Steve absorbed the news without changing his expression; he didn’t even flinch when the needles on his testing unit bit into his hand. I flinched. After the number of blood tests I’d had recently, I was tired of being punctured.
Heidi and Carlos relaxed when our tests flashed clean. “Sorry, sir,” said Carlos, walking over with the biohazard bags. “We needed to be sure.”
“Standard outbreak protocol,” Steve said, dismissing the apology with a wave of his hand.
“Keep holding this ground.”
“Sir?” said Heidi. “Won’t you be holding it with us?”
“We have somewhere we need to be,” I said quietly.
Maybe it was the look on my face, or the obvious anguish in my voice. Whatever it was, they didn’t argue.
“One of the armored SUVs should do,” said Steve. “Find the fastest one that’s still on the grounds.” Carlos and Heidi blinked at him. “Move!” he barked, and they moved, scattering for the guard station where the keys to the parked vehicles were stored. Steve ignored their burst of activity, leading me to the weapons locker and keying open the lock.
“Candy store is open.”
“You’re a real people person, aren’t you?” asked Rick. “Prom King in school?”
“Four times,” Steve said.
I ignored them, focusing on grabbing boxes of bullets and shoving them into my pockets with a single-minded determination that was frightening, even to me. It felt like I was running on a countdown. As to what it was counting down to…
Carlos emerged from the guard station and tossed a set of keys to Steve. “We can unlock the rear gate, but once the central computer realizes the seal’s been broken—”
“How long can we have?”
“Thirty seconds.”
“That’s long enough. You two hold your ground. Keep anyone who makes it here safe. Mason, Cousins, you’re with me.”
“All the way,” I said, and followed him to the car.
Once we were all inside, belts fastened and weapons secured, Steve started the engine and drove us to the gate. Carlos was already waiting, ready to hit the manual override. The manual exits exist in case of accidental or ineffective lockdown, to give the uninfected a chance to escape. They require a blood test and a retinal scan, and breaking quarantine without a damn good reason is a quick way to get yourself sent to prison for a long time. Carlos was risking a lot on Steve’s order.
“You have good men,” I said.
“I know,” said Steve, and hit the gas.
The roads outside the Center were clear.
That’s standard during a confirmed outbreak in a non-congested area. The people inside the quarantine zone will survive or not without interference; it’s up to them the minute the fences come down. So the big health orgs and military intervention teams wait until the worst of it’s had time to burn itself out before they head in. Let the infection peak. Ironi-cally, that makes it safer, because it’s trying to save the survivors that gets people killed. Once you know everyone around you is already dead, it gets easier to shoot without asking questions.
“How long since quarantine was declared?” asked Rick.
“Twenty-seven minutes.”
Standard CDC response time says you leave a quarantine to cook for forty-five minutes before you go in. Given our proximity to the city, they wouldn’t just be responding by air; they’d be sending in ground support, to make sure nobody broke quarantine before they declared it safe. “Can we make it?”
“We’ll have to,” said Steve, and sped up.
We were just crossing the Sacramento city limits when the first CDC copters passed overhead, zooming toward the Center. Three more followed close behind, in closed arrow formation. I leaned over and clicked on the radio, tuning it to the emergency band. “—repeat, this is not a drill. Remain in your homes. If you are on the road, remain in your vehicle until you have reached a safe location.
If you have seen or had direct contact with infected individuals, contact local authorities immediately.
Repeat, this is not a drill. Remain in—”
Steve turned the radio off. “You know that breaking quarantine is a federal offense, don’t you?”
“I don’t care right now.” I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. Rick’s hand settled on my shoulder, trying to offer comfort. If I didn’t think about it too hard, I could almost pretend that he was Shaun.
“All right, then.” He hit the gas again. The SUV rolled faster, hitting the end of the trestle and blazing onward toward the city. He glanced at me as we drove, adding, “I’m sorry about your brother. He was a good man. He’ll be missed.”
“Thank you.” The idea of looking at his face—it would be so earnest, if his words were anything to judge by, so anxious for understanding—made me tired all over again. There was nothing I could do now, nothing I could do until we got to the hall and to the man who killed Shaun. So I didn’t open my eyes, and I didn’t say anything, and we drove on.
