Deadline

Twenty-six

The building housing Dr. Abbey’s new lab must have started life as the local forestry center. The front looked like pure glass until you got close enough to see that it was backed with sheet metal. Better yet, the trees had been cut back on all sides, making room for a massive parking lot that provided clear sightlines for anyone trying to guard the building from the infected… or, as we pulled up to park near what looked like the front entrance, from us. There was even a structure on the roof that might have started out as an observatory but would make a damn good shooter’s nest, if necessity demanded.

Becks was the first out of the van, and she had a gun pointed at my head before I could get my helmet off. I could have kissed her for that, if it weren’t for the history between us and the fact that I was probably contagious. Field protocol said I was to be kept under constant guard until I could be confirmed as uninfected, and somehow that didn’t seem likely to me.

I pulled off my helmet. The night air was cool, and even cold where it hit the sweat on the back of my neck. “Hey,” I said, wearily. My throat was a little dry, but that was all; I wasn’t experiencing any of the other symptoms I knew would signal the start of amplification. Just my luck. I would have to go and develop a sturdy immune system.

“Hey,” Becks agreed, with a small tilt of her head. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to go redline a test and get this over with.” Mahir, Alaric, and Maggie got out of the van, all three looking shaken and nauseated. I offered them a nod. “Hey, guys, you know how to set up a guard formation?”

“Yes,” said Alaric.

“No,” said Maggie.

“I have absolutely no idea,” said Mahir.

“That’s fine. Becks, Alaric, you guard me. Mahir, you guard Maggie.” I stepped away from the bike, leaving the helmet on the seat, and linked my hands behind my head. “Let’s go tell Dr. Abbey she has guests, shall we?”

I felt almost like we were parodying our approach to the CDC as we walked ward the building. Mahir and Maggie went first, followed by Becks, who walked backward so as to keep her gun trained on me. Alaric brought up the rear, his own gun out and, I knew, pointed at my head. If I showed any signs of turning, they’d take me down before I could do any serious damage. It was reassuring.

At least they’re well-trained, said George.

“There’s that,” I muttered. Them being well-trained might actually keep them alive for a little bit longer, now that they weren’t going to be my responsibility anymore.

We were still about ten yards away when the door opened. Dr. Abbey stepped into view with a shotgun braced against her shoulder and Joe the Mastiff standing next to her, looking more massive than ever. Maybe she’d been feeding him trespassers.

“So you came after all,” she said, eyes flicking over the group before settling on me. Her eyebrows rose. “And you’re under armed guard because…?”

“I was bitten about five miles back,” I replied. “There was a pack of infected in the woods. I’m pretty sure we killed them all, but you may want to send a cleanup crew, just to be certain.”

“We didn’t run a blood test because we didn’t want the results uploaded to the CDC database,” said Mahir. “Given the circumstances, it seemed somewhat… less than wise.”

My stomach sank. I hadn’t even considered that. “Shit,” I whispered.

Nobody expects you to be doing any heavy thinking right after a zombie tried to take your arm off.

“Says you.”

“So you brought him here?” Dr. Abbey shrugged, lowering her gun. “I would have settled for a bottle of wine, but I guess a new test subject and the location of some fresh corpses will do. Come on, all of you. Shaun, don’t try to touch anyone, or my lab techs will have to blow your head off.”

“That’s fair,” I agreed.

“Good boy.” Dr. Abbey smiled and stepped back, letting Becks lead the rest of us inside.

The new lab wasn’t as established as the old one, which meant it was more cluttered, with boxes everywhere, and didn’t yet have that ground-in “science” smell—strange chemicals, bleach, sterile air, and plastic gloves. This lab smelled rather pleasantly of cedar wood. That would change as things got up to speed. Maybe they could hang some of those little air fresheners, try to bring it back.

Of course, that assumed they were going to have time. Most of the shelving units had a distinctly temporary look to them, like this was just a stop on the way to some more distant destination. The mad science equivalent of pitching camp for the night.

Lab-coated assistants scurried here and there, unpacking boxes, carrying trays of samples from one place to another. The assault rifles they all had strapped around their waists were new, making it clear just how seriously they were taking their situation. That was a bit of a relief. I would"0ebe leaving my team with no one to defend them.

“Molena, Alan,” said Dr. Abbey, flagging down two of the nearest techs. “Take this group to the cafeteria. Get them coffee and blood tests, and see if you can’t scrape together something resembling food. Not that god-awful lasagna we had for dinner. That’s not even suitable for feeding to the pigs.”

“Yes, Dr. Abbey,” said the taller of the lab techs. He turned to the group. “If you’ll come with me?”

“Of course,” said Mahir. “Shaun—”

“Don’t.” I gave him a pleading look. “All of you, please, don’t. We’ve said everything that needs to be said. So don’t, okay?”

“All right,” he said, and turned to follow the lab tech. Maggie cast an uncertain glance back in my direction and did the same.

