Deadline

amiably. “Please dial Mahir.”

“Acknowledged,” said the operator, and went quiet, replaced by the faint beeping of an international connection in process. I hummed under my breath, watching the abandoned California countryside rolling out on either side of me. It would have been pretty if not for, y’know, all the dead stuff.

“Shaun?” Mahir’s normally smooth voice was blurry with exhaustion, making his British accent stand out more than usual.

“Mahir, my main man! You sound a little harried. Did I wake you?”

“No, but I really do wish you’d stop calling so late at night. You know Nandini gets upset when you do.”

“There you go again, assuming that I’m not actually trying to piss off your wife. I’m really a much nicer person inside your head, aren’t I? Do I give money to charity and help old-lady zombies across streets so that they can bite babies?”

Mahir sighed. “My, you are in a mood today, aren’t you?”

“Been monitoring the boards?”

“You know that I have been. Or was, until I went to sleep.” I also knew he’d called up the numbers the second I got him out of bed, because that was how Mahir’s mind worked. Some men check their wallets; he checked our ratings.

“Then you know why I’m not in the mood for sunshine and puppies.” I paused. “That expression makes no sense. Why the hell would I ever be in the mood for puppies?”

“Shaun—”

“I could go with sunshine, though. Sunshine is useful. It should really be ‘sunshine and shotguns.’ Something you’d actually be happy about.”

“Shaun—”

“How’d the footage go over?”

There was a pause as Mahir adjusted to the fact that I’d suddenly decided to start making sense. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “We’re getting some of our highest click-through rates and download shares in the last six months. There have been eleven outside interview requests, and I think you’ll find as many, if not more, when you check your in-box. Six of the more junior Irwins have already been caught on the staff chats trying to figure out whether this means you’d be willing to do a joint excursion.”A pause. “None were hired during your tenure as department head.”

That meant they knew me, but had never worked with me in the field. I sighed. “Okay, so I won’t shoot them. What’s the worst headline?”

“Are you quite sure you want to do this while you’re driving?”

“How did you—”

“You’ve gone to time delay, but there are still quite a few people watching you through the van’s rearview window camera, hoping to see you get attacked again.”

Of course there were. “There are days when I really think I should go be an accountant or something.”

“You’d go mad.”

“But no one would be staring at me. What’s the worst headline, Mahir?”

He sighed, heavily. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“All right, then. ‘Shaun of the Dead, Part Two.’ ” He stopped. I said nothing. He must have taken that as a cue because he continued: “ ‘Shaun Phillip Mason, the world’s most well-known and well-regarded action blogger (known as an ‘Irwin’ to the informed, named in honor of a pre-Rising naturalist with a fondness for handling dangerous creatures), returned to the field today after almost a year of full-time desk duty. Does this mark the end of his much-debated ‘retirement,’ a career choice made during the emotionally charged weeks following the death of his adoptive sister, Georgia Mason, a factual news blogger? Or does it—’ ”

“That’s enough, Mahir,” I said quietly.

He stopped immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have called if I hadn’t expected them to be bad. At least this tells me what I’ll be dealing with when I get back to the office.” George was as pissed off by the world’s refusal to leave me the fuck alone as I was, and she was swearing steadily in the back of my head. It was more reassuring than distracting. The things that get under my skin don’t always get under hers, and I feel the closest to crazy when I’m disagreeing with the voice in my head.

“Are you all right?”

I paused before answering, trying to find the best words. If George had a best friend—a best friend who wasn’t me, anyway—it was Mahir. He was her second-in-command before she died and gave him a promotion that he’d never wanted. Sometimes, I thought he was the only person who fully understood how close we’d been, or how much her death had broken me. He was the only one who never questioned the fact that she still talked to me.

Frankly, I think he was jealous that she never spoke to him.

“Ignoring the part where you know the answer to that is ‘fuck, no,’ I’m fine, Mahir. Tired. I shouldn’t have gone out there.”

“If you hadn’t—”

“Becks had it under control. It’s her department now. I shouldn’t have interfered.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“Do I?”

Mahir paused before saying, “I was actually pleased to see you out there. If you don’t mind my saying so, Shaun, you looked more like yourself than you have in quite some time. You might want to consider making this the beginning of a true… well, revival, if the word isn’t in poor taste. You could do with something beyond spending all your time in an office.”

“I’ll take that under consideration.”

No, you won’t.

“No, you won’t,” said Mahir, in eerie imitation of George.

“Now you’re ganging up on me,” I muttered.

“What?”

Sometimes Mahir was a little too sharp for my own good. “Nothing,” I said, more loudly. “I’m signing off now, Mahir. I need to concentrate on the drive.”

“Shaun, I really think you should—”

“Tell the management I won’t call back until it’s a decent hour in your part of the world. Say, five minutes before the alarm clock?”

“Shaun, really—”

“Later.” I hit the manual switch on the dashboard, cutting Mahir off midsentence. The silence that followed was almost reassuring enough to distract me from the fact that I was still apparently being filmed. I raised a hand and amiably flipped off the van.

Not nice, chided Georgia.

“George, please.”

She fell sullenly quiet. For a change, I didn’t mind. A sulking sister is better than a scolding sister, especially when I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that the world wants me back in the field on a regular basis. One dead Mason just isn’t enough for some people.

To distract myself, I hit the gas, sped up, and passed the van. It was a deviation from our standing driving formation, but not enough of one that it was likely to cause any real distress with the occupants of the van. With our viewing audience, maybe—especially the percentage that was hoping to see me fight off a horde of the infected through the rearview cam—but the staff would understand.

Hitting the gas harder, I sped off toward Alameda County, and home.

Prior to George’s death, the two of us lived with our adoptive parents in the genteel Berkeley house where we were raised, a former faculty residence sold by the university after the Rising. I went back there initially, and quickly found that I couldn’t take it. I could handle having George’s ghost in my head, but I couldn’t deal with the years of memory in those halls. More important, I couldn’t watching the Masons hover around looking for ways to capitalize on the death of their adopted daughter. We always knew what they were to us and what we were to