Barren Waters, A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival
Chapter 14

Things are never as they seem. A person. A Mark. A statement. They are always deeper than we perceive, like walking in the ocean and suddenly dipping under the surface because the bottom has disappeared beneath your feet. The water appears shallow until you are suddenly flailing around beneath the surface, desperately searching for stable ground once again.

—Kelseyleigh Reber

Chapter 14

1 Year Prior

November 17th, 2175

Just outside of Knoxville, Tennessee

For five long months, they’d been living in this house. For five long months, they’d been combing the countryside, searching for supplies. For five long months, they’d been treating Peter’s gangrenous leg, managing his disease, making him as comfortable as they could. They’d been trying to keep things positive for months. They built this semblance of a life as best they could, fortified this house, and planned escape routes should bandits come calling. And for five long months, Jeremy had harbored this fretful, uneasy feeling. He was becoming more restless as each day passed, his inner voice screaming at him to get up and do something!

If only he knew what it was.

Like a Las Vegas casino chip, he flipped the empty disk case between his thumb and forefinger, distracted as rain drummed a steady beat on the windows of the house. Night had fallen on another endless day of foraging—worthless foraging, he reminded himself. His gaze slid from the ceiling to the children, to Meghan, then back to the ceiling again. An ever-expanding water stain was creeping across the far corner of the room. Pointing it to Meghan, he said, “We need to find the source of that leak.”

She lifted her head, but said nothing, and he evaluated the angles and planes of her face. She’d put on weight, but she was still too thin. Though the past few months had done her wonders. Her cheeks had filled out and her eyes were brighter. A healthy flush had replaced the once-pallid tone of her skin. When she and Peter had first arrived, they’d been gaunt, exhausted, battered by the elements. Jeremy had worried about their ability to recover, particularly Peter. He was in the worst shape.

Those first few days, Jeremy had encouraged them to rest, eat, hydrate themselves, and then rest some more, and it had done him well to look after someone else. Caring for them had brought him an unexpected measure of happiness. It had made him feel significant again. They prepared starchy meals of beans, rice, and old cans of potatoes, and gathered fresh berries and root vegetables from the woods that hemmed their property. He furnished them water and comfortable beds, clean clothes, and most importantly, a renewed sense of security. His and Sam’s generosity helped the newcomers make a slow but steady recovery, and Jeremy was proud of the progress they had made. They’d extended themselves to two strangers, two damaged individuals who’d been circling the proverbial drain.

Meghan and Peter had done little else than sleep those first few days. It seemed like more than a week had passed before either had worked up the courage to come out. And when they did, they were bleary-eyed and full of wonder, fascinated by the opulence in front of them. They’d been homeless for far too long, Jeremy remarked. They were accustomed to surviving this dangerous world and living among its wreckage. And though Meghan was exceedingly grateful for Jeremy’s hospitality, she’d been wary of his kindness for a time. She’d been guarded and overprotective of her son. But as Jeremy had learned from personal experience, time has a way of healing the deepest of wounds, and eventually Meghan softened to him. Her shyness gave way to gentle curiosity, which evolved into unabashed interest. She was awed by the richness of Jeremy’s life and astonished by the depth of his resourcefulness. Early on she made it clear to him that she wanted to acquire the same skills.

As time passed, she proved her mettle. She was a diligent student, an industrious worker, a devoted mother, a fighter. Jeremy was proud of her transformation. She’d come a long way from that once-frightened woman holding a gun in a dilapidated convenience store. If nothing else, she’d become his friend. He taught her how to build small cook fires and cook raw food over the tops of them. He shared his list of the most nutritious foods, and the tips for making them last longer, and for the past few months, they’d stocked their shelves. But of late, to find what they needed, they’d been forced to travel farther from the house. Staying in one place was a difficult thing to do. In any given place there existed a finite supply of rations, and they’d vowed not to touch the supplies in the cart. It and its supplies were a safety net to them. It was important to Jeremy to live off the land for as long as they were able.

And it was an incredibly rich land at that. This particular area of the country had been sparsely populated, and thus, was better stocked than most large cities, so they searched it methodically, plotting their course on Jeremy’s map as they went, and crossing out places they’d already been. But lately, their need for medication was taking them farther and farther from the house. Jeremy feared overnight expeditions would soon be required.