Alaric lingered for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Finally, he said, “Say hello to Georgia for me,” and fled, leaving only me, Becks, and Dr. Abbey behind. And Joe, of course. He sat next to Dr. Abbey, tongue lolling and tail wagging. He was the only one of us not equipped to understand the gravity of the situation, and I sort of envied him that.

Dr. Abbey looked at Becks. “Not hungry?”

“I’m not leaving until I know what you’re going to do with him.” She kept her gun trained on me as she spoke, professional to the last. Her hand was shaking only slightly. I didn’t do as well when I was in her position.

“Fair enough. Come on, Shaun.” Dr. Abbey waved for me to follow her as she turned and started down the nearest hall. She didn’t call for anyone else to keep an eye on me. I guess she figured Becks would be enough.

We walked maybe twenty yards deeper into the building, moving around towers of cardboard boxes and past hastily constructed metal racks. Lab techs moved past us constantly, grabbing this and that and vanishing down hallways or through doors. I guess moving an entire virology lab isn’t a simple task.

Dr. Abbey grabbed a blood testing unit from one of the shelving units and kept walking, offering nods and quiet greetings to some of the lab techs we passed. She stopped only when we reached a door labeled ISOLATION III. “In here,” she said, and opened it. I didn’t move. “What are you waiting for, an invitation? Get in.”

“I thought—”

“We’re not going in there with you. Don’t be an idiot.” She held the unit out toward me. “Go inside, sit down, and start your test. You won’t be able to get out. You can’t hurt anyone.”

Relief washed over me, strong enough to make my shoulders unlock. “Thank you,” I said. I flashed Becks one last smile, aware that it was strained, and not really that concerned about it. I wasn’t going to hurt anyone. That was all I needed to know.

Becks smiled back. She was crying. I was sorry about that, but there was nothing I could do about it. So I steped forward to take the testing unit from Dr. Abbey’s hand and walked past her into the darkened isolation room.

The door swung shut behind me, the locks sealing with a hydraulic hiss that went on long enough to make it clear that this wasn’t casual security. This was the real thing. The hissing stopped and the overhead lights clicked on, illuminating a room about the size of my bedroom back when George and I still lived with the Masons. The walls were painted a shiny, neutral beige, and there were three pieces of furniture: a narrow cot against one wall, a metal table bolted to the floor, and a folding chair. There was a blanket and a small pillow on the cot. Make the condemned as comfortable as possible, I guess.

I wasn’t interested in comfort. I walked to the chair and sat down, placing the testing unit on the table in front of me. It seemed to stare back accusingly, like it didn’t understand why I wasn’t getting on with it already.

“It’s not like this is important or anything,” I said sourly, and unfastened my gloves, dropping them on the table. Blood had run down my left arm and onto the hand, crusting under my nails. I looked at it and shuddered, wishing there were some way to wash it off. After I amplified, I probably wouldn’t care, but until then, I’d know it was there. I flexed my fingers, checking my joints for stiffness, and turned my attention to the testing unit.

It wasn’t a model I’d seen before—if anything, it looked like the pictures of Dr. Patel’s original design, the one that just measured your viral levels but didn’t give you real-time results, and definitely didn’t upload anything. I picked it up, checking it for lights, and didn’t find any. Apparently, once I was in the isolation room, I didn’t need to know whether I was infected or not. I scowled. “Isn’t this just dandy?”

“Get it over with,” said George, beside me.

I jerked my head up, looking for her. She was nowhere to be seen. I scowled more. “I don’t exactly feel like rushing right now.”

“The results won’t change if you wait.” Her voice came from the other side this time. I somehow managed not to look. I just sighed.

“Can you just appear already?”

“No. I’m sorry, but that’s your choice, not mine.”

“Okay. Right. Well… if you won’t appear, will you at least stay?”

I felt the ghost of her hand brush the back of my neck, there and gone in an instant. “Until the end. I promise.”

“Okay,” I said, and popped open the lid on the unit. “One…”

“Two…”

I slammed my hand flat on the metal pressure pad, triggering the needles to start their business. They bit deep, and I hissed, biting my tongue against the pain. I thought amplification was supposed to make this sort of thing easier. I didn’t feel any difference at all. Blood tests always hurt, but this one was worse than most, maybe because the unit was so primitive.

When the last of the needles disengaged, I pulled my hand away. The test unit beeped once and was silent. No lights, no alarms, nothing to indicate whether I’d passed or failed. Not that I really needed the confirmation that I was infected—“Get a bite, say good-night,” as they said when I was in training—but it still would have been nice. You were supposed to see your results. That was how the testing worked.

“Hey.” George put her hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you go lie down? You’re exhausted.”

