Page 7 of Tracking the Alpha
C) Do you crave raw meat?
He craved anything that wasn’t the mushy slop they kept feeding him.
D) Is your sense of smell stronger than before?
No, thank fuck. He’d rather not know the aroma he and his cell oozed.
E) Is your sense of hearing more acute?
How the fuck should he know?
The stupid daily questionnaire obviously had something to do with the experiment being conducted by Davidson—the fucking bastard who’d not dared show his face since the debacle back at the Petawawa base. Only on that first day had the fucker spoken to Barrett. Since then, silence from everyone, which proved frustrating. Barrett still had no idea what they hoped to achieve with their injections.
The only good news? He didn’t feel like shit. On the contrary, he felt annoyingly fine, normal, and apparently that was a problem.
When Davidson finally made an appearance during one of Barrett’s lab-testing days, he went on a rant.
“We should be seeing some kind of result by now. It didn’t take this long with the last subjects.”
The man with the tablet and glasses that kept falling down his nose didn’t look up as he replied. “As you well know, the last group had the higher dosage, so, yes, they reacted sooner, but that also led to them failing. The more gradual addition and incorporation of the extra chromosomes should prevent casualties.”
The fucking what? Barrett didn’t know much about biology and shit, but that didn’t sound good.
“Should? We lost Patient 77, and I hear 81 is in a coma,” snarled Davidson.
“You were warned ahead of time that, of the group, those two would likely not survive. Their faulty genetics made them unsuitable candidates,” rebuked the doctor.
“Weren’t you the one who said the protocol would heal the faults within them?”
“I said they might heal. Perhaps once we’ve perfected the dosage in the future it will.” The flat reply.
“How many more treatments before something happens?” The general waved his hand in Barrett’s direction. He might have offered a snappy comeback, only they had a breathing tube shoved down his throat measuring his oxygen levels.
“None. According to all our tests, Patient 73’s DNA is exactly where we want it.”
“Obviously not, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Davidson snapped.
“This isn’t an exact science. And as I’ve told you before, everyone will react slightly differently to the protocol, hence why we’ve been fine-tuning dosages based on individuals.”
“Which doesn’t seem to be working and that’s a problem. Those investing in this billion-dollar experiment want results.”
The doctor put his tablet down and stared at the general, his lack of fear impressive. “Show them the latest lab numbers and the mapping that displays the new helix. The chromosomes are there.”
“And doing nothing.”
“For now. Keep in mind the subject hasn’t had a lifetime to prepare for what is to come. His body needs to learn how to utilize the change.”
“Surely there’s something we can do to trigger it, and don’t tell me the full fucking moon, again. We both know Patient Zero isn’t affected by it.”
“Because Patient Zero has had decades to learn control,” the doctor said on a sigh as if it weren’t the first time he’d had this argument.
Patient Zero? The first mention of there being someone other than Barrett and his section in the facility.
“I think it’s time we tried the more drastic method we know works.”
“That method only works when the patient is capable of activating the Therianthrope switch,” the doctor corrected. “Without that, you’ll kill him.”
“Then you’d better hope for the best,” retorted Davidson. “Because it’s happening, today. Have 73 brought to the secure chamber.”