…but they were us, our children, our selves, These shades who walk the cloistered dark, With empty eyes and clasping hands, And wander, isolate, alone, the space between Forgiveness and the penitent’s grave.
—From Eakly, Oklahoma, originally published in By the Sounding Sea, the blog of Buffy Meissonier, February 11th, 2040.
Five: Georgia
If the guard at the reception hall thought there was something odd about us arriving in a dusty, dented SUV over an hour after the Center went into lockdown, he didn’t say anything. Our blood tests came back clean; that was what his job required him to give a damn about, and so he just waved us inside. He didn’t ask any questions. I was relieved and angry at the same time. Maybe if people asked more questions, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
We parked next to an empty press bus, the three of us pausing only long enough to check the readiness of our weapons before we walked to the elevator. We all got in together, even Steve.
I glanced at him and frowned. “You don’t have a press pass.”
“Don’t need one,” he said. “The Center’s under quarantine. By contract, I’m actually obligated to circumnavigate any security barricade between myself and the Senator.”
“Good,” I said. I looked to Rick. “When we get inside, you let me talk to Tate. I want you staying out of the way.” I wanted him to survive this little adventure. I wanted one of us—just one—to make it out alive.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded. And then it was too late for conversation, as the elevator doors opened on what looked for all the world like a perfectly normal party.
Servers circulated with trays of drinks and canapés.
Politicians, their spouses, reporters, and members of the California elite milled around, talking like there was nothing wrong. The only signs of tension were in their eyes. They knew about the quarantine—half of these people were staying at the Center, or worked there, or had a stake in its continued suc-cess—and they were terrified. But appearances have to be maintained, especially when you’re looking at millions of dollars in lost city revenue because of an outbreak. So the party continued.
“I hate this,” I muttered. The man with the blood tests was waiting for us to check in. I slid my increasingly sore hand into the unit he held, watching lights run their cycle from red to yellow and finally to green. Next to me, Steve and Rick did the same.
As soon as the lights stabilized I yanked my hand free and ducked into the crowd, not waiting for my companions as I made a beeline for the room where I’d last seen Senator Ryman. They wouldn’t allow him to leave after the Center went into lockdown, and if he couldn’t leave, he would have stayed in the room with his surviving staff. He was that kind of a guy.
“Georgia? What are you doing here?”
Senator Ryman sounded astonished. I turned toward his voice and found him half-standing. Emily was beside him, eyes wide, hands clapped over her mouth. Tate was on his other side. Unlike the Rymans, the Governor looked anything but relieved to see me. I could read the hatred in his eyes.
“Senator Ryman,” I said, and finished my turn, walking to the table. “Mrs. Ryman.” I smiled narrowly. “Governor.”
“Oh, God, Georgia.” Emily Ryman stood so fast she sent her chair toppling over as she threw her arms around me. “We heard the news. I’m so sorry.”
“I left him outside,” I said, looking past Emily’s shoulder to Senator Ryman and Governor Tate. “He was infected, and he wouldn’t let me die with him, so I left him outside the van. I locked the doors. He held off the zombies until Steve could get to us.” Belatedly, I realized that I hadn’t explained who “us” was. “Rick’s here, too. We both lived. Shaun didn’t.”
“Georgia?” Emily pulled away, looking uncertain. She glanced over her shoulder at Governor Tate before looking back to me. “What’s going on here?”
“How did you get out of the quarantine
zone?” asked Tate. His voice was flat, verging on emotionless. He knew the score. He’d known it since I walked through the door. Lies only last as long as no one’s questioning them.
“I’m good at my job.” Emily Ryman let me go entirely, taking a step backward, toward her husband. I kept my eyes on Tate. “Shaun was a good friend of most of the security staff. They were happy to help me. I guess sometimes you really do reap what you sow.”
“Georgia, what are you talking about?”
The confusion in Senator Ryman’s voice was enough to distract me from Tate. I turned to the man responsible for us being here in the first place, asking, “Haven’t you seen my last report?”
“No, I haven’t.” His expression was drawn tight with concern. “Things have been a bit hectic. I haven’t had a site feed since the outbreak bell rang.”
“Then how did you—”