Pandemic Page 153

“She is.”

“Ah,” Tim said. “Well … I found something. Can you come down here? Now? It’s really important.”

Margaret shook her gas-mask-covered head. Was she playing some kind of mind game? Was she craving protection, perhaps because of the baby, or was this another punishment for him leaving her? Whatever her reason, Clarence didn’t have time to play along.

He thumbed the “talk” b.u.t.ton again. “I’ll be right down, Tim.”

Margaret pointed to the floor. “I need you here. Do not go down there, Clarence, you hear me?”

Bogdana watched them both, the eyes behind his gas mask showing an expression of annoyed disbelief.

Maybe Margaret had good reason to be mad, but that didn’t change the fact that Clarence had a job to do.

“Bogdana,” Clarence said to the SEAL, “stay with Doctor Montoya until I check this out. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

Bogdana nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take care of the doc.”

Clarence hesitated a moment, looked at Margaret’s angry stare one more time, then jogged toward the elevator.

b.a.l.l.s

Tim knew.

Margaret could tell from the sound of his voice. She didn’t know how he’d figured it out, but there was no question — he knew.

She had to act now.

“Sorry about this, Bogdana, but I really need a skin sample from the genitalia.”

The man’s shoulders dropped. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” Margaret shook her head. Her suit’s gas mask wobbled just a little, despite the fact that she had it on so tight it partially cut off the circulation in her face.

“Sorry, but it has to be done.”

She forced herself closer to the bloated corpse. A puddle of fluid stained the carpet beneath it — liquid from decomposition rather than blood. The man’s p.e.n.i.s and t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es looked black and shriveled, like a rotten avocado spotted with moisture.

“I need a sample” — she pointed to the decomposing member — “from right below his s.c.r.o.t.u.m.”

Bogdana shook his head, sighed. “My mother will be so proud that her only son is the military’s highest-paid collector of fromunda cheese.”

He knelt on both knees, then reached a gloved hand under the corpse’s genitalia. He lifted gently, bent his head for a closer look.

Margaret quietly drew the Sig Sauer P226 from her thigh holster. She pointed it at the back of Bogdana’s head and pulled the trigger.

SHOTS FIRED

Clarence exited the elevator and strode toward Tim’s lab area. The little scientist jogged to meet him halfway, feet crunching on the broken gla.s.s and bits of charred wood scattered about the lobby.

“It’s Margaret,” Tim said. “I think she’s infected.”

Clarence stopped. What kind of bulls.h.i.t was Tim trying to pull? Was the little coward looking for a way out?

Tim grabbed Clarence’s arm, pulled him toward Cooper Mitch.e.l.l. The man was moving again, head lolling as he struggled to wake up.

Tim looked back to the elevator, then around the lobby. He leaned in close.

“You heard me,” he said. “Margaret is infected.”

Clarence yanked his arm free of Tim’s anxious grip.

“She’s not. She’s been with us the whole time. She drank the inoculant. So did I. So did you.”

Tim nodded rapidly, continued to glance at the elevator. Clarence understood why — he was afraid Margaret might come down. He was afraid of Margaret.

“I know she did,” Tim said. “The only thing that makes sense is she was exposed before we left the Brashear. By the time she drank the yeast, she’d already been infected for more than twenty-four hours, so it was too late to save her. Come on, man, she wouldn’t come anywhere near Cooper. Does that sound like Margaret to you?”

All the pressure, the danger … Tim had lost it. He’d cracked.

“You’re wrong,” Clarence said, struggling to keep his voice level. “She’s pregnant, you paranoid little s.h.i.t. She doesn’t want to take any chances.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tim spread his arms, a gesture that took in the hotel, the city, everything. “Does this look like a sixth-grade field trip to the museum?” He pointed at Cooper. “She comes into this slaughterhouse no problem, then won’t get near him? She’s afraid of catching the hydras, Otto — she’s afraid of catching a disease that only kills the infected.”

No … Tim was wrong. He had to be.

“She tested over and over again,” Clarence said. “She blew negative every time.”

“So did Cantrell.” Tim picked up a testing kit off the portable table and held it up. The light showed a steady green “So did the guy in the red coat, the one that Cooper said was the leader of his group of Converted. The guy who died from the hydras, just like the other infected. There’s a strain the test doesn’t detect, Otto, and Margaret has it.”

Clarence stared at the testing kit. Green light. Margaret’s tests showed green lights. She wouldn’t go near Cooper. No, there had to be an explanation.

“The baby,” he said. “She doesn’t know how hydras might affect the baby.”

“Stop it,” Tim snapped. “We don’t have time for denial. We have to—”

Klimas’s voice came over their headsets.

“All personnel, Predator drones show heavy foot traffic headed our way,” he said. “Movement on East Chicago, coming from both directions on Michigan, and all of it converging on our position. They aren’t coming to swap spit and rub tummies, people. Man the perimeter, fire at anything that moves. It’s game time.”