Flash Point

by Nancy Kress

  “Yes.”

  “But not the squirrel?”

  “No! I swear to you I didn’t know that would happen! There were supposed to be cameras in those trees, but not infected squirrels!”

  “If Rafe has any brain damage, I swear I’ll hunt you down. No matter what it costs me.”

  “He injected himself with the antidote!”

  “Yes, and how do we know that the antidote is even real?”

  Both Violet and Kaylie stared at her. Finally Kaylie said, “Not even Myra would—”

  “Really?” Amy said bitterly. “Are you sure about that? The only thing I’m sure of is that as soon as we get to Maze Base, we’ll be back on camera for TLN. Maybe we even are right now. Smile, Violet. You’re on TV.”

  Thirty-five

  TUESDAY

  SILENTLY THE THREE girls headed across the scrub-dotted open space toward the maze. Violet shivered in her lacy bra as the wind picked up even more. In the distance, surf pounded. Amy squinted at the sky, trying to guess where the sun was. There—it broke through the clouds for just a moment. So that was west. From what Rafe had said this morning, they should turn left at the maze wall in order to head back to the helipad.

  Rafe. Where on the island was he? Was the antidote real? It had to be; not even Myra would arrange for real infected squirrels and a fake antidote—would she? Tension stiffened Amy’s neck and shoulders so much that she almost groaned.

  “How far is it to base?” Kaylie said. “Does anybody know?”

  “No,” Amy said. “It’s too confusing to judge. But if we follow the fence, we’ll get there.”

  “Stop for a minute,” Kaylie said. “I have to show you something.”

  Amy and Violet stopped. Kaylie pressed her lips together and her gaze swung uncertainly back and forth between Amy and Violet. She wasn’t even glaring at Violet anymore, which scared Amy more than anything else.

  “Kaylie, what is it? Are you— Oh God, did something bite you?”

  “No, no,” Kaylie said, “nothing like that. It’s just that . . . I have to show you something.”

  Kaylie bent over. Amy and Violet watched, Amy’s apprehension mounting. Kaylie reached into her boot and pulled out something small and gray. She closed her hand over it, as if hanging on to its identity until the last possible moment.

  But Violet knew. “Kaylie . . . Christ, I guess I’m lucky you didn’t shoot me with it.”

  Amy said, “You have a gun?”

  Kaylie opened her fist. The gun was no more than five inches long. Small, innocent-looking, it seemed like a toy. Violet said, “A mousegun!”

  Amy exploded. “Where the hell did you get that?”

  “From James. In the band.”

  Violet said, “Band?”

  “I was in this band, Orange Decision. I was sleeping with James, the lead guitar, and he got me—Amy, don’t look like that, it’s just a gun!”

  Just a gun! “Do you have a permit for that thing?”

  Violet snorted, then said gently to Amy, “Of course she doesn’t have a permit. She’s too young. But, One Two Three, there are a lot of mouseguns floating around the city, especially since the Collapse. My roommate Deirdre had one. People have to defend themselves.”

  “Yeah,” Kaylie said, “don’t be such a dork.”

  Amy demanded, “Is it loaded?”

  “Yes. It shoots five bullets. Other kinds shoot more but they’re not as powerful. Ryan told me.”

  “Kaylie, you’re an idiot! What did you think you were going to shoot here?”

  “I should shoot Violet!”

  “No, thanks,” Violet said. “Kaylie, you know you can’t hit anything with that more than about five yards away? And that’s only if you’re a good shot.”

  “I’m not very good,” Kaylie admitted. “But I can shoot a coyote if we see one, or maybe a squirrel if it’s not going too fast.”

  “Just don’t shoot Rafe. When he was going to bite you—”

  “It happened too fast,” Kaylie said, scowling at Violet. “I didn’t have time to get the gun out! But next time . . . I won’t let him bite Amy!”

  Amy looked at her sister. Kaylie—defending her? The sense of unreality came back, sweeping over her in a dark cloud. She said to Kaylie, “Give me that thing.”

  “No.”

  “Kaylie—”

  As they glared at each other, Violet’s hand darted out, quicksilver, and plucked the gun off Kaylie’s palm.

