and posthuman were words that thrilled them, that engendered visions of humankind raised to a godlike condition.
In recent years, momentous advances had taken place in genetic engineering. That technique of gene editing known as CRISPR had been used in China and elsewhere to edit out a disease-causing gene from the parental sperm and egg. But little was known about how genetic information was expressed in the individual or what the consequences of editing anything out might be. A grave danger existed that those engaged in such experiments might introduce inheritable changes in the genome that could lead to a cascade of faults that, over a few generations, might result in a new humanity of critically diminished physical and mental capacities. Or even bring on the extinction of the species. Some of the cooler heads thought it the most reckless practice of science in history, but there were always the true believers for whom a new trick of science became their religion.
And CRISPR was only one of several new techniques. If it or something even more effective was the subject of research at the Springville labs of Refine, might Lee Shacket be sliding down the evolutionary ladder into a terrifying primitive state? Or was it even possible that some material had been added to every cell in his body with the result that he was . . . What? Neither moving up nor down the evolutionary ladder? But somehow sliding . . . sideways?
Less than half an hour earlier, Carson had considered washing down a NoDoz tablet with his black coffee. He no longer needed any help staying awake. Cold dread did the job better than caffeine ever could.
He switched off the computer and got up from his chair and stood listening to the silence of the morgue. A line from T. S. Eliot came to mind: I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Room by room, he turned off the lights. He set the alarm and stepped outside and locked the door.
The wind sang requiem for the world, and it seemed to Carson that the chilly currents of harried air were more than that, were also time itself racing toward some plug that had been pulled, to drain away and leave the world eternally still, silent, and dark.
In the postmidnight alleyway, as he turned toward the town square, intending to walk home, he heard the sirens of ambulances. One seemed to be coming, the other going.
70
When Ben and Kipp were nearing the front of the line, the officers stopped inspecting vehicles. They removed the roadblock.
“I started to wonder if they were looking for you,” Ben Hawkins said. “Seems like someone should be trying to find the smartest dog in the world.”
Kipp wasn’t the smartest. Not nearly.
Someday Ben would have to meet Solomon to learn what a really smart dog was.
Solomon and Brandy. They were mates and very wise.
Leaning forward, Kipp panted and whined. They needed to move faster.
The boy hadn’t begun screaming again. But he was suffering, crying and miserable and alone.
They had hardly gone any distance north from the roadblock before an ambulance appeared ahead of them, in the southbound lane.
As it shrieked past, lightbar strobing, Kipp clenched his teeth and repressed a howl, though his ears were ringing painfully.
After another minute or so, a second ambulance came flashing and wailing, this one from behind them, heading north.
Pulling off the pavement to let the vehicle pass, Ben said, “Lassie helped people get out of trouble, but I have this feeling you’re leading me straight into it.”
After returning to the pavement in the wake of the ambulance, they had not gone far when a large white house, ahead on the left, drew Kipp’s attention.
He popped the safety-harness release with one paw, slipped out of the restraint, and stood with his forepaws on the console.
He craned his head forward, staring at the house.
Even at this hour, the place blazed with light at most windows.
The boy waited in that house full of light.
The unique boy.
The boy who could send on the Wire.
Kipp was not a barker, but he barked. He barked and barked at the house, and he barked directly, urgently in Ben’s face.
“Hey, take it easy. Are you telling me this is the place?”
Kipp stopped barking and wagged his tail as fast as he could.
Although he slowed the Range Rover, letting it coast, Ben seemed hesitant. “There’s a patrol car in front.”
So Kipp barked and barked again.
“All right, okay, whatever.” Ben turned left, crossed the