Breeds 2 by Keith C. Blackmore Page B

to her right hip and gripped the stainless steel Smith and Wesson holstered there. The sound led her into the autopsy suite, where she flicked the nearest light switch. Chemical cleaners and a trace of formaldehyde lingered upon the air, noticeable but far from overpowering. The three workstations were empty; the sterile arrangement of dissection tables, weighing scales, steel scrub sinks, and cabinets were all undisturbed. At any point, three bodies could be worked on at once, though the center maintained only two full-time medical examiners. Plastic refuse boxes and red containers stood out amongst the colorless metal. Not a bone saw was in sight, although a tray set near one of the sinks did hold an assortment of forceps, knives, and chisels. A wall clock displayed the time at just after two in the morning.
    The cooler unit’s gray door remained closed. A bare skeleton hung from a stainless steel framework to the right, standing on guard.
    “You hear anything?” Al whispered just behind, startling Deb with a sharp intake of air. She took a moment to compose herself and glared at her coworker.
    “You mean I got you?” Al asked.
    “You just let me know next time,” Deb warned, her hand on her weapon. “I was ready to draw.”
    “I saw that.”
    “What’re you doing here?”
    “Heard something, so I came.”
    “Where’s Noah?”
    “In the can. Doing what he does. The man’s regular, I’ll give him that. Told him I was going to check on you.”
    Deb nodded at the cooler door. “It came from over there.”
    Al moved ahead of her and pulled out an electronic swipe card. He pressed the plastic against the nearby pad, generating a sharp click. Deb cringed at the noise, knowing that anything inside the cooler no doubt knew they were outside.
    “You ready?” Al said, his hands on the door’s lever.
    Deb slipped her S&W out of its holster and nodded grimly. Al pushed the door open and an overhead fluorescent light flickered to life, illuminating the cold steel cave where up to forty guests could be stored if needed. The cooler hummed as ceiling vents blew a cold, underlying wave of formaldehyde, lemon juice, and an underlying smell of decomposing flesh into their faces. A wall consisting of coffin-sized freezer units was to their immediate left, while just past that was a parking area for a pair of automated cadaver lifts.
    The smell of chilled flesh caused Deb to pucker her lips as she took the lead and slipped into the room, ignoring the sharp drop in temperature. She immediately checked behind the door before proceeding deeper into the cooler. Al lowered a rubber doorstop, secured the opening, and followed her inside. Deb straightened and signaled that the main floor was clear. Stout refrigeration doors remained secured, the individual units stacked three rows high and ten long. The exact location of the noise had stumped her. She shot a questioning look in Al’s direction and got a shrug in return.
    Thanks. Male .
    No sooner did she project that last thought when the faintest scratching perked her ears and straightened her backbone. An unrelenting, inquisitive digging, as if the source of the noise was somehow puzzled at its predicament. Al stood with mouth open and eyes lit, clearly disbelieving what was happening, and ready to sprint for the parking lot.
    One look from Deb quashed that notion. Al would not run on her watch. She’d shoot him in the back if he did.
    She chopped a hand at a second tier unit on the right.
    Deb held her weapon low as the scratching grew in intensity, growing frantic as the two guards neared the chrome-faced tomb.
    “Someone’s alive in there,” Al insisted, astonished.
    “No one’s alive in there,” Deb answered, still in control and eyeing the cabinet’s number. “This is the fresh one brought in Friday evening. Damn thing didn’t have a head.”
    The scratching stopped.
    Both Al and Debra exchanged pensive looks. The noise had ceased when she’d spoken. Deb slowly