Contagious Page 70

“Murray said we need to watch out for Dawsey going apes.h.i.t,” Ogden said. “My men have orders to stop him from doing anything stupid. I’ll load them up with Tasers, but if push comes to shove they will take Dawsey down by any means possible.”

“You going to shoot him, Colonel?”

“If I have to,” Ogden said. “So make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

BECK BECKETT, THIRD-GRADER

Chelsea watched the last car drive down her long, winding dirt driveway. She watched that car very carefully, just as she had the last three. She pushed her thoughts out, wondering if this car might bring the boogeyman.

She could tell that the boogeyman was very close, maybe even in g.a.y.l.o.r.d. And he would kill her . . . unless she could kill him first.

Chelsea hated the boogeyman.

She let out a long, slow breath as she connected—he wasn’t in that car. The car stopped behind the others. Two people got out, a man and a boy.

It was a good thing she’d called everyone here. Mr. Beckett had a blue triangle on his cheek. Another one peeked out from beneath his collar, just the point visible past the neckline of his sweater.

Beck Beckett looked fine.

He was a third-grader at South Maple Elementary, the same place where Chelsea was a second-grader. Beck was older. People might listen to him.

She couldn’t have that.

Daddy went out and shook hands with Mr. Beckett, then led him into the house. Beck followed along. The front door led into the kitchen, where Daddy and the Becketts joined Old Sam Collins, Ryan Roznowski and Ryan’s wife, Marie.

Marie was dead, but that was okay.

Mr. Beckett waved his hand in front of his face. “Whoa,” he said. “Someone leave the stove on?”

“h.e.l.lo, Mister Beckett,” Chelsea said. “Welcome.”

Mr. Beckett stopped waving his hand when he saw her. “h.e.l.lo, Chelsea. It’s an honor.” The change in his voice was so funny. Grown-ups used to talk to her like a kid. Now they sounded like they were the kids, and she was the grown-up.

“Thank you, Mister Beckett. Sorry about the smell. We had to get some things ready for G.o.d.”

Why are you using your mouth?

She looked at Beck. He was smiling at her. It wasn’t a nice smile, either.

You think you’re so smart, Chelsea thought back. You better realize G.o.d loves me the most.

Beck nodded. For now.

“We have to get out of g.a.y.l.o.r.d,” Chelsea said. “Daddy thinks they will come for us.”

“That’s just stupid,” Beck said. “How would they know to come to your house?”

The adults seemed to freeze in place, as if they were afraid to breathe. They all had wide eyes.

“Don’t you call me stupid,” Chelsea said. “You’re in my house.”

“It’s not your house,” Beck said. “It’s G.o.d’s house. We should stay right here until the hatching.”

“We’re leaving,” Chelsea said. “You do what you’re told.”

Beck Beckett was going to get such a spanking.

Mr. Beckett took a step forward. “Maybe . . . maybe we should listen to Beck, Chelsea. He is older, after all.”

Mr. Beckett would have to be spanked, too. That was okay. She’d planned for that all along, but it made her feel better to know that Mr. Beckett deserved it.

“Mister Beckett is a spy,” Chelsea hissed. “So is Beck.”

Mr. Beckett’s face blanched. “No! No, Chelsea, we’re not spies.”

“Shut up, Dad,” Beck said.

Mr. Beckett looked at his son, then took a step back.

Beck smiled again. “G.o.d doesn’t want us to argue, little Chelsea,” he said. “We’re not spies, and we’re going to stay here.”

Chelsea smiled her sweetest smile. “You want to stay here? Okay, Beck. You can stay as long as you like.”

She took a quick, deep breath, then thought as hard as she could. Get them!

It was Beck’s turn to widen his eyes. Chelsea knew why. She was much, much stronger than he was. He hadn’t realized how much stronger, and now it was too late.

Daddy stepped up and kneed Mr. Beckett where it counts. Mr. Beckett let out a painful groaning noise and fell to the floor. Old Sam Collins ran up and kicked Mr. Beckett in the face over and over again as Daddy pulled a knife out of the knife drawer and fell on Mr. Beckett.

Kick, stab, kick, stab, kick, stab.

Mr. Beckett screamed, but that was okay.

Beck shook his head, as if he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. He turned to run, but Mr. Roznowski tackled him from behind.

Chelsea heard Beck’s mental scream. Stop it! G.o.d, save me!

Chelsea, what are you doing?

Mr. Roznowski held Beck’s head on the linoleum floor and started kneeing him in the face. It made a weird crunching sound.

He was dangerous, Chauncey.

We need him. Stop this right now.

“You’re not the boss of me, Chauncey,” Chelsea said.

Beck still kicked a little after the third knee in his face. He twitched after the fourth. He stopped altogether after the fifth. Mr. Roznowski stood up. Beck’s face looked very funny.

Then Daddy stood, covered in Mr. Beckett’s blood. Old Sam Collins was limping. Looked like he’d hurt his foot kicking Mr. Beckett in the face.

Chelsea, I am G.o.d, you must obey me.

She shook her head. I’m a big girl now, Chauncey. Beck was dangerous. It’s for the best. Someday, you’ll understand.

That was a lie, of course. Beck wasn’t dangerous, but Chauncey might have loved Beck more than her. Chauncey was Chelsea’s special friend. With Beck gone it would stay that way forever and ever.

“Okay, everybody,” Chelsea said. “Time to go play at Mister Jenkins’s house. Someone make two trips so we can get rid of Mister Beckett’s car.

Mommy, you can take me in a snowmobile. Daddy, you clean up here and then come over on a snowmobile, too, okay?”