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“h.e.l.lo, Betty,” Margaret said.

Betty stopped whimpering for a second, just long enough to draw in a huge, ragged lungful of air.

“Let me go!”

“We can’t,” Margaret said. “You’re very ill.”

“No f.u.c.king s.h.i.+t I’m ill, you f.u.c.king a.s.sholes! Did you do this to me? Please, get my dad. Get my mom. Please!”

“Your father is dead,” Amos said.

Margaret quickly pressed a b.u.t.ton on the touch screen to turn off the intercom.

“Amos, what are you doing?”

“Telling her the truth.”

Margaret wanted to smack him right in the mouth. “Amos, we need to get this girl to talk, not put her further into hysterics.”

“Margaret, I’ve got a teenage daughter,” he said. “You do not. So shut the f.u.c.k up.”

He had a cold look on his face, an expression Margaret hadn’t seen on him before. Amos was personalizing this, projecting Betty’s situation onto his own child. He reached for the b.u.t.ton and turned on the chamber’s speakers. “It’s true, Betty,” Amos said. “You father is dead. I’m very sorry.”

Margaret realized that Betty wasn’t screaming anymore. The girl still had tears streaming down her ruined face, but there was also a hard lucidity in those eyes.

“Daddy’s . . . dead? You killed him?”

“He died in the parking lot before anyone could get to him,” Amos said. “Before anyone could help him.”

A single sob hit her body like a big cough, and then she lay still.

“But I’ve been here for like hours,” Betty said, fighting back sobs. “Why didn’t anyone just f.u.c.king tell me?”

“Because they didn’t think you could handle it,” Amos said. “They treated you like a child. I’m sorry about that, but Doctor Montoya and I are in charge now. My name is Doctor Amos Braun.”

“What’s . . . what’s happening to me?”

“You are very sick,” Amos said. “You have whatever killed your father. We don’t know why it’s developing more slowly in you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“We’re trying to save you,” Amos said. “We need to ask some important questions first. Where were you and your father coming from?”

“Just let me go,” Betty said in a low voice. “I’m not one of the ones you want, I swear. Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.”

“Betty, we’re not trying to ki—”

“I will f.u.c.king slash your throat, you needle-d.i.c.k motherf.u.c.ker!” She yanked at her restraints so hard the heavy trolley wobbled. “Lemmego-lemmegolemmego!”