Deadline

by Mira Grant

  “Ms. Garcia is, um, out back, in the garden,” said Kelly. She gestured toward the back door as she spoke, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Understandable. She’d probably never been in a private residence open to the scary, scary outside world before. Sometimes I think George was right when she said that people want to be afraid.

  “Coffee’s on the stove,” said Alaric, before adding quickly, “Do we have a plan, or are we just going to sit around here drinking coffee and waiting to see what happens next?”

  “That depends on the Doc.” I walked over to the stove. A half-full pot of coffee was on the central heating plate. “We know what happened yesterday wasn’t just bad timing. So I guess the question is, Doc, were they after us, or were they after you?”

  Silence fell behind me. I took a mug from the rack and poured myself a cup of coffee, taking a slow, patient sip as I waited for someone to say something. The liquid was almost hot enough to be scalding, and it tasted like it had been brewed just this side of Heaven. I’ll drink Coke for George all day if I have to, but there’s nothing like that first cup of coffee to get the morning started.

  Finally, in a small voice, Kelly said, “Dr. Wynne thought we were managing to get me out before our plan could be compromised. With most of my team dead, it’s not like there were that many people who knew about the clone, or what we were going to do with it. It should have been a clean escape. He did say… When I left, he said you were probably in danger anyway, because of…” She stopped. A lot of people have trouble talking about what happened to George when I’m in the room. I can’t decide whether it’s because they don’t want to remind me that I was the one to pull the trigger, or if it’s because they can’t deal with the fact that she’s still with me. Maybe they just don’t feel like getting punched in the face.

  The why doesn’t matter much to me. The end result is the same: George stays dead, and no one talks about it.

  “You knew we were in danger before you reached us?” I recognized the warning in the tone Becks was using. She started as a Newsie, and she processes facts a little faster than most Irwins. That gives her the ability to sound very reasonable, and the more reasonable she sounds, the more danger you’re in. “And you didn’t say anything?”

  “There will be no killing the Doc,” I said, walking over to the settle at the table. “She’s just as screwed as we are, so play nicely, okay? This isn’t her fault.”

  Kelly nodded firmly, looking more frustrated than anything else. “I tried to say something. I was e-mailing you for three weeks before we hit the point where I couldn’t hang around in Memphis anymore.”

  The spam filters, said George quietly.

  I winced.

  “A secure phone line would have been noticed in a facility as locked down as the CDC,” Kelly continued. “When Dr. Wynne evacuated me, I wound up drugged and stuffed into the back of a truck that was hauling dry goods to California. I barely had a pulse for a few thousand miles. I definitely wasn’t in any condition to make phone calls.”

  “You could still have opened the conversation with the fact that we might want to evacuate,” said Becks.

  “Would you have listened?” asked Kelly.

  Becks looked away.

  Kelly sighed. “I thought not. Look: I had no way of knowing things would get that bad, that fast. The world doesn’t work like that in the lab. Things go slower there.” She took a shaky breath, calming herself. “Our research team was down to three when we realized none of us were safe. We had to get someone out alive if we wanted to preserve our results. Dr. O’Shea wasn’t willing to take the risk, and Dr. Li had a family. It had to be me. So I went to Dr. Wynne.”

  “And he had you cloned,” I deadpanned. “Naturally. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “I had to seem to die—it was the only way that I’d have a chance at getting away with our results. Dr. O’Shea was working on a nerve study that required full-body subjects. She set up the clone. It was supposed to be her DNA.”

  “Swap-off happened at the techie level?” asked Alaric, suddenly paying attention. He always paid attention when something started smelling like a story.

  “Yes,” said Kelly. “One intern handed the sample to another intern, who handed it to a lab tech when Dr. Wynne asked him to run an errand instead, and by that point, it was easy enough to get the sample from the incubator and swap in one of my own samples instead.”

  Ask her why the source DNA matters, prompted George.

