Scott Sigler - Contagious

“How about that other feeling?” Dew asked. “The one where they’re mounting the fourth-quarter comeback?”

“Yeah,” Perry said. “I still feel that. Only now it’s stronger.”

A man wearing fireman’s gear stomped through the slush toward them. “You Dew Phillips?”

Dew nodded and offered his hand.

“Brandon Jastrowski. The police chief said I need to help you guys in any way.” Brandon looked at Perry, then offered his hand. “And you are?”

Perry looked at Dew. Dew nodded.

“Perry Dawsey,” Perry said, shaking the offered hand.

“Dawsey? Scary Perry Dawsey?”

Perry nodded.

“Holy shit,” Brandon said. “A real pleasure to meet you. Used to love watching you play. Oh how I hate Ohio State, am I right?”

Perry nodded again.

“And what was up with all that murder stuff in the news a few months back?”

“Mistaken identity,” Dew said. “Perry’s working for the government now. What’s the deal with the house? Any bodies?”

“Unfortunately, there are,” Brandon said. “Adult male, adult female and a child, maybe seven to ten years old. Probably Bobby and Candy Jewell—they owned the place—and their daughter, Chelsea.”

“Probably?”

“Bodies are in bad shape,” Brandon said. “All three were in the kitchen, where the fire started. Definitely arson, no question. And some major foul play. The woman has a hole in her skull, likely a gunshot to the back of the head.”

“We need the bodies,” Dew said.

“Excuse me?”

“The bodies, we need them. Have your men get them out, put them in body bags, then leave them over there, under that little swing.” Dew pointed to a tree in the front yard. Two ropes hung down from a bare, snow-covered branch and ended in a little plank of snow-covered wood.

Brandon looked at the swing, then looked back at Dew. “But… ah…we need to take bodies to the county morgue.”

“Not today,” Dew said. “The morgue is coming to us, so to speak. Put the bodies in the bags, put the bags over there, do it as fast as you can. Understood?”

Brandon stared for a second, then nodded. He went back to the fire.

Dew pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Otto answered immediately.

“Otto, it’s Dew. We’re at the Jewell place. Whole family is dead, house fire, maybe some gunplay.”

“Perry go off again?”

“No, he had nothing to do with it.”

“Seriously?”

“Shut your pie-hole,” Dew said. “Get your team moving, I want the MargoMobile here ASAP. It’s time for Margaret to sack up and get back to work.”

Chelsea sat behind a glass door looking out over Mr. Jenkins’s backyard. She’d pulled the curtain almost closed, leaving only a one-inch space to look through the glass. That was enough to see up the hill and watch the flames lick up from her house. It looked so small from this far away. She couldn’t really make out individual people, but she knew they were there.

One person in particular.

The boogeyman .

Chelsea was very careful not to reach to him, not to connect. If he sensed her now, when he was this close…

“Chelsea,” Daddy called from Mr. Jenkins’s living room, “I think you need to see this.”

Chelsea carried her bowl of ice cream into the room and sat down next to Daddy. Mr. Jenkins didn’t have ice cream bars, but double chocolate almond wasn’t bad, either.

The TV was showing a commercial. Five people were in the living room: Ryan Roznowski, Daddy, Old Sam Collins, Mommy, Mr. Burkle the Postman and Mr. Jenkins.

Mr. Jenkins sat in a La-Z-Boy. He didn’t look well, all sweaty and pale under his big red beard, but he was getting better fast. Chelsea could already sense his mind. Mommy’s smoochies had worked. Chelsea knew that was very important—the ones Chelsea kissed could kiss others. God’s love could spread from person to person to person, until everyone in the world knew the joy.

Mommy was sitting on Mr. Jenkins’s lap, petting his head with a wet washcloth.

It will be okay, Mr. Jenkins. You’ll feel better very soon .

The man looked at her with sunken eyes. He smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for the gift of God’s love.”

“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 Gaylord.”

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 God… 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 assisting 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 .

“God 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 God 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 fuck 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.