Survival is the exception. Carl Sagan CHAPTER EIGHTEEN I HELPED DUPREE to a sitting position. “It’s going to be okay, man. We’ll get this fixed and Charlie Mike,” I said. Continue mission. The scientist felt carefully around the lip of the broken plastic with his gloved hands. Dust had gathered inside and on his face. He pinched it between two fingers, then closed his eyes and sighed. He sat there for a moment, then looked at me. “Help me get out of this, will you?” “Are you crazy? You need this.” “You don’t understand. It’s too late.” He held up his black-gloved hands, covered in gray powder. “This is spore. It’s already all over me.” My eyes widened. “But how? It’s just a little break.” He gestured to a dead young girl lying not five feet away. Her face was dirty, but placid. Long red hair clung to her skin, partially covering the left side of her face.
