Blackout

Six

Deciding to hit the road took only a few seconds—the amount of time necessary for a thought to travel from my brain to my big mouth. Actually leaving took longer. Dr. Abbey wasn’t sending us out to die; if anything, she was sending us out not to die, something she took great pains to make sure I understood.

“This isn’t just about the mosquitoes, Shaun,” she’d said, while running yet another blood test and getting yet another negative result. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I showed you those distribution maps, or when I talked about the number of lives you could save by bringing me some live specimens. But it was never just about the mosquitoes.”

George had sighed in the back of my head then, sounding so tired it made my chest ache. She was dead. She shouldn’t have been tired anymore. But she was, and it was my fault, for refusing to let her go. She wants you to get exposed again.

“Are you fucking kidding?” I’d asked, too startled to remember to keep my voice down.

And Dr. Abbey had smiled, that bitter half twist of her lips that I normally saw only when she thought no one was looking, or when she murmured endearments to her huge black dog, the one with her dead husband’s name.

“Someday you’re going to have to explain how it is you’ve managed to create a subconscious echo that’s smarter than you are.” Still smiling, Dr. Abbey had looked me squarely in the eye and said, “I need to know if you can shrug off the infection a second time, outside lab conditions. If you can, that changes everything.”

Swell.

The next four days rushed past in a blur, with all of us preparing to do the one thing I’d sworn I’d die to prevent: We were getting ready to go our separate ways. After everything I’d done to keep us together, to keep us alive, I was going to scatter us to the winds, and pray everyone came home again. We started as a news site. Somewhere along the line, we became a family. Me, and George, and After the End Times. That was all I needed. I’d already lost George. Did I have to lose everyone else, too?

Alaric would be staying with Dr. Abbey; that hadn’t changed. He was our best technician. If it became necessary for the lab to move while we were still on the road, he’d be too useful for Dr. Abbey to just ditch, and he’d be able to keep the rest of us aware of its location. Besides, I didn’t trust him in the field when his sister’s safety was on the line. He was likely to do something impulsive and get himself hurt, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to force myself to stay on the road instead of running straight back to Dr. Abbey and her advanced medical facilities. Especially since by “advanced,” I meant “better than a first aid kit.” We were still off the grid. If one of us got messed up, the hospital wasn’t going to be an option.

Maggie and Mahir, meanwhile, were going to head farther up the coast, leaving the wilds of Oregon for the dubious safety of Seattle. Maggie’s plan was to go back on the grid as soon as possible, reclaiming her position as heir to the Garcia family fortune, and presenting Mahir as her latest boy toy. “People like their circuses when the news gets bad,” she’d said, a perverse twinkle in her eyes. “I’m a Fictional, remember? I’m going to tell them a story so flashy they won’t even think to ask where I’ve been.” Alaric wasn’t thrilled about the “boy toy” part, but it was solid. They would use her celebrity as a cover while they made contact with the Seattle underground, and located the man everyone called “the Monkey.” He could cook new IDs for my whole team, IDs that were good enough to let us disappear forever, if things came to that.

Most of us, anyway. Maggie came to see me on the fifth day after we began planning our departure. I was clearing my things out of the van. I’d been sleeping there most nights, preferring the illusory privacy of its familiar walls to the dubious comforts of the dormlike sleeping arrangements inside the Forestry Center. The garage wasn’t secure, but the van was, once the doors were locked.

She knocked once on the open rear door, and then just stood there, waiting.

I looked up. “Yeah?”

“You know we’re not getting me an ID from the Monkey, don’t you?” Her expression was a mixture of resignation and resolve. She looked like a heroine from one of the horror movies she loved so much, and in that moment, I really understood what Dave—one of the many teammates I’d buried since this whole thing started—and Alaric saw in her. She was beautiful.

And she was right. “Yeah, I do.” I put down the toolbox I was holding, moving to take a seat on the bumper. “You can’t disappear.”

“If it weren’t for the fact that my bio-tracker is still registering with my parents, I wouldn’t even be able to stay underground for this long.” Maggie touched the skin above her collarbone. Her parents had implanted a subdermal bio-tracker beneath the bone when she was still in diapers. It didn’t come with a “trace” function—Maggie’s misguided teenage years before she discovered journalism were proof that they’d been telling her the truth about that—but it enabled them to sleep soundly at night, serene in the knowledge that their only child was still alive.

