Page 133 (1/2)

Dead silence on the other end.

“Murray, did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, but in a voice that oozed total exhaustion. “What do you want us to do?”

The mist shut off. Clarence opened the airlock door that led back to the entrance. Margaret swallowed “You have to . . .”

Her voice lodged in her throat as she followed Clarence. He shut the door, then ran to the final airlock.

“Margaret?” Murray said. “Talk to me.”

She felt tears pouring down her face, but because of the suit she couldn’t wipe them.

“Option Number Four,” she said. “You have to use Option Number Four.”

Dead silence. Otto pulled her onto the football field and started taking off her gloves.

When Murray spoke, his voice sounded thin, old. “There’s got to be another way.”

Clarence lifted her feet one at a time, took off her shoes.

Margaret shook her head. “There isn’t. The fireball will crank the temperature up so high it will kill all the spores for three or four miles around. They’ve probably spread a mile already. You have to do it. Now.”

Another pause. She disconnected the helmet from the suit but left it on her head so she could keep talking to Murray. She started tearing off her suit. Clarence did the same with his.

A new voice in the speakers.

“Margaret, this is President John Gutierrez. Do you realize that you’re asking us to drop a nuclear weapon on Detroit?”

“Of course I f.u.c.king realize that! I know exactly what I’m asking, you f.u.c.king moron!”

Margaret couldn’t stop the tears now, nor could she stop the sobs. She stepped out of the suit. She wore nothing but scrubs and the helmet. Otto grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the Osprey’s open rear ramp.

“How much time to evacuate?” Gutierrez asked.

“You can’t evacuate,” she said. “If you don’t do this right now, it’s going to be too late. Look how it converted Ogden’s men, how fast it took over and what it made them do. The spores have already spread all through downtown Detroit. Thousands are infected. The infected will radiate out of the city. These people are terrified. They’re going to get as far from Detroit as they can; you can’t stop them. Some of them will turn into these . . . gasbags . . . full of spores. We just watched it happen. The infection will spread everywhere. People will be converted into this collective organism—they won’t be human anymore. If it spreads past Detroit, we’re f.u.c.ked. Humanity is f.u.c.ked. You have to act now, Mister President, or it’s out of our hands for good.”

“Where are you?” Gutierrez asked.

“We’re getting on the Osprey at the football field.”

She ran up the ramp. It started to close behind her. Seven men were inside. They stared at her and Clarence, and instantly s.h.i.+ed away, shuffling toward the front of the pa.s.senger section.

“Margaret,” Gutierrez said, his voice quiet and cold. “Are you sure, absolutely sure this is the only way?”

“I . . . I am.”

Another pause, then Murray again. “I’m telling the Osprey pilot to take off fast,” he said. “You should be out of range when it goes off. What are the exact target coordinates?”

Margaret stared out for a second. All of Dew’s men were gone. No one to paint the target. There was one way, though, to make sure the nuke hit the right spot.