His frown deepened. The situation troubled him. For several weeks, his apprehension had grown, his fear like a metastasizing cancer in his belly. That familiar voice was whispering again, and as each day passed, it became harder and harder to ignore.

This won’t work, it whispered sagely. You know this. Not long term. Not for two children who have the same disease.

The pragmatism of the words lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. He could do his best pretend at stability, but soon, he and Meghan would reach an impasse, and what would they do when that happened? Stability was key for the health and longevity of diabetic children. This house could never be a permanent solution. Besides, he thought, they were barely 30 miles from the ashes of Jeremy’s burnt-down cabin. Was this as far as his heart would let him go? Was he refusing to let go and move one? Grasping at the ghosts of his past? He should consider moving on, starting a new life, but if this house wasn’t the solution, what was? If not here, Jeremy wondered, then where?

There was a hospital little more than twenty miles from here, but he and Meghan had already cleaned it out. It had yielded a cache of insulin pills, which had already improved Peter’s precarious health. He was alert and communicative, his appetite had increased, and his leg had shown signs—though subtle—of improvement. He’d even shown interest in Sam. He would listen to her read, ask her questions about the past. One day, when he and Meghan had returned from a long day of scavenging, he’d caught Sam teaching Peter to read. It was heartwarming to watch. It felt like normal life. A healthy relationship was blossoming between them. But the pills would be an ever-present issue, particularly when their collection started to dwindle.

Which is happening right now, he reminded himself.

And what about Sam? She didn’t need the pills—not yet, anyway. The disks were successfully managing her illness. But how much longer could he depend on that? None of the hospitals or medical centers they’d visited had yielded a single errant disk. Nor had the Urgent Care Centers, or pharmacies. At what point would Jeremy’s friendship with Meghan give way to secrets and lies? When would they turn on each another? It was as likely a scenario as it was an inevitable one.

And this, he knew, was the source of his restlessness.

“What are you thinking about?” Meghan asked softly, the flames of the hearth in her eyes.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I really don’t know. Thinking about ways to create sustainability, I guess.”

“Don’t you think we’ve done that?”

He considered the question, and for the most part, agreed. Over the last few months, they’d known many successes. They’d even discovered two wells. And though only one had been potable, it was more than Jeremy had dared hope for. It was reason enough to stay. But foraging wasn’t sustainable. And they’d done little else to create a system that worked.

“I suppose we have,” he answered slowly. “But what about food? Our own food? We should be planting crops and growing fruit-bearing trees. How long can we scavenge before we run out of places to look?” He shook his head despondently. “I just think we should be something doing more.”

“Something more?” Her eyes slipped to her son, who was sleeping peacefully in front of the hearth, beside Sam. “You’ve done more for Peter and I than I had ever dreamed possible. And to think I almost shot you.” She grinned. “What a terrible loss that would’ve been.”

He smiled despite his foul mood. “You know you wouldn’t have shot me.”

She held his gaze for a moment too long, a moment longer than was comfortable for him. He quickly looked back at the children. He knew she’d begun to have feelings for him, feelings that had matured and slowly deepened. At the start, she’d shown them in small, subtle ways. At unexpected times, she would touch his arm, or brush against his body in passing. She’d ask kittenish questions through lowered lashes. When he was showing her how to perform a new task, she’d cup her palm to his hand, and say, “Am I doing it right?” or “How does this look?”

But lately, her overtures had grown bolder. And could Jeremy blame her? She was human, after all. She was young and beautiful and lonely, and he was the only living man for miles around. With nutrition and exercise, and the relief that comes with knowing food and water will be found the next day, she’d shed her protective shell. Her eyes had brightened and she’d become more trusting. Her smiles came easier, and often. Like a snake, she’d molted an old layer of skin, a layer of protection she no longer needed, and thus was welcoming adult relationships.

Leaning her head against the cushions of the divan, she tucked her long legs beneath her. “No,” she murmured. “ I suppose you’re right. I suppose I wouldn’t have shot you.”

Suddenly curious, he arched his brow. “Have you ever shot anyone before?” Funny that he’d never thought to ask her that.

Folding her hands, she met his gaze. “Yes. Once. To protect Peter. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat, if I had to. What about you? Haven’t you?”

