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by Mira Grant

  The trouble with passion was the way it could muck up an otherwise straightforward blueprint. No mental map would ever be one hundred percent accurate, because no finished product was ever going to be one hundred percent to spec. That was one more thing for me to work around. It would be fine—it had to be fine—but I would have been a lot happier if I had turned a corner and found myself in the clearly labeled, helpfully staffed hall of records.

  Instead, I turned a corner and found myself faced with something even better: a cleaning crew, dressed in tatty, bleach-stained clothes, in the process of swabbing down an apparently clean stretch of hallway. None of them so much as looked up at the sound of my footsteps.

  Not even Ben. Ben, who was not only alive, but here, intact, a mop in his hands and a scowl on his face. I had never been so happy to see him, not even when he got me out of the institution.

  He’d saved me, once. Now it was my turn to save him.

  I placed both pinkie fingers in my mouth and whistled, short and shrill. The men stopped moving and turned, in unison, to look at me. Ben blanched, normally dark cheeks going ashen.

  “Hello!” I said, dropping one hand and offering a cheery wave with the other. “I’m Ash. It’s nice to meet you, good work you’re doing there, with the mops and the sterilization and all, but I’m afraid I need to muck things up a bit. Dr. Benson needs a mopper. You.” I pointed to Ben. “Grab your bucket and a bottle of cleaning solution, and come with me.”

  “You can’t just sweep in here and steal one of our men, lady,” said a cleaner.

  “Can, shall, did,” I said blithely. “Clive’s orders. I’m to get the good doctor whatever she needs to keep this place from turning into a Romero movie, and that means a man with a mop. Top of her shopping list, really. Something she simply cannot live without. It’s all very important, and I wouldn’t want to be the one telling Clive why she wasn’t able to finish her decontamination. Would you? Because I can go get him—”

  “Ben, go with the lady,” said the man. “Make sure the doctor gives you a note showing when she released you, and then come find us. Maybe if you can wallow in the biohazard long enough, you’ll miss us cleaning out the john.”

  “Oh, what bliss,” said Ben. He picked up his bucket, securing his mop to the side with a clamp, and grabbed one of the large bottles of bleach solution. Then he turned to follow me, quick and silent, back down the hall toward the doctor.

  When we were about ten yards away, he began, in a hushed, shaking voice: “Ash—”

  “It’s amazing how well this place is constructed, don’t you think?” I asked, in my best, bubbliest tone. “Lots of air vents. It would be so easy to wire the whole place up with listening devices, and then the people under you would never know for sure whether someone was listening in.”

  Ben shut his mouth. He always had been a smart one.

  “Have you met Dr. Benson?” I asked. “Nice girl. Prosthetic leg. Didn’t notice at first, what with the whole ‘was in a car crash, saw a good friend die’ bit. I suppose I was allowed to be distracted, you know? Anyway, she reminded me quite a bit of my old friend Tessa. Did you ever meet Tessa?”

  Tessa had been Mat’s friend, not mine, but my point was clear all the same. Ben’s eyes widened as he nodded. “Once,” he said. “She was about to go on vacation at the time.”

  “That’s our Tess, always bustling hither and yon,” I said. “I think she’s probably packing now. Getting ready for the open road.”

  Again, his nod was slight but there. “Good old Tess. What I wouldn’t give to go with her, just once.”

  “Maybe someday,” I said. We had reached the cafeteria. I waved him inside. I wanted to tell him everything, to grab him in a hug and promise him this was all going to be over soon, but I didn’t have a way to do that. All I could really do was hope that we were really almost finished here. I knew where everyone was. Dr. Benson was supposedly on our side. We might get out.

  We might.

