‘Constantly updating,’ Marc said. ‘Margins of error, but . . .’ He waved a hand.
It doesn’t matter, Vic thought. Whatever margin of error you apply to this . . . it doesn’t matter.
He knew well enough that the contagion had reached Cincinnati, but the extent of spread elsewhere was shocking. The red smudge on the screen had turned into a widening, deepening stain on the map of the USA. The solid red mass covered much of Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, North and South Carolina, Kentucky, Indiana and Ohio, with tendrils stretching into neighbouring states three hundred miles or more from Coldbrook. But beyond this were those other spots of infection, satellite stains that were spreading as quickly as the original, flickering on the screen with the promise of fresh growth. From New Orleans in the south to Philadelphia and New York in the east, to Detroit in the north, and even as far afield as San Francisco and Seattle in the west, the infection now spanned the country.
‘Shit,’ Vic muttered. ‘Aircraft, you think?’
‘Yeah,’ Marc said. ‘Public and private aircraft, zombie stuck in the cargo hold. And don’t discount the speed of spread along roads. Drive for ten hours straight with your foot down, and you can get from Atlanta to Dallas. One car or truck doing that with one of those fuckers trapped on board . . .’
‘So what the hell do we do now?’ Vic asked. A feeling of unreality descended, distancing him from events. If he thought about this too much, he’d go insane. It was not a conscious defence, but right then he welcomed whatever instinct was striving to protect him. He looked up at Marc, and at Gary where he sat with his feet propped against a desk across the room.
‘I did consider getting back to Coldbrook,’ Marc said. ‘The first disease vector came through there, which might help me examine the disease source. And if it meant me going through the breach to find out more . . .’ He shrugged.
‘Coldbrook’s locked down,’ Vic said.
‘You got out, you can get us back in,’ Gary said.
‘But still no contact from Jonah?’
‘No. But we can’t assume that he’s dead.’
Back to Coldbrook. Vic had done everything in his power to flee that place, and in doing so . . . He closed his eyes and shook his head, that sense of distance buffering him once more against the truth. It would have got out anyway, he was sure. Something like this couldn’t be confined.
‘But now . . .’ Marc said. ‘Now, I don’t know if it’s even worth trying. Just . . . don’t know.’
‘Not worth trying?’ Vic asked. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Gary strode across the room and leaned on his shoulder, tapping at the keyboard. ‘As we said, there have been developments.’
Vic looked away from Marc and back at the screen. He’s scared. It was the first time he’d really seen that in him.
There was a new screen open on the laptop. It displayed a world map. There were red dots outside the USA.
‘You’re fucking kidding,’ Vic said.
Mexico.
‘It was easy to expand the program to include foreign media,’ Marc said.
Cuba, Haiti.
‘But this could be a glitch? Are these confirmed?’
Guatemala, Belize, Costa Rica.
‘Not as definite as our own map,’ Marc said. ‘I’ve got no tap into any foreign military, for a start.’
Canada, Alaska, Greenland, Iceland.
‘This is just so shit,’ Gary said.
As Vic watched the screen, Lima grew its own red spot.