“We could have it removed.”

“If anything would switch this thing from transmitting my vitals to actively giving them a location, that would do it.” Maggie sat down next to me. “It’s too risky.”

I looked at her levelly. “It’s too risky, and you don’t really want to disappear, do you?”

“It’s not that! It’s just… it’s…” She took a breath, stopping herself before she could go any further. Finally, reluctantly, she nodded. “You’re right. I don’t want to disappear. I don’t want to do that to my parents, and I miss my house. I miss my dogs. I miss my Fictionals. They have to be so worried. I’ve never done this to them before, not once. Alaric and I talked about this. He’s not happy, but… it’s what has to happen.”

Tell her you understand, said George.

“I understand,” I said, and even if I had to be prompted into the words, I meant them. Maggie had already given up a lot to stay with us this long, more than any of my team members except for maybe Mahir. Alaric’s family would have been in Florida no matter where he worked. Becks hadn’t spoken to her family in years. She was a lot like Georgia that way; both of them found the news and ran for it with open arms, not caring what got left behind in the process. But Maggie wasn’t like that. Maggie was different.

Maggie was looking at me hopefully, like she could barely bring herself to believe I was really saying the words she was hearing. “I know I’m letting you down.”

“You’re not.” I’m not a huggy person. I used to be more physically affectionate—not excessively so, but enough that I didn’t seem standoffish. That was George’s job. I took the hugs that were aimed at her. I haven’t felt like hugging people very often since she died. I still leaned over and put my arm around Maggie’s shoulders, giving her a brief squeeze. The situation seemed to call for it.

“Really?” she whispered.

“Really. Your parents would tear down the world trying to find you if you stayed gone too long. That’s cool. That’s sort of awesome, if you think about it. Becks’s family hates her. Alaric’s family is dead. Mahir’s family is in England, and they probably think he’s insane. And the Masons…” I stopped, the sentence coming to a halt.

“It’s not your fault,” said Maggie, filling the space with the words she assumed I needed to hear. “They were broken a long time before you came to live with them. It’s not your fault you couldn’t fix them.”

“The flat-drop.”

“What?”

“The flat-drop!” I turned to face her, grabbing her shoulders in my excitement. “We sent them a copy of our files when we were on the run from Memphis. I mean, we were going to die, so someone needed to have the data, right? Only I told Alaric he could encrypt the fuck out of them if he wanted to, and since the Masons haven’t suddenly started ‘discovering’ lots of corruption inside the CDC, I guess he must have used a pretty damn good encryption.”

“You’re not making any sense,” said Maggie, eyes wide.

“No, see, this is perfect! I was worried about how Becks and I were going to get into the hazard zone without getting caught, but the Masons practically invented breaking into hazard zones! They’re pioneers in the field!” I laughed, mainly from relief. “All we have to do is show up on their doorstep and offer to crack those files in exchange for a low-risk route into Florida, and they’ll jump at it. They’ll have to.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then I’ll shoot their kneecaps out.” I didn’t realize I meant it until the words were said. The Masons raised me. The Masons gave me the greatest gift anyone has ever given me: George. But they were never really my parents, because they never wanted to be, and if they were what stood between me and what I needed to do, then they needed to be moved.

“Um,” said Maggie. She pulled away from me and stood. “Well, okay, if that’s what works. Really, though. Thank you for understanding.”

“Thank you for being willing to go to Seattle with Mahir,” I replied. “You heading back inside?”

“Yeah. Will you be out here long?”

“Not too long.”

“If you’re not inside by dinner, I’ll send someone to get you.” She walked away, her long brown braid swaying with every step. It was hard to believe that she was planning to use “bored heiress” as her cover during the trip up the coast. It was harder to believe that the news media would probably buy it.

“You need to be careful what you say around people, asshole,” said George. I hadn’t felt the van settle when she sat down, because she wasn’t really there. I couldn’t keep myself from feeling vaguely disappointed all the same. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry.” I turned to face my dead sister, offering her a small smile. “Hi, George. How’re you tonight?”

