“But Chelsea, that will leave only nine men for the sneak attack on Whiskey Company. That’s just not enough.”
You think you’re so smart. Beck Beckett thought he was smart. If you don’t start behaving, I can make you look just like Mommy.
Ogden’s face turned white. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. The general glanced at Mommy. She was still walking away, still crying. He looked back at Chelsea.
“Tell Dustin Climer to split his eighteen men,” he said. “Tell him to lead the attack on Dawsey. Corporal Cope can continue to Detroit as planned.”
Chelsea closed her eyes, then pushed her thoughts to Mr. Cope and Mr. Climer. It was so much easier now, so much faster.
It is done. Now go make sure the rest of your men are ready for the contingency plan.
She turned and walked back into the Winnebago’s heat. Mommy started to cry louder, but Chelsea shut the door and then she couldn’t hear it anymore.
DOUBLE DOSE
The little bastards were fighting back.
She was in the damn suit again, in the cramped containment cell with Dr. Dan. Clarence stood outside the open glass door. If Sanchez could somehow pull free from his restraints, Clarence wouldn’t even have a clear shot. That pissed Clarence off, but Margaret didn’t give a shit.
The latrunculin had worked, no question, but Sanchez’s body wasn’t the wide-open killing field it had been at first. Some of the crawlers seemed resistant to the drug, and those were splitting, dividing. It wasn’t mitosis, nothing so elegant—the little bastards simply split into two smaller versions, each of which grabbed and incorporated free-floating muscle strands that broke away from dead crawlers. Under the microscope it was like watching a mass of tiny snakes entwining with each other, merging, becoming a collective organism.
She felt a sensation of dread—if the crawlers developed resistance to latrunculin, then she had no weapons that could keep Sanchez alive. If that happened, the only way to stop them was to kill the host.
“He’s getting weaker,” Dan said. “Breath rate is increasing, pulse is getting a little erratic.”
She’d doubled the dosage, and that had helped, but the crawlers were still in there, still heading for his brain.
How many had already made it?
She’d stayed ahead of this whole thing by trusting her instincts, following her gut. And right now her gut told her that if enough crawlers reached Sanchez’s brain, there would be no coming back.
He’d be permanently changed. Just like Betty Jewell. And wasn’t death better than that?
“Double it again,” Margaret said.
Dan turned his shoulders to face her square-on. “No way. Didn’t you hear me? He’s got an erratic heartbeat.”
“He’s a strong man, Doctor,” Margaret said. “He can handle it. Now double the dosage.”
Inside his helmet, Dan shook his head. “No fucking way.”
“Damnit, Daniel,” Margaret said. “If these things mass in his brain, he’s screwed. We’ve got to cure him.”
“Is killing him the same as curing him? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you jack up the dosage again.”
“Get out of here,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
He stared at her. “I don’t know you very well, but you’re a doctor. What the hell happened to you?”
“They happened to me,” Margaret said. “We have to know if this works. If we don’t find a cure, one life won’t really matter. Now get the hell out of my way.”
Daniel pushed past her, past Clarence, and opened the airlock door to Trailer A. As she turned back toward Sanchez, her eyes caught Clarence’s.
In his eyes, she saw sadness. More than that, she saw pity. She finally understood why Bernadette Smith had to die. And she hated herself for it.
She looked away from Clarence and started increasing the dose.
Dew hated the biohazard suit almost as much as Perry did. He’d always made fun of the human condoms, but now that he’d actually caved in and worn one, he felt jinxed, as though the next time he didn’t wear one he’d catch something for sure. With a new .45 in a hip holster worn outside the suit, Dew imagined he looked like a total douchebag.
Perry just stared at the two caged hatchlings. They looked lethargic, defeated. Maybe sitting next to the center cage containing Perry’s decomposed shooting victim mellowed them out. They’d barely moved in the last twenty minutes.
“What do they say, kid?”
“They’re still not saying anything,” Perry said. “They just seem to be out of it.”
“Can’t you read their minds or something?”
Perry shook his head. “It’s not like that. The triangles are still connected to human brains, I think that’s why I can hear that chatter from hosts. But the hatchlings aren’t connected to human brains. They can talk to me, but only when they want to.”
“But you’re still hearing that triangle chatter?”
Perry nodded. “Yeah. It’s getting stronger, too, which is kind of weird. It usually only gets stronger when I’m tracking them down, getting closer. Maybe they have more power now? I don’t know, Dew—maybe we don’t need these fuckers at all. Can I shoot another one?”
Dew leaned down to look into the cage on the left. “What do you say, champ? Should we shoot you?”
Both of the hatchlings stirred. They blinked their black eyes, seemed to gain a little life.
“Something’s getting them moving,” Dew said. “They afraid of the gun?”
“No, that’s not it,” Perry said. He closed his eyes, seemed to concentrate. “The chatter is getting louder. A lot louder. Wait, Dew, I’m picking up thoughts of a gate… and a tall building.”
“You recognize it?”
Perry’s eyes stayed closed, but he shook his head. “No, not really. This is weird. Usually everything feels so chaotic, like the hosts are scrambling, trying to figure out what to do, but this… this feels organized. One-fifteen P.M.”
“One-fifteen?” Dew said. “What the hell happens at one-fifteen?”
Perry opened his eyes. “They’ve got a timeline. That’s when the gate will open up. And I don’t know why this is so strong. I mean, it’s really strong, and it’s got nothing to with the hatchlings.”
“It’s eleven-fifty right now,” Dew said. “We’ve got less than ninety minutes. Perry, focus on that building. See if you can recognize it, or at least describe it to me.”
Milner’s voice in his earpiece. “Dew, can you talk?”
Perry’s eyes opened—he had the same earpiece, so he also heard Milner’s voice.
“Jesus, Milner, not now!”
“Some of Ogden’s men are coming down the driveway,” Milner said. “Two Hummers. You want to come out?”
“Handle it,” Dew said. “Tell them whatever it is it has to wait.”
“I’ve got it,” Baum said. “Heading out now.”
“Come on, Perry,” Dew said. “Concentrate.”
Perry closed his eyes. His face started to crease. “This is confusing,” he said. “Now I’m getting a bunch of feelings, emotions. Hatred. Anger.”
“Just breathe, kid,” Dew said. “Take your time, just breathe, and figure it out.”
Dustin Climer waved from the passenger seat as the Humvee slowed to a stop on the Jewells’ icy dirt driveway. His driver eased over to the left side, allowing the Humvee behind to pull up on the right. The burned-out husk of a house sat before them. Off to the left, the two MargoMobiles, side by side and connected. To the right, a big, bare tree with a rope swing.