by Grant, Mira
“Then you’re a fool,” said Dr. Banks. “I still haven’t decided whether I’ll let you have your girl. You’ll be pleased to know that I’m leaning toward ‘yes,’ since she’s useless to me now and you’ve given me something much better.” The smile he slanted in my direction stopped just short of becoming a leer. I managed, barely, to suppress my shudder. “That does lead to the greater question of whether I’m intending to let any of you leave here alive.”
“Dr. Cale thought of that,” said Fishy mildly. “Or did you genuinely think she just went ‘sure, I’ll let my son and his girlfriend and my favorite handsome, dashing, suave assistant go off with the man who killed humanity’ and pushed us out the door? I knew you were arrogant. I didn’t know you were stupid.”
For the first time since we’d arrived at the SymboGen gates, Dr. Banks looked uncomfortable. “What are you talking about?”
“Get us to the elevator and I’ll explain.” Fishy nudged his elbow. “Unless you’d rather stand right here until the timer runs out?”
“Timer? What timer?” Dr. Banks started walking again. He was virtually stomping as we crossed the floor, but no one came rushing to his rescue.
I wasn’t the only one to notice that. “Huh,” said Nathan. “No one’s coming to find out who we are or why we have you in handcuffs. I wonder why that is? I mean, everyone enjoys working for a heartless despot who treats human lives like tissue paper, right?”
“The timer I started when we left the boat,” said Fishy calmly. He gave Dr. Banks another nudge. “It’s amazing what you can do with C-4.”
“You can’t really expect me to believe that Surrey would let you blow yourselves up just to spite me.”
“Not us: me, and you,” said Fishy. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not inner circle. That’s cool with me, because I don’t feel like taking on that kind of responsibility. But I’m totally down with grabbing hold of you while Nate and worm-girl run for the hills, and letting my explosive buddy”—he patted his pocket—“do the talking for me. I’m tired of this game, Doctor. I’m ready to log off and go home. I don’t suggest you push me.”
Dr. Banks gave him a startled look before pressing the call button for the elevator. “Son, I have serious concerns about your mental health.”
“Suits me,” said Fishy amiably.
I hung back, leaning close to murmur to Nathan, “Does he really have a bomb?”
“Not that I know of,” replied Nathan, equally quietly. “He was originally planning to stay on the boat. But I honestly can’t be sure.”
“Swell,” I said.
The elevator doors opened. The four of us got inside. As soon as the doors closed, Fishy undid the handcuffs holding Dr. Banks’s arms. The handcuffs promptly disappeared into Fishy’s pocket, where they would wait until they were needed again.
“About damn time,” sniffed Dr. Banks.
If there is anything in the world more awkward than sharing an elevator with someone who hates you and considers you to be less than human, I don’t know what it is. Dr. Banks initially reached for the button that would have taken us to his office. I reached out and grabbed his wrist before I could think better of it, stopping him mid-motion.
“Tansy’s not going to be in your office,” I said. “She’s down in the lab, isn’t she? Take us there. That was the deal.”
“That was the blackmail arrangement,” said Dr. Banks. He yanked his wrist from my grasp and pressed the button for the lowest level of the labs. “Happy now?”
“No,” I said. “I’m here. I’ll be happy when I’m not here anymore.”
Dr. Banks shook his head. “You’d think that after all this time, you might have finally learned how to be grateful.”
“I don’t think you’re the man who’s going to teach me that.”
The floors slowly counted down as we descended. Beverly kept her nose pressed against the base of the door. She growled occasionally, not on every level, but on enough that I had a strong suspicion I knew which floors were being used for sleepwalker resource.
I tensed as we started to slow. Finally, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, revealing the empty hallway. The drums in my head pounded harder than ever. The hall should have been packed with technicians bustling to and fro, their hands full of lab equipment and clipboards, while Sherman—the old Sherman, with his tailored suits and ready smile—waited for me to come into his care. This was supposed to be my home away from home, and instead it was just one more place that was never going to be the same again.
Nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Dr. Banks led us out of the elevator and down the hall, stopping at a door I had never seen open before. He produced a key card from inside his pocket and swiped it in front of the door, unlocking it. He grasped the handle, pausing to look at me gravely and say, “I’ll understand if you want to stay out here, Sally. I’m sure your boys can keep an eye on me.”
Something about his tone was hesitant, even tender, like he had dug through his false affection and his too-real scorn until he hit whatever deep bedrock of actual compassion he still had buried under the persona he had worked so long and hard to build. I lifted my chin, feeling the muscles in my jaw tighten, and said, “I go where they go. Tansy’s my sister. I owe it to her to be able to do this.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, and opened the door, revealing a stark white operating theater. There was a narrow bed—more like a cot—in the middle of the room, and there, naked and strapped down, was Tansy.
Her head had been shaved, and tubes snaked out of her, carrying and delivering fluids. A large bandage covered the right side of her scalp, concealing whatever terrible incisions Dr. Banks had used to extract samples of her implant. She didn’t react at all to the door being opened, but I could see her stomach muscles tightening and relaxing very slightly as she breathed. She wasn’t dead yet. It was a fairly near thing.
“I’m going to kill you,” someone said, and I was only a little bit surprised to realize that it was me.
Nathan pushed past me into the room. Dr. Banks followed him. I stayed where I was in the doorway, one hand clutching Beverly’s leash, staring numbly as they bent over the bed where Tansy was lying. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t a lab or medical technician, I couldn’t help, and I couldn’t kill Dr. Banks for what he’d done—not if we wanted to get out of here alive, with Tansy, and back to the ferry landing without SymboGen security or USAMRIID forces landing on our heads. That was already going to be difficult and would depend at least partially on Dr. Banks’s willingness to let our insult against his person stand—and whether or not he believed Fishy really had a bomb. I was deathly afraid we were going to be fighting our way out… and I was also looking forward to it. Maybe, in the chaos, I could kill him after all.
I had never been excited by the idea of killing someone before. I was surprised to find that I didn’t really mind the emotion.
“All right, let’s get her to the elevator.” Nathan started rolling the cot toward the door. To my surprise, Dr. Banks was on the other side, helping him.
That surprise was short-lived. Dr. Banks opened his mouth: “You’ll keep your end of the bargain, yes? Once you have my Anna stabilized…”
“We’ll contact you and arrange her return. If we can stabilize her, which we may not be able to do. Yes, we will let you know either way.” Nathan sounded disgusted. “I know you can contact your government buddies and make up some reason that they have to find us whenever you want to. So we’re not going to give you cause to want to until we’ve had time to disappear.”
“I’ll be honest, son, I’m surprised you’re willing to trust me.”
“Don’t ever mistake this for trust,” snapped Nathan. “You want Anna back and stabilized, you’ll leave us alone long enough for that to happen—which means you’ll leave us alone long enough that we can disappear completely.”
“What makes you think I’ll wait that long?” Dr. Banks sounded honestl
y curious.
Nathan looked at him flatly. “My mother says you will. She’s a better judge of character than I am in at least one regard: she knows how to spot a weasel before it starts biting. If she says you’ll risk losing us now to get something better later on, she means it.”
Dr. Banks laughed. “Good old Surrey.”
Nathan didn’t say anything. He just put his head down and kept pushing.
The elevator was a tight fit with four adults, a dog, and the cot Tansy was strapped to. They’d brought her catheter stand and three IV poles as well as the bed itself, and Fishy and I had to work quickly to keep them from getting tangled in the loading process. Then we were heading back toward the lobby, and we were finally home free; we had Tansy, and we were going back where we belonged.
Everything was going to be okay.
The elevator dinged. Dr. Banks said, “I really am sorry about this.” And the doors slid open to reveal eight soldiers with USAMRIID patches on their upper arms, standing in a flanking position around Colonel Alfred Mitchell, their drawn rifles aimed directly at us.
“Colonel Mitchell,” said Dr. Banks. “You’re just in time.”
