We never asked to be heroes. I certainly didn’t. No one ever gave me the opportunity to say I didn’t want this, that I was sorry, but they had the wrong girl; I just wanted to take Shaun and go home. No. Wait. That wasn’t quite true.
I opened my eyes, sitting up, and pulled the keyboard toward me as Rick looked on.
I wanted to tell the truth, and let people draw their own conclusions from there. I wanted people to think, and to know, and to understand. I just wanted to tell the truth. In the van that had car-ried us across a country, and through the last months of my brother’s life, with all hell ready to break loose outside, my hands came down, and I wrote.
Was it worth it?
God, I hope so.
RED FLAG DISTRIBUTION RED FLAG DISTRIBUTION RED
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CREATIVE COMMONS LICENCE ALERT LEVEL ALPHA SPREAD
TO ALL NEWS SITES IMMEDIATELY
REPOST FREELY REPOST FREELY REPOST FREELY
FEED IS LIVE
My name is Georgia Mason. For the past several years, I’ve been providing one of the world’s many windows onto the news, chronicling current events and attempt-ing, in my own small way, to offer context and perspec-tive. I have always pursued the truth above all other things, even when the truth came at the cost of my own comfort and well-being. It seems, now, that I pursued the truth even when it would mean the loss of everything I held dear, although I was unaware of it at the time.
My name is Georgia Mason. I was adopted as an infant to be raised as part of a set, alongside Shaun Mason, a fellow orphan of the Rising. He was my best friend. He was my brother. He was quite possibly the only person I have ever loved in any meaningful way.
No: that’s wishy-washy and dishonest. He was the only person I have ever loved in any meaningful way. He was my family. He was my home. And right now, he is standing outside the van where I am writing this, waiting for the virus that is in the process of taking over his cells to finish its work. I tell you this so you’ll understand that this isn’t a hoax, this isn’t some sopho-moric attempt to increase ratings or site traffic. This is real. Everything I am about to tell you is the truth.
Believe me, understand, and act, before it is too late.
If you’re viewing this from the main page of After the End Times, you’ll see a download link labeled “Campaign_Notes.zip” on the left-hand side of your screen. Possession of the documents behind that link may be considered treason by the government of the United States of America. Please. Click. Download. Read. Repost to any forum you can, any mes-sage board or photo sharing site or blog that you can reach. The data contained in those files is as essential to our freedom and survival as the report of Dr. Matras proved to be during the Rising. I am not overstating their importance. There isn’t enough time for that.
I have a conspiracy to stop, and a brother to avenge.
Neither is there enough time for me to repeat the facts which are already codified and ready for you to download. Let this suffice for all the things I do not have the time to say: they are lying to us. They are willfully channeling research away from the pursuit of a cure for this disease, and they are doing it under the auspices of our own government. I don’t know who “they” are. I didn’t live long enough to find out. Governor Tate served their interests. So, I regret to say, did Georgette Meissonier, previously a part of this reporting site.
They want us to stay afraid.
They want us to stay controlled.
They want us to stay sick.
Please, don’t let them do this to our world. I am begging you, for Shaun’s sake, for my sake, for everyone’s sake, don’t let them keep us frightened and hid-ing in our homes. Let us be what we were intended to be: human and free and able to make our own choices. Read what I have written, understand what they intend for us, for all of us, and decide to live.
They made a mistake in killing my brother, because alive or dead, the truth won’t rest. My name is Georgia Mason, and I am begging you. Rise up while you can.
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…it is the sad duty of the management of After the End Times to announce the deaths of Shaun Phillip Mason, the head of our Action News Division, and Georgia Carolyn Mason, the head of our Factual News Division.
Between the two of them, they created this site, they pursued the truth, and they changed my life forever.
I’ve been trying to find the words for this announcement since I was asked to make it, some three hours ago.
The request came with a promotion to which I never aspired, and a position made bitter by the knowledge of what it cost. I would sooner have my friends than all the promotions in the world. But that option is not open to me, or to any of those who will mourn for them.
Georgia Mason was my friend, and I will always regret that we never met in the flesh. She once told me she lived each day hoping and praying she would find the truth; that she was able to keep going through all life’s petty disappointments because she knew that someday, the truth would set her free.
