The Darwin Variant

by Kenneth Johnson

  The street was pretty dead that rainy afternoon. A few kids were coming home from school and a handful of other folks came or went from their houses. On my third or fourth slow pass, I noticed through my drizzly window a stocky older Latina just going in the front door of a house where I’d seen no activity. Then I caught sight of something that made me rein in. As the woman was closing the door from inside, I saw behind her a young white woman with frizzy brown hair and downcast eyes.

  I parked behind a rusty pickup across the street to watch. After an hour the Latina finally came back out, and I got a quick but clearer glimpse of the other woman inside. That FBI facial recognition software had actually worked.

  Once the older woman disappeared around the corner, I went across the street to knock on the door. No answer. Tried again. Nothing. I said softly, “Lilly? Can I talk to you?” Still nothing. “Lilly, it’s me, Hutch. Look through the curtains on the side window, you’ll see.” There was a pause. Then I saw the curtains tremble a little, and I put my face closer. “Good girl. Take a look.” She glanced, momentarily. “There y’go. See it’s me, Hutch.”

  “Nobody’s s-supposed to come in,” she said, quietly. Her eyes were downcast, uneasy, but her face was as pretty as ever.

  “What did you say? I can’t hear you.” Though I could. She tried again, but I shook my head. “Sorry, I can’t . . . it’s the rain . . . Could you open the door, just a crack so we can talk?” And finally she did. Two inches. I smiled. “Thanks, Lil.”

  “Nobody’s supposed to c-come in,” she said, eyes averted.

  “I know. And that’s right, Lilly. You don’t want to let in any strangers.”

  “No.”

  “But I’m not a stranger, right? I’m Hutch.” I bent lower to find her eyes. “See? You know me. It’s okay, honey. I’m so happy to see you again.” I was peering past her, listening, but didn’t hear anyone else inside.

  “H-Hutch . . . ?”

  “That’s right.” I kept my tone easygoing, soothing, “Lilly, honey, it’s really wet out here . . . can I . . . just for a second . . .” I nudged the door an inch or so and finally eased it just open enough.

  “N-nobody’s s-supposed to—”

  “So this is where you girls have been, huh?” I said cheerfully, moving past her gently, like I would have around a skittish little heifer. Despite my calm demeanor, I sensed her growing anxious. I paused and used my most comforting voice. “I’m really glad you wouldn’t let in somebody you didn’t know, Lilly.” I bent down to find her eyes again. “But you know me, huh?” She nodded slightly. “Of course you do.” I smiled, glancing around the sparsely furnished place, trying to discover anything that might be useful as I reaffirmed, “You know I’m an old friend.”

  Lilly blinked. Like I’d struck a chord. “Trust the F-Friends.”

  I remembered our subliminal media campaign. “That’s right, honey,” I said smoothly, “so you know that you can trust me. And remember all the connect-the-dots books I brought you?” She nodded vaguely, seemed a mite less edgy. I kept my voice comfortably casual. “So Lil, where’s Susie?” I glanced at her sideways, nonconfrontationally. “I’ve missed you two a lot. Did you miss me, miss your friend?”

  “I g-guess.”

  “I’d sure like to see Susie again. Where I can find her?” Lilly was staring downward, twisting the narrow cotton belt on her thin dress. I spoke quietly, “It’s very important, Lil.”

  Her voice was nearly inaudible. “She’s in the s-swamp.”

  “In the swamp?” I was surprised, but several possibilities went flashing through my keenly multifaceted new brain. “The Okefenokee?” Lilly turned away, picked up her iPad, started a game. “Lil? That swamp?” She just nodded. “Why?” I leaned on the edge of the table she stood beside, but she was silent. “How come, honey?”

  She answered, preoccupied with her game, “Looking for C-Chris.”

  “Christopher Smith?” Lilly nodded. I instantly realized the import of Susan’s mission and extrapolated in a flash the enormous, potentially negative impact it could have on the Friends and me personally. “When did she go, Lilly?”

  “Yesterday. M-morning. Six eighteen.” She stayed intent on her iPad.

  “But people come by to take care of you?” She nodded. I was pleased with all I’d learned and considering how best to turn it to my personal advantage. I drew a breath, moved to the front door, opened it. “Okay. Well. It was really good to see you, Lilly . . .”