  “Give that back!”

  Violet held the gun behind her back. “Kaylie, listen to me. You act impulsively—you know you do. You shouldn’t have a gun, especially one that doesn’t have a manual safety catch, unless Ryan bought it legally in California or Massachusetts, which somehow I rather doubt. I know you don’t think I deserve to have this gun either, and you’re probably right. So I’m going to give it to Amy, and then we’re going to all find the building by the helipad and get inside before twilight falls and we can’t even see any attacking animals, and then we’re going to use the cells and tablets we left there to call for help for us and Rafe. And we’re going to do all this calmly and quietly, so that Myra doesn’t get anything else to film. OK?”

  Amy held her breath. Kaylie balled her hands into fists. Amy saw her sister gauging the distance to Violet, weighing her chances in a fight. And if there was a fight and that stupid gun went off . . . no safety catch . . .

  The moment seemed to go on forever. The wind blew harder. A bird made a raucous sound: caug caug caug.

  Kaylie said sulkily, “Give it to Amy, then.”

  Violet handed the gun to Amy. It felt shockingly light: no more than a pound. She held it gingerly, pointed at the ground. She’d never held a gun before. Violet should have it, not Amy—but in her present mood, Kaylie would never agree to that. And Amy wasn’t sure she trusted Violet either. Violet had been a plant to bring off Myra’s scenario, just like Lynn Demaris and Paul O’Malley. Rafe was out there somewhere, crazed with sickness, and maybe the antidote wasn’t real either. And who knew what other infected animals were still loose on the island.

  “Come on,” she said roughly to Violet and Kaylie. “We need to get to Maze Base.” Even if they couldn’t call the mainland from there, the building would still be safer than being out in the open.

  They trudged in silence, following the maze wall, while the sky darkened into dusk. Every time a bush or stand of weeds rustled in the wind, Amy’s stomach roiled—was that a coyote? A squirrel? Was it infected? Squirrels were just rats with fluffy tails. She could almost taste the tension in Violet and Kaylie, their bodies taut and jumpy. On the other side of cleared land between the wall and the forest, the trees rustled and whispered, telling her something she couldn’t understand, but it felt bad.

  Get a grip, Amy.

  “OK, almost there,” Kaylie said as they rounded a jagged outcropping of maze and the helipad came into view. A few more steps and Amy could see the rough wooden building.

  Violet said, “Was the door left open like that when they all went for the helicopter?”

  “I don’t remember,” Amy said. Everyone had been in such a hurry: Cai and Jillian and Tommy and the pilot. And then Rafe and Kaylie and she had ransacked the shelves before heading into the maze to find Violet—had the outer door been ajar?

  Twilight was deepening into night. The door seemed to open into a black hole.

  Kaylie said, “Who has the flashlights?”

  They slung the garbage bags off their backs. Kaylie pulled two flashlights from hers. Amy said, “Oh my God!”

  “What?” Violet said, spinning around. “Do you see something? What?”

  “No, no, it’s not that. . . . Nobody brought Rafe’s garbage bag, after he dropped it. We didn’t think. The rest of the antidote syringes are in there!”

  The three girls stared at each other in the gloom. Finally Kaylie said, “Well, then, nobody else better get bit. We can’t go back for it. If the antidote is even real in the first place.” S
he turned on a flashlight, handing the other one to Amy. Violet grimaced but didn’t argue. Kaylie would be a long time forgiving Violet, if ever.

  The beam of flaring light was reassuring. Warily, Kaylie led them through the door. The room was empty, with the cardboard boxes they had pulled from the shelves still scattered around the floor. No animals, no Rafe. Amy felt a little of the tension leave her neck and shoulders.

  Then Violet screamed.

  Amy whirled around, swinging her flashlight. Violet pointed toward the door. They hadn’t closed it behind them. An animal crouched there, square in the doorway, bigger than a cat but surely smaller than a coyote—a woodchuck? Badger? Amy didn’t know, but she knew the foam around its mouth, the stagger in its walk as it crept forward.

