“Nanites are machines,” Liam said. “Incredibly small, yes. Incredibly limited in some ways. But they are sensitive to certain very specific transmission signals. Thorpe’s cure was the key. . . . It didn’t destroy the machines; it turned them off using a code sequence.”
Bryn felt cold, now, but she said what they were all thinking. “You have a remote kill code and the means to deliver it. You don’t need the serum, or needles. You can kill it all, simultaneously.”
“As long as it’s in range of the transmission, yes,” he said. “But when I said it’s a kill code, it’s literal. If we push it today, it kills three people in this room: Bryn, Riley, and Annie.”
“Four,” Joe said. Manny looked stricken. “Sorry. Meant to tell you but we haven’t exactly had a chance to catch up. It was this, or being dead on a cell floor.”
Manny took in a deep breath. “Four people in this room. But it’s not only that. There are unknown numbers out there—the survivors from Pharmadene. The ones the Fountain Group has infected, deliberately. The ones already inoculated by other groups. I don’t have any idea how many lives this will take—thousands, maybe tens of thousands. My point is this: tomorrow, it will be more. How many days can pass before none of us can justify taking action?”
The silence was profound enough that Bryn thought she could hear Patrick’s heartbeat. It seemed fast to her. Hers was rushing, too, driving adrenaline into her body like shimmering waves of discomfort. Fight or flight. In this case, neither one would work.
“I’m not pushing the button,” Manny said. “I can’t. I’ve thought about it, every single day since you disappeared; at the time, it was a way to get back for what those bastards did. That’s why I put it together—revenge. Revenge and paranoia, because you know me, I’m paranoid and I admit it. But you called. You came back.” He shook his head, got up, and looked out the window at the array of machines. “And I’m not a strong enough person to make this call.”
“Nobody is,” Riley said. “You can’t. We can’t. You’re talking about playing God as much as those people are.”
“It has to be done.” That came from probably the most unexpected source: Annalie. She was still sitting down in the chair, looking young and sweet and utterly vulnerable. Her clear gaze was locked on Manny like a laser. “Guys, it has to be. Never mind us. Never mind who else dies that doesn’t deserve to. The point is, we stop it now or it doesn’t stop. Because if we don’t want to push the button on four people here, or a thousand out there . . . what happens at a million?” Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away, fast. “I didn’t get a choice. None of us did, really. So I say push the button.”
“It’s not a vote,” Patrick said. “It’s your sister’s life, and I’m not letting that happen. I’ve fought too hard. I’m not going to just—give up. There’s another way.”
“Not one that works,” Manny said. He spun the computer around. “Just press enter. It’s ready to send.”
On the screen was a text box, a pop-up that read simply INITIATE TRANSMISSION? Two buttons. The OK button was highlighted.
“Liam?” Manny said. The older man stood still for a moment, and Bryn saw a tremor in his fingers . . . but then he shook his head and looked away. “Patrick?”
“Fuck you,” Patrick said tightly. “No.”
“Pansy?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
That left the four of them. The infected.
“No,” Riley said, unprompted. “Not at that price.”
“You mean, at the price of your life?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” she said, and Bryn thought she saw the same flat, predatory expression in her eyes that Jane had so often flashed. We’ve changed, she thought, and felt a chill. We’ll keep changing. He’s right. We might still be human, but it won’t last.
Joe just shook his head when Manny’s gaze flicked to him. That left Bryn and Annie.
Bryn held out her hand. Annie took it.
“Together?” she asked.
“Bryn!” Patrick grabbed her. “No. No, you can’t do this.”
“Yes, I can,” she said. “You don’t see it. You’ve never seen it.”
“Seen what?”
“The monster,” she said. “And I don’t want you to ever see that.”
She reached for the button.
Riley hit her from behind and sent her crashing face-first onto the corner of the desk; bone shattered, blood splattered. Bryn rolled, throwing her off balance, and managed to get her arm up in time to stop Riley’s knife from punching into her eye. It went through the meat of her forearm, and caught between the bones; she used that, and twisted, yanking it out of Riley’s fingers. She punched Riley, punched her again, tossed her into the wall, and buried the knife in the other woman’s chest, low and center, cutting her diaphragm. Riley screamed, lost air, and clawed at Bryn desperately, opening gouges and drawing blood.
“This,” Bryn managed to gasp out. “This is what we are now. No future, no family, no children coming after us. Just the monsters, until we’re gone, and we’ll get worse. This is the future. Push the button!”
Patrick had forgotten her sister, riveted by the horrifying violence she and Riley were inflicting on each other.
Nobody thought to stop her as Annie, weeping, walked to the desk and pressed ENTER.
Patrick screamed out a raw, wordless scream of denial and horror and loss, but it was too late. Her hand was steady and calm, and in the aftermath, Bryn went limp and sat back, waiting. They were all waiting.
Patrick rushed to her and took her in his arms, rocking her. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, God, no, don’t do this, don’t do this. . . .”
“I never should have come back in the first place,” she said. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
Annie sat down next to her and crossed her long, elegant legs, sitting Indian-style like the little girl she’d been, not so long ago. “Do you remember what happened to Sharon?” she asked Bryn.
“Sharon . . .” She walked away from home. She never came back.
“Brynnie, I swear—I swear it was an accident. I never meant it—we were just arguing, the way we always did. She pushed me and I was in the kitchen cutting an apple, and I fell down. Then she slipped and fell on the knife, and it cut her on the thigh, and the blood—there was so much blood. I didn’t try to do it—I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Dad tried to save her. He used that belt, you know, the one in the bathroom? He tied it up in a tourniquet around her leg, right here.” She traced the spot with her fingertips on her own leg. “But she died. And they didn’t want anyone to know. Dad took her away, and Mom and I cleaned it all up. I don’t know where he took her. But I’m a monster, too, Bryn. From that moment, I was a monster. I never told anybody, but—I wanted you to know before we go. I’m so sorry.”