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Contagious Scott Sigler 22970K 2022-07-22

His big right hand locked on Chelsea Jewell’s throat.

He lifted her. She weighed nothing.

Stop it!

“No.”

No, Perry, NO! Bad Perry!

She didn’t look scared. She didn’t look evil, either. She looked like a spoiled child, a child who did whatever she wanted, took whatever she wanted.

He squeezed a little harder.

Fear crept into those angelic blue eyes, the realization that maybe she didn’t control him.

You have to do what I say! I told you to kill that man, and you did!

“You didn’t make me do it,” Perry said. “I couldn’t let him wind up like me. I had to help him.”

Footsteps rushed up the stairs behind him. Perry turned to face the open door, Chelsea still held out in front of him. The last gunman sprinted down the hall, M4 raised. He skidded to a halt when he saw Chelsea held in the air like a s.h.i.+eld.

Perry aimed and fired.

The bullet hit the last man dead center in the forehead. He took one step back, dropped his gun, then lifted his right hand, weakly, as if he wanted to touch Chelsea’s hair one last time.

The man fell backward.

He didn’t move.

Perry looked at Chelsea. So beautiful. He understood that man’s dying gesture of love, of affection.

Why would you kill me, Perry?

Hate tinged her ice-cold eyes.

Cold, like the eyes of a hatchling.

You’re not like anyone else. I can see into your memories, Perry. No one accepted you for who you are, but with me you can be what you were born to be—a killer.

“Maybe that’s what I was born to be,” Perry said. “But it’s not who I am anymore.”

It is, and you know it is. Why help them? What have these people ever done for you?

“One of them was going to take me fis.h.i.+ng,” Perry said.

Then he shot Chelsea Jewell in the face.

DEW’S SATPHONE

A soldier handed Margaret a satphone. She just looked at it. Clarence took it and answered.

“Agent Otto here.”

The voice on the satphone was crackling but clearly audible. “It’s Murray. I’ve got Perry. He wants to talk with Margaret.”

Margaret’s body sagged in her seat. Perry was still alive? Not for long, not long at all.

“Okay,” she said, and took the phone.

More crackling, then the deep voice of Perry Dawsey. “Hey Margo.”

She fought back the tears. If she cried too hard she couldn’t speak. “Hey,” she said. “Are you . . . are you on Dew’s phone?”

“Yeah,” Perry said. “I got Chelsea. The voices have finally stopped, but . . . I don’t think I’m doing so good. I’ve got those things inside me. It hurts. Bad. I think they’re moving to my brain. Margaret, I don’t want to lose control again.

“You won’t,” she said. “They won’t have time.”