“No. Burned a few, though.”

“Burned a few?”

“Long story.”

“Okay,” she sighed, accustomed to his evasiveness. “Perhaps one day you’ll feel like telling me about it.”

One day, he thought strangely. One day.

One day implies more to come, does it not? He glanced at the disk in his palm. There it was: that unsettling pull in the pit of his stomach, that restlessness of spirit trying to communicate something. Stomach churning, he lifted his gaze. She’d been staring at him and seemed suddenly embarrassed. She nervously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She really was quite beautiful, young, full of life, and pleasant to be around. But there was something she wasn’t, and never would be. She would never be Susan. That was the problem.

How would another man act in a similar situation? He couldn’t help but wonder from time to time. An attractive woman, living under the same roof, sharing a household for nearly six months? A woman—mind you—who depended on him for her very survival, who admired and revered him above all others. Most men would find that a heady combination. It was an arrangement that would compel most men to action. But Jeremy wasn’t ‘most men’. He felt nothing for Meghan, despite the circumstances. Perhaps losing Susan was still too fresh a wound, or perhaps the parts of him that craved companionship and sex had died in that fire, along with everything else.

Again, he glanced at the children. Peter was lying on his sleeping bag, his infectious leg propped against a pillow, his teddy-bear keychain clutched beneath his chin. Though Meghan had recovered and flourished, Peter hadn’t. He still faced a steady decline. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t improved; they’d done much to slow the progression of his illness. But in Jeremy’s opinion, it wasn’t enough. His condition had been ignored for far too long and had reached a point of no return. For once gangrene set into a wound, there was little one could do to reverse it.

“He’s doing much better,” Meghan said quietly, as though reading his mind.

“He is,” Jeremy conceded, “but the leg—”

“Don’t say it. I refuse to have this discussion again.”

“Meghan, can’t you see what’s happening? The rot is slowly climbing toward his knee. Once it passes his kneecap, it won’t be long until it claims the whole leg.”

Eyes flashing, her fists curled instinctively. “I won’t do it, Jeremy. I’ve told you that. I won’t cut it off. Something like that would kill him.”

“And this won’t?” He could barely keep the anger from his voice.

Her fingers twitched and fluttered, then pulled at a piece of frayed hemming on her shirt. She inhaled a ragged breath to steady herself. “I’m not stupid, Jeremy. And I’m not in denial. Of course I know it’s killing him. But that doesn’t make what you’re saying better. What you’re suggesting isn’t possible. Not in these circumstances, and not in his current condition. I mean look at him!”

“Yes, Meghan. I am looking at him. I’ve been looking at him for months.”

“No,” she argued. “I mean really look at him. When first we met, he was suffering from a wet gangrene. The leg was infected, hopelessly infected—hopelessly or so I had thought. But we’ve corrected that now. He’s doing much better.”

“We haven’t corrected anything, Meghan. Gangrene is gangrene. Rot is rot. Proud flesh has to be removed.”

“Proud flesh? My son isn’t a horse, Jeremy.” She was silent for a moment before reasoning anew. “You’re right. The flesh is gangrene. But it’s a dry gangrene, and you know that’s better. Dry can be tolerated—if not controlled.”

“Oh!” Jeremy said, his temper rising. “Well, he’s definitely tolerating it, as you say, but don’t fool yourself. It’s not under our control. Let me ask you something. If his leg looks like that, what do you think’s going on beneath the skin? What do you think’s happening to his organs and blood vessels? To his muscles, bones, heart, and lungs?”

She stiffened then swung her legs over the couch. “Okay, Jeremy. I’ll bite. What are you suggesting? That not only are you a skilled gardener, but that you’re also an adept farmer, a gifted cook, and—oh yes—an accomplished surgeon?” She threw up her hands. “Well bless the Lord in heaven! I’ve happened across the perfect man! In the end times, I’ve found the only man alive who is capable of dong everything! So tell me, Doctor Colt, how will you do it? How will you remove Peter’s leg in a state-of-the-art facility such as this? With no blood to transfuse, no knives with which to cut, no antiseptics, gauze, lasers, or scalpels—and oh, yes!—with no way to control his pain! Do you know what that would be like for him? We don’t have anesthesia, Jeremy! Not a local one, nor a topical one.” Her eyes glinted dangerously. Spittle was dribbling over the curve of her lip. “What you’re suggesting is absolute madness. It’s akin to human torture, and I won’t do that. Not in the lowest point of my darkest moment in hell. I’d rather see him—” She stopped suddenly. Her mouth snapped closed.

