Contagious Page 112

“Double it again,” Margaret said.

Dan turned his shoulders to face her square-on. “No way. Didn’t you hear me? He’s got an erratic heartbeat.”

“He’s a strong man, Doctor,” Margaret said. “He can handle it. Now double the dosage.”

Inside his helmet, Dan shook his head. “No f.u.c.king way.”

“d.a.m.nit, Daniel,” Margaret said. “If these things ma.s.s in his brain, he’s screwed. We’ve got to cure him.”

“Is killing him the same as curing him? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you jack up the dosage again.”

“Get out of here,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

He stared at her. “I don’t know you very well, but you’re a doctor. What the h.e.l.l happened to you?”

“They happened to me,” Margaret said. “We have to know if this works. If we don’t find a cure, one life won’t really matter. Now get the h.e.l.l out of my way.”

Daniel pushed past her, past Clarence, and opened the airlock door to Trailer A. As she turned back toward Sanchez, her eyes caught Clarence’s.

In his eyes, she saw sadness. More than that, she saw pity. She finally understood why Bernadette Smith had to die. And she hated herself for it.

She looked away from Clarence and started increasing the dose.

11:50 A.M.: THE INTERROGATION

Dew hated the biohazard suit almost as much as Perry did. He’d always made fun of the human condoms, but now that he’d actually caved in and worn one, he felt jinxed, as though the next time he didn’t wear one he’d catch something for sure. With a new .45 in a hip holster worn outside the suit, Dew imagined he looked like a total douchebag.

Perry just stared at the two caged hatchlings. They looked lethargic, defeated. Maybe sitting next to the center cage containing Perry’s decomposed shooting victim mellowed them out. They’d barely moved in the last twenty minutes.

“What do they say, kid?”

“They’re still not saying anything,” Perry said. “They just seem to be out of it.”

“Can’t you read their minds or something?”

Perry shook his head. “It’s not like that. The triangles are still connected to human brains, I think that’s why I can hear that chatter from hosts. But the hatchlings aren’t connected to human brains. They can talk to me, but only when they want to.”

“But you’re still hearing that triangle chatter?”

Perry nodded. “Yeah. It’s getting stronger, too, which is kind of weird. It usually only gets stronger when I’m tracking them down, getting closer. Maybe they have more power now? I don’t know, Dew—maybe we don’t need these f.u.c.kers at all. Can I shoot another one?”

Dew leaned down to look into the cage on the left. “What do you say, champ? Should we shoot you?”

Both of the hatchlings stirred. They blinked their black eyes, seemed to gain a little life.

“Something’s getting them moving,” Dew said. “They afraid of the gun?”

“No, that’s not it,” Perry said. He closed his eyes, seemed to concentrate. “The chatter is getting louder. A lot louder. Wait, Dew, I’m picking up thoughts of a gate . . . and a tall building.”

“You recognize it?”

Perry’s eyes stayed closed, but he shook his head. “No, not really. This is weird. Usually everything feels so chaotic, like the hosts are scrambling, trying to figure out what to do, but this . . . this feels organized. One-fifteen P.M.”

“One-fifteen?” Dew said. “What the h.e.l.l happens at one-fifteen?”

Perry opened his eyes. “They’ve got a timeline. That’s when the gate will open up. And I don’t know why this is so strong. I mean, it’s really strong, and it’s got nothing to with the hatchlings.”

“It’s eleven-fifty right now,” Dew said. “We’ve got less than ninety minutes. Perry, focus on that building. See if you can recognize it, or at least describe it to me.”

Milner’s voice in his earpiece. “Dew, can you talk?”

Perry’s eyes opened—he had the same earpiece, so he also heard Milner’s voice.

“Jesus, Milner, not now!”

“Some of Ogden’s men are coming down the driveway,” Milner said. “Two Hummers. You want to come out?”

“Handle it,” Dew said. “Tell them whatever it is it has to wait.”

“I’ve got it,” Baum said. “Heading out now.”

“Come on, Perry,” Dew said. “Concentrate.”

Perry closed his eyes. His face started to crease. “This is confusing,” he said. “Now I’m getting a bunch of feelings, emotions. Hatred. Anger.”

“Just breathe, kid,” Dew said. “Take your time, just breathe, and figure it out.”

Dustin Climer waved from the pa.s.senger seat as the Humvee slowed to a stop on the Jewells’ icy dirt driveway. His driver eased over to the left side, allowing the Humvee behind to pull up on the right. The burned-out husk of a house sat before them. Off to the left, the two MargoMobiles, side by side and connected. To the right, a big, bare tree with a rope swing.

Five men in his Hummer, four in the other. More than enough to get the job done.

He waved again to the man standing in front of the MargoMobile. Climer hopped out and walked forward. He recognized the mustached face of that CIA puke Claude Baumgartner.

“Afternoon, gents,” Baumgartner said. “What’s up?”

“We came for the hatchlings,” Climer said. “Ogden wants them moved to the camp.”

Baum shook his head. “Uh, I don’t think we can do that right now.”

Climer smiled. “Sure we can, Baumer. It’s just a matter of who calls the shots.”

•  •  •

Perry knew that building. Black. Tall. Glossy. Usually he had to listen very carefully to sense anything in the chatter, but this was different—now he had to block things out, try to ignore the random thoughts ripping through his head. But that could only happen if there were a bunch of hosts, way more than the three he’d sensed in Glidden.