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“I’m okay, I’m okay.” She hugged him back. She couldn’t believe how good it was to see him.

Dew scooted to the corner, peeked around, then ducked back.

“Clarence said you saw Ogden?”

“And Chelsea Jewell,” Margaret said.

Perry’s smile faded. A look of hatred filled his eyes. Margaret instantly thought of the dead, angry stares of the infected victims she’d had on her autopsy table.

“And hostages,” Clarence said. “About fifteen of them. And at least three gunmen armed with body armor, M4s, sidearms and grenades. There could be more already inside.”

Dew looked Clarence up and down. “Human condom, eh?”

Clarence nodded at Margaret. “Blame her.”

“h.e.l.l, I wish I had one right about now,” Dew said. “Margaret, what happened with Sanchez? You figure this thing out yet?”

The sensation of relief vanished, replaced once again by feelings of failure.

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “Try not to get infected, because there’s still no cure.”

Dew and Perry nodded.

“How about Gitsh and Marcus?” Dew asked. “Doctor Dan?”

Clarence shook his head.

“So we’ve got losses,” Dew said. “Let’s make them count. Clarence, take Margaret and go to the football field at Martin Luther King High School, about a mile up Jefferson, you can’t miss it. Murray dropped a Margo-Mobile there to set up an infection triage. There are also two Ospreys on the ground. If things turn dicey, you get her out of here.”

“I’m standing right here, Dew,” Margaret said. “Clarence isn’t my keeper.”

“Yes he is,” Dew said. “And he’s getting you out.”

“Have some of your men take her,” Clarence sad. “I’m staying to finish this.”

Why couldn’t Clarence just shut up and leave? Hadn’t he done his job? Hadn’t they sacrificed enough? She wanted out, and she wanted him with her.

“Otto, you will get the f.u.c.k out of here,” Dew said. “Your mission is to protect Margaret, and I want her gone.”

Clarence shook his head. “But Dew—”

“Shut your broken-toothed mouth. You’ve got your orders. Do you mind if we go ahead and save the f.u.c.king world? Perry, you go with them.”

Perry Dawsey actually laughed. A dark laugh, something he might have let slip back in a kitchen filled with three dead bodies.

“f.u.c.k you, Dewie,” he said. “Chelsea and I need to talk.”