“Worried,” she said. “You need to be careful. Everyone’s already on edge without you going around talking about shooting people.”

“I haven’t hit anyone since we got here.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not waiting for you to start.” Her expression dared me to argue. I couldn’t, and so I just looked at her instead.

Maybe the fact that George sometimes appears to me is a symptom of the fact that I’m sliding farther and farther down the funhouse chute into insanity, but at moments like these, I can’t force myself to care. When she died—when I shot her—I thought that was it; I would never see her again, except in pictures, and in my dreams. Only it turns out that’s not true, thanks to my slipping grasp on reality. See? There are upsides to going crazy.

She still looked almost exactly like she did on that last day in Sacramento, pale-skinned from her near-pathological avoidance of sunlight, with dark brown hair cut in a short, efficient style she sometimes maintained with a pair of craft scissors. She was frowning. Since that was the expression she wore most often when she was alive, that was right, too. Really, if it hadn’t been for the clear brown of her irises, she would have been indistinguishable from herself. If I could just convince my hallucination to put on a pair of sunglasses, the illusion would be perfect.

George frowned. “Shaun. Are you listening to me?”

“I am. I swear, I am.” I reached one hand toward her face, stopping just short of the point where my fingertips would have failed to brush her skin. “I always listen to you.”

“You just ignore what I have to say about half the time, is that it?” George sighed. I let my hand drop. As long as I didn’t try to touch her, I didn’t have to think of her as what she was. Dead. “Shaun—”

“It’s good to see you.”

“It’s bad that you can see me. You need to talk to Dr. Abbey. Maybe she can put you on antipsychotics or something until this is all over.”

“I’ll go psychotic if I go on antipsychotics, which sort of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” I was trying to make it sound like a joke. We both knew I wasn’t kidding. The one time I’d tried to block her out, I’d nearly committed suicide. “I can’t take the silence, George. You know that.”

“You asked once if I was going to haunt you forever, remember?”

“That was before Florida.” I held up my left hand, showing her the faint scarring on my biceps. “That was before we found out that I’m immune to Kellis-Amberlee. That was before a lot of things.”

“You know you’re immune because we—”

“I know.” I sighed, letting my hand drop. “Things are all fucked up. I was supposed to be the one who died. I’m not equipped to deal with this shit.”

“You’re wrong.” Her voice was firm enough to surprise me. She met my eyes without flinching, and repeated, “You’re wrong. Dr. Wynne wasn’t kidding when he said that whoever’s behind this would have been able to get away with everything if you’d been the one who died. You know that, right? I would have believed Tate when he started ranting about how he was behind everything, just him, from the start. I would have been so eager for a black and white solution, for a villain I didn’t have to feel any conflict about… I would have believed him.”

“I believed him,” I whispered.

“Not all the way. If you’d believed him all the way—if you’d believed him the way I would have believed him—you would have done what we both know I would have done. You would have written your reports, held my funeral, gone home, and killed yourself.” She smiled faintly. “Probably by overdosing on everything in our field kit before blowing the top of your head off. You never were one for leaving things to chance.”

“What would you have done?”

“Slit my wrists in the bathtub,” she said matter-of-factly. “Even if I amplified before I bled out, the bathroom security sensors would never have let me out into the house. I would have been bleached to death. The Masons would have had to pay if they wanted to clear the outbreak off their home owner’s insurance, and you and I could have sat in the afterlife and laughed at them until we both cried.”

Now it was my turn to smile. “That sounds like something you’d do,” I agreed.

“But I didn’t get the chance.” She leaned over. This time, she was the one to reach for me, and when her fingertips grazed my skin, I felt it. Tactile hallucinations aren’t a good sign of mental health, but sometimes I feel like they’re the only things letting me keep body and soul together. “You got it. And you were stronger than I would have been. You’re stronger than you think you are. All you’ve ever needed to do was let yourself see it.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

“Not too much longer, I’d wager,” said Mahir, from behind me. His normally crisp accent was blurred around the edges, like he was too tired to worry about being understood by the Americans. “How’s it coming?”

