Free Pavlov's Dogs by D.L. Snell, Thom Brannan

tearing at each other in the cage.
    Now when he saw them, he knew the action potential lurking within, and it thrilled him. He had come to watch them running drills on each other in human form, and even those moments of unarmed combat had set the neurotechnician’s imagination aflame.
    “Earth to Donovan,” Holly said. “Do you have any theories about the hungry dead?”
    “No. Barring some sort of supernatural involvement, there’s nothing that springs to mind. Who knows what it is? Biological warfare or contaminated space probes from Venus. Does it really matter? The dead walk, and they eat.” He pushed his plate away. “Now I’m not even hungry. I never should have let you talk me into watching the video broadcasts.”
    “I can’t believe the man on watch let you in,” Lucas Jaden said, coming up behind Donovan. “I docked Winchester’s pay, but somehow I doubt that’s going to make much of a difference anymore.”
    “Come on, Luke,” Holly said, “Don’t tell me you’re out of hope, too.”
    He flashed a grin at her. “I’m a realist, Miss Randall. If you show me a glass, I see it as neither half-empty nor half-full. I see enough water to drown a man, if I can find a way to put it in his lungs.”
    Lucy stabbed her plate of rice. “You win for creepy sentence of the day.” She looked over at Donovan, her tired eyes ringed with dark circles. “I’ve even been talking to Fatty Ron, learning about how meat breaks down.” She jabbed her fork at Jaden. “You still win.”
    Dr. Crispin entered the dining room, his face full of manic energy that seemed to drift up into his unruly standing hair. He gave the impression of someone who just stuck a finger into an electrical socket and was eager to do it again.
    Donovan turned to see the podium already set up and wired for sound. When had that happened? Surely, he hadn’t been that captivated by the Dogs. Had he?
    Crispin tapped the microphone twice, as was his custom. The maintenance tech standing by was ready this time, and he fiddled with a slider on his mixing panel. He looked up with a grin for the gathered island personnel. There was a smattering of applause.
    “Thank you,” Crispin said. “I know you’re all eager to learn something about the situation, so I’ll get right to it. Today, ladies and gentlemen, we have received a distress signal.”
    Immediately, the room was electrified. Donovan sat up in his chair, his early-warning synapses firing.
    What does he mean, “we”?
    Crispin put his hands up to fend off a sudden barrage of questions. “Now, now. Hold on. I have brought a sound bite for you all to hear.”
    He gestured to the sound guy, who nodded and then pressed a button on a little laptop he had set up. The crackling sound of airwaves came over the speakers.
    “ Mayday, mayday—please. We have been stranded here for exactly thirty and a half days. That’s... 732 hours of trying to survive.”
    “Jesus,” Holly breathed.
    “ Please, we are running out of food and water, and we have very little for protection. There are women, children. Please—”
    Crispin motioned for the sound guy to stop the recording, and the room fell into silence.
    “Fifty thousand minutes,” Holly whispered. “Jesus.”
    Donovan noted that the distress signal had not divulged the survivors’ exact location. Smart , he thought. Better to make contact first and build some form of trust or rapport.
    “The communications men put the signal strength within reach of a search and rescue team,” Crispin said.
    Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Sounds fishy.”
    “The government has collapsed, people. There is no aid coming to these civilians. No comfort, no succor. The only hope they have of escaping their situation is the Dogs.”
    At this, the pack of men stood straighter, coming to attention. Alpha McLoughlin barked out, “Dog Pack, all present and accounted for. Ready for duty, Project Director, sir!”
    Dr. Crispin smiled, beaming at his