“Oh, Christ,” he says, and then the ghostly shape lunges forward. The curtain tears from its rings and billows around him and he stumbles back in a weighted tangle. His head thuds against the toilet and his mind blackens briefly in confusion. When he finds his focus again, he can see teeth gnashing through the fabric, chewing holes in it, trying to get at him.

He curses and pushes the body off him and scrambles back into the hallway, and the curtain sloughs partially off to reveal Darla. Her arms reach for him wildly, her fingers bent into claws. What looks like gray oatmeal mushes from her nose and mouth along with a garbled, barking noise that could be words or could be coughing.

He retreats until his back bashes the wall in the hallway and she follows him, slugging along, half draped in the curtain. He kicks at her hands and then at her face—once, twice—and she gives a shuddering gasp before slumping over.

He blinks a few times and reminds himself to breathe before dragging himself upright. He isn’t sure what to do, check her pulse or call an ambulance or run away. The decision is made for him when he hears the thudding boom of a fist at the front door and a voice calling out, “Police! We’re coming in!”

11

In the Olympic National Forest, the air appears thick with ghosts. A creamy fog drifts along and the evergreens knife through it. The old shaggy trees give way, in clear-cut patches, to the young noble and Douglas firs of the Hemlock Hills Tree Farm. It’s here that dozens of men and women gather wearing hazmat suits. The moisture in the air carries sound strangely, making things seem both up and down, far away and nearby, so the shuffling of fabric could be the wingbeats of birds and the tromping of boots could be the drumbeat of an elk herd on the move.

The road is blocked, and they have established a perimeter. Guards are stationed along it in case any hunters or hikers or foragers should wander by. The scientists among them construct temporary greenhouse labs with air locks. They collect samples. They consult their tablets. They send up drones. They fire up generators, unspool cords, arrange stadium lights, and snap photos that light up the fog in quick bursts like a thunderhead.