“I’m sorry, son,” he said. I expected more, but no, that was it.

“Dad,” I said, lowering my voice even though there was no one in eyeshot, “there’s something wrong with this town, with the power plant … and maybe with me.”

Dad nodded, looking serious. “The scientist you met, he’s called Alpha. I regret that things played out the way they did, but you should take that as a lesson not to go looking for trouble again.”

Wait, what?

“I was looking for you, Dad. And this guy stabbed and slashed me. But I guess you’re okay with that.”

Dad pressed his lips together and said nothing. The fuck …

“Dad, did they do something to you at the plant as well? What the hell is going on there?”

Instead of replying, he stood up and turned toward the house.

“And who is Ishango?”

That got his attention. He pivoted back and said in a low, steady voice, “Ishango is the name of the first math machines ever discovered.”

“I know that,” I said. “Maggie told me all about it.”

“How much is Maggie involved in this?”

“She’s been with me every step of the way,” I said, then became worried that I might’ve just dragged her deeper into this mess.

“How much does she know about Ishango?”

“She looked it up in an encyclopedia, learned about the bone or whatever it was.”

He rubbed his hands over his face and looked up as if he were praying, though I knew he wasn’t. His only belief was science.

“You shouldn’t have been out there,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

“No shit.”

“And don’t swear, son.”

“Stop calling me ‘son.’ You gave me a name.”

“Jordan,” he said, “I’m trying to help you. What is happening is beyond your imagination and control. You should know that I, as your father, would not steer you wrong.”

“Well, be a father, then. Stop living at the power plant, and let’s become a family again.”

“I cannot discuss this with you any further.” He walked back into the house. “Watch your step, and if you hear anything creaking, move to a doorway.”

“Everything is creaking,” I said, stepping inside. “Your friend Alpha sliced me up with a sword that shot out of his arm stump. He wasn’t aiming for my leg.”

“I cannot tell you any more, Jordan, but you are not to go back there,” he said in a stern voice. “Or to ask any questions of the army, of the police, of anyone. Understand?”

I stared at him. “He called me Rho, said they’ve done something to me, maybe when I was in the sick camp. I think they messed around with my body to make me stronger and faster. Not human.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

He entered what had been our front room. Pools of black, where water had mixed with the charcoal on the second floor and dripped down like oil, collected on the floor.

“Why did you let them do that to me?” I asked.