He started with the summary-level charts. Blood cell counts, liver and kidney chemical studies—all within normal ranges. The rest of the blood chemistry charts also appeared disappointingly normal. Anxious to find something out of the ordinary, he turned to the hormone level studies.
In every subject—male and female alike—the testosterone level was within normal range. He took a sip of his coffee, sat back, and stretched his shoulders. That made no sense in light of the fMRI studies. Activity in the amygdala had been striking in every single case, and elevated testosterone was known to cause activity in that part of the brain. He’d expected to see high testosterone levels.
Why would people with normal testosterone levels uniformly show brain activity consistent with sky-high levels? Given the widespread violence throughout the nation and beyond, in urban and rural settings alike, he could not believe the cause was a local environmental issue. It couldn’t be.
He scrolled through page after page of graphs, each relentlessly showing normal distributions of results. Something had to be in there, somewhere. He just had to find it. He chugged the rest of his now-cold coffee, then hunched forward as if peering at the screen more closely would force the report to reveal the gem he needed.
At last he spotted something abnormal—and quite odd. Each subject’s test results showed exceptionally low levels of serotonin. He frowned and considered this development. Serotonin acted as an antagonist to testosterone. Could their serotonin levels be so low that even normal testosterone levels caused abnormal levels of aggression and brain activity in the amygdala?
Kyle scoured all the remaining blood work results and found nothing else outside normal limits. Next was the section containing the gut bacteria analyses. Gut bacteria could produce mood- and personality-altering neurochemicals that traveled to the brain via the vagus nerve. Maybe he’d find something useful there.
As the day wore on, he waded through pages and pages of individual test results, then came upon a single page that summarized and compared the occurrence of various species of gut bacteria both in the test subjects and in the general population. He rubbed his burning eyes and tried to refocus them on his laptop screen. Grateful to see the information presented in aggregate form, he carefully studied the long list of bacteria.
And then he saw it. There was one species—and one species only—that was common to every test subject. Bacteroides metasonis. B. metasonis occurred naturally in maybe forty-seven percent of the general population. But here it was in every single test subject. Statistically impossible. There had to be a connection.
Kyle quickly emailed his contact at the CDC lab to culture the B. metasonis ASAP, determine what chemicals it emitted, and to test it on lab mice to see if introducing it into their guts resulted in aggressive behavior.
He leaned back in his chair, closed his weary eyes, and rubbed his aching neck. He had to be on the trail of this thing at last. Those findings were too consistent to be a statistical aberration. Without exception, each subject had brain activity consistent with aggression, ultra-low serotonin levels, and hosted a particular, not overly common, gut bacteria. It had to be significant.
But what was the mechanism, the trigger? Without that piece of the puzzle, even this much progress was still for naught. He’d already been on the case a month, with nothing actionable to show for it. And the violence had not only increased throughout the nation, but had also begun to spread to other countries while he was stationed out in Farmtown, USA, searching for the needle in the haystack.
He opened his eyes, leaned forward and stared at his laptop screen. He’d just have to work harder, that’s all. No distractions. Nothing else mattered until he nailed this thing. He would not let what happened to Dad happen to him.
CHAPTER 20
Gretchen felt transported back in time when she pulled into the little town of St. Joe. She’d seen about all there was of Gaylord where they were staying, and so she’d decided to drive the short distance to where Kyle had been focusing his investigation after that horrific murder.
She parked her rented Camry at the curb and stared out at the scene. She half expected characters in costumes like those from the Twilight Zone’s “A Stop at Willoughby” episode to stroll across the little grassy park in the center square, but the place was pretty much deserted. Maybe people were afraid to be out these days. Who could blame them after that Walmart incident the next town over? She’d certainly begun thinking twice before venturing out these days.
“Where are we, Mommy?” piped Lara from her car seat in back.
Gretchen twisted in her seat to answer. “St. Joe. Cute little town, huh?” She found it hard to imagine such a grisly murder could have occurred here. The town square looked downright idyllic in the early August sunshine.
“I’m hungry!”
“Me, too. Let’s find a place to eat.”
Gretchen absently rubbed her growing belly. The humid summer heat still bothered her, but at least she’d finally gotten past the morning sickness and her appetite was back in full force. A little lunch would be good about now.
She locked the car after extracting Lara from her car seat. Funny, it looked like the kind of place where you wouldn’t need to lock up, but in light of everything that had been going on, there was no sense taking chances. She took Lara’s hand and they started off down the block.
“It’s hot!” Lara squirmed and acted like she had somewhere else to go where it would be cooler.
“Hang on a minute. I see a café right on the corner there. I’m sure it’s air-conditioned inside.”
“Ohhh … kay.” Lara did not sound convinced.
Moments later, they stood in front of the café. It looked the very image of small-town, with its picture window, Daphne’s Café painted onto the glass in flowing lavender script, and pretty little white-and-lavender-striped canvas awnings shading the front.
