Free Contaminated 2: Mercy Mode by Em Garner Page B

fresh stains. Closer, inching closer.
    “Stop.” I try to keep my voice calm.
    This is different from the cheerleader in the woods, when I was already running, already pumped up. That girl was Contaminated but uncollared. The Connie in front of me is not supposed to be able to get aggressive because the collar around her neck is meant to keep her subdued. But she’s scarier than that cheerleader, and my heart is trip-trapping so fast, I feel it all over my body, and I can’t breathe.
    “Velvet!”
    “Opal,” I cry desperately. “I’ll be right out, I promise!”
    “Should I come inside?”
    “No! Make sure the chicken’s okay!”
    The woman in front of me hisses out a sigh. Dark yellow urine slides down her legs and patters on the floor while I cringe away. She looks at it, then at me, her gaze gone blank again. She stands in a puddle of her own filth and doesn’t move except to put a mutilated hand to her head and pluck at the few remaining hairs.
    Now I understand why the man upstairs killed himself, but I don’t pity him. Anger fuels me, gets me to move. This was someone he loved, and I know how terrible it must’ve been for him to watch her become this, a thing more than a person. But he left her to fend for herself, locked in a basement, while he took his own life to escape.
    I have to help her.
    “Hey,” I say softly, reaching a hand the way, earlier, Opal had reached toward the frightened puppy. “Shhh, shhh.”
    I don’t want to touch her, not really. I want to do almost anything but that. I force myself to move closer, slow and calm. In order to get out of the stairwell, I have to move close enough past her that she could easily grab and attack me. She doesn’t, but I tense every muscle until I’m back in the basement and can stand upright.
    I have an idea, and pulling the keys out of my pocket, I look at the back of the key ring. “Hey. Sandra. Sandy?”
    She doesn’t move. I try again, touching her shoulder. “Sandra?”
    Her head rolls on her shoulders as she looks at me. Shuffling, she turns. Beneath my hand, her bones feel sharp enough to cut.
    “I’m going to take you out of here, okay? I’m going to take you someplace safe.” Even as I say it, the words sound like lies. I can’t take this woman home. That’s insanity. But how can I leave her here?
    I let my hand drift down her bony arm to her wrist, so narrow, I can entirely circle it with my fingers. I pull gently. Sandra takes a step toward me. Step by step, I lead her past the shelves of food, past her dirty nest, toward the stairs to the kitchen. But she won’t go any farther.
    She pulls back, grunting. The lights on her collar flash, first blinking green. Then yellow. Then briefly red. I stop pulling her. I know what red means. Mercy Mode. I can’t force her to come with me, not without triggering her collar to blast her brain with continuous electric shocks.
    “Velvet?”
    Crap, it’s Opal at the top of the stairs. Before I can tell her not to, she’s coming down them with the puppy scampering ahead of her. She stops at the bottom and gasps. The puppy runs at us, tumbling over its own paws and landing at Sandra’s feet.
    Sandra looks at it. Slowly, she reaches a hand. Her mouth twists into a smile, and her lips move, shaping words I can’t make out. The puppy sniffs at her and sneezes, then lies down and puts its nose between its front paws.
    “Sandra?”
    She looks at me, blinking. Her collar lights glow a steady green. I look at Opal, who’s wide-eyed but hasn’t run.
    “We need to help her,” I say.
    “She looks bad, Velvet!”
    I know Sandra can’t understand us, but I still shush Opal with a gesture. Opal sidles a little closer. Sandra doesn’t look at either one of us. Her attention’s on the puppy at her feet. Drool drips onto the concrete, spattering near the puppy’s head, and it looks up with a whine and rolls onto its back, exposing its belly.
    “It was her puppy,” Opal says.
    “Yes. I’m sure