Contagious

“It’s coming back on,” Daddy said. He pointed the remote at the TV and turned up the volume. The picture showed a pretty lady sitting behind a desk.

“Once again, the breaking news tonight is a transport plane that went off the radar somewhere in Otsego County,” the lady said. “The plane was carrying samples of necrotizing fasciitis bacteria, the bacterium that causes flesh-eating disease, which may have been released in the crash and has already been potentially linked to one death. The National Guard has been called in, and state officials have ordered a temporary evacuation of g.a.y.l.o.r.d.”

The picture changed to show a big man in an immaculate blue uniform. Everyone in the living room stirred uncomfortably at the sight. Chelsea felt a similar reaction, her body recoiling from the uniform, from the gun on the man’s hip. This was an enemy of G.o.d . . . this was another one of the devils.

Below the man were the words MICHAEL ADAMS, MICHIGAN STATE POLICE SPOKESMAN. Below that was a phone number that started with 800.

“It’s only a temporary evacuation,” said the tool of the devil. “It’s important we test everyone for exposure and do a sweep of the town. Then everyone can return. For those without transportation, or for those who can’t travel on their own, we’re providing a toll-free number for people to call. Very soon we’ll be doing door-to-door checks, just to make sure we haven’t missed anyone. The National Guard will be a.s.sisting with this.”

“Turn it off,” Chelsea said. Daddy fumbled with the remote, then turned off the TV. All eyes turned to Chelsea.

“They are coming for us,” she said. “That’s what they mean by ‘door-to-door.’ They want to find us and kill us. The National Guard, that means soldiers. They want to stop the gates of heaven.”

“I knew they were out to get us,” Daddy said. He was shaking with anger and excitement. “Chelsea . . . soldiers . . . what are we going to do?”

Everyone in the living room nodded. Chelsea heard them all mumbling that terrifying word: soldiers.

“G.o.d sent the soldiers to us,” Chelsea said. “You must trust in Him, it’s all part of His plan. He sent us soldiers with lots of guns. Do you see? We need to show the soldiers how much G.o.d loves them.”

She pushed out images of men with guns standing around a gate. She felt the images flash in the minds of the others, and then something strange happened—for just a moment, their thoughts melded as one and the image took on startling clarity. Like it was real. As soon as it started, the moment was gone.

“What was that?” Mr. Burkle said. “What the f.u.c.k just happened?”

“Bad word, Mister Burkle,” Chelsea said.

Mr. Burkle hung his head. “I’m sorry, Chelsea.”

She didn’t know what had just happened. She knew that she was the cause of it, though. Everyone thinking together, thinking the same thoughts, they had felt so . . . so . . . smart.

They all ate their ice cream and stared at Chelsea. They wanted to know what to do next. Chelsea closed her eyes and thought hard.

Chauncey, where do we build the gate?

You have to find a place.

Should we go into the woods?

No, not this time. The devil will use bombs on you there. If you go to a place with many people, the devil will hesitate to use bombs, and that could get you a little more time.

Somewhere with lots of people. The dollies would probably like that a lot. Lots of people to play with when they got there. But Chelsea still had to hide everyone, or the devil would find them.

“Mister Jenkins, do you have a map?”

“Of course, honey,” he said. Mommy helped him out of the chair. He waddled to the kitchen.

Chelsea had to get everyone out of there. She was running away, not just from the devils but from the boogeyman. Running away wasn’t as bad as peeing her pants, but it wasn’t good, either. She was growing stronger, she knew that. Maybe someday soon she could face the boogeyman.

Face him, and kill him.

Mr. Jenkins came back with a folded paper map and walked to the dining-room table.

It was covered in guns—four hunting rifles with those big scope things, two shotguns and one pistol. Boxes of ammo filled in the s.p.a.ces between the guns.

“Can you guys clear this off?” Mr. Jenkins said. “Chelsea wants to see a map.”

Hands shot in to remove the guns and ammunition. Chelsea liked how fast everyone moved.

Mr. Jenkins spread the map out on the newly cleared table. Chelsea, Mr. Burkle, Mommy and Mr. Jenkins gathered around it.

Chelsea stared at it, but she didn’t really know how to read a map.

Mommy stroked her hair. “Do you know what you’re looking for, honey?”

Chelsea nodded, then shook her head. “How can you tell where there are lots of people?”

Mr. Burkle pointed to a yellow spot on the map. Chelsea saw the word FLINT in big black letters on top of the yellow.

“See the yellow?” Mr. Burkle said. “The more yellow, the more people there are.”

Chelsea bent her head and stared at the map. Her blond hair hung down and touched the paper. She put her finger on the map and raised her head, her face all smiles.

“This place has the most yellow! So that means it has the most people, right?”

Mr. Burkle looked, then nodded. “Yes. There would be a lot of people there, all right.”

“This is where we’re going.”

“So what now?” Mommy asked.

“Well,” Mr. Burkle said, “we have to figure out how to show a soldier G.o.d’s love, make sure no one finds out, and get out of town without getting killed.”

“And pick up more dolly daddies on the way,” Chelsea said. “We need enough dollies to make the gate. Mister Jenkins, how many people will your big car hold?”

“The Winnebago?” Jenkins said. “Hmm, probably ten more people, no problem. Will that be enough?”