Gretchen opened the door and they stepped inside. A gust of cool air greeted them, much to her relief. She glanced around. The place was decorated as cute as can be with healthy green indoor plants all over the place, but … there wasn’t a single customer in there. She glanced at her watch. Lunchtime. While she wasn’t one who liked crowds, she took it as a bad sign that what appeared to be the only café in town was utterly devoid of customers right when it should be bustling.
A tired-looking older woman slumped behind the counter. She straightened up when they entered, smiled, and motioned with her arm. “Please, sit anywhere you’d like.”
Gretchen selected a table right by the main window. The town looked quiet, but if any trouble erupted, she’d want to know about it so she could—could what, exactly? She wasn’t sure of the answer to that, but it still seemed best to position herself to keep an eye on things.
She sat Lara in the chair next to her so she could help her eat. She still had a toddler’s tendency to play with her food if she lost interest. Gretchen didn’t want her flinging something and making a mess in the tidy little café.
“Hi, I’m Daphne.” The woman handed Gretchen a menu.
“So you’re the owner?” Gretchen motioned toward the writing on the window.
“I am. Been here a little more than a month.” Daphne smiled, but then the smile faded.
“Well, congratulations. You have a pretty little place here.”
Daphne glanced around, her smile disappearing entirely. “Yeah, thank you. I worked hard to make it like this.”
Gretchen began to feel uncomfortable. There was a story here, and she wasn’t sure what it was. She sensed that all was not good in Daphne’s world for some reason. She glanced at the menu and her face must have registered surprise.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, I … well, Lara usually likes chicken nuggets when we go out. They’re sort of a treat for her.”
“We have vegetarian options available. Soy chicken nuggets. Would that work?”
Gretchen again glanced at the menu, unable to believe what she was se
eing. Given that this was beef country, she’d been in the mood for a really good, messy cheeseburger, but could see that wasn’t going to happen. Not at this café, anyway. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. I’ll have, well, I guess I’ll have the grilled Portobello mushroom. We’ll both have water.”
“Thank you.” Daphne took the menu and disappeared into the kitchen.
“What’s soy?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll taste like chicken.” Gretchen decided not to try to explain to Lara that it was better for her than fried chunks of ground-up dark meat. That piece of information would ensure Lara would hate it. She stared out the window and tried to muster up some enthusiasm for a big grilled mushroom.
No wonder there were no other customers.
Gretchen pushed aside her empty plate. Daphne was a whiz with herbs and seasonings. Unbelievable a mushroom could have so much flavor. Maybe it was better sometimes to try things with an open mind. She glanced at Lara’s plate. She’d nearly finished her soy chicken nuggets, despite a rocky start when she bit into the first one and declared that it did not, in fact, taste like chicken.
Daphne came by with the check. “So, was everything okay?”
“Yes, very good. But I have to say I was surprised there was no beef or chicken on the menu—especially in a town like this.”
Daphne lowered her eyes. “Yeah, you and everyone else. At least you stayed and gave it a try. You must not be from here.”
“No, we’re staying in Gaylord for a while. My husband is with a branch of the CDC. He’s out here working on an investigation. It just strikes me that this is a pretty meat-oriented area, and to have a vegetarian menu, well, it might make it a little tough on business.”
“Oh, it has. I’m from the Cities. Got tired of the way things had gotten up there and decided I wanted to have a small business of my own out in a more rural area. Thought a little café would be just the thing. But I’ve been vegetarian for a long time now, and I believe that meat and animal products are just not healthy for people to eat. So I didn’t want to offer menu items I didn’t think were healthy, that I wouldn’t eat.” She shrugged. “Besides, even if I didn’t feel that strongly, I just don’t know how to prepare those kinds of foods. I do know how to come up with vegetarian recipes that are good. Or at least I think so.”
“I have to agree with you there. My lunch was delicious.” Gretchen smiled. “I really didn’t think it would be.”
“Well, there you are. Too bad no one else around here has such an open mind. I get a little business for breakfast, since I do serve eggs and cheese. But lunch has been dead.” She shook her head. “Though my breakfast offerings may change soon. It’s been hard to keep eggs and cheese. They spoil so fast anymore, no matter what I do. Can’t afford the waste. But if I don’t offer at least those items with breakfast, I’ll probably lose my morning customers, too.”
She took a step back and waved her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with all that. You have a nice day. Thanks for coming by.” She sniffed as if fighting off tears, slipped the check onto the table, and hurried back into the kitchen.
Taken aback by the entire exchange, Gretchen glanced at the check, then paid, leaving a generous tip. The older woman’s story saddened her. She hoped her business picked up, but she suspected that was a pipe dream. Serving vegetarian food in the heart of livestock territory was likely more than a matter of taste—it was almost an insult to her intended customers.
“Come on, Lara. Let’s head back home and see how Daddy’s doing.”
“Okay, Mommy. Can we have hot dogs tonight?”
CHAPTER 21
Ally James was running late. Again. Nothing pissed her off more, but it wasn’t her fault. Really. It was those idiots who’d blocked up the main drag through town with their careless fender-bender. And that’s what had put her behind. Not that she forgot the time and slung her purse on and flew out the door right about when the twins, Tina and Trisha, were due to be let out of class their first day in second grade. She could’ve made up that time if that accident hadn’t screwed up traffic.
