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He reached down and grabbed the man’s wallet. It was thick with cash. Rome put the wallet in his pocket. He looked up and down the street. Cops wouldn’t come, not unless someone drove along this street and saw two bodies on the ground. Cops would be out fast then, real fast. Rome looked at the waist-high fence. It was torn open just a few feet away.

Run, or cover it up?

He put his .38 in his pants, grabbed the fat man’s arm and dragged him to the fence. Dude must have weighed 250. Rome pulled the cut fence aside and ducked under the cross-post, dragging the man’s body through. He ducked back out under the fence, then saw the trail of blood on the snow.

f.u.c.k. Someone would see that as soon as the sun came up. Still, that gave him plenty of time.

But there was one body left.

Rome looked at his dead friend. He’d known Jamall since they’d both been ten years old. Rome had seen people die before, but not his friend.

He felt a tear slide down his left cheek.

“I’m sorry, man,” Rome said as he grabbed Jamall’s wrist and started to drag. “I promise I’ll look out for your moms. I hate to leave you here, but I gotta get out. I’d expect you to do the same, man, you know this.”

Jamall didn’t say anything. He just stared up at the sky as he slid along.

Rome dragged Jamall’s body under the fence. He didn’t put Jamall right next to the fat man, but rather about five feet away. He could do at least that much for his friend. Rome slipped under the fence one last time, grabbed both McDonald’s bags and hurled them over. Finally, he grabbed the guns and ran back to the car. He could ditch them in the river.

Less than five minutes after they’d first approached the man, Rome drove his car down the empty street.

LIKE LEGOS

Chelsea made Mommy and Mr. Burkle leave the Winnebago. She sat very still, very quiet, and focused all her attention on Mr. Jenkins.

She could sense his location. She could send Mommy to him . . . but it was too late.

Chelsea felt his life slip away.

Death.

She’d felt the deaths of Daddy, Mr. Beckett and Ryan Roznowski, but this was different. They were vessels, their only purpose to carry the dollies. Mr. Jenkins was like her. He was converted; they were connected.

She took a deep breath and tried to deal with the amount of information flowing through her mind. It wasn’t easy. The infection had spread to many of General Ogden’s men. She constantly drew knowledge from them, searching their brains for new information.

Now she knew words that most seven-year-olds would probably never have heard, and definitely not understood.

Words like collective organism.

Mr. Jenkins had been part of that collective.

Chauncey, what will happen to Mister Jenkins now?