“About as well as can be expected,” I said, stealing one last look at Georgia before I turned, casting an easy smile in his direction. I didn’t need to look back to know that George was gone. She generally disappeared as soon as I took my eyes off her. I was seeing her more often with every day that passed, and that was wonderful, because I missed her so much, and it was terrible, because it meant I was running out of time.

We can cure cancer. We can cure the common cold. But no one, anywhere, ever, has found a reliable cure for crazy.

“Maggie spoke with you?”

I nodded. “She wanted to make sure I knew she wouldn’t be coming back from Seattle.”

“And you were all right with that?” Mahir walked toward me, stopping when he was still a few feet clear of the van. Maggie was a much more touchy-feely kind of person than he was. I appreciated that. One hug per day was pretty much my limit.

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t want her to go. The rest of us… You’re going to be able to put your own name back on when you get home, but the rest of us, we’re done. We’ll be lucky if we don’t wind up hiding in Canada being chased by zombie moose for the rest of our lives.”

“There’s always the chance we’ll successfully manage to bring down the United States government somehow, and that will negate the need to flee to Canada,” said Mahir helpfully.

I gave him a startled look. He smirked, fighting unsuccessfully to keep himself from smiling. Somehow, that was even funnier than what he’d said. I started laughing. So did he. We were both still laughing five minutes later, when Becks came out to the garage with a can of soda in one hand and a perplexed look on her face.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

“We’re going to topple the US government!” I informed her.

Becks appeared to think about that for a moment. Then she shrugged, cracking the tab on her soda at the same time, and replied, “Okay. Works for me.”

Mahir and I burst out laughing again. Becks waited patiently for us to stop, taking occasional sips from her soda. Finally, I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand, and said, still snickering, “Okay. Okay, I think we’re done now. Did you see Maggie?”

“I did. She said something about you and me heading to Berkeley to kill your parents?”

“That’s not quite what I said, but I guess it’s close enough. We’re going to Berkeley to ask the Masons if they’ll tell us how to find a clear route into the Florida hazard zone.”

“And what will you be giving them in return?” asked Mahir.

I sighed. “You know, I really kind of miss the days when I could just e-mail a memo to the team, and everybody would know what was going on, and I wouldn’t have to repeat things seventeen times.”

Not that you ever remembered to send the memos, said George.

“Because you did that so often,” said Becks, saving me from the need to respond to someone no one else could hear. Again.

“I could have done it, if I’d wanted to,” I countered. “That made the endless repetition a choice, and hence way less irritating. I’m going to tell them how to unlock the flat-drop of all our files. The one I had Alaric send while we were running from Memphis.”

“And when they post our research far and wide? What happens then?” Mahir didn’t sound annoyed, just curious. Even so, I was relieved when Becks crunched her empty soda can in her fist and chucked it into the trash can against the wall, where it landed with a rattling clunk.

“If the Masons post the things we’ve been withholding, they’ll be the target of the firestorm that follows,” she said. She sounded utterly calm. Her calm continued as she added, “Which means we can’t let them do it.”

“Hey!” I frowned at her. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side here.”

“I’m on the side that doesn’t get us slaughtered, Mason. Think about this for thirty seconds, why don’t you? We give them the key to the files. They unlock them, and go all kid in a candy store over the contents, since hey, their stupid son just gave them the scoop of the century. They toss it all online. And people everywhere stop shooting zombies because they think their loved ones might get ‘better.’ ”

I grimaced. “Not good.”

“Not good at all. And then the government will lean on the Masons to tell them where to find us, so we can be used to ‘prove’ that it was all a hoax.”

“Lovely,” said Mahir.

Becks shrugged. “If you’re going to think like a paranoid, you need to really commit to thinking like a paranoid.”

Mahir looked at her quizzically. “What makes you so good at it?”

“I’m from Connecticut,” said Becks. “It’s not a bad idea—going to the Masons may be the fastest way to get ourselves access to a reasonably safe way through some pretty bad territory, and since I’m not leaving the van without dipping myself in DDT, I’d like it if we could make the trip in reasonable safety. But you’re going to need another carrot to dangle in front of your freaky parents. Telling them how to get at our data isn’t the way.”