So now she raced her Honda Odyssey along traffic-free side streets like some character in a video game. She glanced at the dash clock. A minute before school let out. So she wasn’t late. Not yet.
Ally glanced up and saw the Stop sign a hair too late. She mashed down the brake, sending the minivan into antilock-brake vibration mode—a mode with which she was not unfamiliar. The vehicle came to a stop several feet into the intersection. Fortunately, no one had been coming. She looked both ways and stomped on the gas pedal.
As she turned the corner a block or so from the school, she stole another glance at the dash clock. Two minutes late now. Damn! The school was in a good neighborhood, and there would be plenty of teachers and other parents around, but she still didn’t like to have the twins running around unsupervised. Not with the way things had gotten, with all those crazy incidents. Bad things could happen to little kids—or anyone—in an instant these days.
Ally drew up in front of the school, but from this direction, she had to make a left to enter the pick-up circle. She flipped on the turn signal and braked to wait for oncoming traffic to clear.
She felt a twinge in her temples. An unpleasant one, like the beginnings of a migraine. Just what she needed. Tina and Trisha would be all excited with the events of their day and would be talking nonstop in those shrill seven-year-old-girl voices. The kind that could enter your ear and pierce your brain just like a searing ice pick before you could defend yourself. Enough to make your head explode under normal circumstances, but pure death when you had a migraine cooking.
The twinge worsened … and traveled. It became a presence, seeming to expand to occupy the entire inside of her skull. Ally pressed her hands to the sides of her head, as if she could force it back down into whatever hell it had erupted from. But no dice. If anything, it was gathering strength. She couldn’t just sit here in traffic like this.
She took a quick look behind her, then jammed on the gas and cut across to the right lane. She made a right at the end of the block, then three more lefts, so she could position herself to eventually make a right directly into the pick-up area. She had to get the kids and get home so she could take something and lie down.
As she neared the school, an overflow of cars trying to get into the pick-up area clogged the entry and formed a line along the curb. She braked, took her place at the back of that line, and tried to calm down. For some reason that seemed to go beyond her burgeoning headache, she felt an urgent need for motion.
As Ally crept closer to the pick-up area—seemingly an inch at a time—she felt a strange sensation travel beneath her skin, sort of electric. It started in her hands and feet, tingling, then worked its way up her limbs and toward her trunk. She could feel her heart pounding and racing inside her chest as if she’d just run a few laps. Her head throbbed, and her muscles tensed as if she were bracing herself for something. She became aware of how hard she was clenching her teeth and tried to loosen her jaw.
Now she was wedged between cars, with others joining the line behind her. She felt trapped, frantic. What the hell was going on? She was usually full-tilt Type A, but this was different, and it was starting to scare her. Maybe she was having some kind of panic attack. She took slow, deep inhalations, letting the breath out slowly as she’d learned in yoga class.
Finally, some of the cars cleared and she reached the entrance to the pick-up area. She glanced at the sidewalk as she turned into the drive. Too damned many people milling around. Teachers, kids still waiting to be picked up, helicopter parents who couldn’t just pull up to the curb and let the kids into the cars, but had to park and go walk the damned kids to the car. Suddenly, they all no longer looked human to her. They were just all moving things, cluttering the sidewalk with their presence.
Ally opened her mouth wide and let out a scream of pure rage. She didn’t know where it had come from, and she didn’t care. She gripped
the wheel in both white-knuckled hands and clamped her jaw shut so hard and fast that several teeth shattered.
She spat out the tooth fragments, then slammed the gas pedal to the floor and aimed for the crowd. She wanted to clear them away, like the offending clutter they were. The minivan jumped the curb and cut down everything in its path. Bodies—adult and child alike—flew up and smashed into the windshield. The safety glass shattered into a sheet of what soon resembled red stained glass.
Ally couldn’t see out the windshield anymore, had no idea which way she was going or whether she had succeeded in clearing everyone out of her way. She pushed the gas pedal down, gunning the engine mercilessly as a skull-splitting surge of pain and rage consumed her, first blocking out the screams, then the sound of crumpled metal as the minivan plowed into the brick schoolhouse.
CHAPTER 22
Les Anderson stood, then took his time wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. He kept his eyes cast down toward the four dead cows surrounding him in the pasture, as if by avoiding eye contact, he could somehow avoid having to come up with a diagnosis—though of course he knew better.
He simply had no diagnosis to give. Despite all his years in practice and how much he prided himself on his diagnostic skills, he was flummoxed like never before.
Just last week he’d been out at Marty Janssen’s place, looking at a dead cow that should not have been dead. Now, Paul Gorsham had called him out to take a look at several of his cows that he’d found dead this morning. No warning, no apparent illness, no injuries. Just dead. Looked pretty much like that cow of Paul’s he’d examined some weeks back. Even though he’d taken blood and tissue samples after she died, the lab results had been less than illuminating.
He had a couple of calls scheduled at other farms later in the afternoon. Judging by the messages those farmers had left, he was in for more of the same—and it was affecting pork and poultry as well. He wished to God he had a clue what this was.
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