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Between not going to jail and the idea that he wants to offer me the perfect job on some type of hush-hush project, I’m all in.
“Yes. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Chapter Three
Jo
It’s been an awkward drive from the little coffee shop in San Antonio where Slater and I stopped to get reacquainted and sign a foot-high stack of nondisclosure paperwork. He said this project was Top Secret, but it didn’t seem real until I initialed in at least thirty places, then signed on the dotted line.
For the last several hours, we’ve driven through some boring, desolate landscape in what can only be described as no-man’s-land. We must be getting close to our destination because Slater pulls off the two-lane highway and onto a gravel drive, then turns off the Jeep’s motor.
“I decided to keep you in the dark until we were close to the facility. I didn’t want you stewing for the entire ride.” He shrugs, then admits, “And I didn’t want you peppering me with questions the whole way either. We may have had our differences, but I’ve never doubted how smart you are, Josie. Once you get over your surprise, I think you’re going to love this job.”
He flashes me the meagerest lift of the corners of his mouth. I imagine he thinks he’s smiling. I don’t begrudge it. He’s trying.
“Thanks.”
One thing is certain, I’ll like whatever he has me doing more than I’ll enjoy sitting in a cell for four years.
“I’ll explain everything, then you’ll see for yourself in less than half an hour.”
He settles back into the Jeep’s black plastic seat, then says, “Over five years ago, my team got word that a military science project went rogue and was performing an off-the-books science experiment for decades. When I finally tracked down the facility three years ago, we discovered one hundred…”
Even though we’re parked, he focuses out the windshield on the scrubby Texas brush in front of us.
“One hundred splicers, er, we’ve decided to start calling them hybrids. These were human males genetically spliced with animal DNA.”
Although he’s paused, giving me time to absorb the absolutely crazy words spilling out of his mouth, my brain has seized up and quit working. I’m trying to picture what he’s describing, but can’t manage it.
“They’d been kept in cages and were poorly educated other than in the ways of war. The people in charge of the program, who managed to escape right before we breached their facility, were creating an army of unbeatable soldiers to overthrow the government.”
He shakes his head. I know this look, though I’ve only seen a paler version of it when it was directed at me. He’s pissed.
“We rescued the poor souls, took them to a safe facility, and have spent the last three years educating and rehabilitating them. The next step is to integrate them into American society. When you see them, you’ll understand why that will not be an easy task.”
“Can you give me a clue? What are we talking about here?” I guess that was the nice way of asking just how terrifying these males will look.
“They’re mostly bipedal. Lion-men, tiger-men, grizzly-bear-men.”
I shiver, imagining the worst. He doesn’t elaborate on the non-bipedal variety. I can’t even imagine how disgusting they will be.
“Because of their bestial genetics, we kept them away from all females the whole time we housed them in Area 51.”
Area 51! I knew it.
“We brought them to this reservation, surrounded by barbed wire, to introduce them to women. We’re creating a little town, a tourist destination. We’re going to have a bakery and coffee shop, candy shop, clothing store, and bookstore—things like that.”
His gaze flicks toward me, I guess to see if I’m swooning in shock, then continues, “People who want to meet these males can come, spend their money, and see the males as they work. The males can feel as though they’ve integrated into society.”
His gaze meets mine and his excitement about the project shines through.
“They’ll never be able to walk freely down the sidewalks of a big city. Nor do I think they’ll ever be accepted, but in the safe confines of Splicer Town—shit, we have to come up with a better name—they’ll have a modicum of freedom.”
Even though my mind is spinning, I can poke about ten holes in his happy little theory. Does he think the world will learn about these males and just let them live happily on their little slice of heaven? Doesn’t he watch the news? I can picture angry people massing at the town gates with signs that say, “Splicers Go Home,” even though they were born here.
“So we picked twenty of the most socialized of the bunch and introduced them to twenty women we shipped in. For the past month, they’ve been mingling and learning some skills that will be useful in the future when they work in the shops.”
“And me?”
