by Alex Scarrow
Freya looked up at him. “Negotiate?”
He grabbed at the mesh, and it rattled in his grasp. “You came down to Southampton with her and Leon, didn’t you?”
She’d told him that. “Yes.” She’d told him they’d been holding out in a Norman castle. She hadn’t told him about what had happened before that though.
“How long were you with them? When did you meet up?”
“We met sometime after the outbreak,” she replied. An edited reply. A simple lie to avoid telling him about all the horrible things that had happened to his daughter.
“And you didn’t know? Jesus! You were living with each other and you—”
“I don’t know how or when… Are you even sure it’s the same Grace?”
“It’s my Grace,” he croaked. “My little girl.”
You suspected. Come on, Freya, you had your doubts. You just didn’t voice them because Leon was so relieved to have her back. Right?
“Was she different, Freya? Was she”—he shook his head—“wrong somehow?”
Or maybe she’d never suspected back then…
But you suspect NOW, don’t you?
There’d been a moment, back in Emerald Parks, a fleeting moment in that sauna when she’d thought she’d glimpsed something “wrong” dangling from Grace’s face. And ever since then, Freya had written it off as something she’d imagined—that, or a lock of hair caught in the flashlight. Then everything had happened so quickly. They’d carried her away rolled up in a tarp, soaked her with diesel and set her on fire. And the screams, those human-child-burning-to-death screams had all but erased what she’d glimpsed.
When Grace had turned up at Everett’s castle nearly two years later, the scars on her face and neck were all the proof she’d needed to confirm that here was Grace again. A miracle after that terrible fire, a shadow of her former self, but at least she was still alive.
“Freya?”
“It’s true, then. She must have gotten infected at some point. I didn’t know her well enough to be sure. But I guess it might—”
“When? At Southampton? Is that when it could have happened?”
“Maybe. Could have been, I dunno, earlier…maybe. I don’t know!”
“Freya…Freya!”
She looked back at him. His fingers were gripping the mesh hard, his knuckles bulging and white.
“Listen to me! Is it possible she got infected and didn’t even know it? Is that how this happens?”
Corkie. Remember that grisly old bastard? That look of total astonishment on his face?
“Yeah…uh, yes. We had some people who had that. They didn’t know they were infected. They just… It came out. They—”
“Were they acting differently? Oddly? What?”
She shook her head. “They…they just didn’t know!”
“So any one of us could be infected. You? Me? This soldier behind me?” Mr. Friedmann lifted his chin at the tobacco warehouse. “What about in there? Is there anybody in there who could be infected?”
“Shit. I don’t know! None. Maybe everyone. I really don’t—They’ve been tested!”
He quickly put a finger to his lips. She closed her mouth. “The salt tests aren’t reliable,” he said quietly.
“What? How do you know?”
He leaned forward until his forehead gently bumped against the mesh. There was something in his gesture that worried her. Until now, he’d looked in charge, confident. The one person she’d encountered since the outbreak who looked like he’d survive it untouched. He looked defeated now.
“What is it?”
“The virus can cross the ocean.”
“What?”
“New Zealand spotted some large viral island, or ship, on its way over.”
“Ship? How?”
“I don’t know any more than that. The point is the sea is not the barrier we thought it was. We’re not safe here in Cuba.”
“Oh God…we’re not safe here!”
Come on, Freya…you already know this. That voice in her head was getting too loud to ignore.
“We’re all in trouble, Freya. I know. But…listen, there’s something else.” He hesitated.
“What?”
“Trent thinks you’re all compromised. That you’re all infected. I think at least one person is, inside. One person who must be aware they’re infected.”
Freya? Come on…wake up.
“Shit.”
“I don’t know what Trent’s going to do next. I need to get you out of there before he does something stupid to all of you.”
“Like what?”
“He threatened to burn down the warehouse.”
Her dream suddenly felt like a ghastly premonition. “Oh God. No. You need to get everyone out!”
“I…” He looked at the soldier standing nearby. There were others, a dozen of them, watching this conversation warily. “That’s not possible. I’ve managed to stall him for now. But, listen, I’m going to get you out, Freya. Then I need your help. I need to find out if we do have someone in there who’s here to talk on behalf of the virus! Before it’s too late.”
You know who that is.
“You’ve seen more of the virus up close than anyone. The copycat humans? Is there anything, anything, that gives them away? Marks them out?”
You know, Freya. Come on, wake up.
That voice in her head. Grace’s voice.
Yes. I’m not a dream. You are awake. This is real. I’m with you. I’m inside you.
“Oh shit, oh God,” muttered Freya softly.
And we’re not monsters, Freya. We can be negotiated with. We just want what’s best. That’s all. What’s best for everyone.
“Freya?” Mr. Friedmann looked hard at her. “Are you OK?”
You’re infected, Freya.
She slowly began to back away from him and the fence.
“Freya? Where are you going?”
“I’m…” She really didn’t know. She was taking steps backward, recoiling at the realization. In shock. Confused. Frightened.
