He couldn’t wait to tell Margaret. She’d want to double-check Tim’s results, see for herself if he’d gotten it right. Of course, she’d actually have to come to the lab area to do that, actually have to stand next to Cooper Mitchell.
Which she wasn’t doing… she hadn’t even come near Cooper…
Margaret had been hands-on with Walker and Petrovsky. Years earlier, she’d personally done the work on Martin Brewbaker, Perry Dawsey, Betty Jewel and Carmen Sanchez. She’d been up-close and personal with infected both living and dead. Why would she go out of her way to avoid Cooper?
Because she knew that Cooper’s hydras killed the Converted.
She knew, and she didn’t want to die.
Tim slapped himself lightly on the sides of his masked head, left-right-left-right. Margaret couldn’t be infected. She’d tested negative. She’d taken the inoculant, then tested negative some more. And besides that, she was Margaret Montoya, grand defender of the human race.
She tested negative…
But so had that diver, Cantrell, who had tried to kill Margaret during the escape from the Brashear. Tim had written Cantrell’s behavior off to panic and confusion from the attack, the explosion that had blown his cell open, from breathing in a near-lethal dose of bleach. Why? Because Cantrell had shown no signs of infection.
That corpse in the Park Tower lobby, the tall one in the red coat, he had no signs of infection, either, yet his blood had been full of hydras all the same…
Tim lunged for the med kit. He tore it open, throwing things aside until he found what he needed: a cellulose tester. The unit would work on a dead body just as well as on a live one.
OBEY
Clarence stood in the doorway of Room 1812, waiting for a chance to be useful. Margaret wouldn’t even let him help with little things like gathering samples or moving that nasty body. She was happy to let the SEAL, Bogdana, handle all of that.
Margaret was acting odd, even stranger than she’d acted on the Coronado. She had always wanted to be hands-on, yet now she was letting Tim do the dirty work? The most important work?
She said it was because of the baby: she wasn’t taking any chances. Clarence wasn’t about to argue with that. She shouldn’t have come in the first place.
Margaret didn’t touch anything in Room 1812. She insisted Bogdana wear the CBRN suit for this particular bit of work. Being unprotected on the streets was one thing, while handling a corpse was another. She directed his actions: move the rotting body; fill this vial; scoop up that slime; and on and on.
Clarence’s headset crackled, followed by Tim’s voice on the open channel.
“This is Doctor Feely.” He sounded upset. “Clarence, are you out there? Talk to me, man.”
Margaret’s head snapped up.
Clarence reached to thumb the “talk” button, paused when Margaret held up a hand palm out: stop right there.
“Don’t answer him,” she said. “I need your help, right now.”
He’d stood there for fifteen minutes with his thumb up his ass and now she needed him?
He held up a finger, asking her to be quiet as he thumbed the “talk” button.
“Feely, this is Clarence, go ahead.”
“I found… uh, is Margaret with you by chance?”
“She is.”
“Ah,” Tim said. “Well… I found something. Can you come down here? Now? It’s really important.”
Margaret shook her gas-mask-covered head. Was she playing some kind of mind game? Was she craving protection, perhaps because of the baby, or was this another punishment for him leaving her? Whatever her reason, Clarence didn’t have time to play along.
He thumbed the “talk” button again. “I’ll be right down, Tim.”
Margaret pointed to the floor. “I need you here. Do not go down there, Clarence, you hear me?”
Bogdana watched them both, the eyes behind his gas mask showing an expression of annoyed disbelief.
Maybe Margaret had good reason to be mad, but that didn’t change the fact that Clarence had a job to do.
“Bogdana,” Clarence said to the SEAL, “stay with Doctor Montoya until I check this out. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
Bogdana nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take care of the doc.”
Clarence hesitated a moment, looked at Margaret’s angry stare one more time, then jogged toward the elevator.
BALLS
Tim knew.
Margaret could tell from the sound of his voice. She didn’t know how he’d figured it out, but there was no question — he knew.
She had to act now.
“Sorry about this, Bogdana, but I really need a skin sample from the genitalia.”
The man’s shoulders dropped. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” Margaret shook her head. Her suit’s gas mask wobbled just a little, despite the fact that she had it on so tight it partially cut off the circulation in her face.
“Sorry, but it has to be done.”
She forced herself closer to the bloated corpse. A puddle of fluid stained the carpet beneath it — liquid from decomposition rather than blood. The man’s penis and testicles looked black and shriveled, like a rotten avocado spotted with moisture.
“I need a sample” — she pointed to the decomposing member — “from right below his scrotum.”
Bogdana shook his head, sighed. “My mother will be so proud that her only son is the military’s highest-paid collector of fromunda cheese.”
He knelt on both knees, then reached a gloved hand under the corpse’s genitalia. He lifted gently, bent his head for a closer look.
Margaret quietly drew the Sig Sauer P226 from her thigh holster. She pointed it at the back of Bogdana’s head and pulled the trigger.
SHOTS FIRED
Clarence exited the elevator and strode toward Tim’s lab area. The little scientist jogged to meet him halfway, feet crunching on the broken glass and bits of charred wood scattered about the lobby.
“It’s Margaret,” Tim said. “I think she’s infected.”
Clarence stopped. What kind of bullshit was Tim trying to pull? Was the little coward looking for a way out?
Tim grabbed Clarence’s arm, pulled him toward Cooper Mitchell. The man was moving again, head lolling as he struggled to wake up.
Tim looked back to the elevator, then around the lobby. He leaned in close.
“You heard me,” he said. “Margaret is infected.”
Clarence yanked his arm free of Tim’s anxious grip.
“She’s not. She’s been with us the whole time. She drank the inoculant. So did I. So did you.”
Tim nodded rapidly, continued to glance at the elevator. Clarence understood why — he was afraid Margaret might come down. He was afraid of Margaret.
“I know she did,” Tim said. “The only thing that makes sense is she was exposed before we left the Brashear. By the time she drank the yeast, she’d already been infected for more than twenty-four hours, so it was too late to save her. Come on, man, she wouldn’t come anywhere near Cooper. Does that sound like Margaret to you?”
All the pressure, the danger… Tim had lost it. He’d cracked.
“You’re wrong,” Clarence said, struggling to keep his voice level. “She’s pregnant, you paranoid little shit. She doesn’t want to take any chances.”