of some kind had exploded in the child’s bedroom, probably home-made. The mother, a biologist at Roanoke Pharmaceuticals, was being questioned by the authorities.
Shit.
Payback felt the sick, dull draining of depression. He shook his head. Hey—this was a war. Okay, he’d fucked up; he hadn’t intended to hurt a little kid. But hell, it wasn’t his fault. Stupid child must have taken the bomb out of the trash can. Sometimes you had collateral damage in a war. Couldn’t be helped. And anyways, the sons of bitch scientists were guilty of worse than killing one innocent bystander. Dr. Rutherford was right. The so-called scientists were trying to kill the whole planet. It was his sworn duty to stop the bastards. Even if he had to kill them one at a time, and their kids with them.
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