The shower finished running the decontamination cycle a few seconds after the clothing sterilizer beeped to signal that my clothes were once more safe to wear around other humans. I dried off, dressed, and stepped back out into the main room to find Alaric waiting for me in an eerie, unintentional imitation of Becks.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Ready to stay?” I countered.
To my surprise, he shook his head, and said, “No. Maggie and I were talking, and we want to take the van—and the Doc—back to the house while you’re at the CDC.”
“Why?” I asked, as I moved to shut down my laptop and start packing it to go.
“Maggie’s starting to get twitchy about being away from home this long, and I’d rather not be in the city when you make your trip.” Alaric shrugged. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but if things go wrong, I don’t want Dr. Connolly this close to a CDC installation.”
“Afraid she’ll run for cover? Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
“Afraid they’ll come and take her away from us.”
I froze in the act of zipping my laptop case. “Fuck. I didn’t even think of that. You really think it’s a risk, even after we torched her first ID?”
“It depends on whether she’s here to play decoy and herd us into danger, or whether she really was sent because they’re afraid someone’s killing CDC researchers.” Alaric shrugged. “Any institution large enough to have different departments is going to have infighting. I don’t think she’s here to stab us in the back, and that means she’s in danger as long as she’s in Portland—and we’re in danger as long as we’re here with her.”
“Damn.” I chuckled, shaking my head as I shoved the laptop case into my bag. “I bow before your logic. Yeah, take Maggie and the Doc and head for Maggie’s place. Becks and I will meet you there after we finish up at the CDC, assuming they don’t shoot us on sight. If we haven’t checked in by five o’clock this afternoon…” I paused before finishing. “Run. Got it?”
“Got it.” Alaric stood, picking up his own laptop as he did. “Kinda like old times, huh, boss?”
“What, walking into certain danger with eyes open, one hand on the recorder, and one hand on the gun?” I flashed him a quick smile. “Exactly like old times.”
“I wish—” He faltered before finishing lamely, “Anyway, you and Becks be careful out there today, okay?”
I nodded. “Do my best. Drive safe.”
“Will do.”
Maggie, Becks, and Kelly were waiting in the ll. Becks cast a thin smile my way. “So you’re good with the plan?”
“You guys don’t have to conspire against me, you know,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s a good plan; I am good with the good plan. Maggie, I want you messaging Mahir every twenty miles until you get home, you hear me?”
“No problem,” she said. Taking Kelly by the elbow, she said, “Come on. Let’s get out of here before somebody gets hurt.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Becks, and turned to lead the way down the hall and out of the hotel.
Watching the van drive off with Alaric at the wheel left me strangely numb, like somehow their departure meant I would never see them again, like this was some sort of an ending, rather than another step along the road to learning why George really died. I stood frozen in the parking lot, staring after them, a hard lump blocking my throat when I tried to swallow.
“Hey.” Becks touched my elbow. I turned to face her. She raised her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”
I managed a small smile. “I’m always okay. You ready to go and piss off the CDC?”
“Why, Shaun,” she said, flirting her eyelashes coquettishly, “I thought you’d never ask.” She turned to head for the bike. After a moment’s pause, I followed her.
The Portland CDC was located in its own facility, a large, meticulously clean collection of low, white-painted buildings that could easily have been repurposed as a hospital or maybe a medical college. From a distance, it looked friendly and inviting, the sort of place that would make a routine checkup almost enjoyable. That first impression didn’t survive getting close enough to see barbed wire topping the fence that circled the entire installation, or the small yellow-and-black signs indicating that the fence itself was electrified. Pre-Rising, they would have used a low wattage and backed it up with guard dogs.
Post-Rising, well, let’s just say they probably cranked things up to lethal levels at the slightest excuse.
Becks kept her arms looped around my waist as I pulled the bike up to the guard station. It was a small, featureless gunmetal booth that gave no indication whether it was occupied or automated. I held up our IDs, careful to keep both of my hands visible, and said, “Shaun Mason, After the End Times, and Rebecca Atherton, same.”
“Please place your identification in the slot,” said a mechanized voice. A slot hissed open in the side of the guard station, right next to the speaker. I dropped our ID cards into the slot, which hissed shut. “Please wait.”
“Because I was totally planning to zoom off and leave you with our IDs,” I muttered.
Shaun, said George warningly. Becks pinched me on the back of the neck.
“Your identification has been confirmed,” announced the guard station. The slot opened again, allowing me to reclaim our cards as the first gate began sliding open. “Please proceed onward for blood testing and examination.”
“How I love the CDC,” I said, passing Becks her ID card and hitting the gas.
The procedure from there was exactly as the guard station threatened—sorry, “indicated.” We reached a second gate about ten yards onto the campus, this one accompanied by men wearing Kevlar vests and clutching assault rifles. There were also blood testing units waiting there, one for each of us. We both passed our blood tests, robbing the sentries of the chance to use the weapons they clutched so carefully, and drove on to the third station, where the retinal scanners were waiting.
“I’d think this was excessive if I hadn’t just been to Maggie’s place,” I muttered to Becks, who snorted with quiet laughter. I wasn’t kidding, either; I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Maggie and the CDC get their security designs through the same firm. God knows her family has the money, and they’ve never been shy about spending a few extra bucks for the sake of a little bit more safety.
Finally, after running the security gamut, we were allowed to enter the CDC parking lot, where I parked in a space marked VISITOR in large yellow letters. Becks slid off, removing her helmet and producing a hairbrush from her pack while I was still getting the kickstand positioned. She began briskly brushing out her hair, making adjustments in accordance with some secret set of female rules that even George had never been willing to share with me.
“You look fine, especially for this sort of visit,” I said, securing my own helmet to the handlebars. “Nobody’s going to be looking at your hair.”
Becks gave me a frosty look. “So says you,” she said stiffly. “I’ve found that good hair can open many doors for the female investigative reporter. It certainly doesn’t hurt my ratings when I take steps to avoid looking like I just rolled out of bed.”
I had to admit she had a point: Becks paid more attention to her appearance than any other Irwin I knew, male or female, and her merchandise sales were even higher than mine. She wore her hair longer than was strictly safe for fieldwork, with blonde highlights and dark brown lowlights that made her otherwise medium-brown hair seem somehow exotic, especially in the sort of light conditions she was usually filming under. Combined with naturally green eyes and a fondness for wearing tight white tank tops, well, it wasn’t a mystery why eighty percent of her viewers were male. It was more of a mystery that she seemed to want me to approve of it. I was never going to get that one.