He blinked, shifting his focus from the darkening city to his own reflection as it grew stronger and more defined in the fading light. He didn’t like the furtive, hunted look in his eyes so he turned his attention to the sixty-inch plasma above the fireplace and watched the news for a while.

Things hadn’t gotten any better. Every goddamn channel in the world was focused on Chicago. It made the city look bad.

Fucking rats.

At least the federal government was in control. It wasn’t official yet, and it might never be official, but the CDC owned Chicago right now. So whatever went down, Lee wasn’t responsible. He couldn’t be held accountable. Shit happens. It wasn’t his fault. There was no way it could come around to bite Lee on the ass. And if things went real south, the boys in power always pinned everything on some pissant, second cousin to somebody low, and crucified him in the media. They’d do anything they could to aim the public’s hate at one guy while the rest scurried for cover.

Lee turned back to his reflection in the windows. He didn’t think he’d ever been this close to the real power in the federal government. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. All these guys had to do was snap their fingers, and entire streets got shut down like it was nothing. His reflection didn’t reassure him. It had the opposite effect. He looked weak. He looked finished.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it suddenly occurred to him that to these feds, he might be a small fish. Small enough that he could be the scapegoat. For the first time, Lee faced the uncomfortable truth that they could blame everything on him.

He wished his uncle would call.

CHAPTER 43

8:41 PM

August 13

Sam drank in the relative peace and quiet of the city. The horns had tapered off, and all the flashing police lights gave the darkening city a festive feel, like it was some obscure holiday, the offspring of Halloween and the Fourth of July. And normally, at this relatively early time of night, eight o’clock, the pedestrian walkway, over twenty feet above the river, would be half-filled with smokers, getting those last puffs in before they got to their cars after a long ride home on the Metra. Tonight it was empty.

Sam popped a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth and relaxed on the bench, enjoying the view. Ed waited next to him, staring at the blacktop under his feet, ignoring the view. Ed was troubled, Sam could see tell, but he didn’t know what to say.

They’d passed Cook County General on their walk. The place was now surrounded by sawhorses with blinking lights, all wrapped in razor wire and supported with sandbags. It looked more like a barrack in Afghanistan than a hospital in Chicago.

“Where’s the goddamn media for this shit?” Ed had asked.

They watched as several ambulances pulled into the emergency drive. Sam whistled low, as soldiers, not paramedics, hopped out and escorted the gurneys into the emergency room. The ambulances took off, lights flashing, sirens going.

It was Sam who noticed the late-model sedan with the tinted windows parked at the intersection of Wacker and Monroe. He caught the silhouettes of hulking figures inside as the ambulance roared past. Ed wanted to go over, show them his badge, see what the hell they were doing. With everything going on, he was feeling powerless, and wanted to bust some skulls.

Sam cautioned against it. He got a bad vibe from the car. If they went over, shoving their badges around, they might make themselves more of a target. All they’d do is give those soldiers an excuse to fan out through the streets and hunt them down. And there was no way they would stand a chance against that kind of firepower.

Ed reluctantly agreed that Sam might have a point. So they kept walking. Two more blocks until they crossed Adams and found all the benches empty. They had been sitting there for over an hour before they heard the rattle of the shopping cart.

“You seen Old Henry?” Qween appeared in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“Earlier,” Ed said. “We need to talk to you.”

“Damn right you do,” Qween said, leaning on the handles to her cart. “’Bout time you figured that out. Where’d you see Henry?”

“Down by the river.”

“When was this?”

“This morning sometime. Why?”

“He gone. We ain’t talked all day. Ain’t like him.”

“I don’t know about that. But this,” Sam said, pointing at the hospital. “This is a problem.” He stood and paced. “The government has taken over in that place. We stick our heads inside, we ain’t gonna make it five feet. You say the rats are sick. The news is now saying the rats are carrying some kinda disease. And meanwhile, people are going bug-fuck crazy.” Sam spread his hands. “So. Let’s start with the rats. What’s wrong with ’em?”

Qween worked her mouth, chewing on something for a while. Sam and Ed weren’t sure if it was gum or something left over from dinner. She finally said, “I don’t know if it’s the rats or not. But if you wanna know about the rats, then go talk to the people that see ’em, day after day.”

“Streets and Sans, they’re not exactly cooperating.”

“No, not them. You need to talk to some folks that are out on the streets, day in, day out.” She looked from Ed to Sam. They didn’t get it. “Folks like me.”

“Foul-mouthed and cranky?” Sam asked.

The Man himself stared into the camera. “Doctor . . . Reischtal, is it?”

Dr. Reischtal said, “Yes, sir.” He sat alone in the conference room on the top floor. He had pulled back the hood of his hazmat suit and taken off the faceplate and twin filtration bulbs. It rested on the table within arm’s reach.

The Man got tired of waiting for Dr. Reischtal to say something else. “Understand the situation is critical. I’ve seen the news footage. Looks like things are going to hell in a handbasket.” He was the placid eye in a hurricane of activity. Aides rushed around him, and high-ranking officials like the secretary of defense flanked him. Everybody else had a cell phone glued to his or her ear, but the Man ignored all of this, and barely moved as he watched Dr. Reischtal’s video image.

Dr. Reischtal nodded. “The infection is reaching pandemic levels, yes. We are collecting and isolating individuals exhibiting any of the symptomology, as well as anyone else that may have been exposed. They are currently being treated at this hospital. However, we are running out of room.” He clasped his long skeletal fingers and stared back at the Man. “If we do not destroy the root cause, the origin of the virus, we have no chance of containing it.”

“Worst case?”

“Entire world. Within four or five months.”

“Best case?”

“Isolate it and destroy it. Downtown is already lost, I firmly believe this.”

“That’s not what we’re hearing from this end,” the Man said.

“Your end is not here. I am here. I know what is coming. I know how the virus is spreading.” Dr. Reischtal smiled. It did not contain warmth. “This is a species-ending virus, something that will latch on to anything you have in the way of a brain, and will live with the short-sighted goal to simply procreate and survive, even if it burns out an entire planet and ultimately kills itself.” He struggled not to say the word “God” or especially “wrath.”

The Man was silent for a moment. “Are you serious?” He turned to the secretary of the interior. “Is there any way what he’s talking about is even close to the truth?” He looked back at Dr. Reischtal. “You people are supposed to be the best in the business. How did it get this far?”

“Until recently, we were unable to determine the exact transmission method. Now we know. Therefore, I need authorization to begin an evacuation of downtown Chicago in response to the virus outbreak. “