The rest of us didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say.
I’m going to kill him.
–FROM THE JOURNAL OF DR. NATHAN KIM, NOVEMBER 2027
Forgive me.
–FROM THE JOURNAL OF COLONEL ALFRED MITCHELL, NOVEMBER 17, 2027
Chapter 20
NOVEMBER 2027
For a long moment, no one moved. It felt like no one even breathed, like everything had been put on hold while the world rearranged itself around us. Then, calmly, Colonel Mitchell said, “Hello, Sally.”
In that moment, I understood. Understood what Dr. Banks had been trying to accomplish, and understood how it could be used to our advantage, if I was willing to do what I had already done once before. If I was willing to sacrifice myself in the name of saving the people that I loved.
Please understand, Nathan, I thought, and wished that there was some way I could explain to him what I was doing, and why I was doing it. It was the only option I had left, but that didn’t make it any easier, and that didn’t make it right. It didn’t make it not hurt.
I dropped Beverly’s leash, pasting what I hoped would look like a sincere smile across my face in the same moment. Taking a half step forward—which was harder than I expected, thanks to all the damn guns aimed at me—I swallowed hard, and asked, “Daddy?”
Everything seemed to stand still. Then, smugly, Dr. Banks said, “I told you I could do it. It was simple, really.”
“Sally?” Colonel Mitchell sounded like he was afraid of his own question, like he was afraid of asking it where anyone else could hear. “Is that really you?”
“My head hurts,” I said, which wasn’t an answer. That made it the perfect reply. I took another step forward, and still the men with guns didn’t fire on me. “Where’s Mom?”
The Colonel’s shoulders sagged—in relief or sorrow, I didn’t know, and my genuine fear that something had happened to Sally’s mother informed my performance, making it easy to take another two steps with stumbling quickness, one hand half reaching for him. The guns didn’t track me.
“Are you here for me?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, eyes flicking first to my outstretched hand, and then to the people still standing behind me in the elevator. I heard Beverly whine. Taking Colonel Mitchell’s gaze as an excuse, I twisted to look back over my shoulder.
Nathan was holding Beverly’s leash. He looked resigned, like he hated this as much as I did, but understood its necessity. That made my heart hurt, in ways I couldn’t entirely name. I was hurting him, and he was letting me go, because we would never be able to fight our way out of here together. Somewhere along the line, I had managed to teach him—unintentionally—that it was all right to let me go. That was a lesson I had never wanted him to learn.
If Nathan was resigned, Fishy and Beverly were confused. My dog was straining against her leash, struggling to get to me, while Fishy was shaking his head slowly from side to side, a scowl on his face. He was smart enough not to argue when there were that many guns pointed at him, but that wasn’t making him any happier with the situation. And as for Dr. Banks…
Dr. Banks looked proud of himself. That was the worst part of all.
I turned back to Colonel Mitchell. “You need to let them go,” I said.
His eyes snapped to me. “What?”
“These people brought me here because they wanted to get that girl back; she’s theirs, and Dr. Banks took her without permission. He came so that we could get me here safe. They don’t have any part in this. Let them go.” I took a deep breath. “And they have a bomb. They’ll kill us all if you don’t let them leave.”
“It’s true,” said Fishy. “Boom, baby, boom.”
Colonel Mitchell frowned slowly, and with every part of his face, eyes hardening and brows drawing downward until he was nothing but suspicion. I felt suddenly unsure, and wanted to run back to the elevator, where I would be safe, where I wouldn’t have to pretend to be someone I’d never met. Would Sally have requested the freedom of a bunch of people she didn’t care about? Joyce hadn’t liked her very much. She hadn’t been a very nice person.
I forced myself to keep looking at Colonel Mitchell. If I looked away, we were lost. “You have to let them go,” I said, slowly and clearly. “I’m very fragile right now. Any shock could cause me to go away again. Getting blown up would be a big shock.”
