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Apoptosis is driven by proteins called caspases, also known as the “executioner” proteins. Caspases exist in every cell in an inactive form, but when cells are damaged or old, the caspases activate and kill the cell. In a normal person, other proteins known as inhibitor of apoptosis proteins, or IAPs, shut down the process as soon as the intended cell dies. The triangles corrupted this normal process by neutralizing the IAPs’ suppressive abilities, allowing the caspases to spread the deadly chain reaction to surrounding cells, which then released their caspases, which then destroyed more cells, and so on.

She’d fought this process by testing multiple drugs that inhibited caspases. The magic formula turned out to be a trial drug called WDE-4-11, which successfully shut down the apoptosis chain reaction. That saved human tissue, although the triangle corpses still decomposed within hours.

That meant she could operate on a live hosts, remove the triangles, then use WDE-4-11 to stop the apoptosis. Despite Perry’s naive, violent beliefs, she could save them. When she did, however, saving the tissue was only one step—she also had to deal with the mental effects. For that she had a battery of mood-controlling drugs at her disposal, including drugs that had tackled the chemical imbalances in Perry’s brain and returned him to a semblance of sanity.

Or so she’d thought at the time.

She focused her attention on cutting the triangle free from the dead boy’s leg. The human tissue would keep, but the triangle would be black ooze in only a few hours, and she needed to move fast.

MEAN DRUNK

Dew parked the Lincoln in front of Perry’s motel room. Fluffy snowflake cl.u.s.ters had replaced the rain and hail. As the saying went, if you don’t like the weather in Wisconsin, just wait ten minutes. Dew had heard the same kinds of jokes about Michigan, Ohio and Indiana—and they were all true.

Perry sat in the pa.s.senger seat. He’d pa.s.sed out with a beer in his left hand, his right still wrapped around a tattered six-pack that had only two bottles left. Dew didn’t want to act as a chauffeur for this psycho piece of s.h.i.+t, but he wasn’t about to put someone else at risk.

“Wake up,” Dew said.

Perry didn’t move.

Dew put the Lincoln in reverse, backed up about five feet, put it in gear, then gunned it and jammed on the brakes. Perry’s big body lurched forward against the seat belt.

His head snapped up, and he blinked in confusion.

“Home sweet home,” Dew said.

Perry turned and looked at him with drunken eyes. “Thanks, Pops,” he said.

Dew said nothing. Perry stared and smiled for a few more seconds, seeming to wait for a response. He didn’t get one. When he got out, the Lincoln rose up at least six inches. G.o.dd.a.m.n, but that kid was big.

Dew shut off the car and got out. His room was right next to Dawsey’s. Just like always.

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