  “Right,” I muttered, before saying, in a more conversationalone, “Why does the source DNA matter? I thought the CDC was exempt from the prohibition against cloning.”

  “Clones are illegal for moral reasons. The CDC’s dispensation allows researchers to do full-body cloning for research purposes, and the moral questions are skirted by permitting only self-cloning,” said Kelly. “That way the question of the clone having a soul can be politely ignored, and the religious community doesn’t feel the need to shut us down.”

  “Because presumably there’s just one soul per genetic pattern, and the original donor holds the copyright?” I asked. Kelly nodded. I snorted. “That’s a fun piece of bureaucratic jump rope if I’ve ever seen one. So fine, they think they cloned this other lady, and they actually cloned you. What’s going to keep somebody from doing the math when they crack the factory seal on her and there’s nothing there?”

  “Dr. O’Shea died two weeks ago. There was an error in her car’s electrical system and she lost control on the freeway.” Kelly looked at me, lips drawing back in a smile that looked more like a rictus. “It was very sad. Our superiors were quick to offer their regrets and let us know that if we wanted to shut down the program, they’d support our moving on to other research projects. An immediate destruction notice was issued on her clone, since the original was deceased. It was officially destroyed four days before my ‘death.’ ” She hesitated before adding, much more softly, “Dr. Li was killed in a lab accident the day after that.”

  “How come no one noticed they were short a clone?” asked Becks.

  Kelly shrugged, shaking off her brief malaise. “Clones are considered lab waste. Anyone can dispose of them.”

  “So you disposed of the clone that didn’t exist.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What did I miss?” asked Maggie, coming in with a basket full of tomatoes over one arm. “Hey, Shaun, you’re up. Can I get you anything? Toast? Omelet?”

  “An omelet would be great, and you got here just in time to hear the Doc explain how they broke her clone out of storage and slaughtered it like a chicken so she’d be free to come and make herself our problem.” I took another drink of coffee and stopped, grimacing. “Also, you got any Coke?”

  Alaric and Becks exchanged a look. Maggie simply nodded, saying, “I’ll get you one in a minute,” as she continued across the kitchen to begin fussing with her harvest. “Keep talking, everybody. I’m sure I’ll catch right up.”

  “Great.” I looked back to Kelly. “Carry on, Doc. We’re burning daylight here, and you’ve just made that a rare commodity around these parts.”

  “My clone wasn’t slaughtered like a chicken,” she protested. “Dr. Wynne knows some people. Professional people. He hired them to break in and shoot the clone after we’d decanted it. They guaranteed a kill on the first shot. It didn’t have time to suffer.”

  “And then you ran for us.”

  “And then I ran for youKelly glanced away. Her gaze fell on the open door and she grimaced, looking down at her lap instead. “Your… There were a lot of records detailing the progression of Georgia Mason’s retinal Kellis-Amberlee. The particular nature of your mutual upbringing provided an invaluable source of data.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?” asked Maggie, putting a skillet on the stove.

  “She means there were cameras on us all the time when we were kids, and we got a lot of med tests so we could follow the ’rents into proscribed areas.” I watched Kelly. Kelly kept watching her lap. �
��It made George a great case study, without any of those pesky release forms getting in the way.”

  “Mm-hmm,” said Kelly, looking up. “That also makes you a great case study.”

  “Me?”

  You, confirmed George, quietly. Prolonged exposure to someone with a reservoir condition is odd enough, but for you to be my—

  “—makes your immunological reactions uniquely fascinating,” said Kelly, her words overlaying Georgia’s until she drowned out the voice in my head. I managed not to jump. My hand still shook hard enough to slosh the remainder of my coffee dangerously close to the edge. I put the cup down on the table. Kelly didn’t seem to notice. “We would have been asking you to come in for some tests later this year if our study had been allowed to develop normally. Just to see if there were any deep abnormalities that might explain why she developed retinal Kellis-Amberlee and you didn’t. Of course, with Georgia dead, there’s always the possibility whoever’s killing the people with reservoir conditions could come after you, instead. We don’t know what the motive is there.”