  But when I looked back at her, I paused. I was quite taken by the image of Lilly standing there, backlit by a window. She was engrossed in her game and unaware how the light clearly outlined her feminine shape through her dress.

  I stood for a moment in the doorway, contemplating her comely silhouette. Then I quietly eased the door closed, remaining inside. I locked it and slipped on the chain. I looked again at Lilly. She generally wore loose-fitting clothes, so I’d never gotten a sense of her body beneath them. But in this particularly favorable light, I could see that Lilly had a slender and well-formed figure, very much like her sister’s. I’d often recalled the pleasurable sexuality I’d enjoyed with Susan.

  Standing before me now was a stunningly similar embodiment of my former lover. Lilly of course had no idea she’d become the focus of my rising libido. I moved closer to her, examining her form, her fine-featured, lightly freckled face, the smoothness of her skin, her chin, lips. “Lilly,” I asked offhandedly, “Chris was Susie’s boyfriend, wasn’t he?” She nodded but remained focused on her tablet. “Have you ever had a friend like that? A boyfriend?”

  She shook her head absentmindedly, playing her game. I edged closer, my voice a calming whisper, “I’m a friend you trust, aren’t I?”

  She nodded without looking. “Trust the F-Friends.”

  “That’s right, honey. Trust your friend . . .” Very tentatively and lightly, I touched her cheek.

  Lilly drew a small breath. “Oopsie,” she said. “F-fences.”

  I spoke softly, touching her cheek again, “What, Lil?”

  “Susie s-says I can have f-fences.” Her eyes were still downcast, but I noticed that her respiration had increased. “That people aren’t a-allowed to cross.”

  I smiled, whispering, “And that’s a very good idea. But you and I don’t need any fences because I’m your friend . . .”

  I slowly traced my fingertip down her arm. She inhaled another short breath, and I sought to distract her. “Can you tell me about endotoxins, Lilly?”

  I hoped she’d start rattling references, and she didn’t disappoint: “Scientific American, September, ’92, Tilling, Ernst, page 57, ‘Bacterial Endotoxins.’”

  “Yes,” I whispered, my pulse quickening slightly, as I eased behind her. “I’d like to hear a lot more about that, Lilly.” I reached around to lightly touch the top button of her dress as I said, “Tell me all the details of that article.”

  “‘These lipopolysaccharides are components of cell walls in an extensive bacterial group . . .’” As she talked on blindly, my hand moved in slow motion and deftly undid the top button. I felt a tiny quiver run through her body. I recalled similar positive responses from my recent grad student conquest and felt encouraged. As Lilly’s litany of microbiological details spilled out ever more quickly, I slowly slid my fingertips one inch inside the top of her dress. She drew another quick breath amid her hurried recitation of biomedical minutiae, but as I gradually eased on toward the next phase, she offered no physical resistance.

  Katie McLane. . .

  The rain had eased some, but it was still pretty miserable as I rushed up Rigby Street. I’d been held up at school and was really upset about being late to take over from Justinia for my shift with Lilly. Thinking back later, I remembered a late-model Mercedes parked nearby. Very out of place in our less-than-trendy neighborhood.

  Fishing out my keys as I got to the door, I gave our usual secret knock. I immediately heard a sudden rustling and bumping noise inside, like a chair
being turned over. Then heavy footsteps went running toward the back. There was also a rhythmic pounding noise. I hurried to unlock and push the door open and was startled that it was chained inside. Now I was really worried, shouting, “Lilly? What’s going on?”

  I strained to peer in, and when I could see only a glimpse of her bare legs behind a corner of the old couch, my heart leaped. “Lilly! What’s wrong?!” I started bashing hard against the door. The third time I threw my whole hundred and fourteen pounds against it, and the chain mount tore out of the frame. I rushed over and choked back a scream when I saw Lilly sitting by the wall in a fetal position, rocking back and forth, not crying but mumbling incoherently, and blindly pounding her head against the wall. Her dress was wide open at the top, the bottom pulled up high, revealing her bare thighs. Her underwear was slightly out of place, like someone had been pulling at them.

  “Lilly!? Oh my God!” I was breathless, quaking with tears of fear for her and fury at myself for being late.

