“They were what?” Juan exclaimed.

“Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. But yes—at both incident locations, it seems that a cancer patient was drinking from each of these units.”

“What happened to the cancer patients? Did they survive?”

“One of them died from being exposed to one of the calves. The other one I think is still kicking.”

Juan’s mind raced. “Nate, I can’t even begin to express how uneasy I am about what’s in that water dispenser. It’ll probably take me a couple years, with a full staff helping me, to try and figure out what the hell those DNA changes will…”

Juan trailed off as he noticed the pregnant mouse burrowing into the bed of her cage and licking at her genitalia. He leaned in closer, his visor up against the entrance to the biosafety cabinet.

“Juan?”

“Nate… the mouse is giving birth.”

“Right now?”

“Right now. Hang on.”

As Juan watched, a hint of pink appeared. Almost instantly the mother stopped licking at herself and fell onto her side.

A pink, hairless baby mouse heaved itself onto the floor of the cage.

Grabbing the edge of the lab bench, Juan felt the blood drain from his face. “Nate, we’ve got trouble.”

The mother mouse, her limbs twitching uselessly, pushed out a second baby. Suddenly, the other adult mouse, the father, caged on the other side of the cabinet, began showing signs of distress.

“Juan, you still there?”

Juan was transfixed by the sight. Both adult mice were dying while the infants squeaked in blind protest.

Feeling lightheaded, Juan gasped for breath, not realizing he’d been holding it as he watched what should have been impossible.

“Juan, are you still there?” Nate’s voice broadcast loudly. “Do I need to call a rescue team?”

“No,” Juan said, forcing himself to take deep steady breaths as he backed away from the biosafety cabinet. “Nate, I know what happened at those ranches. And the people who were given this stuff… they could be a danger to everyone around them.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

###

Juan waved away the glass of ice water he’d been offered. “I think you’ll understand if I have somewhat of an aversion to water right now.” He grabbed a bottle of Diet Coke off the table instead.

He was sitting in a conference room in FBI headquarters, along with Nate and at least a dozen other FBI agents and staff he’d never met before. Nate had only had time to introduce him to one person—Jeff Binghamton, the assistant director of CID—before the door opened and the room went quiet as a clean-cut man in his fifties walked in.

The man walked straight over to Juan and shook his hand. “Dr. Gutierrez, I presume?” He had a velvety-smooth voice and a firm grip. “I’m FBI Director Neil Wilson. I’m really glad you’re helping us on this.”