  “So combine Shaun’s possibly fucked-up immune system with all the footage we’ve got, and our known connections to the research team, and we’re a target, is that it?” asked Becks. “Note for the future? This is the sort of shit you should maybe lead off with. ‘Hi, nice to see you, just faked my own death, and PS, the people who want me dead are probably after you, too.’ ”

  “Yes,” said Maggie pleasantly, as she started cracking eggs into the pan. “It might’ve saved Dave’s life.”

  “That’s not fair,” interjected Kelly.

  Maggie ignored her. “Two eggs or three, Shaun?”

  “Three, please. I doubt we’re going to be stopping for a big lunch.”

  “Good. Will you need to bury her body in the forest behind my house tonight, or will you be keeping her around a little longer for informational purposes?” This question was asked just as pleasantly as the last. Maggie’s tone didn’t hold anything to indicate that killing Kelly was of any more or less importance than my omelet.

  Maggie can be like that sometimes. She’s grown beyond her upbringing, for the most part, but sometimes she’s still a spoiled little rich girl whose response to things she doesn’t like begins and ends with getting rid of them.

  It’s better not to argue with her when she gets that way. “Informational purposes, but I promise to let you know when that changes,” I said. Kelly paled. I decided that the polite thing would be to ignore it. “Any news out of Oakland?”

  “The announcement of Dave’s death went up about an hour ago,” said Alaric, quietly.

  “Okay.” I looked at my coffee, and sighed. “What do our site stats look like?”

  “Up five percent globally, Dave’s reports are up thirty-five percent, and we have three syndication requests for his Alaska material from last year.” Alaric sounded a lot more confident in this answer. That wasn’t surprising. Next to Mahir, there’s nobody who tracks our standings as carefully as Alaric does.

  “Did Maggie fill you in on the cover story?” Everyone nodded. “Good. Has anyone posted?” Everyone shook their heads. “Not so good. I need you all online. We were camping in Santa Cruz, our apartment got blown up, we’re shaken, we’re going to stay in the field for a few days while we recover. Maggie, I want you to make it clear that you’re here alone. Tack on a poem I don’t understand, with lots of creepy-ass death imagery—the usual—and then if you can double security, that would probably be a bonus. Nobody say anything about the Doc. She’s not here.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” Maggie said, walking over and slapping a can of Coke into my hand before putting the plate with my omelet next to my discarded coffee cup.

  “Good. Becks—”

  “Come up with some believable outdoor footage.” She stood, picking up her plate. “I’ll set up out in the van.”

  “Good. Alaric—”

  “Ground-level analysis of the Oakland tragedy, short memorial piece on Dave.” He rose as he spoke, expression already far away. “I should be able to cobble something together fast enough to let me hit the forums and do some damage control after.”

  “That’s excellent. Now what are we going to do about the Doc?”

  “I thought you’d ask that,” said Alaric, looking briefly smug. He likes being efficient. “I checked Buffy’s stock of precoded IDs. Kelly looks enough like Buffy did that she can use most of them.”

  “Any of them come with medical credentials?”

  “No strict medical, but three scientific. I have an ichthyologist—a fish scientist,” Alaric added, seeing my look of blank incomprehension. “Also a theoretical physicist and a psychologist.”

  “I minored in psychology,” said Kelly, sounding relieved to have something to contribute to the discussion. “I’ve never practiced, but I can fake it if I have to.”

  “Great. Alaric, get the ID up and running, make sure it passes any surface checks people are likely to run, and go from there. You’re still a doc, Doc. We’re going to hire you to replace Dave as soon as we come back to civilization.” Kelly looked faintly alarmed. I grinned. “Don’t worry. Mahir will ghostwrite your articles, and we’ll just publish them under—what byline are we publishing these under, Alaric?”

  “Barbara Tinney.”

  “Great. We’ll publish them under the Barbara Tinney byline. It reinforces the impression that you’re legit—and we can just call you ‘Doc’ in public.”

