Infected

Snow covered the ground and the leafless trees. Most of the houses on this street had white lawns, thick with undisturbed snow. Some, like this one, had lawns trampled over and over by tiny feet, the snow’s beauty crushed by the tireless energy of playing children.

The door opened. In the doorway stood a little angel — blond pigtails, blue dress, sweet face. She even held a rag doll, for crying out loud.

"h.e.l.lo, sweetie," Otto said.

"h.e.l.lo, sir." She didn’t look afraid at all. Nor did she look happy or excited, just matter-of-fact.

"Are you Missy Hester?"

She nodded, her curly pigtails bouncing in time.

Otto’s empty right hand came out of his jacket, slowly dropping to hang at his side.

Margaret stepped to Otto’s right, so the girl could see her clearly. "Missy, we’re here to see your mother. Is she home?"

"She’s sleeping. Would you like to come in and sit down in the living room?"

She stood aside and gestured with her hand. A regular little hostess.

"Thank you," Otto said. He walked inside, head turning quickly as he seemed to scan every inch of the house. Margaret and Amos followed. It was a small, simple affair. Aside from a scattered layer of brightly colored toys, the place looked immaculate.

Missy led them into the living room, where Margaret and Amos sat on a couch. Otto chose to remain standing. The living room gave a view of the stairs, the front door and another doorway that led into the dining-nook area of a kitchen.

"How about your daddy?" Margaret said. "Is he home?"

Missy shook her head. "He doesn’t live with us anymore. He lives in Grand Rapids."

"Well, honey, can you go wake up your mom? We need to talk to her and to you."

The girl nodded, curls jiggling, then turned and ran up the stairs.

"She seems perfectly healthy," Amos said. "We’ll take a good look at her, but she doesn’t seem to show any signs of infection."

"Maybe cutting out the threads works in the new strain," Margaret said. "Morgellons cases have been going on for years without any triangle growths. Something had to

"They’re just being built better," Otto said. "No disrespect to either of you, but you think too much. Murray hit it right on the head. Sometimes the most obvious answer is just that, the answer."

"Occam’s razor does seem to apply," Amos said.

"What’s that?" Otto asked.

Amos smiled. "Never mind. It just means you’re probably right."

All three of their heads turned as a little boy appeared in the open doorway to the kitchen. He couldn’t have been more than seven, maybe eight — he wore a cowboy hat, gun holsters on his hips, chaps with fringe and a slightly crooked black mask — the full-on Lone Ranger costume. Otto tensed at the sight of the six-shooters in the boy’s hands, but each had a barrel capped with bright orange plastic. Cap guns. Toys.

"Hold it right there, pardners," the boy said. He made his little voice all gravelly, trying to sound tough, but he just sounded cute.

Otto laughed. "Oh, we’re holding it, Lone Ranger. Is there a problem?"

"Not if you keep your hands where I can see ’em, mister."

Otto raised his hands to shoulder height, palms out. "You’ll get no trouble from me, Ranger. No trouble ’tall."

The boy nodded, the very picture of seriousness. "Well, let’s just keep it that way, and we’ll all get along reallllll nice like."

Missy bounced down the stairs, making far more noise than should have been possible out of a tiny, six-year-old body.

"My sister will take real good care of y’all," the boy said. "I got me some business to attend ta."

"Be safe, Ranger," Otto said.

"Cute kid," Amos said as the boy slid back into the kitchen and shut

the door behind him. They heard him banging around, yelling at imaginary robbers.

But something about the boy gave Margaret a bad feeling. They’d rushed things, been sloppy — they hadn’t even checked to see how many people were in the family. The father was gone. One brother. Was there another? Any sisters?

"Mommy won’t wake up," Missy said. "I’ve been trying for a couple of days, but she won’t wake up. And she smells funny."

Margaret felt a coldness flush through her stomach.

The girl took a step forward. "Are you from the gov-ren-ment?"

Amos slowly stood up.

Otto calmly walked between the girl and Margaret. "Yes, honey, we’re from the government. How did you know?"

"Because my brother said you would come."

Margaret wanted out of there. Now. They had come for the girl, but it never crossed their minds that someone else in the house might be infected.

"Oh, no," Amos said. "Do you smell natural gas?"

Margaret did, suddenly and strong, coming from the kitchen.

"Get the girl out of here," Otto said. His voice was quiet, calm, but totally commanding. "Do it now."

Margaret stood and ran the three steps to Missy, then hesitated. She didn’t want to touch the little girl — what if she had those things? What if they were wrong, and she was contagious?

"Margaret," Otto hissed. "Get her out of here."

She ignored her instincts and picked the girl up, her skin crawling as she did. She took one step toward the door, but before she could take another, the kitchen door opened.