I shrugged her hand off. “No, I don’t want to sleep through this. If this is the end of me being me, I don’t want to miss it.” A thought struck me, and I chuckled bitterly. “I can’t be too far gone if I’m still hallucinating you, can I? You’re a pretty complicated delusion. Zombies probably can’t manage this quality of crazy.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

She fell silent, and so did I. I was too tense to carry on a conversation, even with a dead person who lived only in my head. I’d just keep trying to pick a fight, and she’d keep trying to stop me, until we wound up screaming at each other and I spent the last minutes of my conscious life arguing with the one person I least wanted to argue with. I just wanted to know that she was there, and that I wasn’t going through this alone.

So I stared at the test unit instead of talking to her, willing it to develop lights and tell me what I needed to know. All I needed was for it to confirm that my life was over. Nothing difficult. Nothing any fucking toaster couldn’t manage these days.

I don’t know how long I sat there staring at the test unit, feeling my throat getting dryer and waiting for the other symptoms to set in. The difficulty breathing, the sensitivity to light, the murkiness of thought—all the little dividing lines that separated human from zombie. Dryness of the throat was only the beginning, and my training was extensive enough to tell me exactly what the progression would be. Every little step along the way.

The door opened.

My head snapped up, tensing as I waited for the gunmen to enter. I wondered whether they’d send Becks to shoot me; I wondered whether she’d insist. We’d been colleagues for a long time, and Irwins tend to view shooting infected comrades as part of the job. It’s a sign of respect.

Dr. Abbey stepped into the room.

I stopped breathing for a second, eyes going wide. They went even wider as Joe pushed past her, his tail wagging wildly from side to side. “You’re going to let him be in here while you put me down?” I asked. “That’s cold. I mean, not that I’m one to judge, but that’s cold.”

Dr. Abbey smiled. “Hello, Shaun.” She shut the door behind herself, waiting until the locks finished hissing before she walked over to the other side of the table. She was carrying a folding chair, which she set up and sank into, watching me the whole time. “How are you feeling?”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I said. Joe walked around the table and shoved his enormous head into my crotch in canine greeting. I barely remembered the blood on my hand in time to stop myself from pushing him away. “This isn’t safe.”

“Oh, right. You’re contagious.” She reached into the pocket of her lab coat, pulling out a can of Coke and putting it down on the table between us. “You must be thirsty. You’ve been sitting in here for a while.” I stared at her. “No, really, open the can. I want to see how good your manual dexterity is.”

Still staring, I reached out and picked up the can. Its cold heaviness was soothing, even before I popped the tab, closed my eyes, and took a long, freezing drink. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted, sugary syrupy sweetness and all.

Dr. Abbey was watching me intently when I opened my eyes. “How’s the throat feeling, Shaun?” she asked.

“A little dry. I don’t understand what you’re doing—” I stopped. The dryness in my throat was gone, replaced by the residual carbonated tingle that always came after I drank one of George’s Candyland hookers. “—here,” I finished, more slowly. “Dr. Abbey?”

“I’m here because I wanted to talk to you about your test results, Shaun.” She reached into her pocket again, this time producing a standard, run-of-the-mill field testing unit. Catching my surprise, she said, “Don’t worry. It’s been modified so it won’t upload—it’ll think it has, but it won’t. This won’t give our position away to the CDC, or to anybody else.”

“I don’t understand. Did something go wrong with my first test?”

“No, nothing went wrong with your first test. Now please.” She gestured toward the unit. “Humor the woman who’s willing to risk her life by offering sanctuary to your team, and take the goddamn test.”

“Right.” At least this one had lights. I popped off the lid, whispering, “One,” and waiting for George’s answering Two, before pressing my hand against the pressure pad. The needles bit in, quick and painful as always, and the lights began to flash through their complex analytic series of reds and greens. They flashed fast to begin with, then slowed as they settled on their final determination. It only took about thirty seconds for the last light to stop flashing.

All five of them settled on green.

I frowned, looking up at Dr. Abbey. Joe shoved his nose into my hand. I ignored him, focusing on her instead. “Is this a side effect of blocking the transmission? You change something internally so it registers negatives as positives?”

“No, Shaun. I didn’t.” Dr. Abbey calmly picked up the lid to the testing unit, snapping it back into place. She watched my face the entire time, moving with slow, methodical gestures, so that I wouldn’t be surprised. She didn’t really need to worry. I was somewhere past surprise by that point. “None of the adjustments we’ve made to our equipment would do something as suicidal or idiotic as showing a positive result as a negative one. We’d just disable the readouts, like we did with your first test. Those results came to my computer, and no one else’s. I was able to study your entire viral profile.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything. What I am saying is that your test results—both times, the ones you didn’t see and the ones you just witnessed—came back clean.” Dr. Abbey looked at me gravely, a wild excitement barely contained in her expression. “You’re not sick, Shaun. You’re not going to amplify.

“I don’t know what your body did, but it encountered the live virus… and it fought it off. You’re going to live.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I just stared at her, the green lights on the testing unit glowing steadily, like an accusation of a crime I had never plotted to commit. I’d been right all along; amplification would have been too easy an exit, and when given the chance, my body somehow refused to do it. I was going to live.

So now what?