  “Susie said fences,” she muttered, “S-Susie said—”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay, honey,” I gasped. “I’m here.” I hugged her to stop her head banging. “What happened? Was somebody trying to—trying to hurt you?!”

  “Susie s-said I could always have fences. Hutch said I didn’t n-need fences, but—”

  “Hutch said?” I burst into a cold sweat. “Hutch did this?!” I looked around quickly, saw the back door open. My heart was racing.

  “He kept c-crossing my fences,” Lilly mumbled, with tears welling in her eyes. “. . . Where’s S-Susie?”

  I knew that beating myself up had to wait. I had to suck it up fast and handle this. “C’mon, Lilly.” Shaky as I was, I helped her up, tried to stabilize both of us, holding her shoulders, speaking quickly, “Susie’ll be back, I promise. But we’ve gotta get outta here. Right now! I need you to help me grab some clothes and any important stuff.”

  I started to turn as Lilly whispered, “Can I bring m-my pencils?”

  I stopped dead, looked back at her downcast, confused eyes, as she leaned slightly toward me. I threw my arms around her, holding her tight. I struggled to keep myself together, to keep my voice strong. “. . . Absolutely.”

  Jimmy-Joe Hartman. . .

  I peeked round the corner into a back alley off Peachtree near Underground Atlanta and seen my mark. He wuz one of them middle-class white dudes with a bad comb-over, in a drab suit and tie. He wuz lookin’ round nervous-like and shiftin’ from one foot to the other. I let him twist in the wind a minute, then sauntered up the alley toward him like I wuz king shit. The guy seen me and talked all jittery, “I thought you weren’t coming or—”

  I grinned. “Now what kinda businessman would I be if I didn’t keep my ’pointments?”

  The man talked fast, wantin’ to get it done. “Did you bring it?”

  “’Course I did.” I yawned. I wuz enjoyin’ him bein’ all squirmy.

  “Good, good,” he said, glancing around to be sure no one was watching. “My kid really needs it. He’s getting buried in school.”

  “Well, this gonna turn him around big-time. It’s the primo shit.”

  “It’s CAV-A?! You’re certain?”

  “Guaran-fuckin-teed. Just show me the money, man.”

  The guy quick pulled an envelope from inside his suit jacket. Held it tight. “Five thousand.”

  “Five?” I stepped back. “I thought we said ten!” Guy’s face went pale. I wuz lovin’ it and let him hang till he started to sputter. “Awright, lemme see it.”

  His hands was shakin’ when he opened it. I seen the thick stack of C-notes. Then I pulled out a tiny packet of seeds. I dangled it for a moment, then handed it to him. “Guess I’ll give ya a break.”

  He took the seeds and gived me the cash. I wuz all smilin’ and fannin’ through them hundreds. Never even seen him pull out the Beretta.

  “Up against the wall, motherfucker!” The guy spun me round and slammed me hard against the bricks.

  “What the fuck!” I tried to come back at him, but he made this superfast karate move and decked me ’fore I knew what happened. Then he started pistol whippin’ me on the back of my head and shoulders. Two cop cars come screechin’ in at both ends o’the alley, red lights flashin’ and all. And suddenly theys like three more cops on my ass, kickin’ and punchin’ and wailin’ the shit outta me. Just before they knocked me out, I seen one cop up the alley givin’ some cash to a kid who had bandages all up one side o’his head. Tyrone. Muthafucker set me up. One cop who wuz beatin’ me said, “You have the right to remain silent, dickwad.” Then he bashed my head down ’gainst the concrete, and I wuz gone.

  21

  CRASH

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  In the southeastern corner of Georgia, just above Florida, runs a stretch of high ground called Trail Ridge. During the Late Pleistocene, about one million years ago, this geologic landmark trapped receding ocean waters in a saucer-shaped basin that stretched thirty-eight miles north-south and twenty-five miles east-west. Plant life thrived, decayed, and covered the sandy bottom with peat. Over the millennia, rainfall slowly freshened the body of water, creating the vast Okefenokee Swamp.

  Seen in sunlight, the water was tea colored from the tannic acid constantly being released by the decaying vegetation. At night the water was shiny black, reflecting the full moon and the stars that winked through the canopy created by the uppermost branches of slender pines and broad oaks. But the pale cypress trees rising smoothly from the black water like columns of smoke toward the black sky were the most eerie in the moonlight.