  “You’re crazy,” pronounced Becks.

  “And you’re carrying eight guns,” I replied. “Now that we’ve covered what everybody knows, can we move on? When I post, I’ll say a few words about Dave and how honored we all are to have worked with him, bullshit, bullshit, blah, blah, blah.” I waved my free hand vaguely before cracking open the Coke and taking a deep drink. The acidic sweetness hit the back of my throat like a slap. I choked a little, getting my breath back, and finished: “I’ll hit the staff boards. Give everybody the edited version of the situation. Be done with your reports and ready to roll by ten.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Kelly, looking like she couldn’t tell whether she should be relieved to be getting away from Maggie or worried about what was coming next.

  “And why are we going now?” asked Alaric.

  I couldn’t blame him for the question. He wasn’t there when we lost Buffy, or when we lost George. I took a deep breath, held it long enough to be sure I’d stay calm while I answered him, and said, “If we sit here until we feel ready to move, we’re never going to move again. We’re going to get comfortable, and we’re going to stay here until we die. We don’t want to run off half-cocked, either, but there’s a line between the two, and if we don’t find it, we’re fucked. As for where we’re going…” I turned a predatory smile on Kelly. “That’s what the Doc here is going to tell me.”

  “Me?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “You. Come on. We’re using the living room terminal, and you’re going to explain what I’m not getting out of all those lovely notes you brought for us.” Picking up my omelet, I added, “You have your assignments, everybody. Two hours. Be ready.”

  Kelly followed me to the living room and sat next to me at the desk. “Perk up. It’s not like you went out of the frying pan and into the fire. It’s more like out of the frying pan and into the industrial-strength toaster.”

  “I don’t understand.” She shook her head, looking perplexed. “This is our chance to go to ground. Why aren’t we doing it?”

  “And where would we go? Canada? We’re not going to get any answers there. I trust Maggie’s system to keep us off the grid, and whoever arranged to have Oakland deleted is going to have trouble sweeping it under the rug if they pull it a second time. I know my job, okay?” I tapped the side of my head, smile fading. “I’ve got a few brain cells still working up here.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t start. My mood stays better if you don’t start.” I turned to
the keyboard. The terminal turned itself on as soon as its sensors “saw” me looking at it, and I typed my password to unlock the home network.

  “Noted,” she said. She didn’t sound like she approved, but at the moment, that was at the bottom of my priority list.

  “Good.” All Maggie’s computer equipment was top of the line. Having parents with money and Buffy Meissonier as your original technical consultant will do that. “I spent a few hours after the rest of you went to bed going through those files you brought us last night. Didn’t understand half of what I was reading, but George managed to explain some of it for me.”

  Kelly’s expression went very still, like she was fighting an inner battle to keep herself from pointing out that George couldn’t explain anything, because, guess what, George was dead. I’ve seen that look a lot since the funeral. As long as she could keep herself from saying anything, I could keep myself from getting angry that she’d want to.

  “Really,” she said finally, in a neutral tone that could have meant just about anything.

  Good enough for me. “Really,” I confirmed. “What I’m curious about is the list of labs. How many of those are going to be safe for us to visit? Where can we go to get the fieldwork side of the equation?” Kelly’s files gave us numbers, but they didn’t give us the rest of the picture. If we were going to understand, we needed to talk to someone who could confirm or contest the data—and if the CDC had been steered away from researching the reservoir conditions for as long as Kelly said, the labs on our list might have pieces of the puzzle we didn’t even know existed yet.

  “All the labs on list A are ones with head researchers a member of the team worked with directly at some point, either before or after they went into the private sector,” she said, sounding much more relaxed now that she was dealing with verified facts instead of crazy reporters. “List B contains the labs where someone had personal experience with the supporting researchers, but not the head of the lab, and list C is made up of the labs where we had only secondhand information on the people working there. Reputations, credentials, whether or not they bothered to check their sources…”