Blackout

Georgia.”

The word was distorted enough to seem unimportant. I didn’t bother trying to respond. I was lying on something soft, it was pleasantly dark, and if people wanted to talk to me, they could knock themselves out. Nothing said I had to answer.

“She’s unresponsive.”

“I expected she might be. Let’s assume she’s awake, and put her back under for now.”

“Are you sure? The strain to her system—”

“We need to finish this.”

A needle slid into my arm. The sensation was sharp enough to break the haze, replacing soft darkness with sudden concern. I opened my eyes, peering into a blur of light. There were figures there, wearing medical scrubs, with clear plastic masks over their faces. That just made me more concerned. What were they doing that might splash them with my bodily fluids?

“Doctor—” The speaker sounded alarmed. Whatever I was supposed to do, opening my eyes apparently wasn’t on the list.

“I see her. Increase the midazolam drip—I want her out until we’re done.” The taller of the two figures bent toward me. “Georgia? Can you hear me?”

I made a sound. It was faint, somewhere between a gasp and a groan.

It was apparently enough. “Increase that dose now, Kathleen,” snapped Dr. Kimberley, her features becoming visible through the plastic as she leaned closer. She raised one blue-gloved hand, brushing my hair away from my face. “Don’t try to move, Georgia. This will all be over soon.”

That’s what I was afraid of. The room was getting dark around the edges, hard lines turning into soft blurs as whatever they were pumping into me started taking effect. I tried to yell at her, to demand to know what she thought she was doing, but all that emerged was a faint squeak, like a hinge that needed to be oiled.

Dr. Kimberley smiled. “There you are, my dear. Just rest. It will all be over soon.” Then she pulled her hand back, and once again, the world went away.

There was no sense of time in the darkness. But Shaun was there, somehow, and he held my hand, and we sat together in the black, and everything was fine, forever and ever and ever.

Or until his hand slipped out of mine, and the blackness began to fade, and I realized my temporary peace had been just another drug-induced lie. Fury flooded through me. How dare they keep playing with me this way? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—

“Georgia.”

Again, the word was blurred and warped by what felt like an immense distance. This time, I forced myself to strain toward it, struggling to open my eyes. Nothing happened. Frustrated, I tried to respond, and again, managed to make only the faintest squeak.

That seemed to be enough. “She’s awake, Doctor. Not fully responsive, but recovering.”

“Good.” I heard the squeak of wheels rolling across a tile floor, followed by the soft compression of a body settling into a chair. “Georgia, this is Dr. Kimberley. I know you’re confused, and you may not have an easy time moving, but if you can, please squeeze my hand.”

Squeeze her hand? I wasn’t even touching her hand. Furious, I managed to squeak again.

“Kathleen is getting something to make you feel better, but I need you to work with us. Please squeeze my hand.” Her voice was measured, patient; the voice of a doctor who knew you wanted to trust her, because she was the hand that held the scalpel. “You’ve been under for about seven hours.”

Under? Under where? I was becoming more aware of my body, which was lying flat on a padded surface. My head was somewhat higher than the rest of me, probably to help my breathing. I strained to focus, clenching my fingers in the process. They hit something yielding.

“Very good!” Dr. Kimberley sounded pleased. The something was pulled from my hand. “Kathleen, inject the solution into her IV line and pass me the stimulants. It’s time for our Miss Mason to fully rejoin the living.”

I squeaked in fury. If Shaun were here, these people would have been knocked on their asses so fast—

And then a familiar voice spoke, startling me out of my anger: “Is she all right?”

I froze, inasmuch as my current condition distinguished that from my efforts to move. Dr. Kimberley didn’t appear to notice. “Yes, Mr. Vice President. The procedure was a success. Barring complications, I’m expecting her to make a full recovery.”

“Good.” A hand touched my forehead. I strained to open my eyes. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through all of this, George. Now do what you do best. Break this fucking thing wide open, and let the pieces fall.”

I moaned. It was the best I could do.

Rick pulled his hand away. “They’ll miss me if I stay gone any longer. Pass a message through my office if there are any complications. I want to know immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dr. Kimberley.

Sudden pain lanced through me, radiating out from a point somewhere near my heart. I couldn’t speak, but I could scream, and scream I did, arching my back away from the mattress beneath me until it felt like I was making a perfect half circle.

“She’s convulsing!” shouted Dr. Kimberley. “Trauma cart, now!”

Her voice began to slip away at the end, blurring into the general chaos as the dark reached out its tendrils and twined them around me once more. An alarm blared. I screamed again, so hard it felt like something tore inside my throat, and then the world fell away, leaving me to plunge into the black. There was no peace there this time, only pain, pain, pain.

Panicked voices in the dark, overlapping with each other: “—losing her, I don’t know why, she’s—” “—must have missed one—” “—check behind her collarbone—”

And then there was only the dark, so all-consuming it devoured even the pain, and the voices didn’t matter anymore. And then there was, for a time, blessed nothing. Nothing at all.

“Georgia.”

The third time my name called me out of the dark, it didn’t have any blurred edges or comforting distance. It was near, immediate, and spoken with perfect clarity. I groaned, suddenly aware of my body as a part of my consciousness, and of my consciousness as something distinct from the dark.

“… what?” I whispered. Even that much motion triggered a hundred more realizations. I had a mouth; I could speak. My lips were dry, my throat was aching. That was the only pain, at least for the moment.

I was alive.

“How do you feel?” Dr. Kimberley sounded honestly concerned. I’ve spent enough of my life dealing with doctors to know when they’re pretending to care, and she wasn’t pretending. The edges of her words—still Welsh- accented; the masks, it seemed, were off for good—were soft and weary, like she hadn’t slept for days.

“Water,” I whispered.

“You’re not dehydrated, but your throat will be dry. We’ve been feeding you via a tube for the past three days. It was removed about an hour ago. If you can open your eyes, I can give you some water. That’s the bargain, I’m afraid. Responsiveness for water.”

I opened my eyes. Light lanced into them like knives, and I quickly closed them again. There was a tap against the bridge of my nose as Dr. Kimberley settled something there.

“That will block the worst of it,” she said. “I’m afraid we didn’t have the equipment to keep reminding your retinas of light. They’ll adjust if you give them a little time.”

“What… where am I?” I opened my eyes again. This time, the disposable UV-blocker Dr. Kimberley had given me kept the worst of the light from reaching me. The doctor herself was standing in front of my bed, a glass of water in her hand.

“You’re still in the Seattle CDC; we’ve been able to loop footage and falsify results to make it look like you’re in my primary lab, but we haven’t had any way to remove you from the premises. Not that we could have done so anyway, given the givens.” She leaned forward, holding the glass to my lips and tilting it until I could take a few tiny, carefully measured sips. “Slowly, Georgia, slowly. You don’t want to aspirate this.”

I pulled my head back, coughing a little, and asked, “Why can’t you just say ‘don’t breathe the water’ like a normal person?”

“Because I’m a doctor, and they teach us never to use little words where big ones will do.” Dr. Kimberley