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“You win,” she said. She kissed him, slow and warm. Steve’s body seemed to melt. Becky’s hand held the back of his head as her tongue slid into his mouth. He felt himself grow hard instantly, knew that she felt it, too, and she didn’t move away. He heard Jeff screaming something supportive yet obscene, but Steve’s world narrowed to the kiss, to the girl.

This was the greatest night ever.

As Steve, Cooper and Jeff partied, they couldn’t know what was happening to their bodies. Jeff, in particular, couldn’t know of the microscopic, amoebalike organisms on his palms, his fingertips. He couldn’t know that on everything he touched — and everyone he touched — he left these moving vectors of disease.

A waitress picked up a gla.s.s: contact.

The bartender put his hand on the bar where Jeff had done the same only moments earlier: contact.

A drunk man b.u.mped into Jeff, then they shook hands to make sure no one was upset: contact.

Jeff made out with a woman who had put in a long day at the office and just needed to blow off some steam: contact.

That night, two dozen people would leave the bar with crawlers already burrowing under their skin, already seeking out stem cells …

… already changing them into something else.

BOOK II

CHICAGO

DAY SIX

MEN WITH GUNS

“Hey, Margo,” Perry said. “Aren’t you going to say h.e.l.lo? That’s what you’re supposed to say at this point — h.e.l.lo.”

Her mouth moved.

“h.e.l.lo, Perry.”

Perry Dawsey smiled.

The bomb screamed its war cry of descent. Margaret tried to take a step forward, but couldn’t move her foot. She looked down. What little blacktop remained atop the decades-old brick street had melted, all s.h.i.+ny and black, a stinking, gravel-strewn mess that trapped her like an ancient animal in a tar pit.

Hot wind whipped madly, making roofs sag and smolder. Her blue hazmat suit slowly dripped off her, running down her body to puddle along with the liquid tar.

Perry drew in a deep breath through his nose, seeming to soak up the hot wind and the fetid air. He looked around.

“This is where I caught Chelsea,” he said. “The voices stopped, but you know what? It didn’t matter. Those things were already inside of me. Nothing I did made any difference. I shouldn’t have fought them, Margo — I should have welcomed them.”

Her suit melted away, leaving her naked. Stabbing pains rippled across her skin, the hard sensation of long needles sliding into her muscles, her organs.

Perry frowned. “Margo, what’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” she said. “Bad.”