He narrowed his eyes. I held my breath. If he called my bluff…
But this was a man who had been willing to get into bed with the enemy on the barest chance of getting his daughter back. He wasn’t going to let me slip away again. Colonel Mitchell looked away first, then said, “Your friends are free to go. Steven, you’re with me.”
Dr. Banks didn’t try to argue. He was as trapped as the rest of us, even if he was the one who had originally built the cage. He crossed the floor to stand beside me, and we fell into step with Colonel Mitchell as he turned and led us away. I didn’t look back.
It’s all right, Nathan, I thought. I’ll find my way home. I always do.
The broken doors were open. We had so far left to go.
INTERLUDE IV: ANAPHASE
I am so sorry.
–SAL MITCHELL
This is how it begins.
–SHERMAN LEWIS (SUBJECT VIII, ITERATION III)
November 2027: Ronnie
It had been surprisingly easy for Ronnie to reach the reservoir. It was still under guard, of course; the soldiers supplied by USAMRIID and sent in with the doctors from FEMA were patrolling the borders of the area, rifles in hand and nervous sweat on their throats and temples. But Ronnie was quick, and lithe, and had nothing to fear from the sleepwalkers; they had long since learned what her (his) pheromone trail meant, and they stayed away, like worker ants avoiding the territory of a greater colony.
The water had been capped, of course, to keep seagulls from shitting in it and—more important now—to keep people from drowning and polluting the water supply of an entire region. This was the reservoir that fed the largest of the quarantine settlements. Some people drank bottled water, of course, but they were all higher-ups, people who could afford the luxury of worrying about contamination. For the average man on the street, crammed six to a bedroom in their shantytown containment, what came out of the faucet was the only option.
Some things could be filtered out of the water, and some things couldn’t. Ronnie slouched along the reservoir’s edge until he came to a small building, more like a hut than a pumping station, and slipped inside. There was a heavy lid, almost like a manhole cover, over the water access. That was easy enough to deal with. Crowbars were simple tools, and all you needed to operate them was pressure.
The lid slid open with a snarling rasp, like a file being dragged across concrete. Ronnie kept pushing until the opening was almost a foot across. Then he
stepped onto the rim of the water access and pulled a small plastic bag from the inner pocket of his vest. Holding it over the water, Ronnie opened the seal and shook out the bag’s white, crystalline contents. They vanished into the darkness. Some of the powder would stick to the walls of the input, going nowhere, serving no purpose. But most would reach the water. Most would begin the journey toward their eventual homes.
The war had changed.
Ronnie took a deep breath and stepped off the edge of the access hatch, and plummeted, and was gone.
TO BE CONTINUED…
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
By the time you read this, it will be public knowledge that my duology, like the tapeworms that inspired it, has reproduced: it is now a trilogy, and what you hold is the middle volume. I credit this largely to the amazing medical professionals, scientists, public health workers, and readers who responded to the first volume with questions, critiques, and suggestions about what I could do to make my world more complete. I have done my best to honor their input, and I can’t wait for you to reach the broken doors.
Michelle Dockrey, Brooke Lunderville, and Diana Fox again contributed much of their time and expertise; I would be lost without them. Sarah Kuhn, Amber Benson, and Margaret Dunlap had a lot to do with keeping me from tearing my hair out: I owe them a great debt of gratitude, or at least a drink at Trader Sam’s.
My new editor at Orbit, Will Hinton, was happy to discuss the challenges of a middle book, and met my own idiosyncratic approach to the writing life with an open mind and an eager pen. I look forward to many more books with him. Lauren Panepinto, as always, has provided an incredible cover that I can’t wait to hang on my wall.
Once again, acknowledgment for forbearance goes to Amy McNally, Shawn Connolly, and Cat Valente, who put up with an amazing amount of “talking it out” as I tried to work through the back half of the book; to my agent, Diana Fox, who remains my favorite superhero; to the cats, for not eating me when I got too wrapped up in work to feed them; and to Chris Mangum, the incredible technical mind behind www.MiraGrant.com. This book might have been written without them. It would not have been the same.