Yes, actually, said George, very quietly. It’s exactly the way.

“What are you—” I began, and froze. “Oh, no. No, you can’t be serious.”

You know I’m serious. It’s the best shot you’ve got.

“I won’t.”

You will.

Mahir and Becks had gotten good at knowing when I wasn’t actually talking to them. They watched me with varying degrees of impatience, waiting until I stopped protesting before Mahir broke in, asking, “What does Georgia say we should do?”

“You know, addressing my crazy by name doesn’t exactly help me stay sane,” I said.

“Nothing can help you stay sane at this point, Mason,” said Becks. “That ship has sailed. Now what does she say?”

I took a deep breath. “She wants me to sign her unpublished files over to the Masons. The stuff they were willing to take me to court over.” I stopped, waiting for them to protest. Neither of them said a word. I scowled. “Well?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” said Mahir slowly. “I mean, it’s true that her unpublished op-ed pieces were reasonably lucrative when we were able to publish regularly, but her news articles have been timing out at a fairly high rate. We’ve had our exclusive. If what’s left can be used to benefit us—”

“You’re fucking with me, right?” I stood, glaring at them, barely aware that my hands were balled into fists. I could hear George at the back of my head, telling me sternly to calm down, but I didn’t pay any attention. That was nice, in its way. I so rarely felt like I could ignore her anymore. “Those files are her private thoughts. They’re the last privacy she has left in this world. And you want me to just sign it over to those… those… those people?”

“Yes,” said Mahir, sounding utterly calm. “That’s exactly what we want. And I’d wager it’s what Georgia wants as well, or you’d not be so angry about it. You’d be laughing it off.”

“We’ve been using her private thoughts for our gain since she died,” said Becks. “I’ve been okay with that, because you’re okay with it. But, Shaun, you’re the one who really knows what she would have wanted. You’re the one who really knows her. If she were alive, would she be saying no, no way, not going to happen? Or would she be suggesting we stop fucking around and get our asses to Berkeley with the transfer papers already?”

George didn’t say anything. George didn’t need to say anything. I forced my fingers to unclench, waiting until I could feel my palms again before I looked away from Becks and Mahir, and said, “I’ll get the transfer papers drawn up before we leave. That way, all we have to do is hand them over and get the hell out of town.”

Thank you, murmured George. I felt the shadow of a hand brush my cheek, and shivered. I don’t believe in ghosts. Never have, never will. George is a figment of my overactive imagination, nothing more, and nothing less. But moments like that, when she touches me with other people in the room…

At moments like that, I genuinely believe that I’m haunted.

“You’re doing the right thing,” said Mahir. I glanced up, meeting his eyes without meaning to. He smiled. Just a little. Enough for me to see that he meant it. “You’re a crazy bastard, Shaun Mason, and I think sometimes you’re not going to be happy until you’ve managed to get every last one of us killed, but you’re a good man, all the same.”

“Remind me to have that inscribed on my urn,” I said, and Becks laughed, and things felt like they might be okay again. We had a direction. I didn’t like it; I didn’t have to. All I had to do was follow it, and let it lead me to whatever the next step on this increasingly insane journey would prove to be.

“Can I help you finish getting the van ready?” asked Becks. “Since we’re going to be sleeping in the thing for God only knows how long, I want to be absolutely sure that there are no old tuna sandwiches moldering under the seats.”

“Be my guest,” I said, waving toward the open van doors. “Mahir, tell Alaric and Maggie we’re rolling out in the morning. Team meeting at five.”

Mahir grimaced. “A.M.?”

“Naturally.”

“I take back what I said about you being a good man.”

“Too late. There are no take-backs in real life.”

Becks chuckled darkly. “Ain’t that just the truth?”

“Sadly?” I asked. “Yes. It is. Now let’s get back to work. We have a lot to get done, and not much time to do it in.”

Mahir was opening his mouth to answer when a scream rang out from the other side of the garage door, followed by the sound of gunfire. In the brief pause between the first volley of shots and the second, we could all hear the moaning coming from inside.

“Never a dull moment, is there?” I asked. Grabbing my pistol, I ran for the door. Becks was there just ahead of me. She pushed it open, and we ran together into chaos.