Even as Megan crumpled to the carpet in her bedroom, Melnikova opened her eyes in the dimly lit little room off the laboratory. She lay on the black recliner. Maunov sat in a chair at the recliner’s side.
“Drink this,” he said. He handed her a bottle of green liquid. His aged hand shook.
She accepted the bottle and looked at it dubiously, sitting up.
“What is it?”
“It’s an American sports drink. It is aid for ‘gators. It has electrolytes, which you may need.”
“What is a ‘gator?”
“Alligator. Please drink.”
Melnikova took a tentative sip of the salty sweet liquid, then chugged the bottle.
“It’s good,” she said.
“You will need to eat, also. A meal is being prepared upstairs. How do you feel?
“Hungry,” Melnikova admitted. “But good.” She looked at Maunov. “It seems like a dream.”
“I
