Maggie recovered, and remained with the site. Her parents even assisted in funding replacements for the equipment we’d lost, both to disaster, and when the Masons insisted on reclaiming their van. Alaric and Alisa moved in with her; Alaric and Maggie will be getting married in the spring, mirroring the ceremony into several virtual worlds for the sake of those of us who have had quite enough of the United States for now, thank you very much.
Alaric took over the Newsies; one of our more promising betas—another George, amusingly enough, although he goes by “Geo” to prevent confusion—took over the Irwins; and I? I took over the entire operation, with Maggie as my second. We work well together. Maybe it’s not as flashy and exciting as it was during the Mason era, but it does well enough by us.
We changed the world. That’s all the news can hope to do, I suppose.
The last postcard I had from the Masons came not a week before that reporter’s early-morning call. It summed up the whole situation rather neatly:
“Still having a wonderful time. Still glad you’re not here
.
All our love—G&S.”
Sanjukta sighed, drifting back into sleep. I kissed her on the forehead as I turned to carry her back to her own room, where I settled her down on the mattress of her crib. She fussed, but didn’t wake.
I drew the blanket over her and backed out of the room, pausing in the doorway to whisper, “They may not have lived happily ever after. But they lived happily long enough.”
And then I turned, and I went back to bed.
Acknowledgments
Welclass="underline" here we are. The story of the Masons is finally told, and it wouldn’t have been possible without the assistance of an amazing assortment of people. As before, they ranged from medical professionals who worked with both humans and animals to gun experts and epidemiologists. Blackout has been an incredible adventure to both research and write, and I am grateful to everyone who has contributed to its creation.
Michelle Dockrey once again lent her incredible eye for blocking to the action scenes and logistics to my work, improving the book beyond all measure in the process. Brooke Lunderville consulted on medical standards and processes, while Kate Secor not only edited, she tolerated endless dinners where I talked about horrible viral outbreaks over dessert.
The entire Deadline Machete Squad returned for this book, and I remain honored by their willingness to work with me to make sure it comes out mostly right. Priscilla Spenser and Lauren Shulz joined the Squad for the first time with this book, and did incredible work. Many thanks to them all, and to the endlessly patient, endlessly tolerant, absolutely wonderful staff of Borderlands Books, who have put up with more from me than any one bookstore should.
Most of all, on this volume, I must thank DongWon Song, my editor, and Diana Fox, my agent. Both of them put in hours upon hours improving and refining the text. They are truly amazing people to work with. (Not to discount all the other amazing people at Orbit, both US and UK. A special thank-you must go to Lauren Panepinto for her amazing cover design. I am seriously amazed by the work she does.)
Finally, and 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 make the book make sense; 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 Tara O’Shea and Chris Mangum, the incredible technical team behind www.MiraGrant.com. This book might have been written without them. It would not have been the same.
Both the CDC and EIS are real organizations, although I have taken many liberties with their structure and operations. To learn more about the history of the EIS, check out Inside the Outbreaks: The Elite Medical Detectives of the Epidemic Intelligence Service, by Mark Pendergrast. (Thanks to Bill McGeachin for supplying my copy of this wonderful book.)
Rise up while you can.
extras
www.orbitbooks.net
meet the author
Born and raised in California, Mira Grant has made a lifelong study of horror movies, horrible viruses, and the inevitable threat of the living dead. In college, she was voted Most Likely to Summon Something Horrible in the Cornfield, and was a founding member of the Horror Movie Sleep-Away Survival Camp, where her record for time survived in the Swamp Cannibals scenario remains unchallenged.
Mira lives in a crumbling farmhouse with an assortment of cats, horror movies, comics, and books about horrible diseases. When not writing, she splits her time between travel, auditing college virology courses, and watching more horror movies than is strictly good for you. Favorite vacation spots include Seattle, London, and a large haunted corn maze just outside of Huntsville, Alabama.
Mira sleeps with a machete under her bed, and highly suggests you do the same. Find out more about the author at www.miragrant.com.
introducing
If you enjoyed BLACKOUT, look out for
COUNTDOWN
AN EBOOK ONLY NEWSFLESH NOVELLA
by Mira Grant
The year is 2014, the year everything changed. We cured cancer. We cured the common cold. We died.
This is the story of how we rose.
When will you rise?
COUNTDOWN
“The Rising is ultimately a story of humanity at both its very best, and at its very worst. If a single event were needed to represent all of human history, we could do worse than selecting the Rising.”
—MAHIR GOWDA
“People blame science. Shit, man, people shouldn’t blame science. People should blame people.”
—SHAUN MASON
May 15, 2014: Denver, Colorado
“How are you feeling today, Amanda?” Dr. Wells checked the readout on the blood pressure monitor, his attention only half on his bored-looking teenage patient. This was old hat by now, to the both of them. “Any pain, weakness, unexplained bleeding, blurriness of vision…?”
“Nope. All systems normal, no danger signs here.” Amanda Amberlee let her head loll back, staring up at the colorful mural of clouds and balloons that covered most of the ceiling. She remembered when the staff had painted that for her. She’d been thirteen, and they’d wanted her to feel at ease as they pumped her veins full of a deadly disease designed to kill the disease that was already inside her. “Are we almost done? I have a fitting to get to.”
“Ah.” Dr. Wells, who had two teenage girls of his own, smiled. “Prom?”
“Prom,” Amanda confirmed.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Dr. Wells took impatience and surliness as insults from most patients. Amanda was a special case. When he’d first started treating her, her leukemia had been so advanced that she had no energy for complaining or talking back. She’d submitted to every test and examination willingly, although she had a tendency to fall asleep in the middle of them. From her, every snippy comment and teenage eye roll was a miracle, one that could be attributed entirely to science.
Marburg EX19—what the published studies were starting to refer to as “Marburg Amberlee,” after the index case, rather than “Marburg Denver,” which implied an outbreak and would be bad for tourism—was that miracle. The first effective cancer cure in the world, tailored from one of the most destructive viruses known to man. At thirteen, Amanda Amberlee had been given at most six months to live. Now, at eighteen, she was going to live to see her grandchildren… and none of them would ever need to be afraid of cancer. Like smallpox before it, cancer was on the verge of extinction.