Scott Sigler - Contagious

Perry smiled at him and held up one hand, waving his fingers toward his palm. Come on, the gesture said, let’s go.

“Knock it off, Dawsey,” Dew said. “All three of you, just can the shit. Perry is here because he wants to work with us, ain’t that right?”

Perry nodded.

“As for you two”—Dew looked at Baum and Jens in turn—“stop being pussies. This is too important for you guys to be all bitchy because he got the drop on you.”

Dew stared at Baum. “Well?”

Baum kept looking at Perry for a few more seconds, then let out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Fuck it,” he said. “He’s not the first prick to break my nose.”

Dew slid his stare over to Milner. “How about you?”

Milner finally tore his glare away from Perry to return Dew’s stare. “Your boy here is bad news, Dew,” he said quietly. “You could track this guy just by following the trail of corpses. He murders people.”

“They’re not people,” Perry said. Why couldn’t anyone understand that?

“Save it,” Milner said. “He’s a fucking psycho, Dew, and I’m not eating with him.”

Jens stood up and dropped his napkin on his plate.

“Sit your ass down, Milner,” Dew said.

“You got a problem with it?” Milner said. “Then fire me. Otherwise, I’ll be in the car.”

He turned and walked out of Applebee’s.

Perry looked down at his plate. Was Milner right? Was he just a psycho? No. Those people were not people at all. They were infected . They had to die. All the infected had to die.

“Don’t sweat it, Perry,” Dew said. “He’ll come around.”

Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Perry didn’t give a shit what two peons thought. But… maybe he should. Dew seemed to think their opinion was important.

If Dew thought it mattered, well then, it mattered.

Chelsea squirted the lighter fluid all over the kitchen. Daddy was crumpling up newspapers into big balls. He crumpled, then Mommy squirted them with her can of lighter fluid and put them into the kitchen cupboards.

Family time was really fun.

“Daddy, are you sure there aren’t any guns in Mister Burkle’s truck?”

Daddy nodded. Chelsea wondered if Daddy knew what he was talking about. Mr. Burkle would be awake in a few hours, and then Chelsea could ask him personally.

“Daddy, why don’t we have any guns?”

“Why do you want guns, honey?” Daddy said. “Are… are you going to shoot me?”

Chelsea sighed. Now she understood why sometimes Mommy used the you’re so stupid voice on Daddy. Of course she wasn’t going to shoot him. Why would she shoot someone who had the dollies?

“Well, Daddy, Chauncey says we need guns. So go buy some.”

“We can’t just go buy them, honey,” Mommy said. “There’s, like, a waiting period or something, right Bobby?”

Daddy nodded.

Chelsea frowned. “Well, you two need to find guns. If you don’t, you’re going to have to punish each other.”

Daddy shook his head. “Chelsea, baby… I don’t want to hit your mom with the spoon again. Don’t make me do that.”

“Please,” Mommy said. “No more. And we need to figure out where we’re going to go. Chelsea honey, are you sure we have to set the house on fire?”

“Mommy,” Chelsea said. “If you ask me that just one more time, you get the spanky-spoon for sure!”

“I’m sorry,” Mommy said in a fast whisper. “I’m sorry, honey, I won’t ask again.”

“Not another word!” Chelsea said.

Daddy crumpled the newspapers faster.

Chelsea squirted a bunch of the smelly fluid under the fridge. Would the fridge burn? She wished she could stay and watch, but Chauncey said they needed to leave.

Daddy snapped his fingers. “Mark Jenkins! He’s got guns. Pistols and hunting rifles—he’s got everything.”

“So go get them,” Chelsea said.

“Honey,” Mommy said quietly, “he’s not going to just give them to us. We have to figure out how to take them.”

Chelsea thought on this for a minute. She sensed that Mommy didn’t really need the spoon anymore. Mommy was different from Daddy. Mommy was a protector, like Chelsea. Which meant that Mommy could…

“Mommy, stick out your tongue.”

Mommy did. Chelsea looked close—Mommy had dozens of pretty little blue triangles on her tongue. Information flooded Cheslea’s brain. Each of those triangles held thousands of little crawlers, ready to shoot out, shoot into someone else. That’s how Chelsea had given God’s love to Mommy—and now Mommy was ready to give it to other people.

“Mommy, can you give Mister Jenkins smoochies? Like I gave to you?”

Daddy smiled. “That would work. He’s got the hots for you, Candy.”

Mommy glared at Daddy. It was the you’re so stupid glare that usually went with the you’re so stupid voice.

“Well?” Chelsea said. “Can you do it, Mommy?”

“I… I guess I could.” Mommy sounded sad and excited all at the same time. She had sad eyes when she looked at Daddy, but Chelsea could feel her excitement at the thought of spreading God’s love.

Mommy cleared her throat. “How long will it take after I give him smoochies?”

“He’ll get sleepy pretty quick,” Chelsea said. “You may have to be with him for an hour, but then Chauncey says he will feel sick and want to go to sleep, just like Mister Burkle the Postman. Can you do that, Mommy? Can you get Mister Jenkins to play for an hour after smoochies?”

“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 changingfor 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 spaces 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 onher 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.