“She’s not going to come walking in on us, is she?”
The man’s face darkened and he shook his head. “She will not interrupt us, no.” There was something he wasn’t telling her. He looked up at her and frowned. Queen thought he had noticed the skull brand on her forehead, but then he explained. “You should probably wash the dirt off of your face.”
Keeping her weapon trained on the man, Queen grabbed a container of germicidal wipes and gave herself a quick scrub. This time he did notice the brand, and his eyes widened, but he made no comment.
“You have a name?” Queen asked as she removed her small pack, stuffed it into a medical waste bag, slipped into the lab coat, and buttoned it over her ragged t-shirt.
“Slifko.” His voice was tight and scratchy.
“All right, Slifko, let’s get this straight. You are to lead me straight to your office. If you try anything at all, you’re a dead man. My gun is up my sleeve and aimed at the center of your back, but know this,” she stepped in close and the taller man seemed to shrink before her, “I don’t need a gun to take care of you.”
Slifko nodded, sweat beading on his forehead and his complexion going from fair to pallid. “I understand,” he gasped.
It was a short walk down a quiet hallway of unrelenting white to Slifko’s office. They did not encounter a soul, and when Queen closed the door behind her, she allowed herself to relax just a little. Above the fastidiously organized desk on the far side of the room, a row of monitors hung on the wall, each displaying a roomful of holding cells, Each cell housed an oborot. Queen did not have time to examine them closely, but she could see at a glance the obvious differences between the various groups. Some were fully bestial, fine hair and rippled muscles coating their bodies. These were enraged, pounding or hurling themselves at the walls of their cells. Others retained more of their human traits, with only a moderate amount of body hair.
“Time to sing, little bird.” Queen motioned at Slifko with the barrel of her gun. When her order was met with a puzzled expression, she dropped the idiom. “Tell me about this place. Why is it here and what are you trying to do?”
Slifko cleared his throat and began his explanation.
“I worked at Pripyat Hospital when the disaster at Chernobyl occurred. I was at work when soldiers came for me. They told me of the accident and said I was needed to tend to one of the victims. I presumed the person was merely an injured worker and was puzzled that they had not brought him directly to the hospital. What I found was something very different.” His eyes took on a faraway cast and, Queen thought, a gleam of excitement. “A worker at the Chernobyl plant had been exposed to a heavy dose of radiation and was undergoing what could only be described as a transformation. He looked like the subjects you see here.” He pointed to the monitor that showed the most violent group. “It was the most fascinating discovery of my career—a condition like none I had ever seen.” She could hear the wonder in his voice and it turned her stomach.
“Why you?” Queen could not keep the distaste from her voice. The man clearly had no regard whatsoever for his human subjects. “Was it the luck of the draw, or was there a particular reason they chose you?”
“My reputation preceded me. I have always been drawn to the legend of the oborot. Years ago, I came across a journal, written in the thirteenth century, by a man named Kurek. He recounted the story of his friend being killed by an oborot-like creature. It happened in this region. Furthermore, he told of dark rumors regarding the families in this area. I believe most legends have a basis in scientific fact, and I was convinced there was something to Kurek’s account. I focused my research on the area around Pripyat and Chernobyl. In time, I came to be known by some as the crazy wolf hunter.” He stared at the monitors, lost in memory. “We took him to a secure facility and observed him. I did not have sufficient resources to determine what caused his condition, but I was now certain that the oborot could exist. Rather, that a condition existed that explained the legend. Perhaps the traits had been lying dormant in his genes until exposure to just the right amount of radiation brought about the change.” He continued to gaze at the screens. “So I learned all I could about the man and his ancestors. They were from this area, and were one of those families that had been regarded with suspicion, if not outright fear. I was on to something, but I could do little more though, without adequate facilities and funding. I needed financial support for my research.”
“I can think of a few snags you might have hit,” Queen said.