  I have all the information I’m going to be able to gather while here, and after a year, three weeks, and six days, I’m finally convinced that there’s nothing left for me to learn. That’s it, boss; that’s the final transmission and the last scrap of secret intel on asshole Clive and his stupid Maze. Final verdict: baby warlord who’s never had to defend anything, which makes him incredibly dangerous, because he doesn’t understand that sometimes, you need to back the fuck off if you want to live to fight another day. If and when he comes for us again, he’s going to come hard, and he’s not going to back down. And that assumes he never figures out that you were the one who sent me. If he catches on to that little piece of delicious gossip, he’s not going to settle for killing us. He’s going to take us alive, and he’s going to burn everything you’ve ever built to the ground. We knew this was a risk when we started. I don’t think we could possibly have known how big a risk it was going to be.

  Now’s the part where I complicate things: Clive caught a former EIS doctor, Margaret Sung (now going by Audrey Wen) and her companions during one of his raids. She may have information you don’t about what’s been going on during the campaigns, and she certainly has no love for the CDC. But she won’t come unless I bring her friends, so we’re going to need an extract for four at the predetermined time. Try to keep body and soul together until I can get there, boss, and remember that I’m only in this mess because I didn’t read the fine print on my employment contract. Don’t fuck this up.

  —Letter by Dr. Jill Benson to Dr. Shannon Abbey, July 10, 2040

  Twenty-one

  There were no alarms, no flashing lights or distant moans. There was only a hand shaking my shoulder, and a voice whispering, “Ash, wake up. It’s time to go.”

  I’d been sleeping without my drugs, alone and on edge, for long enough that I swung for the speaker before I could process the voice. Luckily, I’d been sharing a bed with Audrey for a long time before that, and she was accustomed to the fact that I often woke up skittish and inclined to violence when I didn’t have my pills to take the edge off. She danced out of range of my fist and said soothingly, “I know, honey, I want to punch things too, but this isn’t the time for senseless violence. This is the time for sneaking quietly out the back entrance before the man in charge catches on.”

  “Audrey?” I blinked rapidly, trying to encourage my eyes to adjust faster to the dark. The figure in front of me was the right height and build. I sat up, pushing the covers aside, and lowered my voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re leaving,” she replied, and tossed a bundle onto the bed. “I snatched some clothes for you. Get dressed.”

  That was all the encouragement I needed. I slid out of bed and opened the package. It had clearly been packed by Audrey: I couldn’t see well enough to identify the pattern on the sundress, but the straps were Kevlar-reinforced, which meant it was one of my field outfits. There were undergarments, boots… and a thigh holster. I snapped it on and held out my hand, relieved when the weight of a gun dropped into my palm. We were really getting out of here. That, or we were planning to die trying.

  “Did you get to Ben?” I asked, holstering the gun before easing the underpants on over it. It might have been easier to do this in the other order, but I’d be damned if I was going to disarm myself again.

  She nodded. “Dr. Benson has him helping her do an all-night inventory. There are three guards watching us. They’ve all been drinking coffee for the past six hours.”

  There was a note of smug satisfaction in her voice. I ventured a guess, and said, “You made the coffee, didn’t you?”

  “Slow-acting sedatives with a gradually increasing dose. They’ll be losing consciousness right about now.” Audrey stepped back to give me room to maneuver. “Once we get back to the lab, we’re out of here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Dr. Benson is taking us to her employer. After that, it should be a straight shot to Canada.”

  “Here’s hoping.” After everyth
ing we’d been through, it was no longer so easy to see Canada as the great solution to our problems. Amber had died to get us this far, and we had so far left to go. I wasn’t sure how many more bodies I could take.

  But Ben and Audrey were counting on me, and I was the only bruiser we had left. If there was going to be any chance of them making it, I had to stay with the program. I finished dressing before following Audrey out of the dimly lit closet, through the communal room, packed as it was with bodies, and into the much brighter, more dangerous hall.

  We walked fast, keeping our steps light to prevent them from echoing. It wasn’t quiet enough: An unmarked door swung open, and there was Sasha, eyes still blackened from our fight in the cafeteria. She looked at me. I looked at her. The world narrowed to that one woman, that one door. I had a gun. I could silence her, but I couldn’t silence the shot. Which was I more afraid of? Her screams, or my giveaway gunshot?