“You’d rather see him what, Megan? Die?”

“Yes,” she spat. “I’d rather see him die. I’d rather see him dead than watch him live through that. Call me a bad mother, if you will. I don’t care. I’m not ashamed to admit how I feel.”

For a moment, she lowered her gaze to her hands, as if wondering what they were capable of, before cupping her face and starting to weep.

Shit, Jeremy thought. Why was he such as ass? Why were his emotions so close to the surface? He was a ticking time bomb with a very short fuse.

“Meghan, I’m sorry.” Leaning forward, he lowered his forehead to his hands. The empty disk was cold against his temple. “I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into me lately. Lately, I just don’t feel like myself. It’s…the pills, I think. They go so fast. And I don’t function well without a plan. I just don’t know what we’re planning to do. What will be our strategy when the pills run out?”

She wept but didn’t answer. He felt like a heel. Sliding across the couch, he moved closer to her. Why was he such a damned jerk? He wasn’t a good communicator anymore. Perhaps he was just out of practice. Or had he possibly become this callous?

“Meghan,” he tried again. “I’m sorry. You’re right. We can’t do that. We won’t consider it or talk about it again. It’s barbaric even to think it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She lifted her face and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Jeremy, I know you’re just trying to help, and were our circumstance different, an amputation would be best. I just can’t abide that for Peter. Not now.” Lifting her legs, she crossed them on the sofa. It was difficult not to notice how close their hands were, or the tears that were glistening in her eyes, or the delicate curve of her throat and bottom lip.

“I know Peter will die,” she continued softly, “I’m not daft. Eventually he will. It’s unavoidable. But people can live a long time with this kind of affliction.”

Jeremy answered her hoarsely. “Yes, with proper medication they can.”

“I suppose you think I’m being selfish,” she said. “But in my position, what parent wouldn’t be? What are my alternatives? If I won’t remove the leg, what should I do? Withhold the medicine that prevents his suffering? Do I allow his wounds to proliferate and fester? I can’t do that. I won’t do that.” She cocked her head and ran a thumb across his knuckle. “How I wish I had met you sooner, Jeremy Colt. Maybe if I had, this wouldn’t have happened.” When she leaned in close, he felt her breath against his forehead. “Maybe if I had met you years ago, we could’ve built something sustainable then.”

Before he could stop her, she had leaned in and kissed him. Her mouth was warm and moist, and though kissing someone other than Susan was unimaginable, the physical act aroused him. It was pleasant, he thought. Pleasant—but wrong. Setting his hands to her shoulders, he gently pushed her away.

“Meghan, you’re lovely, but—“

“I know,” she breathed shallowly. “I’m not your wife. You don’t have to say it. Though you don’t speak of her, I can sense your pain.”

He lifted a hand to her cheek. “I’m just not ready for something like this. To be fair, I may never be.”

“Never say never,” she murmured quietly. “One day, you might surprise yourself.”

One day. He swallowed. There it was again. He hadn’t noticed before, but his fist was clenching the empty disk in his hand. Relaxing his grip, he rubbed his open palm, which was red and dented by the corners of the plastic.

One day, he thought again. One day.

Moving his thumb across the plastic, he scratched the word, engraved on the cover.

Insulidisk, it said. It made no sense. It was a gimmicky word that meant nothing, but it was the thing that kept her alive.

He peered at Peter and Sam, whose bodies were rounded shapes inside their sleeping pallets. Peter had made measurable progress. It was a truth Jeremy couldn’t deny. His condition was poor, but he was declining at a much slower pace than before. Jeremy called to memory the morning they’d arrived. Meghan had been pushing the broken-down grocery cart, Peter crumpled in the bottom of the basket. Through the window, she’d appeared exhausted, as if she would collapse in the middle of the street. For several days, Jeremy had known she was there. She’d been watching the house, appraising them from a distance, trying to decide if they were decent people, trying to decide if they were safe.

