“Is that really necessary? I mean, extreme measures have already been taken, have they not? I understood that downtown was already restricted.”

“I don’t think you understand the ramifications of not taking decisive action immediately. The situation has escalated, and it makes no matter whether we want it to stop when convenient. We are about to engage in a war here, make no mistake, where we are fighting for our lives, our very souls.”

Dr. Reischtal stood up and raised his voice. “It. Will. Spread. Of that I have no doubt. Have your people described, in detail, exactly what happens when one is infected with this particular virus? Have they explained that after a brief coma, anywhere from twelve hours to one or two, the victim awakes to some of the most intense skin irritation I have ever witnessed? An irritation so severe it invariably leads to the victim clawing his or her own skin off? I have personally witnessed a victim take a corkscrew to their thighs and chest in an attempt to satiate the irritation.” He did not mention that the corkscrew was, in fact, a scalpel, and the blade had been provided to the patient for the sole purpose of observing the reaction. “And then”—he spread his fingers flat on the table—“the victim becomes hypersensitive to any kind of sound, and reacts violently. You do understand that these infected patients will not stop. They will attack and kill anyone in their paths, using anything at their disposal. Do you not see the possible consequences if this particular virus spreads beyond Chicago?”

“You said that you now know how the virus is transmitted. Can you . . . enlighten us?”

Dr. Reischtal paused a moment. When the arm of his hazmat suit rubbed against his torso, it squeaked like a children’s bath toy. “Very well. But I believe this information should be kept from the public. It will only serve to hinder our primary focus, which is isolating the virus, studying it, and ultimately finding a vaccine.” He took a deep breath. It was time to reveal the truth. “The virus is being transmitted by parasitic insects, commonly known as bedbugs.”

The Man raised his eyebrows.

“Again, I must urge you to keep this information as quiet as possible. If you were to tell the general population what is really happening here, that death is crawling up through the cracks in the walls and hiding in their beds and couches, biting them when they sleep, feeding on them while they are hypnotized by their televisions, you would witness an unprecedented panic that will rip this country apart.”

Dr. Reischtal wasn’t the least surprised that the Old One had surfaced in a parasite, hiding in a bug that had once fed on the blood of mankind’s ancestors as they slept in caves and trees. He faced the camera and tried not to let anything into his voice or escape through his face as he fought to control what he said out loud. It was so obvious. Why could they not see it? The Ancient One, the End Foretold, No Rebirth without Death. “You asked if an evacuation was really necessary to stop this, this abomination. It is. In fact, it is the only way to burn this virus out with all the fury of our Lord.”

The Man shook his head. “I don’t know if you can comprehend what factors are involved in such a decision. The consequences can be far-reaching and quite unpleasant to contemplate. I do not need to remind you that an election is imminent. This is unacceptable.”

“And watching an entire city, then the entire country, fall victim to this virus, that would be acceptable?”

“Stop right there. I—”

“Listen to me!” Dr. Reischtal shouted, and if he felt any trepidation about interrupting the most powerful man in the free world, none of it showed on his face. He looked positively possessed. “This is what will be necessary.”

Dr. Reischtal began to tell the president exactly what was necessary.

Qween insisted on bringing a bowling ball bag that she had pulled from under the cart. She left her cart on Monroe, taking only the wheels and the bag. God knew what was inside. Ed didn’t think she could physically carry an actual bowling ball, but damned if he could figure it out; whatever it was, it was heavy.

She put her bag on the floor, stretched out in the backseat of the car, and made herself at home. She said, “Go south. Stop when you get to Roosevelt.”

The bag made Ed nervous. He said, “If there’s something you ain’t telling us, I will not appreciate it. I will take you in and make sure they put you in a hole for a long time. If this a wild goose chase, I will make it my purpose in life to make you unhappy.”

“You need to relax, Ed Jones.”

“What’s in the bag, Qween?”

“Stop when you get to Roosevelt.”

“Okay. Have it your way.” Ed didn’t say a word until they passed Eleventh Street. “Left or right.”

“Right. We heading west.”

Ed got into the right lane. They rode in silence for a while. Qween said slowly, “It used to be my mother’s. We spent a lot of time at Providence Hospital when I was young. Had some problems. ’Course, we didn’t start out there. Mama took me to the closest hospital first. Bunch of white doctors. Mama said that they took me in, but wouldn’t tell her the name of the disease. A white doctor prescribed a bunch of pills. She never did like to admit it, but years later, Mama told me I came outta there worse off. Said she tried to take me back, but they wouldn’t readmit me. I had been in there one night. That’s all Mama would say.

“Had to hear the rest from my aunt, who went with us. She said we first tried to get in to see the doctor through the front entrance. The whites acted as though we oughta be embarrassed for making the white folks actually come out and say that the hospital was filled, and that we should try Provident, down on Fifty-first.” She was quiet for a long time.

Sam and Ed didn’t say anything. They knew that Provident Hospital had been established to care for black folks in the late 1800s, since none of the other hospitals would.

Qween said, “So we waited for the doctor to leave his hospital. Mama saw him on the sidewalk. Confronted him right there in front of all the other people, other doctors, nurses, everybody. She said, ‘My girl hasn’t been right since. Something is wrong, doctor.’ Well, he just looked at her and said, ‘I saved your daughter’s life. Good day.’ And that was that. I’ll never forget Mama. He’s walking away, and she screamed at him, ‘You should have let her die.’

“I think she always felt bad for saying that. At least, saying it in front of me. So after we were done at Provident, we had to go back, over and over I remember, and so afterwards, she always took me bowling, down on Sixty-third Street. They had special hours for us black folks. We’d throw this nine-pound ball down the lane, praying it wouldn’t end up in the gutter, you know. I remember it real clear. Like it was last week. Mama had this look on her face, flinging this big old heavy black ball at the white pins.”

Qween gave a sly grin. “That’s how I got the bag, Ed Jones.” She gave him a few more directions, and they worked their way a few blocks south. Pretty soon they pulled past a big neon cross at the center of a long two-story building. HIS NAME BE PRAISED HOLY MISSION was spelled out below the cross in white neon letters. Ed pulled into the alley behind the mission.

“You better not be yanking our chain, Qween. This place—you know damn well what’s really going on here. Last chance to tell us the truth.”

“Yeah, yeah. You done warned me.” She got a solid hold on the handle of her bag. “We here ’cause of the spacemen.”

“The spacemen, Qween?” Ed asked and killed the engine.

“Spacemen. This place, they be selling people to the spacemen.”

“Good enough for me,” Sam said and got out.

He slammed his door to find three young black gentlemen in sharp suits and close-cropped hair. They all carried Bibles and gave him tight-lipped smiles. One of them said, “Evening, brother.”