  Then she smiled, a little sadly, and closed the door. In her own way, she let us go.

  I grabbed Audrey’s hand tighter than ever and we kept going, quiet and slow.

  There were two guards outside of Jill’s lab, both slumped over and snoring. We stepped inside to find a third guard curled up against the wall like a big dog. Someone had shoved a wadded-up lab coat under his head to act as a pillow. “How sweet,” I said.

  “No time,” countered Jill, stepping away from Ben and shoving a backpack into my arms. “Guard this with your life.”

  Guard with your life… “Mat’s laptop,” I said abruptly. “Did anyone manage to save Mat’s laptop?”

  “I got all our computers to Jill and she got them to our escape vehicle,” said Ben. “We have to move.”

  “It took me weeks to find this window, and we can’t afford to let it close,” said Jill, picking up her own pack. “Clive doesn’t like your friend, thanks to him coming in with two women who rightfully belong to Clive”—she nodded to Ben—“and is planning to have him on farming duty inside of the month. Turnover in farmers is incredibly high. They get to see the sun, sure, but everything that lives under the sun gets to see them. You said you wouldn’t leave without him. That means we go now.”

  “All right,” I said. “Lead the way.”

  With Ben’s help, Jill moved a shelf away from the wall, revealing a swinging door on the other side. We squeezed through the opening, hampered by our various packs. They had been assembled with our limitations in mind. All of us wore backpacks, and Audrey also carried a small case. Jill probably didn’t have as much stability as Audrey did; the chances of her falling were higher, and so she needed to be able to catch herself if necessary. It all made sense, and as we ran down the dusty, unused back hall of the hospital, I began to hope we might get out of this with no further complications.

  Then Clive stepped into our path, cracking his knuckles for effect. He looked too calm to have just intercepted us: He’d been waiting, preparing himself to make his grand entrance. I appreciated a man with a theatrical turn of mind. I just didn’t appreciate the fact that he was standing between me and freedom.

  “Oh, Jill, Jill, Jill,” he tutted, shaking his head. “I really thought you’d get this silly ‘running away’ nonsense out of your head before you decided to pull the trigger on it all. What is there for you out there? Just a short, brutal life, and a hard, brutal death.”

  “As opposed to a controlling brute who doesn’t allow anyone to have a dissenting opinion,” said Jill. “I didn’t come to work for you because I wanted to. I came because you captured me.”

  “It was a setup from the start and you know it,” said Clive, starting to sound annoyed. “Did you really think you could keep passing notes around my place, under the noses of my people, and never have me catch on? I’ve known what you were for almost a year. It was just a matter of seeing whether common sense could trump whatever it is you pretend passes for loyalty.”

  If Jill was surprised that Clive had been keeping tabs on her for so long, she didn’t show it. She reached behind herself, producing a pistol, which she aimed unflinchingly at his gut. “If you know that much about me, you know I was just trying to find out where the cases of polio we’ve been seeing in the local communities were coming from. We can’t vaccinate what we can’t reach, and people are dying.”

  “Could’ve walked in openly and asked for that information,” said Clive. He looked untroubled by the gun. That was a bad sign. I began scanning the nearby vents and corners, looking for the sniper. There had to be a sniper. There always was, when a big man appeared without weapons and decided to make a show of things.

  “No, I couldn’t, and you know that,” said Jill. “You’re the reason half the underground communities on the West Coast have stopped sharing information with each other, even when that information could save their lives. Everyone’s afraid of you.”

  “I worked hard to make them that way,” said Clive. He cracked his knuckles again, looking almost regretful as he said, “I figure stringing you across the fence line will make sure people understand that I haven’t gone soft. I’ll send your head to the CDC. Two birds, one stone.”