That was the morning she had risked it all. From the living room window, he’d watched her come, pushing the cart with its rickety wheel, her thin arms trembling with the effort. He’d wanted to rush outside to help her, but his eyes had found Peter instead. The leg, as before, had been lifted and balanced atop a pile of dirty blankets. It was the only thing Jeremy had been able to focus on, and as they approached the house, he had watched it bounce ominously. Instead of running to offer her aid, he’d run to Sam instead. “There are people coming, Sam,” he’d said breathlessly, grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezing painfully. Her body had tensed. Alarm had shone in her eyes. “No,” he’d added quickly, feeling like a fool. Why did he always have to scare her like that? Nothing scared Sam more than thoughts of other people. “Not bad people, honey. People we can help. People I met in town the other day… the day we went to the library. Remember? The day we first started speaking again.” He ran a hand over her hair, smoothed it, and admired the flaxen strands.

“What’s wrong with you?” she’d asked, pushing his hands away. “If they’re not bad people, then why are you so upset?”

He’d squeezed her arms. “I’m not upset. I just want to prepare you. I need to tell you something. Don’t be frightened—don’t be shocked I mean. Don’t be shocked or upset when you see them. I need you to stifle your reaction.”

“What? Stifle my reaction? What the hell does that mean?”

He ignored the curse word and drew a deep breath. “The boy. He’s ill—terribly ill. It’s his leg. He’s—”

“Dad, you’re being silly.” She’d smiled. “I think I can handle a bad leg.”

She’d grabbed his hand and pulled him outdoors, and in silence, the two had watched Meghan approach. Jeremy was proud. Sam had hidden her revulsion well. She’d fought the instinct to stare openly. She’d been kind and courteous, open to the possibility of helping people in need. It was only after she’d seen the pills that she’d begun asking Jeremy questions. One night, behind the house, she’d found him chopping wood and cornered him there, anger flashing in her eyes.

“Peter’s a diabetic? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Why do you care that I didn’t tell you that?”

“You’re deflecting,” she accused him.

“Deflecting? Good word. Is that our toilet-paper-word-of-the-day?”

“Stop.” She’d stamped her foot. “Stop making light of this. You did it on purpose. You kept this from me. When are you going to start telling me the truth? When will you start respecting me?”

He’d dropped the ax and stood there stupidly. She was right. Of course. She was always right.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

She’d crossed her arms. “And how many times are you going to say that? Dad, I don’t want your apologies anymore. I just want you to tell me the truth. It’s what we promised each other we’d do.”

“You’re right. We did. And from now on, I will.”

She’d dropped her hands to her sides, placated. “Okay. Then why don’t you start right now? So Peter’s a diabetic. So what? Why wouldn’t you want me to know that?”

He had no choice but to tell her to the truth, to tell her the things he and Susan never had. They’d never explained what would happen to her body if she chronically mismanaged her disease. There was no reason to. The disks made it easy. When one ran out, it was replaced with another. Life went on, almost normally. There was no fuss, no hassle. No thought went into any of it. Sam had never visited a diabetic hospital ward, or seen photographs of people in advanced stages of deterioration. She’d been sheltered from the more gruesome aspects of her illness. She simply didn’t know what could happen.

Crouching in front of her, he took her hands in his, and though she tried to pull away, he refused to let her go. “Sam, understand, you’re one of the lucky ones. You’ve always had the disks. Peter hasn’t. For years, we’ve managed your illness on autopilot. It was never an issue at home, and as long as we have the disks, it won’t be an issue out here. Peter hasn’t lived that kind of life. He’s had to fight for his health for years, forage for pills on a daily basis. Sam,” he added warily, “without the pills Peter will die.”

“Without the disks, I will die.”

His heart skipped a beat. He wouldn’t acknowledge that. “Without medication, anyone in your condition could die. But we won’t let that happen. We’re smarter than that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dad, I know all of this. I know the risks, and I know how to take care of myself. I know how important the disks are to me. But I still don’t understand why you’re so upset. Why would—”

Suddenly, her mouth snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed and her hands begun to tremble. “Dad,” she said softly, “without medication what happens? You say I get fuzzy or faint. You said I could fall into a coma. What else? What happens after that? It’s his leg, isn’t it?” She cupped a hand to her moth. “That’s what will happen to me.”

