Just wondering.
—From The Kwong Way of Things, the blog of Alaric Kwong, August 1, 2041. Unpublished.
RISE UP WHILE YOU CAN.
—Graffiti from inside the Florida disaster zone, picture published under Creative Commons license.
Twenty-two
This isn’t right.” Becks watched the door, pistol drawn. “There should be more security.”
“Maybe there’s something going on.” I kept most of my attention on my phone. I had a scanner running, checking for security frequencies that might give away our location. “Mahir? How’s it looking?”
“The booster should be online in a few more seconds.” He was on his back on the floor, using magnetic clasps to affix the Cat’s equipment to the bottom of a server rack. “I still feel odd about this whole thing. I think this is the first actual crime I’ve committed for you people.”
“We’ll put it on your résumé,” Becks said dryly.
“And we’re good.” Mahir pushed himself away from the server rack and stood, dusting off his still-immaculate pants. “That should work until they find it. Which will be never if that woman is half as good as she believes herself to be.”
“Let’s say she’s half as good as Buffy was, and assume that means she gets about a year.” I lowered my phone. “There’s still no security activity in this part of the building. We’re either clean to evac, or they’re setting up an ambush.”
Becks snorted. “Let me guess what you’re going to say next. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ ”
“Sounds about right,” I agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”
The light above the door turned yellow just as we started to move. “There has been a security breach,” announced a calm female voice. “Please proceed to the nearest open lab and await instructions. There are currently no confirmed contaminants. Please proceed to the nearest open lab and await instructions. Remain calm. Please proceed to the nearest open lab…”
The three of us turned to look at each other.
“Okay,” I asked. “Who touched the bad button?”
The door slid open. We stopped looking at each other in favor of looking at it.
“Is that good, bad, or horrible?” asked Mahir.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” said Becks. “Let’s move.”
Finding the correct server room had put us deep enough in the building that we couldn’t just bolt for the exit. I gestured for Becks to exit ahead of me. She nodded understanding, suddenly all business, and left the room with her pistol held at waist level. I motioned for Mahir to go after her, and I brought up the rear. It wasn’t as cold a move as it might have seemed from the outside. Becks was well equipped to handle herself, Mahir needed the cover, and I…
I was the most expendable one here.
We made our way through the halls, ducking out of sight whenever we heard footsteps, and avoiding any room with a red light above it. Becks went around each corner first, signaling us to follow once she was sure the next hall was clear. I would remain behind just long enough to be sure we weren’t being tailed. It was slow. It was nerve-racking. I would actually have preferred a zombie mob. At least you can shoot those.
We all wound up standing together at a T-junction, identical halls stretching out to the left and right. “I… I can’t remember which way we turn here.” Becks sounded horrified. “I don’t know which way to go.”
“You go that way.” I pointed left. “I’ll go the other way. If you find the exit, wait there; I’ll catch up. If you don’t, turn around.”
“Shaun—”
“Still in charge,” I said amiably, before turning and jogging down the right-side hall. They didn’t follow me. They were smarter than that.
The hall was deserted. I kept going, looking for the outer wall. My attention was so tightly focused that I didn’t hear the woman who was running barefoot down the next hall until she came whipping around the corner and ran straight into me.
I staggered backward, barely managing to keep my balance. She did much the same, ducking her head for a moment in the process—long enough for me to register that she was wearing doctor’s scrubs and a lab coat, but no shoes or socks. Her hair was short-cropped and dark brown, where it wasn’t bleached in streaky patches.
Then she looked up, and my heart stopped.
“George?” I whispered.
“Shaun?” Her voice was unsteady, like she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to be using it. We stared at each other, neither of us seeming to be quite sure of what we were supposed to do next.
Then she grabbed my hand and shouted, “Run!”
“Impossible” is something that stopped having any staying power when the dead started to rise. Trust me on this one. I’m a scientist.
—From the journal of Dr. Shannon Abbey, date unknown.
Every day I wake up thinking “We’re all going to die today.” Maybe it’s weird, but I find that comforting. Every day, I wake up thinking “This is the day it ends, and we all get to rest.”
That’ll be nice.
—From Adaptive Immunities, the blog of Shaun Mason, August 1, 2041. Unpublished.
GEORGIA: Twenty-three
I slipped the lab coat over my scrubs, dropping the shoes on the floor, where they landed with a clatter. I stepped into them, still moving on autopilot. There was no blood on me—it had all been on my slippers, and those were on the other side of the barrier. I was clean, and I was alone. If I was getting out of here, I was doing it under my own power. I took a deep breath, turned, and walked down the hall. It took all my self-control not to break into a run. Running would attract attention. I was one more person in scrubs and a lab coat, practically part of the landscape, and the last thing I wanted was to attract attention to myself.
Voices drifted down the hall ahead of me. Suddenly remembering my little gun, I dropped it into the lab coat pocket and kept walking. A group of unfamiliar technicians rounded the corner and walked right past me, barely seeming to register my presence. I really was invisible… until someone recognized me, anyway. That was going to happen sooner or later. I needed a plan, and “keep walking until you find the exit” wasn’t going to cut it.
Rescue came from an unexpected source: the building’s security system. “There has been a security breach,” it announced. All down the hall, the lights changed color. Some turned red. Most turned yellow, followed by their associated doors sliding open. “Please proceed to the nearest open lab and await instructions. There are currently no confirmed contaminants. Please proceed to the nearest open lab and await instructions. Remain calm. Please proceed—”
I stopped listening in favor of turning and walking toward the nearest open door, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. The first lab contained three anxious-looking orderlies. They were murmuring amongst themselves with their backs to the door. I stepped out of view as fast as I could, starting for the next open lab. It looked oddly familiar—oddly, because so many of the labs looked exactly like every other CDC lab I’d ever seen. I stuck my head into the room, scanning for signs of movement. There were none.
But there was a heavy black curtain covering the back third of the room. A faint blue glow seeped around the edges, casting shadows on the floor and ceiling. “No way,” I whispered, and stepped all the way into the room. The door slid shut behind me. I barely noticed.
Why would they unlock this lab? Wouldn’t they be too worried about the sanctity of their big bad mad science project to let people get near the tank? Then again, everyone who’d seen me had to know I was a clone. Maybe this was a wing where no one who didn’t have the appropriate security clearances would ever set foot. I walked across the room, pausing barely a foot from that dangling curtain. Did I really want to know?