  And there were unsettling sounds. The deepest bass was the rhythmic throbbing of huge, puffing bullfrogs and guttural, growling rumbles of fifteen-foot alligators. Also at a low pitch was the mournful hooting of owls as their black saucer eyes scanned the darkness for unsuspecting prey. A chorus of cicadas and crickets chittered in the higher ranges, and the night was occasionally pierced by the soprano scream of a night bird or squirrel as it was attacked and killed by a bobcat. These sounds and the spooky cypress trees twisting up out of the black water created an ambiance of primeval mystery.

  Most forbidding though was when the sounds of all the creatures would suddenly go dead silent. When they sensed something threatening approaching. Then they waited, poised, to determine whether to them it meant fight or flight. I knew that feeling. That night I was already in flight mode.

  What made the swamp creatures go silent that night was the low, grating whine of the greasy, straining outboard engine at the back of the funky wooden motorboat I was driving. I was windblown, disheveled, but determined. I’d just curved off the main channel of the Suwannee River and was gunning the old boat to its top speed, about twenty-five at best. That sure as hell wouldn’t be fast enough to outdistance my pursuers, so I maneuvered over the inky water into a heavily wooded stand of cypress, dodging perilously among the ghostly trees that might give me some cover if it was a helicopter behind me. But I had a sinking feeling—bad choice of words—that it was not; that escape might prove impossible; that I might never ferret out Chris to help us. How they’d found out I was in the swamp, how they’d gotten on my trail, had me even more worried.

  The water suddenly exploded right in front of my boat. A geyser of muck showered down on me. I swerved as another blast blew away part of an oak tree, narrowly missing me. I looked back and caught flickering glimpses of the flashing police lights on the pursuing craft knifing through the darkness as it weaved among the trees two hundred yards behind me—and ten feet in the air. As I feared, it was not a chopper.

  ARPC GSP Unit 774 (BETA 3) Cockpit Cam A/V - Date: 03/31/21 Time: 23:49:13

  Transcript Analysis by: Fields, Vernon, GSP #876254

  Suspect Vehicle: Motorboat; Lic: N/A; Bearing: W/NW 321 degrees.

  Suspect: Possibly Perry, Dr. Susan A.; **GSP Most Wanted list, see dossier #473802**.

  Weather: Clear, Wind N/NE 9 MPH

  ARPC: ALT 11 FT ove
r terrain; AIRSPD: 38 MPH; GRNDSPD: 39 MPH

  Dash Cam: Shows condition nominal. Cockpit environ darkened for night viz.

  Heads-Up Displays: TRKNG computer functioning. IFR enhancement on. Suspect image intermitt., shows suspect boat traversing W/NW weaving through trees.

  Targeting Grid: Active in SCRL DATA mode, GPS & RANGE DATA active, crosshair on, ARPC maneuvering to acquire target lock for El-Stat weapon.

  CKPT REC Active.

  Pilot: Schoengarth, John, GSP #767540

  Copilot: Miller, Alicia S., GSP #846530

  Pilot Schoen.: Ooo-eee, almost got her. You can run, woman, but you cain’t hide.

  Co-P Miller: Almost don’t count, Schoengarth. Get more starboard.

  Pilot Schoen.: Just tryin’ to miss the trees, sugar.

  Co-P Miller: While you’re at it, knock off the sugar shit.

  Pilot Schoen.: C’mon, Miller, I’m just ribbin’ ya.

  Co-P Miller: Keep it up, I’ll break your fuckin’ ribs—Target lock. Rifle, rifle. Fire in the hole.

  23:50:01 EL-STAT lock, weapon six burst discharged.

  Courtesy GSP, FBI

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  Hearing the sizzling crack from the El-Stat gun, I swerved sharply again. I glanced back to see the golf ball–sized pulses of electrostatic energy incoming like a half dozen miniature comets. They traveled at near-lightning speed, each leaving a wispy smoke trail and creating a sparkling explosion when they impacted on the cypress I’d just cut around. The ARPC had overshot me the first time, now they were just short. I knew the next one would likely be dead on. Shit. When I heard the damn gun discharge again I knew I had to bail.