MAD SCIENTIST

THE JOURNEY TO the laboratory would take almost three hours.

Because they hadn't all needed to go, and because none of them were happy about leaving the van unguarded, it had been decided that Xian Mei would stay behind with Jin.

Mowen's boat was a small ex-army tug. He had negotiated the waterways skillfully, standing proud astride his vessel like a pirate captain on the High Seas. Occasionally, he had flipped his rifle off his shoulder to fire at what Logan had at first thought were drifting logs. "Friendly looking fuckers, aren't they?"

"Crocodile," Mowen had explained. "I shoot so they stay scared. If scared, they not attack."

At times, the waterways had been nothing but dark, narrow swampy channels through dense green tunnels of vines and creepers; at others, the banks had widened out and the overhanging treetops above them had separated like sliding shutters to admit a vast blue vista of the sky. Mowen had been happy for Purna, Sam, and Logan to bring their weapons along, and in fact, seemed reasonably laid back about the entire venture, despite his initial reticence. Purna had been watching him closely the whole time, eyes narrowed, as if she didn't really trust him.

For his part, although he felt a little unsettled about venturing into unknown territory, Sam was just glad to get a break from the relentless rage and hunger of the infected. And although he had initially thought Logan a bitter, over-pampered douche-bag, he was now glad of the guy's company. In a strange way, what had happened had actually been good for Logan, or at least had shown him in a more favorable light. Deprived of the drugs and alcohol he had evidently started to become dependent upon since his accident, and given something other than his own woes to worry about, the ex-football star had proven himself to be a witty and likable companion. He could be relied on to keep people's spirits up with a quip or an irreverent comment when things got too heavy. Sam thought that even Purna liked having Logan around, though the Australian girl was hard to read – harder even, in many ways, than Mowen, despite the trader's mirror shades and uncertain grasp of the English language.

Eventually, they had come to a small jetty in the middle of the jungle, where Mowen had tied the boat up. "Now we walk," he'd said, gesturing off into the jungle.

"How far?" Purna had asked.

Mowen shrugged. "One hour maybe."

At Mowen's recommendation, they had each brought a rucksack of provisions, which they hoisted onto their backs, and a machete to hack their way through the jungle.

Mowen had led the way at a brisk pace, occasionally pointing out hazards for them to avoid – snakes, spiders, plants that would sting or scratch or otherwise irritate their skin.

It was not long before Sam and Logan had been dripping with sweat, and even Purna's flawless brown skin had gleamed with a light sheen of perspiration.

Only Mowen ahead of them had seemed relatively unaffected, though as Sam used his soggy bandanna to wipe sweat away from his forehead for perhaps the twentieth time, he had eventually been gratified to see a small damp triangle forming on the back of Mowen's T-shirt, between his shoulder blades.