist. “These potato chips. Everyone I know for sure ate them, turned into one of those...those creeps. Everyone I know for sure didn’t eat them, stayed the same. They have your freaking name on them, and from what I understand, the GMO potatoes you made them out of haven’t even been approved by the FDA yet.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Technically, the FDA consultation program for genetically engineered plants is voluntary, not mandatory. And since this is a plant, not an animal–”
“Aside from the mantis DNA, at least.” I threw the bag at his chest.
His eyes widened and he shot a look at Chuck. “I presume she got that piece of confidential information from you, Mr. Brown?”
“Yeah. And you don’t need to fire me. I quit, Mr. Reynolds.”
He rolled his eyes. “There is no proof it was the potatoes–”
“The prisoners ate them. Except for one of them, that is.” The chief closed his eyes and gave a shudder. “I ate everything they did, except those chips.”
The man’s wife said, “But...but how could potato chips cause something like...like...this?”
I met her eyes. Blue eyes. Pretty. And brave, and devoted to her kid. That said a lot about her, in my book. “Because your husband’s science team added the DNA of an insatiable carnivorous predator to the potato, and then used the population of Bloody Gulch for lab rats, Mrs. Reynolds.
She took a step backward, away from her husband. “You had a bag of those chips in your briefcase when you came home last night, Bill,” his wife said softly. “But when little Curtiss asked if he could eat them, you...shouted at him. You got far too excited. Why?”
“Not because I thought he’d turn into a flesh eating monster, Tam.”
She moved closer to him, tilting her head to one side and narrowing her eyes as she searched his. “But you thought they might not be safe, didn’t you?”
He lowered his head. “I didn’t want my kid to be the first to eat them.”
“So you fed them to other peoples’ kids instead,” Chuck said softly. He sent me a look. “You were right, Suz. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
He couldn’t hold his wife’s accusing eyes. As soon as he looked away, she paled. “Oh my God, it’s true. You did this, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know. Tam, I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
She was backing away from him, shaking her head in horror. “Always taking shortcuts, putting profits ahead of everything else. How many times have I told you it would backfire sooner or later? How many times? It’s food, Bill. It’s food. You can’t play God with something that basic.”
He was looking at the floor, at his feet, but she advanced on him, gripped his chin and lifted his head, turning it toward the building beside ours. “Look at what you’ve done, Bill. Look at them. Those were good people. Innocent people. Families. You did this to them. For money.”
He sank to his knees, shoulders shaking.
“Get up,” I told him. “This isn’t finished.”
Chuck’s
Shit.
Chapter Eight
----
“I CAUSED ALL this? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Reynolds asked.
I dragged my gaze off his leg to see that he was looking at me as if I’d sprouted horns. “You poisoned my town, is what that’s supposed to mean. Do you know how many people have died?” I gestured at the slathering things crowding the edge of the roof next door. “Or worse?”
“My husband had nothing to do with this,” the woman said, but she didn’t look at me, she looked at him, a question in her eyes. Like she already knew it was possible.
I noticed Mrs. Applegate and my Mom hustling the little guy, Curtiss, who must’ve been about five years old, out of earshot.
“Suz thinks it was the potato chips, Mr. Reynolds” Chuck told him.
“What potato chips? I don’t know what you’re–”
Before he finished, I’d dug the crumpled bag I considered evidence from my pocket, and held it up in a fist. “These potato chips. Everyone I know for sure ate them, turned into one of those...those creeps. Everyone I know for sure didn’t eat them, stayed the same. They have your freaking name on them, and from what I understand, the GMO potatoes you made them out of haven’t even been approved by the FDA yet.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Technically, the FDA consultation program for genetically engineered plants is voluntary, not mandatory. And since this is a plant, not an animal–”
“Aside from the mantis DNA, at least.” I threw the bag at his chest.
His eyes widened and he shot a look at Chuck. “I presume she got that piece of confidential information from you, Mr. Brown?”
“Yeah. And you don’t need to fire me. I quit, Mr. Reynolds.”
He rolled his eyes. “There is no proof it was the potatoes–”
“The prisoners ate them. Except for one of them, that is.” The chief closed his eyes and gave a shudder. “I ate everything they did, except those chips.”
The man’s wife said, “But...but how could potato chips cause something like...like...this?”
I met her eyes. Blue eyes. Pretty. And brave, and devoted to her kid. That said a lot about her, in my book. “Because your husband’s science team added the DNA of an insatiable carnivorous predator to the potato, and then used the population of Bloody Gulch for lab rats, Mrs. Reynolds.
She took a step backward, away from her husband. “You had a bag of those chips in your briefcase when you came home last night, Bill,” his wife said softly. “But when little Curtiss asked if he could eat them, you...shouted at him. You got far too excited. Why?”
“Not because I thought he’d turn into a flesh eating monster, Tam.”
She moved closer to him, tilting her head to one side and narrowing her eyes as she searched his. “But you thought they might not be safe, didn’t you?”
He lowered his head. “I didn’t want my kid to be the first to eat them.”
“So you fed them to other peoples’ kids instead,” Chuck said softly. He sent me a look. “You were right, Suz. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
He couldn’t hold his wife’s accusing eyes. As soon as he looked away, she paled. “Oh my God, it’s true. You did this, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know. Tam, I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
She was backing away from him, shaking her head in horror. “Always taking shortcuts, putting profits ahead of everything else. How many times have I told you it would backfire sooner or later? How many times? It’s food, Bill. It’s food. You can’t play God with something that basic.”
He was looking at the floor, at his feet, but she advanced on him, gripped his chin and lifted his head, turning it toward the building beside ours. “Look at what you’ve done, Bill. Look at them. Those were good people. Innocent people. Families. You did this to them. For money.”
He sank to his knees, shoulders shaking.
“Get up,” I told him. “This isn’t finished.”
Chuck’s
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