Contagious

“Yes honey,” Mommy said. “I think I know a way to get Mister Jenkins to play for an hour, then go to sleep.”

“Well get going, slowpoke! I’ll stay here and watch Daddy.”

Mommy looked at Daddy. “I guess this is how it has to be.”

He nodded. Now he looked sad.

Mommy got her coat and left the house.

Things were changing for Chelsea, changing fast. She had no frame of reference to truly understand what was happening to her, what was happening around her. The Orbital knew this, and put it to use. Her simplicity and lack of experience made her a powerful tool. Chelsea was moldable.

The Orbital had to prepare her for the worst-case scenario: its own destruction. Every day the probability of an attack increased. Should something happen to the Orbital, it had to ensure that Chelsea could still complete the objective. The Orbital could change her brain, make the fibers reproduce, fill in s.p.a.ces between brain cells and increase her computing power and intelligence. It could make her a focal point of communication. But all the processing power and communication ability wouldn’t help if she couldn’t think for herself.

The Orbital had to turn Chelsea Jewell into a leader.

Chelsea sat on her bed, thinking. The kitchen was too smelly. So was the living room. Daddy had used a whole can of gasoline in there, said it would burn real nice.

Chelsea, the bad guys may come for you soon.

“Oh,” Chelsea said. “That’s why we’re burning the house, right? So they won’t find us?”

Yes, but they will also come for the others .

“Others? What others, Chauncey?”

The others like you, like Daddy.

Chelsea hopped off her bed. She wanted to dance. There were other people like her? How exciting! She started to spin in circles.

“Where are they, Chauncey? How do I find them?”

You need to make them come to you.

You have the power to find them with your mind.

“Can I talk to them like I talk to you?”

Not the same way, not yet, but you can send simple messages. We will start by you talking to me with your mind, not your mouth.

Chelsea stopped spinning and closed her eyes. Yes, Chauncey.

Good. Now reach out. Use your thoughts, reach out and find them.

Chelsea thought . She reached out. What a funny feeling! She felt her consciousness expanding, spreading. She sensed Mommy first. Then Mr. Burkle the Postman, although it was harder to sense him. He wasn’t as strong as Mommy. Chelsea sensed Daddy next—actually, she sensed the dollies inside Daddy. Oh, how fun! They were growing so fast!

Keep trying. More, find more. You must become stronger.

Chelsea took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She pushed. It felt . . .slippery. Her mind reached out, and made contact! Several contacts.

Ryan Roznowski. He had dollies, although he suspected that his wife was going to call the police soon. Chelsea couldn’t let that happen.

Mr. Beckett had dollies, too. And Old Sam Collins. And a woman named Bernadette Smith.

And . . .

And . . .

Beck Beckett, Mr. Beckett’s son. Beck felt different. Not like Daddy or Mr. Beckett. Chelsea knew Beck from school, even though he was a grade ahead. Thoughts of Beck made Chelsea angry, and she didn’t know why.

I have found five, Chauncey. What do I do now?

Tell them to come to where you are.

Tell them to bring guns.

Chelsea nodded. She did what Chauncey asked. But why was Beck coming if he didn’t have dollies? What good was he?

Chauncey? Beck Beckett isn’t like Daddy. Touching him feels like touching Mommy, but I didn’t give Beck smoochies.

That is because he received G.o.d’s love directly from me, just like you did. The dollies are very, very important, but people like you and Beck will protect them.

Chelsea suddenly felt mad. Did Chauncey like Beck more than her? Would Beck be Chauncey’s favorite?

Are you talking to him?

Yes, but it is taking him longer to develop.

Chauncey was Chelsea’s special friend, not Beck b.u.t.thead Beckett’s. Her anger grew.

What do we do now?

You have to start learning to think for yourself, Chelsea. Let me show you a new pretty picture.

Chelsea waited. Her mind still felt funny, like it was in many places at one time. Slippery? Was that the right word? No, more like . . . mushy. Like lumpy oatmeal. Ah, the lumps were the people she connected with.

An image exploded in Chelsea’s thoughts. A gorgeous image. Unlike anything she’d ever known. Like four lit-up hula hoops buried halfway in the ground, a big one at the end, three smaller ones behind it. And pointing away from the smallest hula hoop, two big logs. The dollies would make this.

Oh, Chauncey. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. What is it?

When Mommy and Daddy take you to church, do they tell you about heaven?

Oh, yes! The preacher talks about G.o.d, and heaven and Jesus and how Jesus loves us no matter what.

This image you see, Chelse a, is a door to heaven.

She felt joy in her chest. Really? This is really a door to heaven?

You will protect the dollies so they can build it. When they open it, Chelsea, angels will come through.

Angels? Really? Will they have wings?

They are not nice angels, Chelsea.

They are angels of vengeance.

What’s venjance mean?

They are coming to punish people who have been bad. Do you like bad people, Chelsea?

She shook her head. She most certainly did not like bad people.

Chelsea, I will not always be here to help you.

Chauncey, you can’t leave! You’re my special friend!

I’m not leaving yet, but may be soon. So you need to think for yourself. If you must help the dollies build this gate to heaven, how can you make that happen faster?