  There: a flash of light from the mesh grid set at the top of the wall. Given the angle, the shooter had to be close; you couldn’t use a real sniper rifle in that sort of enclosed space, there just wasn’t room. But this was close range enough that a pistol would get the job done, so the techniques and tactics still worked just fine. I shifted positions, trying to make it look like I was nervous. Then, without changing my expression, I grabbed the gun out of my thigh holster and whipped around to fire three times at the grating, falling backward to avoid a return shot as I did. I was trusting Ben to catch me, and catch me he did, strong hands hooking under my arms before I could drop more than a few feet. There was a strangled scream from the vent, followed by silence.

  Gun still held out in front of me, I whipped around to face Clive, who looked more stunned than anything else: When he’d set up this grandstanding little ambush, he hadn’t been figuring on Jill having backup. “Hi,” I said brightly. “Who feels like getting shot in the throat today? Is it you? Because I’m sorry to say that right now, you’ve the best odds of the lot of us.”

  Clive growled—actually growled—before he said, “You’re making a big mistake, little girl.”

  “Am I? Because to me, this looks like the only reasonable course of action.”

  “You want reasonable? I can be a reasonable man. Shoot one of them”—Clive indicated my companions with a sweep of his hand—“and I’ll take you back. You can be my girl. Protected, cosseted, no troubles or worries, ever again. I’ll forgive you everything, if you’ll only pull the trigger.”

  I pulled the trigger.

  Clive went down hard, clutching his knee with both meaty hands, like he could somehow keep the blood inside his body through sheer force of will. He made a shrill, confused keening sound. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He’d created a culture of violence and fear, trained and cultivated it; it wasn’t supposed to act against him.

  Audrey stepped up next to him and slammed her joined hands into the base of his skull, sending him crashing to the floor in a boneless heap. “He’ll wake up with a raging headache in a puddle of his own blood,” she said. “He shouldn’t amplify if he doesn’t roll over and inhale the stuff, but he’s going to be pissed when he comes to.”

  “And we’re not shooting him because—?” asked Ben.

  “Kill a petty tyrant, create a power vacuum, destabilize the region we’re fleeing through,” said Audrey. “We can’t afford the distraction.”

  “Because him coming after us is so much better,” snarled Ben.

  “It is, yeah,” I said. “He’ll distract the holy hell out of the CDC, if they’re really out there.”

  “We move now,” said Jill. There was no reason to argue with her, and several extremely good reasons not to. We grabbed our things and resumed our run, faster now. Taking down Clive meant that we had a better chance of making it to
the outside. It also meant that there was a more than good chance someone would have heard the shots and be coming for us.

  “How did he know?” I asked, as we ran.

  “I told Cowell I was leaving, and why; it was supposed to lay a false trail and keep Clive away from my real employer,” said Jill. “I knew the old bastard would tell on me, but I was hoping he’d wait before he ratted us out. I should have known better.”

  “Yeah, you should have! At the very least, you should have warned us!” The hall ended in a door. Jill looked from it to me, and nodded. I put on a burst of speed and hit it with my shoulder, knocking it open, revealing a worn dirt road with a familiar ATV parked on the shoulder.

  “What did you gain by telling Cowell?” demanded Ben.

  “A cover story,” said Jill. “If he’d waited, like he was supposed to, Clive would have been looking for me in San Francisco, where I told Cowell I’d be meeting my CDC superiors and putting in a good word for him. Poor bastard was a country doctor who always dreamt of the big leagues. He had no idea they wouldn’t let a woman with a prosthetic leg do fieldwork, much less dangerous insertions.” She reached into her pocket, producing the keys to the ATV, and approached it at a more decorous pace. “He just blew his load prematurely. Old asshole. I needed that cover story. Still do. Maybe it’ll hold and maybe it won’t. Too late now, either way.”

  “You nearly got us all killed,” said Ben.

  Jill smiled without turning, the expression visible only in the sudden tension of her cheeks. “Yes, but we lived, and now we get to run away. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your car. It’s been thoroughly decontaminated, and the upholstery’s been replaced. Clive was going to add it to the raiding fleet; he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Put your things in the back.”