“Freya.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Stay right there! Stay right where you are! I’m going to try and get you out.” He turned to the soldier standing guard a few yards away. “Where’s your CO?”
The soldier pointed across to the far side of the court. “Over there, sir.”
“Go get him. We’re getting this girl out of here. Right now.”
“Sir? That’s not—”
“This is on the president’s personal authority, soldier! This girl has important strategic information. I need to get her in front of the president right now!”
The soldier looked from him to Freya, then back again.
“NOW!” barked Mr. Friedmann.
* * *
Freya wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. One moment she was in the basketball court, the next she was in a Cuban army jeep with Mr. Friedmann frantically driving her along a dusty road.
The world outside her head suddenly felt distant, irrelevant even; she was inside her head looking out through eyes that no longer even felt like hers.
I’m infected?
Does this mean I’m still me?
Is this even me asking questions? Or am I something else now?
With each unanswered question, she felt as though she was sliding further down a slanting tiled roof, ever closer to the edge toward a drop into a terrifying abyss. If she stopped asking, maybe she’d stay right here, clinging to sanity by her fingernails.
She was dimly aware of Mr. Friedmann driving them through empty and dark streets, stopping several times at checkpoints manned by both U.S. and Cuban soldiers. She saw him pull out his ID on one occasion; at another, a soldier simply recognized Friedmann’s face, wished him a good evening, and waved them t
hrough. The city, conserving energy and under martial law, was entirely dark. The vehicle’s headlights picked out the signposts, the street names, and curious faces peering out from candle- and gas-lit homes.
Now that she’d acknowledged it, her mind felt violated, invaded, like seeing a burglar stalking silently through her home, touching things, examining things. Even though she “felt” it was not a stranger, but Grace, it was too much.
Your mind, Freya, just like everyone else’s many voices.
Get out! Get out!
Freya! I want to help you. Listen to me…please!
Finally, they were out of the dusty suburbs and driving on a potholed and empty road, flanked by chest-high ranks of swaying cassava plants on one side and grapefruit orchards on the other. Tom pulled over onto a dusty side track and brought the jeep to a halt. He switched the headlights off, and they sat in the moonlit darkness listening to the engine ticking as it cooled down and the persistent chirp of cicadas.
Freya dimly observed it all from afar and sitting right next to her, almost holding her hand, was Grace, explaining what was happening. Talking her through a transition that felt like descending into the deepest and darkest pits of Mordor.
And then, calmness.
After the calmness, the strangest sense of togetherness.
Finally, she accepted it. She had no choice. It was an inescapable truth.
“Mr. Friedmann…I think I’m the one you’re after. The one with the virus inside.”
She expected Mr. Friedmann to lurch back in his seat, away from her, to wrench the driver-side door open, and, almost comically, flee out into the night.
But he didn’t.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” he replied.
“Why…why aren’t you…panicking…running, doing something?”
“Like what?” He glanced her way. “Do you want me to shoot you? Shoot myself?” He laughed bitterly. “What’s the point, right?”
“You don’t seem to care that much.”
“There isn’t much left to fight for, Freya. If Grace is infected…Leon probably is too. They were my only reason to fight on, to stay alive.”
She thought she heard his voice wavering with emotion.
They sat in silence for a while. She couldn’t have guessed for how long—a few seconds, a few hours?
“You were in the pen at Southampton. You were on the ship. You passed all the tests. How certain are you that you’re infected?”
“Certain. I can feel it…hear it…in my head.” She turned to look at him. “The virus spoke to me.”
He turned to look at her. “It spoke to you?”
She nodded. “I think it’s been trying to talk to me during the last couple of weeks,” she added. “In my sleep. Through my dreams.”
“Are there any others who are infected in the warehouse?”
Freya shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Have you infected anyone else?”
She shook her head. “No! Why did you get me out?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He just stared out of the dusty windshield.
“Because…because you know about my kids, you’ve been with them. You’re the only link I have to them.” He turned to face her. “And I had a suspicion you might be the one.”
“Since when?”
“Since we got the communiqué from New Zealand earlier. They mentioned Grace by name—she’s with them down in New Zealand. She surrendered herself to them. Through her, they’re going to try communicating with the virus.”
And I’m here inside you too, Freya. I can be there and here at the same time. Tell Dad I’m here. With you.
“Earlier, you said it spoke to you. The virus spoke to you?”
Tell him. Grace’s voice. Tell him I’m talking to you.
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“Mr. Friedmann, it’s talking to me…right now.”
He nodded slowly. “OK, all right…then what’s it saying?”
“It’s in my head…the virus.” She turned to look at him. “It’s Grace.”
Tell Dad…hi.
“A part of Grace is talking to me right now, Mr. Friedmann.”
His brows knotted. She could see muscles in his jaw clenching, unclenching. “How? How’s that possible?”
“It’s hard to describe. It’s…like, only a voice…like a memory of her, but a memory that can do its own thinking. She’s telling me to say she’s right here.”
