“Mike?” asked Ken.
“Yeah, sorry Ken. I’ve been away from the house. Are you pissed that I contacted Ms. Hunter?” asked Mike.
“You’re damn right I am,” said Ken. “That was way out of line. But I was calling about something else. I wanted to tell you what I found in Davey’s blood.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” said Ken. “You might be on to something with that crazy theory. I saw some stuff in the blood that I can’t explain. His cells have been taken over by something. They attack anything foreign, like it was an infection, but they don’t really kill them. Crazy. I sent a bunch over to the CDC. They’re going to check it out first thing and advise on what to do.”
“What about the kid?” asked Mike. “Where’s he now?”
“Not sure,” said Ken. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with the mother all afternoon. I left some messages, but I didn’t want to scare her.”
“It might be too late for that,” said Mike.
“What do you mean?” asked Ken.
“The other part of my theory—the real crazy part—might be coming true and heading right for you,” said Mike.
“Just when I thought you might not be losing your mind, you step it up a notch?” asked Ken. “Real classy.”
“Look,” said Mike. “I’m going to come over there. I should be there in a half-hour, tops. Can we talk about this?”
“Sure thing,” said Ken. “Sharon’s asleep, out cold, so don’t knock. Just come on in. I’ll be in the living room.”
“Thanks, Ken,” said Mike. “I appreciate you not just assuming I’m crazy.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Ken, “I totally did. I was completely convinced you were crazy, but then my curiosity made me check out Davey’s blood one more time. I still think you’re insane, but you may have stumbled onto something anyway.”
Mike laughed into the phone. “I’ll see you soon.” He hung up and handed the phone back to Bill.
“So you know where we’re going?” asked Bill.
“Yeah,” said Mike. “Ken’s house is right on the line. Maybe the thing knows that Ken is the kid’s doctor? At any rate, I think Ken’s house is on this thing’s agenda. But that’s good, ideal even—we can set up a trap at his house and not even worry about putting the kid in jeopardy.”
“Except we’ll be putting your friend in danger,” said Bill.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Mike. “Ken’s a big hunter, and I think he can defend himself pretty well.”
“That’s probably what some of the other victims thought,” said Bill.
“Except that Ken knows what’s coming,” said Mike.
WITH MIKE’S NAVIGATION, Bill pulled his car into the driveway. Using the strength of the creature’s signal as an indication of distance, Bill calculated that they had at least an hour before the creature would catch up to their current position at Ken’s house.
The two men decided to split up—Bill would gather the supplies from the car and meet Mike inside after he had made contact with Ken. Following instructions, Mike opened the door to find Ken’s house quiet, but well lit. He left the door open a crack and slipped down the hall to Ken’s living room. He paused in the arch. Ken had fallen asleep in his chair, with his head slumped to the side. From his position, Mike could only see the back of Ken’s head and part of his arm.
“Ken?” asked Mike. A premonition crashed across his thoughts. He could picture Ken from the other side, where his friend’s throat would be slit and his robed chest would have a gaping, bloody hole.
For several seconds, Mike couldn’t move. He didn’t want to see his dead friend and perhaps come into contact with the thing that had laid him unconscious. Mike backed away a half-step and prepared to run.
“What’s up?” Bill asked from directly behind Mike, causing him to jump several inches and bite down on his tongue.
“Let’s go,” whispered Mike. “We’re too late.” His eyes welled up with tears. His flesh crawled with deep chill.
“Can’t be,” said Bill. “I just re-checked the levels. That thing will be another seventy minutes before it gets here. Unless its power is falling off, but I don’t think it is.”
Mike pointed towards the chair. Bill’s face flattened and tendons stood out on his neck as he clenched his jaw. Turning sideways, Bill approached the chair. He rounded the chair with his arms away from his body, as if balancing against the potential shock.
Bill studied Ken before announcing his findings. “I think he’s asleep,” he said.
Mike rounded the chair to see for himself. At first glance, it seemed Bill was correct. Ken had slumped in the chair, but his chest rose and fell quickly. A line of sticky drool dripped from the corner of Ken’s mouth to his robed shoulder.
“Ken,” said Mike. “Ken!” he said louder.
When Ken didn’t stir, Mike reached out and tugged at the sleeve of Ken’s robe.
“Wait,” Mike said to Bill. “Don’t touch him.”
“I wasn’t about to,” said Bill.
Mike glanced around and settled on a rolled up magazine. He used it to tap Ken’s chest. “Ken?”
Ken began to breathe more rapidly. His chest rose and fell at a sprinter’s pace.
Bill raised an eyebrow and turned to Mike. “That’s odd,” he said.
Mike tucked the magazine under his arm and cupped his hands around his mouth. “KEN!” he yelled. Ken’s eyes flew open at the sound. Ken looked in Mike’s direction, but his eyes were parallel and unfocused, making Mike wish they would shut again.
“Mike?” asked Ken. His head and eyes didn’t change position, and his arms never moved. Only his voice betrayed his consciousness.
“Yeah, Ken, what happened?” asked Mike.
“So tired,” said Ken. “I see him,” he said. “He’s coming for me. He’s drawn to me,” he informed Mike and Bill. “And Sharon, too.”
Mike and Bill exchanged another worried look.
“But what’s wrong with you?” asked Mike. “Are you okay?”
“Infected,” said Ken. “Figured it out. After we talked. Sharon down first—she’s upstairs—can’t move.”
“What? How?” asked Mike. He inched away. Bill was much less subtle. He quickly moved to the other side of the coffee table, to put space between himself and everyone else. “We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
“Look,” said Ken. “No needles. They can’t help. Careful.”
“Ken?” Mike asked. “What do you mean?”
Ken’s eyelids fluttered. He didn’t answer.
“Shit,” said Bill. “This is bad news. We’ve got to get him out of here. Call the hospital or something.”
Mike disappeared through the door to the kitchen. Bill looked around for a place to sit and then decided to remain standing. When he returned, Mike was wearing yellow rubber dish gloves. He took Ken’s wrist and felt for the pulse.
“Racing,” he said.
“Who do I call?” asked Bill. “Nine one one?”
“No, don’t do that,” said Mike. “You heard what he said. No needles. He’s afraid it will spread if we take him to the hospital. How much time do we have? An hour?”
“About,” said Bill. “But this is too big. We’ve got to get your friend help before that thing gets here.”
“Help with what?” asked Mike. “He’s totally infected. Every cell is undergoing a change so fundamental that it has completely altered his physiology. The best we can do is make him comfortable and hope the change doesn’t kill him. A hospital would do no better than that. Besides, if the monster attacked at the hospital, Ken would be a sitting duck.”