Shaun Mason was the reason she kept looking for as long as she did before she finally gave up her search. For this, we all owe him a debt of gratitude.
Goodbye, Georgia. May the truth be enough to bring you peace. Goodbye, Shaun. May you find a better world than the one you left behind.
—From Fish and Clips, the blog of Mahir Gowda, June 20th, 2040.
Three: Georgia
The sound of gunfire began outside the van almost as soon as I finished my post. I folded my arms over the keyboard and put my head down, refusing to allow myself to look up. The security monitors would have let me see what was happening, and that was the one thing I knew I couldn’t survive doing.
If I saw Shaun…if I saw him fall, I’d follow him, and that wouldn’t help anyone. We both had our jobs to do. Mine, unfortunately, required me to survive for at least a little while longer.
Rick put his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t shrug him off. The gunfire continued.
Eventually, Rick took his hand away. I heard his footsteps on the van floor, followed by the sound of him sitting down at one of the other terminals and beginning to type. He gasped, a single short, sharp intake of breath.
“Georgia?”
I didn’t want to respond to him. I didn’t want to respond to anything, ever again. “What?” I asked, without lifting my head.
“Your post…”
“What about it?”
“It’s live. We’re getting so many hits that it’s swamped two of the servers.”
“What?” This time I did lift my head, turning in my chair to face him. The gunfire from outside continued, but it seemed less important now.
“I’m serious. Everyone is downloading this, everyone is propagating it. Alaric’s reporting that when some folks started the usual ‘it’s a hoax’ rumors, the CDC put out a press statement. The CDC.” He sounded awed. I understood how he felt.
The CDC never puts out a statement with less than a week to prepare. “They confirmed the outbreak, and provided satellite footage to corroborate your report.
This story doesn’t just have legs—it has wings, and it’s flying around the world.”
“Was the name on the press release Dr. Joseph Wynne?”
“It was.”
“Good man.”
“Georgia…he didn’t die for nothing. The story still got out.”
The urge to slap him was hot and sudden.
A wave of exhaustion followed it, keeping me in the chair. “That’s where you’re wrong, Rick. No one should have died for this. Not Buffy, not Steve’s partner, and certainly not Shaun. This wasn’t supposed to be that kind of story.”
He turned to blink at me, looking faintly abashed. Then he ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t start thinking their deaths are somehow justified because we got the word out. They were worth so much more than this story.” So damn much more.
Rick’s shoulders sagged. “I’m going to get back to work.”
“You do that.” I turned back to my own terminal, and put my head back down on my arms.
Minutes ticked by as Rick worked and I sat in silence, trying to change the world with the power of my denial. One of the monitors started to beep in the frequency that meant we had an incoming call.
“Answer,” I said, not lifting my head.
“Georgia?”
Mahir sounded like he was on the verge of a total meltdown. I looked up to see his face on the monitor mounted above my terminal. His eyes were wide and terrified, whites showing all the way around, and his hair was disheveled, like he’d just gotten out of bed.
“Oh,” I said. “Hello, Mahir. How are you keeping up with the forums?” My voice came out calm and reasonable, like I was just a normal person having a normal conversation about normal things.
It was remarkable how lifelike I sounded.
“Hey,” said Rick, from behind me.
Mahir glanced toward him before returning his attention to me. “I’m so sorry, Georgia. I—”
“Please don’t.” My voice was very small. I cleared my throat and said, more forcefully, “If you do that, I won’t be able to keep going. And I have to keep going. I don’t see any other way.”
“What can I do?”
If apologies were the exact wrong thing, this was the exact right thing. I sat up a bit straighter, squaring my shoulders, and said, “I need a favor.”
“Anything.” He said it like he meant it; like it was the most important thing in the world. Good.
He wasn’t far wrong.
“I am not currently fit to run this news site.”
The words hurt less than I expected them to. I guess I’d already used up most of my capacity for pain. “I need you to take my place, until such time as I am capable of doing my job without personal concerns
clouding my understanding of the truth.”
“Georgia—”
“We need a new head for the Irwins. I can’t.