Scott Sigler - Contagious

“Michigan again?” Dew asked. “Maybe Ohio?”

Perry shrugged once more.

“So why haven’t you gone after it?” Milner asked. “Got in your fancy car and headed out.”

“Because he and I have come to an understanding,” Dew said. “Perry’s part of the team now.”

Milner laughed. Dew shot him a you’re already on thin ice glare, and Milner’s smile faded.

“What’s it sound like?” Baum asked, his disdain for Perry suddenly gone.

“Can you pick out any names? Places?”

Perry shook his head. “Not yet, but it’s getting stronger.”

“Just have a seat, kid,” Dew said. “And relax, it will come like before.

We’ll get everyone loaded up and head in that general direction.”

Perry limped to a chair and sat.

And right then, the chatter… changed.

“Something’s wrong,” Perry said. “It’s getting… quieter all of a sudden.”

“Concentrate,” Dew said. “Maybe you have to focus?”

“Doesn’t work like that,” Perry said. “It’s always on. I don’t have any control over it. It’s fading. I can’t hear the chatter. What I hear now sounds… well, it sounds kind of gray.”

He looked at Dew. “It’s gone. I can’t hear them anymore.”

The V-22 Osprey helicopter passed over the highway at a high altitude, then turned 180 degrees. It dropped closer to the ground and came in for a landing in the parking lot, putting the rest-stop building between it and the road.

As the chopper set down, Margaret saw the familiar sight of two nondescript semi trailers parked in parallel. They had a different paint job from the ones she’d left behind in Glidden—brown and dented, another flavor of faux–shabby industrial. Aside from the plastic extension connecting the two trailers, no one would have given them a second glance.

“I wonder if they got last year’s model,” Amos said. “The MargoMobile lot must be jumping this time of year.”

The trip here had been a whirlwind. Once word came down that two bodies had tested positive for cellulose, Dew kicked the operation into high gear. Margaret, Amos, Clarence, Gitsh and Marcus were in the air within fifteen minutes. Murray ordered radio silence for the trip—he wasn’t taking any chances. An hour and a half later, their Osprey was touching down at this rest area in Bay City, Michigan.

Margaret hadn’t known there were more MargoMobiles. Even with his inner circle, Murray still had secrets inside of secrets. In fact, now she wondered just how many MargoMobiles existed. Certainly made sense to use multiple units—driving the first set from Glidden would have taken ten hours. Even moving them using cargo helicopters would have cost valuable time. With multiple units and multiple crews, Murray could lock down infection sites much faster.

Margaret and her team hopped out and headed straight for the brown trailers. A man stood outside, wearing an air force uniform covered with a heavy blue jacket and a hat that flopped warm-looking flaps down over his ears. The man snapped a taut salute.

“Captain Daniel Chapman,” he said.

“I’m not military,” Margaret said. “Neither is anyone else here.”

The salute vanished. “Good. I hate saluting.” He stuck out his hand.

“Doctor Chapman. Call me Dan. Nice to meet you.”

Margaret returned the shake. “Doctor Margaret Montoya. This is Doctor Amos Braun and Agent Clarence Otto.”

“Agent of what?” Dan asked as he shook the men’s hands.

“Agent to the stars,” Clarence said with a smile. “It’s really not important, don’t you think?”

Dan nodded and held up one hand, as if to say, Sorry I asked, I should have known .

He led them into the MargoMobile’s computer room. It looked exactly the same as the one she’d left back in Glidden, save for air force logos on the flat-panels and a coffee-mug ring or two on the counter. Dan waited until Margaret sat, then stood behind her. Amos sat in the chair next to her, while Otto seemed to fade away into the background. How he could manage to do that in a five-by-ten-foot room, Margaret couldn’t say, yet he did it just the same.

“We have two cases of infection,” Dan said. “Donald Jewell, age forty-two, from Pittsburgh, and his daughter, Betty, age sixteen. Of course, I’m not allowed to know exactly what they’re infected with. I just follow the procedures assigned to me. I’m happy to play along, but please don’t feed me the company line about necrotizing fasciitis. If, however, you should choose to let me know what the hell is going on, I won’t complain.”

“What if that knowledge means you’ll be sequestered for months?” Amos asked. “That, or shot because you know too much?”

“Then I might complain a little,” Dan said. “But I’ve always been a bit of a whiner.” He pointed a small remote at the computer and clicked a button.

Up on the screen, the air force logo disappeared, replaced by a picture of a man lying on icy pavement. He was in front of the rest-stop building right outside the trailer. The man’s clothes hung on his skeletal frame. A black skull stuck out from a loose collar, and something black had stained the pavement around him.

“This is Donald Jewell,” Dan said. “Security-camera recordings show he pulled in to this rest area yesterday at approximately thirteen hundred hours. There was a pretty solid storm at the time, freezing rain, so no one reported seeing him get out of his car. Not sure how long the body sat there before someone came across it. Best guess, ten minutes. The guy who found the body called 9-1-1. State troopers were on the scene within fifteen minutes.

“Did they touch anything?” Margaret asked.

“Trooper Michael Adams used surgical gloves to check for a pulse,” Dan said. “Finding none, he removed the gloves, left them on the spot, and had no further contact with the body. The daughter was still in the car. She refused to let Adams in. He saw sores on her face, so he called for an ambulance. She wouldn’t allow paramedics inside the car, either. At that time, the paramedics performed the swab test on the corpse. My team was stationed in Detroit, so the CDC called us. We were actually the ones to remove the girl from the car.”

“How long have you been in charge of this rig?” Amos asked.

“Three weeks,” Chapman said. “We haven’t had much to do, to tell you the truth.” He put his shoulders back, puffed up his chest and spoke in a deep voice. “Just play with the equipment and wait for a call. If you don’t get that call, it’s good news. If you get it, just be ready do do whatever it takes.”

Margaret had to stifle a laugh. Dan was doing a dead-on impression of Murray Longworth.

“That’s uncanny,” Amos said.

“Thanks,” Dan said. “You should hear my Gutierrez; it slays. Anyway, after the paramedics called the CDC, Trooper Adams and his partner evacuated the rest area and shut it down. They followed all the instructions, line by line. Sharp guys; they were pretty impressive. They took pictures.”

He reached over Margaret’s shoulder and clicked the computer keyboard.

A series of shots flashed on the wall monitors, showing Donald Jewell’s initial stage of decomposition, then gradually shifting to his current state.

“Wow,” Clarence said. “Those guys saw a lot. Any worry about them talking?”

Dan threw his shoulders back and puffed up his chest again. “It’s taken care of. They understand the gravity of the situation and the importance of secrecy.”

“Seriously,” Amos said. “That’s creeping me out.”

“I’d laugh,” Clarence said, “only I’m sure Murray has a camera in here somewhere and he’s watching.”