Contagious

To their right, three lanes of I-75 heading north, then just past it three more lanes heading south. Those six lanes slid under the overpa.s.s of another six-lane highway, this one M-102, also known as Eight Mile Road. The sound of tires whizzing over wet pavement combined with hundreds of pa.s.sing engines to create an almost riverlike, tranquil babble.

“That’s a lot of lanes,” Peter said.

Alan nodded again. “Yep. Sure is.”

He turned and looked into the back of the Humvee. He’d already counted what was back there five times, but G.o.d was in the details, so he counted again.

“Seems like a long ways off for a perimeter,” Peter said. “We’re ten miles away from the gate. How are we gonna hold a perimeter ten miles out with just two f.u.c.king platoons, you know what I mean?”

“The general knows what he’s doing,” Alan said. “So does Chelsea. They’re bringing in the other two platoons from g.a.y.l.o.r.d, so we’ll have that. Besides, the bigger the area we control, the harder it is for them to find Chelsea.”

Peter nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. Still, I wish we got to do the airport thing.”

“Willis and Hunt got that one.”

“I know,” Peter said. “I hate those guys. We should have got that gig. Let’s just hope we make it back to watch the angels come through. That will be such a glorious moment.”

“Truly,” Alan said. “But if we don’t see it, I’m sure it’s all part of the plan.”

Peter nodded, slowly and solemnly. “Okay, so we’ve seen these roads. Where is our spot?”

Alan pointed up to Eight Mile. “We’ll just drive up there and get to work.”

“Easy peasy,” Peter said.

Alan nodded. “Easy peasy bo-beasy. Let’s go. We’ll just drive around and see if we get the call. You hungry?”

“I could go for some McDonald’s,” Peter said. “I have the biggest craving for it lately. That, and I can’t stop jonesing for ice cream on a stick.”

“You too? Man, that’s weird. I never liked ice cream before, but now I wanna f.u.c.king bathe in that s.h.i.t. Let’s eat.”

They got back in the Hummer. Alan waited for traffic to clear, pulled onto the road and headed north, looking for the golden arches.

GO SOUTH, YOUNG MAN

Take some lumpy s.h.i.t from horses, the smelly kind that’s peppered with half-digested hay. Mix that with gravel. The jagged kind. Now cover it all in kerosene and light it on fire.

That’s what it felt like inside Dew Phillips’s skull. He’d slept on the floor of the computer room, right after Baum and Milner convinced him it would be funny to put a pa.s.sed-out Perry Dawsey on the autopsy trolley.

Well, that was kind of funny.

A headache like that and a hyperactive Perry Dawsey jabbering a mile a minute? A match made in h.e.l.l.

“Perry, you gotta talk slower,” Dew said. “Seriously, my head.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Perry said.

“There’s a difference. You and Baum and Milner, you’re all young. I’m old enough to know what will happen if I drink that much, which means I’m old enough to know better.”

“You seemed to be down with it last night.”

Dew nodded and instantly regretted doing so. “Last night I was awash in the glory of victory. And now that it’s morning, my head feels like a.s.s, and you’re telling me that victory was no victory at all?”

“She’s talking to me,” Perry said. “She says she’s gonna kill me.”

“Where is she?”

Perry shrugged. “South.”

“How far south?”

“I don’t know,” Perry said. “Could be Ohio, could be Indiana, f.u.c.king Kentucky for all I can nail it down.”

“So how do we find her?”

“Like before, I guess,” Perry said. “We start driving south till I feel it getting stronger, then we go in that direction. The signal is f.u.c.ked up, though. I feel something moving south, something big, and something even stronger beyond that. We should start driving right now.”

Dew thought that over. It would work, it had before, but how long would it take?

“I don’t know if we have that much time,” he said. “Now that the jamming is gone, now that you feel something, you can focus on the hatchlings. Maybe we’ll find out exactly where this thing is.”

Perry thought for a second, then nodded. “It’s worth a shot.”

“So will you go in there and talk to them again?”

Perry took a deep breath, then let it out long and slow. “I don’t want to. She’s so strong, Dew. She might be stronger coming through the hatchlings, I really don’t know.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Dew said. “Will you or will you not go talk to them again? I’ll be right there with you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Perry said.

Dew smiled. “We’ll do it just like the shooting range, okay? I’ll have a gun at your back. You get silly, I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Perry chewed his lip for a second. “Okay. I’ll do it. But Dew, you better not be lying about shooting me in the back. If I have to die, I have to die, but . . . I couldn’t handle it if I hurt you.”

Hard to believe this was the same kid who had butchered a family only eight days ago. But people couldn’t change that much in that short of a time. This version of Perry had always been there, waiting for a reason to come out.

Pride swelled in Dew’s chest—once again Perry Dawsey was going to stand face-to-face with his nightmare.

MOMMY IS A BIG BABY

Chelsea Jewell sat at the Winnebago’s back end, in the couch that faced the front. Her small body made the couch look like a giant throne. She had a little blood in her hair. A hatchling sat on her lap. She’d named it Fluffy. Chelsea slowly petted Fluffy, feeling the nice texture of his stiff, triangular body. Fluffy’s eyes stayed mostly closed, and when they opened, they opened only a little bit.