“Bring the shotgun.”
“Okay.”
The cabin was sparsely furnished but pleasant. No television or radio. Oil lamps rather than electric lights. A makeshift kitchen occupied the westernmost wall with a wood-burning stove in the corner. Hobson must have recently stoked the logs because several burned bright orange, filling the room with warmth. There was a round table next to the stove surrounded by three chairs, the top piled high with books, magazines, and assorted junk. The surface in front of one of the chairs was clear. David imagined Dewey Hobson took his meals there, with no one for company but the voices shouting in his head. The opposite wall housed a bed and a small writing desk. The door to the bathroom stood open. David noted the tiny space only contained a toilet and a sink.
“Where do you shower, Dewey?”
“I wash in the lake.”
“That must be nice.”
“It’s cold, most of the time.”
Although Hobson’s clothing was old and in dire need of a good seamstress, he didn’t appear filthy. His beard was thick but well maintained. He could use a haircut, but the mop on his head wasn’t to the point of unruly. His heavy boots were sturdy and looked nearly new.
David gestured to the chair at the clear spot of the table. “Take a seat, Dewey.”
Hobson lowered himself into the chair, cradling the shotgun in his lap.
David pulled out the chair next to him and sat down too, eyeing the books. “Do you have a favorite?”
Hobson didn’t hesitate. “The Murder of Roger Ackroydby Agatha Christie. Terrific ending, and probably one of the best twists ever written.”
“I haven’t read that one.”
“You should.”
“Do you know why I’m here?”
“I imagine you plan to kill me.”
Hobson said the words so casually, his hands remaining folded loosely over the gun.
“You should have died a long time ago.”
“I suppose.”
“After you took the shot.”
Hobson said nothing to this, only looked down at the shotgun.
David sighed. “I always thought it was strange they gave the shot to you. Your file says you had no special skills, no precursors, nothing to really warrant your inclusion in the experiment at all, yet there you were, right along with the others. Did you have any kind of reaction, Dewey? After they gave it to you?”
Dewey Hobson began to sweat. His mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
“It’s rude to ignore your guests, Dewey. Did you have a reaction?”
Hobson didn’t want to answer. David saw the pain and confusion in his eyes when the words came out anyway.
“Before the shot, I could hear electricity. This constant humming everywhere. It got much worse after.”
David leaned back in his chair and folded his fingers together. “That’s remarkable. Is that why you have no electronics here?”
Hobson nodded. “Too fucking loud. It hurts sometimes. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Hard to think, harder to sleep. Quiet here.”
“Sounds like a lonely life.”
“Not much choice in the matter.”