  “Shoot it!” Kaylie cried, just as Amy opened her fist, aimed the miniature gun, and fired. The muzzle of the tiny gun flipped upward, and she missed, but the sound seemed to enrage the creature. It leaped forward, fell, lurched again. It was coming at her. Amy fired a second time. No effect on the animal. She needed to be closer, she had to let it get closer, she couldn’t let it get closer or it would be close enough to—

  Amy was lifted bodily off her feet and thrown backward. Violet, who had done the throwing, crashed into her. Kaylie was just ahead. She slammed the door on the slavering animal.

  They were behind one of the three doors at the far end of the room. They were in the maze.

  “You all right?” Violet said. Her voice shook.

  “Yeah, I . . . yeah.”

  Kaylie said, “At least you didn’t drop your flashlight. But you didn’t hit that thing, either. What was it?”

  “Do I look like a naturalist?” Amy snapped. All at once she realized that her hand burned. She dropped the gun; red welts crossed her palm. But slowly her stomach was sinking back to its normal place. She wasn’t going to throw up after all. Good. OK. They were in the maze. The thing was on the other side of the door.

  Violet picked up the gun. “Maybe that thing wasn’t even infected, just startled. Or maybe the virus jumped another species. Rafe would know.”

  Kaylie snapped, “Well, we haven’t got Rafe.”

  “Like I haven’t noticed?”

  Amy said slowly, “I think Rafe might have left that door open. Unless Jillian did when they ran for the copter. Does anyone remember?”

  Kaylie and Violet shook their heads. In the upward slanting beam from the flashlights, their faces looked eerie, full of strange shadows. The miniature gun dangled from Violet’s hand. Amy struggled to pull herself together.

  “OK, here’s the deal. There’s a limit to how long Myra can leave us here. There are no riots in the city, no presidential assassination. Even if she pretends that somehow nobody is watching the film, it’s nearly night. They have to come back for us very soon or face who-knows-what lawsuits. So we stay someplace near cameras, which is probably right here—this is one of the maze starts, after all.” Amy turned her face upward and shouted, “You hear me, Myra? We’re here, Rafe is infected, and it’s getting dark. Come get us!”

  Kaylie said, “Don’t ask that bitch for anything!”

  “I’m not asking, I’m demanding. We stay right here, with light and walls, and where we can hear the helicopter. Violet, there’s a blanket in my garbage bag; put it around your shoulders. I don’t think we’ll be here long.”

  Violet said, “And what if a sick squirrel comes over the walls? They can climb, you know. I’ve seen them go right up the side of a tree.”

  “I’m hoping the sick ones don’t climb. If there even are more sick ones on the island.”

  “We know there’s a sick something. Was that thing you tried to shoot a woodchuck?”

  Amy didn’t answer. Violet passed her the miniature gun when Kaylie wasn’t looking. All at once Amy wondered if Waverly would have been able to hit the maybe-a-woodchuck. “My people shoot.”

  The girls settled onto the ground, backs against the walls, the flashlights aimed down the maze in case anything approached. Violet had wrapped herself in the blanket. Kaylie’s stomach growled loudly. She said, “Some of those ice chests in the maze had sandwiches and cookies. I could just go and—”

  “No!” Amy said. Kaylie didn’t argue.

  If it was Rafe who’d left the outside door open, then he was in the maze with them.

  With the sun gone, the evening grew cold. Amy shivered. Her feet were covered with tiny red nicks where weeds and sticks had poked between the straps of her sandals. Her palm burned red from the gun, which she must have been holding wrong. She was starving. She said nothing about any of that because she didn’t want to give Myra anything else to film.

  Myra. Could a human being really have brought infected animals to the island and left teenage kids alone there, just to have something exciting to film? Myra wasn’t some human being from way back in history—the Romans sending gladiators into the arena to fight to the death, Ivan the Terrible butchering peasants for sport—but a human being right now, in twenty-first-century America, an executive at a TV station. Someone who looked normal, polished, successful. Did that mean that “normal” wasn’t what Amy had always assumed? Was in fact—

  “Listen!” Kaylie cried. “I hear the chopper!”

  Amy got to her feet and strained to listen. Yes, there was something . . . yes, the helicopter! Violet, holding one of the flashlights, rose and brushed dirt from the seat of her jeans. Kaylie, still sitting cross-legged on the ground with her back against the maze wall, closed her eyes in gratitude.