“How the hell is my girl inside of you?”
“She’s…the virus…part of it…”
Freya, I’m going to come out and talk to Dad. He needs to see me.
She suddenly felt light-headed, like the time she’d accepted a playground dare and run in circles while staring straight up at the sky, only to collapse on the asphalt and scrape both her knees. It was like suddenly dropping, no ground beneath her.
Tell him not to be frightened at what’s about to happen. Freya mumbled something. Hopefully Grace’s message, but she wasn’t sure what noises were coming out of her mouth now. The world was fading fast. Grace was taking over.
It was pleasantly dark.
Not a cold, intimidating darkness, but something comforting and warm, womb-like, welcoming.
So, this is it. This is how it feels?
The thought ran in lazy circles around her, the most cogent thought her foggy mind could manage. Not so bad after all, Freya. She settled back in the darkness to rest and to consider her circumstances. Infection…the world was full of far worse things than that.
Infection felt just like a lovely, warm bath.
Chapter 31
Grace observed the men sitting in the helicopter with her. There were seven of them, all wearing biohazard suits and masks.
On one side of her sat Jing. She’d insisted he come along. He had entered her world and returned to this one to reassure everyone, particularly the prime minister, that it was OK. He was unharmed and unchanged. Since his short exploratory trip, he’d been kept in isolation and prodded and poked, giving daily blood and DNA samples. The emergency research facility was reluctant to let him out, but they had their samples to continue inspecting under a microscope. Prime Minister Williams had overruled their objections but allowed one of their team, Dr. Kevin Calloway, to come along as a scientific observer.
All it had taken was a glimpse of Life 2.0—the possibilities, the endless bioverse…infinity defined within a droplet of water—for Jing to comprehend how limited his life had been. He spoke now like an evangelist touched by something indescribably wonderful and yearning to return to it. Even with Jing’s glassy-eyed assurances that something wonderful awaited him, the prime minister was terrified of the process he’d agreed to undertake. In the dimly illuminated cabin of the helicopter, through the slightly tinted glass of his mask, Grace could see his eyes were wide, his skin waxy with sweat. She’d tried to reassure him, Jing had too, but…Williams had already seen the whole process in great detail through a thick glass window, seen Jing reduced to the product of an acid bath…
The other four men in the helicopter’s crimson-lit cabin were Williams’s security unit. They were here to escort the PM to the safe care of the hostile force’s representatives, then wait for his return. They looked as though they’d rather be anywhere else.
They were also here to record everything. Absolutely everything. Cameras and lights had been attached to their masks and everything they filmed would be beamed up to the P-3K2 Orion circling above.
Grace had her concerns about this being filmed.
Most of the people living in New Zealand had only heard secondhand accounts from survivors of the outbreak or seen grainy, shaky smartphone footage. The virus was a frightening, apocalyptic, yet distant presence to them. The purpose of this mee
ting was to educate, not to terrify.
The red light in the cabin blinked off and on, and the four military men stirred in their seats and began to check their cameras and equipment.
“Grace?”
She looked up at the prime minister perched across from her. “Are you OK, Mr. Williams?”
“I…uh…I’m actually quite terrified.”
“You have no reason to be. I promise. It’s going to be OK.”
“So you say.”
“It is very brave of you,” Grace added. “To agree to do this.”
“It’s…” She heard his breath catch. “It’s not like we have a lot of choice, is it?”
“We all need to talk. Together. It’s really important you see for yourself.”
“You understand, Grace…that even if I come back singing your praises like Jing, the people I’ve been leading will regard me with suspicion, see me as a Trojan horse.” He pressed his lips together. “I can see for myself and report back, but one thing I can’t promise you is that anyone will trust, or even listen to, what I have to say. And anyway…” He looked at Jing. “How do I know I’ll come back as me and not some copy of me?”
“You have to trust us,” replied Grace.
Rex shrugged. “Right. Trust. Again. How about answering me this.” Rex grinned anxiously. “Is this going to, you know, hurt?”
“Prime Minister?” Jing’s voice. Rex Williams turned his way. “I assure you, there is no discomfort. It is a completely painless process.”
“Right.”
She could see his gloved hands balling into fists and relaxing. “But will I feel anything?” he asked. “Will I sense anything?”
“It is like a grand descent,” Jing replied. “Like Alice going down into the rabbit hole.”
The helicopter began to bank as it made its final approach. Jing was sitting beside the cabin’s small round window and twisted in his seat to get a better look.
Over the comms system, she heard the soldiers and the helicopter’s pilot.
“Jesus Christ!”
“What the f—”
“It looks like Tracy frickin Island!”
The “island” had something that looked like the stack of an active volcano in its middle: a tall and tapered stovepipe that appeared to have a stationary cloud tethered above it, dark and turbulent, rolling in and around itself. As they drew closer and began to descend, the cloud revealed itself as a swarm of dark-colored spheres.