“No.” Jeremy shook his head vehemently. “No. It won’t. We won’t let that happen to you.”

“But that’s what happened to Peter, isn’t it? That’s what caused his leg to turn black. His diabetes did that to him.”

“It did. Without proper medication, diabetics can’t produce enough insulin, and as a result, their sugars become unmanageable. High sugars cause cells to break down and die.”

“Break down and die,” she repeated softly. “Die like in rot. That’s what happened to his leg. That’s why it smells so bad. Because it’s rotting off his body.”

“I’m sorry, Sam, but do you understand now? That’s why I’m such a crazy person when it comes to your health. That’s why I’m constantly asking you your number.”

He watched her chest rise and fall as she slept. That conversation had meant a lot to him. He remembered thinking that with any kind of luck he’d finally reached her and made her understand. She’d been forced to accept difficult concepts that day, and Jeremy thought she had done it with dignity.

He rubbed his thumb against the lettering on the disk.

“How many do you have left?”

“What?” Jeremy raised his head. Ignoring Meghan’s question, he said. “I think you should learn how to properly shoot a gun. We should work on your aim and accuracy. And I think we should plant you a garden out back.”

“Plant me a garden out back? What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Meghan, what will we do when we run out of pills?”

“So that’s what this is about, isn’t it?” She eyed the slim case of plastic in his palm. “It’s about you leaving. You’re thinking of moving on.” When he met her gaze, he was surprised to see tears. “You’re leaving because you’re running out of disks.”

“No.” He shook his head. He’d become a decent liar. “I just think there are things you need to learn. And we’re being shortsighted if we don’t discuss this. We have to have a better plan for locating pills out there.”

She rubbed her palms against her thighs. “Well, that’s easy. We just keep looking. There are hundreds of hospitals in this state alone. We don’t stop trying. We keep after it. We measure our progress as we go. We expand our search grid every time we set out. We mark it on the map. We never give up.”

Search. He flipped the disk, considering the word. Yes. They could. They could continue to search, but what, exactly, were they searching for? A few bottles of pills? With any luck, a case? He traced the word on the cover of the disk, flipped it over, and examined the logo on the back. The words were faded, but clear enough to read.

Bigeye Pharmaceuticals. His eyes widened.

“Search,” he murmured absently. “So you’re saying we just keep searching.”

“Yes.” She grasped at his words and held them tightly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. We search forever, if that’s what it takes. We search one area until we know it’s depleted then move to the next area. It’s as simple as that. We’ve already been doing it for months, haven’t we? Tell me, Jeremy, what’s changed?”

Numb, he raised his head to meet her gaze. “The pills have changed. Don’t you realize that? Every year, they become less potent. They’re weaker now than they were six months ago. Some of what we’ve found is over 30 years old.”

Her smile was sad. “You’re such a pessimist.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “So I’ve been told.”

“But you are. Yes, Jeremy—the pills are weaker. But the United States is a very big place. There are countless places to look.”

She was right. Their search grid was enormous. But if they constantly moved around, how could they ever settle down and plant roots? If they adopted the life of a scavenger, how could he give Sam the stability she needed? This vision of life couldn’t deliver her that. It wasn’t attainable in the long run. What would they do? How would it work? Would he uproot her every six months and move on? Move her somewhere else, and then move her again? How would they ever plant a garden or a grove of trees? How would they ever grow crops? Would they never know the comfort of a permanent home? Were they doomed to live a nomadic life, like wanderers, gypsies, hamsters in a wheel? It wasn’t a life worth living. And it certainly wasn’t the one he and Susan had planned for Sam.

He glanced about the room, as if it were suddenly foreign. This plan had always had an expiration date. But once it expired, what would be next? If it couldn’t be this, then what could it be?

The pitter-patter of rain, so gentle and innocuous just a moment ago now chanted in an ominous voice. It beat against the roof, a two-beat trot of horse’s hooves, the sound like opportunity passing him by.

His gaze fell to the disk in his hand, and he cocked his head to read the words.

Bigeye Pharmaceuticals.

The manufacturer. The lettering beneath the name was small and faint. The light was dim. Lifting it closer to his face, he squinted.

Bigeye Pharmaceuticals.

San Diego, California.

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