Scott Sigler - Contagious

She and Clarence sprinted for the airlock. She’d been running forever, it seemed, and every last muscle screamed in protest. She entered, and he shut the door behind them. The instant the air pressure equalized, she opened the door to the decontamination chamber.

“Margaret,” Murray said, “answer me!”

“It’s contagious,” she said through heavy breaths. She ran to the controls as Clarence shut the second airlock door. She hit the controls and the room filled with the bleach/chlorine spray.

“We know it’s contagious,” Murray said.

“No, you don’t get it.” She raised her arms and slowly turned, letting the mist wash over her. “It’s airborne. It replicates inside people, fills them up like a puffball till they burst.”

“Okay, how do we contain that? Where’s Dew?”

“Dew is infected,” Margaret said. “So is Perry; all of them are. There’s nothing we can do for them, Murray, and if we have any hope at containing this, we need to act right now.”

Dead silence on the other end.

“Murray, did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, but in a voice that oozed total exhaustion. “What do you want us to do?”

The mist shut off. Clarence opened the airlock door that led back to the entrance. Margaret swallowed “You have to…”

Her voice lodged in her throat as she followed Clarence. He shut the door, then ran to the final airlock.

“Margaret?” Murray said. “Talk to me.”

She felt tears pouring down her face, but because of the suit she couldn’t wipe them.

“Option Number Four,” she said. “You have to use Option Number Four.”

Dead silence. Otto pulled her onto the football field and started taking off her gloves.

When Murray spoke, his voice sounded thin, old. “There’s got to be another way.”

Clarence lifted her feet one at a time, took off her shoes.

Margaret shook her head. “There isn’t. The fireball will crank the temperature up so high it will kill all the spores for three or four miles around. They’ve probably spread a mile already. You have to do it. Now.”

Another pause. She disconnected the helmet from the suit but left it on her head so she could keep talking to Murray. She started tearing off her suit. Clarence did the same with his.

A new voice in the speakers.

“Margaret, this is President John Gutierrez. Do you realize that you’re asking us to drop a nuclear weapon on Detroit?”

“Of course I fucking realize that! I know exactly what I’m asking, you fucking moron !”

Margaret couldn’t stop the tears now, nor could she stop the sobs. She stepped out of the suit. She wore nothing but scrubs and the helmet. Otto grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the Osprey’s open rear ramp.

“How much time to evacuate?” Gutierrez asked.

“You can’t evacuate,” she said. “If you don’t do this right now, it’s going to be too late. Look how it converted Ogden’s men, how fast it took over and what it made them do. The spores have already spread all through downtown Detroit. Thousands are infected. The infected will radiate out of the city. These people are terrified. They’re going to get as far from Detroit as they can; you can’t stop them. Some of them will turn into these… gasbags… full of spores. We just watched it happen. The infection will spread everywhere. People will be converted into this collective organism—they won’t be human anymore. If it spreads past Detroit, we’re fucked. Humanity is fucked. You have to act now, Mister President, or it’s out of our hands for good.”

“Where are you?” Gutierrez asked.

“We’re getting on the Osprey at the football field.”

She ran up the ramp. It started to close behind her. Seven men were inside. They stared at her and Clarence, and instantly shied away, shuffling toward the front of the passenger section.

“Margaret,” Gutierrez said, his voice quiet and cold. “Are you sure, absolutely sure this is the only way?”

“I… I am.”

Another pause, then Murray again. “I’m telling the Osprey pilot to take off fast,” he said. “You should be out of range when it goes off. What are the exact target coordinates?”

Margaret stared out for a second. All of Dew’s men were gone. No one to paint the target. There was one way, though, to make sure the nuke hit the right spot.

“Can you get a signal from Dew’s satphone?”

“Yes.”

“Drop it there.”

Perry’s body boiled inside. He and pain were old buddies, but his old buddy was making itself a little too welcome. His second infection, it seemed, would be just as much fun as the first.

He walked through the front door of the abandoned building. Two of Ogden’s men were inside. They’d recovered their weapons. The spores didn’t seem to affect them.

They let Perry pass.

Come to me, my protector.

He walked. The two men followed him, one behind each shoulder. Chelsea was on the second floor. He could sense her, feel her beauty, her power, her divinity. He walked up old stairs that creaked under his feet.

General Ogden said we’d have another hour or so before they shut down the city, so we have to hurry. We need a car. Then we can go for a ride.

He reached the top of the stairs.

Down the hall, standing in an empty, trash-strewn room of the abandoned building, he finally saw her.

Chelsea.

And his heart ached.

“I’m afraid I destroyed the gate, Chelsea.”

You have destroyed many things.

“No gate… what will you do?”

We’re like a new person now. A superorganism. Isn’t that a neat word? Can’t you feel the crawlers working through your body? They will change you even more, Perry. We will escape Detroit, and then you and I will make the whole world play together.

He walked up to her. His feet seemed heavy, each step like dead-lifting a thousand pounds. Every nerve screamed with agony.

She could do it. She could take over the world.

Chelsea Jewell could be God.

You understand now, don’t you? You understand how silly it was to fight all this time? Let’s get a car and go get some ice cream.

Perry smiled down at her. So tiny, so fragile, so beautiful.

He snapped his right arm back into the soldier behind him. A pile-driver elbow smashed into the man’s face, crushing his left cheek and fracturing his right orbital bone. The man on Perry’s left started to raise his M4, but Perry pointed his .45 down and fired twice. Two bullets shredded the man’s foot into raw meat. The man shivered, dropped his gun and instinctively reached for his foot. As he bent down, Perry put the.45 to his head and pulled the trigger.

Perry swiveled right to face the man he’d elbowed. Two shots, both bullets ripping through the man’s chest. Before the body even hit the filthy wooden floor, Perry turned back and reached out.

His big right hand locked on Chelsea Jewell’s throat.

He lifted her. She weighed nothing.

Stop it!

“No.”

No, Perry, NO! Bad Perry!

She didn’t look scared. She didn’t look evil, either. She looked like a spoiled child, a child who did whatever she wanted, took whatever she wanted.

He squeezed a little harder.

Fear crept into those angelic blue eyes, the realization that maybe she didn’t control him.

You have to do what I say! I told you to kill that man, and you did!

“You didn’t make me do it,” Perry said. “I couldn’t let him wind up like me. I had to help him.”

Footsteps rushed up the stairs behind him. Perry turned to face the open door, Chelsea still held out in front of him. The last gunman sprinted down the hall, M4 raised. He skidded to a halt when he saw Chelsea held in the air like a shield.