  Rafe dropped onto Kaylie from the roof of the maze base.

  Kaylie screamed. Violet swung the flashlight wildly, the beam flashing on sawed boards, the ground, Rafe and Kaylie. She was fighting him off, but her legs were crossed under her, a bad position to attack from. He snarled, like a dog, and lunged his mouth at her shoulders and neck. Amy, two feet away, got one clear glimpse of his lips drawn back over his teeth, gleaming white in the flashlight’s beam.

  Rafe, so smart and sweet—

  Kaylie, her sister—

  Amy raised the tiny gun and fired. At this distance, not even the mousegun could miss.

  Rafe let out a shrill, inhuman scream. Then he collapsed on top of Kaylie. She shoved him off while Violet shouted, “Are you bit? Are you bit?” The whole world went red for Amy, saturated in a fine scarlet mist, and then black. The ground rose to slam into her. For the first and only time in her life, she fainted.

  But only for a moment. She was staggering back onto her feet when a second, louder gun fired beyond the door and something heavy hit the floor. Then the door burst open and there were men in uniform shoving through the door, and a woman with EMT on her shoulder patch was turning over Rafe’s still body to see if he breathed, if he lived, if Amy had done the terrible thing she’d always feared most: irresponsible harm to someone she loved.

  Thirty-six

  WEDNESDAY

  AMY AND KAYLIE sat on hard plastic chairs in the corridor outside Rafe’s hospital room. It was midnight but the corridor was as busy as if it were noon. Doctors went in and out, men in suits made notes, nurses carried out vials of blood. “Rafe won’t have any blood left,” Kaylie said.

  “It’s for the CDC,” Amy said.

  “What’s that, again?”

  “The Centers for Disease Control. They need to see what’s going on in Rafe’s body because of the virus and the antidote.”

  “I thought the brain scans did that.”

  “Those too,” Amy said.

  A nurse approached. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are long over. You’ll have to leave.”

  “No,” Amy said simply.

  The nurse frowned and turned to call security. Kaylie said pleasantly, “You just came on shift, right? We’ve been through this with all the other nurses. We’re not going and if you make us go, we’ll make the biggest stink you ever saw because we were with Rafe on that island where he got infected. I mean, you can’t even imagine how much fuss I’m capab
le of making. So the other nurses said we can stay, and if you check their notes or tablet or whatever the hell you guys do, I’m sure you’ll see that we’re allowed here.”

  The nurse blinked, looked uncertain, frowned again. She hurried to the nurses’ station at the other end of the hall.

  Kaylie called after her, “Have a good night!”

  Amy pulled at the skin on her face. She was tired beyond belief. She and Kaylie still wore their clothes from the island, ripped and dirty. She had told her story at least six times, to six different people. But it was a version of the story that left out Violet’s pretending to be bit, and she made Kaylie also leave that part out. They said only that they were all actors on the TV show Who Knows People, Baby—You?, filming a scene on the island. A squirrel had bitten Rafe and he had started to act strangely. Amy, Kaylie, and Violet had helped him back to the film crew helicopter. The medical people all accepted this; they weren’t interested in a TV show, only in the virus, its rodent carrier, and the use of the antidote.

  During a bathroom trip Kaylie had demanded fiercely, “Why are you protecting Myra?”

  “I’m not,” Amy had said. “Oh, I’m not, believe me. I’m not even protecting Violet. I—”

  “Yes, you are!”

  Amy had had time to think over Violet’s story. “Kaylie, Violet didn’t know about the infected animals. I believe that part. Violet didn’t know anybody would be hurt, only scared. That infected squirrel, at least, was Myra’s doing. Has to be. It’s just too coincidental otherwise.”

  “So what are you going to do about Myra?”

  “I don’t know yet! Stop itching at me! Right now I just want Rafe to be all right!”

  Kaylie’s face changed. She stopped rubbing her hands under the automatic blow-dryer and put still-damp fingers on Amy’s arm. “I know. You’re in love with him.”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “But you are. Even though he looks like a skinny toad.”

  “He does not!”

  Kaylie had smiled. “See how you defend him?”